“You think she would refuse his proposal if she learns about their future? Maybe she’d rather have that life with him, however long it is, than not. Or,” she said as a surge of excitement darted through her, “maybe she’s here for us to set her on the path to accept him.”
“I wouldn’t want to know my future, and I won’t interfere in the past; I have already meddled too much. Elizabeth, we have to be in agreement,” he said earnestly. “Do we tell her about her future or not?”
Whatever decision they made, be it about Sandra, or Pemberley, how they spent their money or their time, they made it together. She saw how vehemently Darcy believed that no good could come from telling his sister what would happen, especially about her potential husband. It would do no harmto keep Georgiana from knowing her future, and that would comfort Darcy.
“No, we won’t tell her,” she agreed. “But I still question what could she really change.”
“You changed things by preserving one life, and so did I.”
“I couldn’t bear the thought of you dying when I could bring you here and save you!”
The Pemberley she had first known when she arrived in England had been a derelict shell, with only its exterior walls carried to their full height, and the roof and intervening floors gone and open to the elements. Darcy was supposed to have died of diphtheria, his sister dying young soon thereafter, and her widower gambled Pemberley away. Because Elizabeth had saved Darcy’s life in the twenty-first century, and because he had gone back to save his sister from marrying Wickham, Pemberley was set on a path to remain whole and in the family for the next two hundred years.
All of their actions had changed things, for the house itself, for their family, and for the community who depended on it.
“I’m not questioning your judgment or the choices I made that led us here,” he said tiredly. “But we both know actions taken in the past impact the future. Georgiana’s being here could cause us more harm than good.” To her disappointment, Darcy turned from her and settled into his pillow. “And I am astonished you do not see the potential danger to all of us.”
Elizabeth stared at Darcy’s back for a long while. She had thought the night would end differently, with her husband’s weight securely on top of her and his breath against her neck while she wrapped her legs around his hips.
While they occasionally disagreed, were stubborn or “too little yielding,” as Darcy called it, it was unlike either of them to withdraw from the other.
Did he really think Georgiana might not marry the man who helped her keep Pemberley’s legacy alive or take some other action in the past that could harm them in the present? Would Elizabeth have married Darcy if she knew their only child would die in their twenties, and that Darcy would die soon after? Her heart told her that both she and Darcy would have chosen each other no matter what, that the timeless and enduring bond they shared would weather any conflict or doubt or pain.
But who was to say what Georgiana felt for the man they had all assumed would become her beloved husband?
CHAPTER THREE
Darcy awoke to the muffled sound of a hair dryer from the dressing room. He had overslept, and he regretted not waking early enough to join Elizabeth in her shower. She had not woken him to invite him, either. Often, she would drag him in with her, scarcely shutting the door behind them before pulling off his clothes, his tongue in her mouth imitating what he would soon do to her body.
Dressing, he regretted being short with her last night, but she could never fully understand his fears. Elizabeth was always meant to be here in this century. He was the interloper in time, the one whose fragile happiness depended on the actions of people two hundred years in the past.
A past he had put effort into keeping out of his mind so he could embrace his full life here.
He heard giggles and the sound of someone moving around on the other side of the wall. Sandra must be awake and getting ready for school. She was a diligent student who would still be glad there were only a few weeks until the summer holiday. It was her favourite time of year, and his too. When he saw his daughter running around the estate, talking to every visitor,riding, playing, he saw a childhood more like his own, without school uniforms and iPads and whatever Key Stage 2 was.
He and Elizabeth had wondered if Sandra would want the responsibility of Pemberley when she was older. Right now, the estate would be put into a trust if both he and Elizabeth died. But whenever he saw Sandra asking questions of the textile conservator or brushing her pony or telling a visitor the history of the house, he thought she just might want the duty after all.
Sandra was intelligent, friendly, curious. Whatever she did, with her own trials and errors, she would excel.
Darcy entered the large room that was, oddly enough, a combination of a kitchen, a dining room, and a drawing room and found Sandra on the floor with a bowl of cereal before the television. Georgiana was with her, perched on the edge of a chair, and although he knew to expect her, the sight of his sister still struck him. Not only that she was here, but that the teenage girl he left behind was now an adult. He saw hints of the little sister he had known and protected, but he did not want to know the woman who had taken her place.
Her presence still felt like a threat to his happiness, and it brought too many long-forgotten memories to the fore.
“No, that one is Bingo!” Sandra cried, laughing.
“Oh, forgive me. They look very much the same to me,” Georgiana said in a tone of doubt while she stared at the cartoon.
“You’ll get it,” Sandra said consolingly. “I get an hour of non-academic screen time a day. We can watch another episode after school. It’s streaming, so it’s on any time. Mummy says when she was a kid, you just had to catch whatever was on at that time and there were like five channels. And Daddy didn’t have a telly at all!”
Sandra grinned at Georgiana, who smiled back vacantly, not understanding a word.
“Sandra,” Darcy called. “Are you finished with breakfast? We are running late. Brush your teeth and put on your uniform so I can take you to the bus.”
The school in Bakewell was too far to walk, and the estate village of Lambton did not have enough children for its own school. Pemberley arranged a bus for the village children. It was best for the community, and all the better for him, for he disliked driving and Elizabeth could not. She had tried to learn, but driving on the “wrong” side of the road confused her and she drove worse than he did. And he still had to remember not to tug on the steering wheel like reins when he wanted to brake.
Sandra and Georgiana both stood, breakfast bowls in hand, and while Sandra came into the kitchen, Georgiana stared at the television as though in a daze.
“It’s not a touchscreen,” Sandra called, giggling as Georgiana stepped forward with fingers hovering over the television, peering at it closely. She dropped her hand instantly, looking embarrassed. Sandra put her bowl in the dishwasher and ran off to dress, and Georgiana copied her motions in a slow and fearful manner.
