“So, the lady who appeared is Mr Darcy’s sister? She’s the one who took over Pemberley from her brother in the 1800s? And that Mr Darcy never went to Canada, but he came to the twenty-first century? Have I got that right?” Elizabeth started, agape at his succinct summary. “Hey, I’ve been on the house tour.” He blushed and mumbled, “There’s a pretty docent.”
Elizabeth held back a smile. “And in the past, only a few know. The housekeeper, Darcy’s cousin, Pemberley’s steward, and the gamekeeper, Mr Roland, and his grandson, Young Henry. Actually, Henry Roland is probably the gamekeeper now.” He had been an earnest teenager when Elizabeth had known him. “He was devoted to Pemberley, just like you are.”
Roland gawked at her, and she remembered he hadn’t known that anyone in his family had been connected to Pemberley. “Being at Pemberley is in your blood, apparently. Darcy and I think it’s fitting that you have such strong ties to the house and community,” she said with a reassuring smile. “But now you know something extraordinary. We hope that you’ll keep it toyourself. And if you’d like to leave, I know Darcy will write you a wonderful recommendation. But it would sadden him to lose you. He’s depended on you for years.”
They walked in silence and when they were nearer to the house, he said, “I don’t want to threaten Mr Darcy’s well-being, but what if I get married someday? How do I keep that secret from a wife?”
“The pretty docent?” she asked with a grin.
“We’re just talking about it,” he blurted.
“We don’t have to make those decisions now. Besides, I think Miss Darcy, or Georgiana Bennet as we’re going to call her, came for a purpose.” Georgiana didn’t seem interested in her origins, and she was too smart to do something this reckless for a simple family visit, and after so many years apart, too. Whatever the reason, she would let Georgiana tell them in her own time. “I doubt this will happen again. No one from the past has ever come forward by accident,” she stressed. “Only on purpose.”
“I don’t understand something.”
“Just one thing?” she asked. “I can’t explain how the druid time travel rocks work.”
They stopped outside the family’s private entrance. “Mr Darcy was one of those lord-of-the-manor, powerful estate owners. And he just leaves? He’s in a good spot, money-wise—here and now, I mean—but he gave up a lot. Why would he do that?”
The anxiety hit her right in the chest, like it always did whenever she thought of what Darcy left behind. He gave up everything, chose exile, and she was the cause. Constant guilt weighed on her, although it rarely came to the surface. “He would tell you it was for me,” she said, her voice cracking. “Because I couldn’t live in a world where my daughter and I would scarcely be better than property.”
Roland shrugged. “That’s a good reason, although no one would look at him and think, ‘That guy’s a romantic.’ No offence,” he added.
She smiled faintly. Who would look at her—a disaffected accountant from a broken home who couldn’t sacrifice women’s rights and modern medicine for the love of her life—and think she was worth it? Every so often she would watch Darcy struggle with something here and be terrified down to her bones that she wasn’t worth everything he gave up.
Roland stared at her as the silence stretched. She shook off her fears and said, “The museum staff, the tenants, the home farm and stable staff, everyone in Lambton—there’s a community here at Pemberley. That’s the same now as it was in the time he left behind. The impact it has and the jobs it creates are different, but just as valuable. And you’re a critical part of that,” she stressed.
“As inexplicable as”—he gestured vaguely with his hands—“all of this is, I don’t want to leave Pemberley.”
She felt relieved, and to cover it, she joked, “Because of the pretty docent?”
“No, because Mr Darcy trusts me. Even when I was a nineteen-year-old kid with no direction, he trusted me.” She softly agreed, smiling at Roland. While Darcy was reserved, he was good at leading people, at inspiring dedication and earning their respect. “I like my job. I’ve grown up in it, and I’m excellent at it.”
He had once been chauffeur and secretary while Darcy adapted to this century, but now he was in charge of the parkland, woodland, and gardens. Under Darcy’s direction, he managed the grounds, the volunteers, and coordinated with contractors on site. “You’re invaluable, Roland.”
Roland set down the bags at her door. “I don’t understand how it’s possible, but he’s still the same guy he was yesterdayeven if he was born in seventeen-whatever. I’m not leaving. And I won’t tell anyone. It wouldn’t be fair to a man who’s been good to me. Plus, no one would believe it.” He tapped his forehead in salute and left.
Darcy would be relieved they could rely on Roland. She carried the bags up the stairs and entered their apartment to a bizarre sight. Darcy was on the floor, sitting crisscross next to Georgiana as they watched the robot vacuum move across the floor. Darcy held out a handful of cornflakes in his palm to his sister, who tossed them one at a time in front of the vacuum. She shrieked in surprise and glee every time it swept one in.
“How does it function?” she asked, laughing.
“There are sensors that help it navigate the room and learn where things are, and what is an obstacle and what it must sweep up.”
“But how?” she pressed.
“I do not know,” Darcy said plainly. “But all is well because neither does anyone else in the twenty-first century. They accept these devices that make their lives easier, but few people could explain the finer points of how they work. So long as you know its purpose, you will not have any problems.”
Elizabeth set down the bags, and Georgiana tossed another cornflake, laughing while Darcy just shook his head. She remembered telling Darcy the same thing when the fridge and the oven baffled him. It was more important to know what a thing was and why it was needed rather than explain how it worked. It had not taken him long at all to navigate daily living. Hopefully, Georgiana would adapt well for her short stay too.
“We have got to find you something better to do this summer,” she said over the noise to get their attention.
They scrambled to their feet, and Darcy made a few taps on his phone to send the vacuum home. “I assured her the twenty-first century had more to offer than Roombas.”
Elizabeth showed Georgiana the clothes. The poor woman was still in her borrowed pyjamas and a robe. “Sometimes your brother indulges in bespoke clothes from a tailor, but for the most part clothes are ready-made now. I wasn’t sure if you found shorts as appalling as Fitzwilliam does, so I bought you a pair of linen pants, a long skirt, and two shirts and a pair of shoes. There are also pyjamas that fit you, more toiletries, plus some unmentionables you can figure out on your own,” she added in a whisper, knowing that as modern as Darcy was, no brother wanted to hear about his sister’s bras and panties.
Georgiana looked through the bags with uncertainty. “What are shorts and pants?”
“Shorts are an affront against all good taste,” said Darcy, scowling. “Keep with skirts and trousers. When Elizabeth says pants, she means trousers. Pants is an American word, but here in England it means something else. Shorts are trousers that have been cut off at the knee. Or higher,” he added, his mouth twisting.
