Darcy saw it was full, and he added the detergent and turned it on, as he would any other morning. But Georgiana gave a shriek at the sudden noise of the water and motor, and jumped back.
Rather than comment on her reaction and embarrass her, he said, “I see you met Sandra.”
“I did not know how to explain who I was,” Georgiana said timidly. “I told her my name and that I knew her parents. I thought it would alarm her to see a stranger, but she recognised Elizabeth’s…” She gestured at her pyjamas, and Darcy supplied the word. “After that, I did not have to say anything else. She is very like Elizabeth,” she added, and Darcy knew it was a compliment.
He often thought his daughter’s friendliness was like Elizabeth’s. Sandra had Elizabeth’s affable nature and his confidence. She would be tall like him, he could tell, but she looked exactly like her mother.
He wanted to ask why Georgiana was here and confirm that she was returning to 1826, but he and Elizabeth had agreed not to press his reluctant sister, however little he liked it. “Was it strange to sleep in a guest room?” he finally asked after searching for something to say. “Your room on the other side of this floor is still open to visitors.”
“I was exhausted and felt rather ill; I would have slept anywhere, I am sure,” she said. “Had I remembered my first experience through Nine Ladies as an infant, I would have been reluctant to make this trip. But I was hungry when I woke, and your daughter made me…nursery food?”
Darcy laughed. To give Sandra more independence, she was in charge of her own breakfast and getting herself ready for school. She must have also given Georgiana a bowl of Weetabix.
“I can make you something else,” he offered, but she shook her head. He could follow a recipe, but he had never taken to cooking with enjoyment. Elizabeth often cooked the meals, and he washed the dishes. What would his mother say to Pemberley’s heir doing the work of a scullery?
He scoffed and grabbed two cups. He did not need these thoughts about his old life. The coffee maker was on a timer, so he poured himself a cup and offered one to his sister as he put two pieces of bread in the toaster.
What did his sister think of the combination of such extraordinary devices and the Wedgwood breakfast set their mother had selected? Their personal space within the public house was a mix of the modern living Elizabeth wanted and the furniture and style he was more familiar with. It might be jarring to some, but he always felt it suited them.
“Mrs Reynolds said not to be shocked if you had no servants,” his sister said, taking the cup with a smile. “She said there were fantastic machines that did most of the labour once done by people. You must have so much privacy.”
“No cook or footmen,” he agreed. “But someone comes in every week to clean, and Elizabeth selects the groceries she wants delivered.” That was a tedious chore he did not miss.
Georgiana’s gaze drifted toward the television. “I misunderstood Mrs Reynolds when she described the…picture-story-boxes. They are immense.”
“They’re a lot larger than they were in the eighties.” He and his sister turned as Elizabeth entered. “And the number of viewing options would astound her. Is Sandra ready to go to school?”
“I can take her today,” Darcy offered, eager for space from his sister and the memories of a forgotten life she unconsciously prompted.
“I’ll go. I have to buy Georgiana some clothes and shoes, anyway.”
“I must check on Tom Roland and make sure the man hasn’t run away or had a fit of nerves.”
“I’ll talk to him when I go past his cottage.” Her eyes told him he was about to spend the morning with his sister. He supposed there was no way to avoid Georgiana; she would be here until Tuesday, September 22, at four minutes past eight. He had checked. But the less they spoke about the past or anything of substance, the better.
“Before you go,” he said as Elizabeth measured his sister to guess what size clothes and shoes she needed, “we need to come up with a story to explain Georgiana’s presence.”
“Your little sister is visiting us for the summer. There you go. All done.”
“My recovering Pemberley in this century depended on my being the sole inheritor. I am afraid a new sister could raise questions if the attorneys hear of it.”
Elizabeth grew thoughtful. “What if she’s my sister?”
“But our accents are so different,” Georgiana said softly.
“My father was British, and he left us when I was two.” A hardness hit her voice when she said that. Elizabeth never said so, but he suspected that was why his involvement in Sandra’s care meant so much to her. Sandra would have everything that she had not. “My mom took me and my sister back to the States, but who’s to say he didn’t have another family in England after that?”
“I am to be your half-sister?”
“It works, right?” Elizabeth looked between them, seeking their approval. “A recently discovered half-sister explains why no one has heard of her before, and why we look so little alike and why our accents are different.”
“And if her last name is Bennet and not Darcy, it will help distance her from anyone assuming she has a natural connection with Pemberley.” To Georgiana he asked, “Could you answer to ‘Miss Bennet’ all summer?”
“Oh, come on,” Elizabeth interjected. “No one will call her that. Everyone will just call her Georgiana.”
For an instant, he bristled at strangers disrespecting his sister and calling her by her given name. What a long-forgotten value. And a reminder of a life he no longer wanted. The equinox could not come soon enough.
Keeping the thought to himself, he looked at Georgiana for her to decide.
