Georgiana winced as she looked up at the lights. Elizabeth didn’t remember the electric lights troubling Darcy. What would Georgiana’s adjustment be like? She had assumed she would thrive as quickly as Darcy had during his first stay with her in Bakewell.
“Do you mind having visitors always in the house?” Georgiana asked as they walked through the entrance hall around a cluster of school children. “We only ever have a few at a time, and rarely when I am in residence.”
“No,” Darcy said, and in a tone that hinted he would not elaborate.
“Do more people view the house itself, or do they come to look at the gowns?” Georgiana asked.
“There are house tours twice a day, and two fashion-only tours,” Elizabeth said when Darcy would not answer. “Most visitors take at least one of them, but repeat visitors just like to wander. There’s also a home farm that caters to school groups, and the stables where people can rent a horse, or however that works. Fitzwilliam could tell you.”
“How much of Pemberley is given over to the public?”
“The second floor is conservation and storage, but half of the first floor is open and almost all the ground floor. They can only look into the library, to protect the books. And we host events in the ballroom.” She gasped and gripped Georgiana’s arm with a grin. “The Historical Dance Society is hosting a Regency ball at the end of the summer!”
Georgiana gave a polite smile. “I enjoy dancing, but what is Regency?”
“When we are from,” Darcy said, keeping his voice low as they walked past another group. “From when the United Kingdoms had a regent.”
Georgiana crinkled her nose. “It was only a few years. What a narrow period of history to focus on.”
“Now it implies a much longer social and economic era.”
“Come to the ball,” Elizabeth pressed. “It’ll be something familiar.”
“You will hate it,” Darcy muttered.
“Because I am shy?” Georgiana asked in a small voice. “I still like to dance, although I am rather old now. I am rarely asked anymore.”
Elizabeth thought gentlemen might not pursue her because she was thirty, but it was more likely because she was mistress of an estate that would always be in her control. Some men in the nineteenth century would resent not having full control of their wife’s property and that their child would have to take the name Darcy to use Pemberley’s income. She was grateful her daughter would grow up here, where thirty and single with a career was nothing to be ashamed of.
“No, because the dancing is often too slow,” Darcy said as they looked into the oak parlour. “They frequently walk in a stately manner rather than do the actual steps. Or they dance an au courant dance but to music our grandparents listened to. Often, everyone moves simultaneously without watching the first couple to see what the dance will be. They seem to think everyone must dance all the time, with not a moment to catch one’s breath and have a conversation.”
Watching period dramas or participating in historical dancing with Darcy always included scathing commentary on everything the re-enactors got wrong.
“Well, I still think she should attend,” Elizabeth insisted as they walked past a display of gowns in the music room.
Georgiana walked to a gown behind a stanchion. “That is mine from two seasons ago, although the colour has faded. Could I wear it to your Regency ball?”
“That could be arranged,” Elizabeth said, glad that Georgiana was interested. “It’s on display here because it’s stable.”
“The textile conservator will love that,” Darcy muttered under his breath as Georgiana took in the rest of the room.
“It is still our house, and everything in it still belongs to you. There are perks to being in charge, even if you’re not ‘Mr Darcy’ anymore.”
Darcy gave a small laugh at her common tease, and it felt good to share a smile with him. He answered as he always did. “I’m still Mr Darcy.”
They went up the stairs to show Georgiana the guest rooms and the ballroom, and as they walked along the portrait gallery, she pointed at the empty space. “Is the missing portrait being cleaned?”
“Yes,” Darcy said immediately. Elizabeth supposed Georgiana’s portrait was hidden in the attics and would only be dragged out again on September 23.
Georgiana nodded and looked down the gallery. Most of the portraits would be familiar to her, save for the ones of her grandson and great-grandchildren. Elizabeth supposed Darcy must be glad that there were no placards on the wall to name them. While the inheritors all took the name Darcy, the name “Willers-Darcy” was often used while discussing Pemberley’s history.
“Will you clean the other paintings in their turn? They have grown dingy.”
Darcy tilted his head and walked closer to the portrait of himself from two hundred and twenty years ago. “I had not noticed.”
She gave her brother a soft smile and rested a hand on his arm. “Remember, I saw them more recently to when they were originally painted.”
She had said this in her usual quiet tone, and the only visitors were far from them, but Darcy flinched. It might have been at the hint of time travelling, but Elizabeth feared it was because his sister had touched him. Georgiana must have felt it too, and she turned away to hide her embarrassment.
