Drying herself with her feet up against the back side of the fireplace—which for a miracle had warmed right through the stonework—she reflected on the progress she’d made. Brilliana is going to be okay, she mused. Maybe I could give her to Paulie as a gofer? If she survived the culture shock. It’s no joke, she chided herself. She’d grown up with museums and films about the past—how much harder would she have it if she’d found herself catapulted into the equivalent of the twenty-sixth century, without any means of going home? She’d be helpless. Had Brilliana ever seen a light switch? Or a telephone? Perhaps—and then again, perhaps not. I keep forgetting that clothes don’t make the man—or woman, she prodded herself. You could go really badly wrong if you make that mistake here.

She pulled on her jeans and sweater again, frowning—Should have asked Kara to get something out for me—then went back into the main room. The servants had pulled out a small dining table from somewhere, and it was set with silverware and a huge candelabra. “Wonderful!” she said. Kara and Brill were standing beside it, and Kara grinned uncontrollably. “Okay, sit down. Did anyone order any wine?”

Brill had, and the food, which she’d ordered up from the cavernous kitchens far below, was still edible. By the time they’d drained two bottles of a most passable red, Miriam was feeling distinctly tired and even Kara had lost her tendency to squeal, bounce, and end every sentence on an exclamation point. “Bedtime, I think,” she said, pointedly dismissing everyone from her chamber before pulling back the curtain on her bed, pulling out the warming pan, and burrowing inside.

The next morning Miriam awakened rapidly and—for a miracle—without any trace of a hangover. I feel fine, she realized, surprised. Pulling back the curtain, she sat up to find a maid sitting with downturned face beside her bed. Oh. I did feel fine, she amended. “You can send them in,” she said, trying to keep the tone of resignation out of her voice. “I’m ready to dress now.”

Kara bounded in. “It’s your walk with Lady Olga today!” she enthused. “Look what I found for you?”

Miriam looked—and stifled a groan. Kara had zeroed in on one of her work suits, along with a silvery top. “No,” she said, levering herself off the bed. “Bring me what I was wearing yesterday. I think it’s clean enough to do. Then pass me my underwear and get out.”

“But! But—”