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Gold Suite, didn’t she? Maybe we’re supposed to sleep in separate beds. And I don’t see what choice you have but to wear your jeans.” He wandered back in, clothes in hand, looking bemused. “What I don’t understand,” she continued, “is if we went back in time why are there people who don’t look human, like that old woman—”
    “She might have been in an industrial accident. Scar tissue.”
    “But I saw other people like her, even a child. And if we went somewhere else entirely, why does everyone speak English?”
    “Maybe they don’t speak English,” said Sanjay as he dressed. “Maybe we just perceive whatever they speak as English. Maybe they’re really speaking Hindi.”
    “Or Urdu?”
    “In any case, you know this is all your fault.”
    Chryse laughed. “I didn’t until you reminded me. Why?”
    “You’re the one who said you wanted our honeymoon to be an adventure.”
    “But you’re the one who said we should go somewhere completely different.”
    They both grinned.
    “I feel so guilty,” said Chryse finally.
    “Guilty?”
    She shrugged. “Last night I was too stunned to think. But now it’s morning and we’re safe—I’m excited, Sanjay. We haven’t the faintest idea where we are, and I’m not sure I care. It really is an adventure.”
    “But why guilty?”
    “What about Anna? She has all the presents, and she’ll expect us to pick them up.”
    “Not for two weeks. No one will expect to hear from us for two weeks.”
    “And when the two weeks are up? Anna will call your parents, they’ll call mine, and mine will call the police.”
    He sighed and sank down on the bed. “You’re right. We’ll just have to find out where we are, how we got here, and how to get back.”
    Chryse sighed, an echo, and sat down beside him. “Maybe finding out how to get home means we can get back here again.” With one foot she traced the bright geometric pattern of the carpet morosely. “It seems a pity to have to leave before we have a chance to explore.”
    “We’ll have to do what we can in the time we’re here,” said Sanjay, working one hand up the sleeve of her gown. “For instance, they should have put the lace—” He shifted it on her so that a different patch of skin showed through. “—there.”
    She pulled him down on the bed.
    This time, when a knock interrupted them, Chryse hid behind the bed curtains and Sanjay stood. The door opened to reveal a young man in clothes that resembled a uniform.
    “Begging pardon, Monsieur,” he said. “When you and Madame are ready, I’m to show you to the breakfast room.”
    “Certainly,” said Sanjay. “We’ll be out in a moment.”
    “Is he gone?” asked Chryse as the door shut.
    “Coward,” said Sanjay.
    “I take back everything I said about having servants. You never get any privacy.”
    “What did you say about having servants?” he asked as she went into her dressing room.
    “I don’t remember,” she called. “But I’m sure I said something.”
    After a few minutes Chryse reappeared in a calf-length skirt and a sweater and boots. “Not very nineteenth-century.” She regarded Sanjay’s jeans and shirt. “But we’re neat and clean. Good thing I brought a skirt.”
    “Kate—Miss Cathcart—was wearing trousers.”
    “I’ll take bets that isn’t usual. I’m starving.”
    “Madame.” With an elaborate gesture he offered her his arm. “Shall we go down?”
    Aunt Laetitia and Kate were already in the breakfast room, arguing good-naturedly over something to do with a regent, a succession, and a possible royal marriage for an heir.
    “Ah,” said Aunt Laetitia as the butler showed Chryse and Sanjay in. “I hope you rested well.” She lifted a monocle to her eye and examined their clothing, but mercifully said nothing.
    “Very well, thank you,” said Chryse. “Good morning, Miss Cathcart.”
    “Hell in a basket,” exclaimed that woman. “Call me Kate, please. I only endure the other title from Lady