Once Stephanie and Georgiana had excused themselves, the drawing room fell into a quiet stillness. Darcy poured two glasses of port, handing one to Richard before settling into a chair opposite him. For a moment, neither man spoke, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily in the air.
Richard broke the silence, his voice low but edged with disbelief. "Darcy, you cannot truly expect me to accept all this without question. The girl claims to be from the future—two centuries hence, no less. She carries with her devices that defy reason, and now you've elevated her to the status of your sister." He paused, taking a sip of his port. "Do you not find it… unfathomable?"
Darcy swirled the dark liquid in his glass, his expression contemplative. "Believe me, Richard, I have wrestled with the impossibility of it all. For days, I convinced myself it must be some elaborate fabrication, some trick of the mind. But the evidence she presented…" He gestured toward the desk, where Stephanie's peculiar device still sat. "It is irrefutable. I cannot explain how, but I am certain she speaks the truth."
Richard leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "And what of this tale she spins about Pemberley's future? That it becomes a ruin visited by curious onlookers? You're prepared to place your faith in such a grim prophecy?"
Darcy's gaze hardened. "It is not faith, Richard—it is prudence. If there is even the slightest chance she is correct, I must act to secure Pemberley's future. She has already offered insights that could strengthen this estate for generations. Her knowledge of investments, land management, and even preservation techniques is astonishing. And while I still struggle to comprehend her world, I cannot ignore the value of what she offers."
Richard's disbelief softened slightly, replaced by a grudging respect. "And yet, she is unlike any woman I have ever encountered. Her mannerisms, her confidence… even her attire. It's as if she belongs to another realm entirely."
Darcy allowed himself a faint smile. "She does, in a way. But beneath her unconventional exterior lies a sharp mind and a sincere heart. She negotiated her terms with me as if she were brokering an estate sale, yet she speaks with genuine passion about preserving Pemberley. It is… disarming."
Richard leaned back, exhaling slowly. "And what of her story? This ruse about the Red River Settlement and the war with America? It may hold for now, but what happens when she makes another misstep—when her strange mannerisms and devices draw unwanted attention?"
Darcy's expression darkened. "That is precisely why I need you here, Richard. Stephanie is vulnerable in ways she does not yet understand. Her confidence, while admirable, can also be her undoing. I cannot risk her safety—or Georgiana's—while I am away."
Richard studied his cousin for a long moment, his respect for Darcy's resolve growing despite his lingering doubts. "You have always been a man of sound judgment, Darcy. If you believe in her and her purpose, I will do my part to ensure her safety. But know this—should her presence threaten this estate or this family, I will not hesitate to act."
Darcy inclined his head, his gratitude clear. "I would expect no less of you, Richard. Your skepticism is not unwelcome—it grounds me. But I ask that you keep an open mind. Stephanie's presence here may be unconventional, but I am convinced it is not without purpose."
Richard nodded slowly, lifting his glass in a silent toast. "To the future, then—whatever form it may take."
Darcy raised his own glass, his expression grave. "To Pemberley, and all who call it home."
Darcy's expression softened as a rare chuckle escaped his lips, breaking the tension in the room. Richard raised an eyebrow, surprised by his cousin's uncharacteristic amusement.
"Something amusing, Darcy?" Richard asked, his tone dry.
You would not believe how utterly unprepared she is for even the most basic aspects of life here. Beyond sitting in a chair or reading a book, she is utterly at sea."
Richard tilted his head, intrigued despite himself. "How so?"
"Well," Darcy began, setting his glass of port on the side table, "Mrs. Reynolds has taken it upon herself to instruct Stephanie in the fundamentals—how to use a quill, for instance, without blotting the paper entirely, or how to brush her teeth with what she calls 'primitive' tools.
Richard stared, his expression a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "Brush her teeth? What sort of life does she come from where such things are foreign?"
Darcy smirked. "One far removed from ours, clearly. Her world, as she explains it, relies on what she calls 'technology'—a term that encompasses conveniences we can scarcely imagine. But in practice, it means she struggles with the simplest tasks. Mrs. Reynolds has been a saint, keeping these lessons discreet. The rest of the staff remain unaware."
Richard laughed softly. "Discreet, indeed. I imagine the staff would find her peculiarities rather… alarming."
"Precisely why I've kept it between Mrs. Reynolds, Georgiana, and myself," Darcy said, his tone firm. "She is vulnerable enough without rumors spreading."
Richard nodded, taking another sip of his drink. "And Georgiana? How does she find this… unconventional companion?"
Darcy's expression softened. "Georgiana has taken to her remarkably well. In fact, she's been teaching Stephanie etiquette. Stephanie claimed she had a 'basic understanding' of our time's rules and customs."
Richard's lips quirked into a half-smile. "And where did she claim to have acquired this understanding?"
Darcy hesitated, clearly fighting back another chuckle. "From what she calls Regency romance novels. Tales of handsome dukes falling in love with ladies, with grand balls, scandalous elopements, and, apparently, no mention of the realities of chamber pots or estate management."
Richard laughed outright this time, nearly spilling his drink. "Good God, Darcy. She must have been sorely disappointed when she arrived."
"To the contrary," Darcy replied, his amusement tempered by admiration. "She is remarkably determined to adapt. For all her peculiarities and misconceptions, she faces each challenge with admirable resolve. And though her understanding of our world is… unconventional, her insights into the future and her dedication to Pemberley are invaluable."
Richard leaned back, shaking his head in disbelief. "Well, cousin, you have certainly brought an extraordinary complication into your home. I am still grappling with the idea that she is from… the future, but I cannot deny she sounds intriguing."
"She is," Darcy said quietly. "But she is also vulnerable, Richard. That is why I need you here—to help protect her and guide her. She may have knowledge beyond our understanding, but in many ways, she is as helpless as a child in this world."
Richard inclined his head, his amusement giving way to resolve. "I understand, Darcy. I will do what I can to ensure her safety and assist her in finding her footing here. Though I suspect this will be no ordinary guardianship."
The morning after Darcy's departure, Richard found himself wandering into the library, only to spot Stephanie hunched over a sheet of parchment at a desk, a quill poised awkwardly in her hand. She appeared deeply focused, though the ink blotches scattered across her paper suggested her battle with the quill was far from won. Her brow furrowed as she carefully formed a line, only for the nib to splatter ink at the final flourish.
"Argh this thing," she muttered under her breath.
Richard chuckled from the doorway, causing Stephanie to startle slightly before turning to face him. "Good morning, Miss Williams," he said, his voice laced with mock seriousness. "I see the quill is your latest adversary. I trust it has been more forgiving than the… toothbrush?"
Stephanie narrowed her eyes at him, though her lips quirked with amusement. "they're sticks?!"
Richard leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, his smirk widening. "It's not my fault that you find the art of brushing one's teeth such a challenge. I'm told even the simplest child here can manage it with ease."
Stephanie rolled her eyes, setting down the quill with a sigh. "Of course, because jabbing at your teeth with sticks is the pinnacle of sophistication."
He laughed at that, stepping further into the room. "And what, pray, does your advanced future offer in its stead? Surely some miraculous contraption to spare your delicate sensibilities?"
Stephanie sat back in her chair, folding her arms with a smug grin. "Actually, yes. It's called a toothbrush, too, but it's made of plastic and has soft bristles that clean effectively without scraping your gums to death. And—and here's the kicker—it's paired with toothpaste. A minty gel designed to clean your teeth and freshen your breath at the same time."
Richard blinked, his expression caught between disbelief and amusement. "Plastic? Gel? That sounds like sorcery."
"It's called progress, Colonel," she quipped. "And if you really want to be impressed, we even have toothbrushes that move on their own. Electric ones. They vibrate or spin to clean better." She spun her finger in tight circle to mimic the motion.
Richard burst into laughter, shaking his head as he leaned against the edge of the desk. "You expect me to believe your world has tiny machines dedicated solely to brushing teeth?"
Stephanie glanced up at him with a sly grin, a glint of mischief in her eye. "Oh, Colonel Fitzwilliam," she said sweetly, leaning slightly closer, "we have vibrating tools for many things." Her tone was innocent, but the deliberate pause before the word "many" carried just enough cheek to make Richard blink.
"Careful, Miss Williams. A lesser man might find your sharp tongue intimidating."
"Good thing you're not a lesser man," Stephanie shot back with a grin, picking up her quill again and attempting to refocus on her writing. "But seriously, Colonel, brushing with sticks is ridiculous. No offense."
"None taken," Richard replied with a chuckle. "Though I suppose we must forgive each other our peculiarities. You, with your miraculous gadgets, and me, with my barbaric 'stick-brushing rituals.'"
Stephanie laughed softly, the tension of their earlier exchanges melting away. "Deal," she said, dipping her quill into the ink and resuming her work, though she couldn't hide the smile tugging at her lips.
Richard watched her for a moment, shaking his head in quiet amusement. He had to admit—this strange woman from the future had a wit as sharp as her resolve, and he was beginning to find her presence at Pemberley more entertaining than troubling.
Richard watched as she resumed her battle with the quill. Her brow furrowed, and her tongue poked out slightly in concentration as she carefully dragged the nib across the parchment, resulting in yet another blotch of ink.
"Blast it," she muttered, glaring at the offending mark.
Stephanie groaned, leaning back in her chair noticing his judgment. "I'm doing my best here, and it's not exactly easy. We don't use these things anymore in my time."
"Surely you have pens of some sort?" Richard asked, genuinely curious.
Stephanie waved her hand dismissively. "Pens, yes, but they don't need dipping. And we don't really write in cursive anymore either, so don't expect my handwriting to look elegant. Printing is about as fancy as it gets for me. I can't even read it without help".
Richard's eyebrows shot up. "No cursive? What kind of future civilization are you running over there? What's next—you can't tell time without assistance?"
Stephanie sighed dramatically, shooting him a pointed look. "Barely," she admitted, holding up her hands. "I struggle with analog clocks. We use digital ones, where the numbers are just there—no figuring out where the little hand is pointing or doing mental math to know the minutes. It's instant, and it's logical."
Richard stared at her for a moment before laughing so hard he nearly doubled over. "You mean to tell me," he said between breaths, "that a lady from the future—where everything vibrates and machines handle your every whim—can't tell time unless it's handed to her in glowing numbers?"
Stephanie shrugged, her grin widening. "Yeah, that's what I'm sayin'" she laughed.
Richard remained near the desk, arms folded as he watched Stephanie's careful movements with the quill, his gaze unwavering and intense. Stephanie did her best to ignore him, focusing on the letters forming on the parchment, but his steady scrutiny was hard to ignore.
Finally, she let out a sigh, setting the quill down with a bit of an exasperated huff. "Colonel Fitzwilliam," she said, her tone sharp but not unkind, "could you stop staring at me as though I'm some sort of… alien?"
Richard's lips twitched, clearly amused by the word she'd chosen. "An alien? And what, exactly, is an alien in your world, Miss Williams?"
She rolled her eyes, a small smile breaking through despite herself. "It's… someone—or something—that doesn't belong. You know, something from a completely different place, different rules, everything."
Richard raised an eyebrow, the faintest glimmer of a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. "Ah, so you mean someone… like you?"
Stephanie narrowed her eyes at him, though her tone remained playful. "Yes, I suppose I mean someone like me. But I'd appreciate it if you didn't look at me as if I were a creature with two heads."
Richard chuckled, finally looking away, though he stayed close. "Forgive me. It's simply that I find you… fascinating. You're full of peculiarities I can hardly imagine—like one of those rare specimens naturalists go hunting for in exotic lands."
"Lovely," she said with a groan.
Richard watched Stephanie with a curious intensity, leaning slightly closer as he crossed his arms. "Miss Williams, you've spoken of your world and its marvels, but what of ours? Tell me—what happens in this war with Napoleon?"
Stephanie froze, her quill hovering just above the parchment. Slowly, she placed it down and turned to meet his gaze. "I can't tell you that," she said firmly, her voice steady.
Richard frowned, his brows knitting together. "Can't? Or won't?"
"Both," she replied, folding her hands in her lap. "It's… complicated. Knowing too much about the future can be dangerous. It could change things."
Richard's frown deepened, and he straightened, his tone sharper now. "Dangerous? For whom? If you know something that could save lives—save our lives—surely you have a duty to share it."
Stephanie shook her head, her expression apologetic but resolute. "That's not how it works, Colonel. I'm sorry, but I can't risk it."
His jaw tightened, and he took a step back, clearly frustrated. "So you'll sit here, with all your knowledge of what's to come, and leave us in ignorance? How can you justify that?"
She met his gaze evenly, though a flicker of guilt crossed her face.
Knowing what's coming could change everything. It's not my place to interfere; it could unravel events in ways neither of us could understand."
Richard's eyes blazed with frustration, his fists clenching. "So you would leave us in the dark, knowing the outcome of this war and yet saying nothing? How can you stand by and let fate play out when you have the power to change it?"
"Because I can't bear the thought of making things worse," she replied, her voice breaking slightly as she held his gaze. "You have to understand, Richard—I want to tell you. I understand the stakes, the fear. But I don't belong here, and I have no right to alter the course of your world. It's a burden I never wanted."
Richard's face softened for a moment as he saw the anguish in her eyes, but his frustration quickly resurfaced. "So that's it, then?" he asked, his tone raw. "You keep your secrets, and we're left to face the unknown alone?"
She swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I wish I could be different. But some things are better left as they are."
Richard turned away, the disappointment and anger clear in every line of his posture. "You ask for trust, Miss Williams, but you refuse to give it. That's a difficult thing to accept."
Richard stopped in the doorway, and Stephanie took a deep breath, standing up and calling after him. "Colonel, please wait. Let me… let me try to explain."
He turned, his gaze still intense, though now tempered with a flicker of curiosity beneath his frustration. She walked toward him, hands clasped in front of her as she gathered her thoughts.
"There's this idea," she began softly, "called the butterfly effect. It means that even the smallest change—like the flutter of a butterfly's wings—can set off a chain reaction that shifts everything that follows. Imagine if I told you something about the war with Napoleon. What if that knowledge led you to make a choice, a small decision, that spiraled into something greater? That tiny change could alter history in ways we can't predict."
Richard's brow furrowed, his gaze studying her intently as he absorbed her words. "You're saying… that by knowing what happens, I might change things unintentionally. Even if I didn't mean to."
"Exactly," Stephanie nodded, relief in her expression as he seemed to grasp the concept. "You might tell someone, or decide to act differently because of it. Even the smallest shift in your choices could lead to consequences we can't control."
He was silent for a moment, considering her words. "So it's not about withholding; it's about… protecting us from something we're not meant to change."
She nodded, a hint of sorrow in her eyes. "Yes. Believe me, I would tell you if I could, but I have no way of knowing how it would ripple out. I can't risk causing harm just by telling you what's to come."
"If something as small as a butterfly's wings can have such an effect, then why did you agree to help Darcy change Pemberley's future? Surely that is changing history and can have consequences."
"That is a fear I live with, but it was a necessary concession, and I believe, or at least I tell myself it isn't as big of deal as changing something like a war."
He sighed, some of his frustration easing, though a trace of bitterness remained. "So what can you share, then? Or am I left knowing nothing of what awaits?"
Stephanie's expression softened, and she managed a small, encouraging smile. "Well, if it helps, I'd be happy to tell you about future wars beyond your time. Wars you couldn't affect, no matter what I said. There's one they call the Crimean War, for example, and one day your own great-grandchildren will be in a conflict we call the First World War."
Richard looked at her, curiosity sparking in his eyes as he began to see the possibilities. "Then tell me. Tell me everything you can. I want to know… without risking what matters here and now."
Stephanie nodded, grateful for his willingness to understand. She gestured to a pair of chairs by the window. "All right, Colonel," she said, her voice soft but steady. "Let me tell you the stories of a future you can't change—but that I think you'll find fascinating."
Richard settled deeper into his chair, his expression skeptical but intrigued.
Stephanie clasped her hands tightly, her voice soft but steady. "It begins in 1939, sparked by a man named Adolf Hitler. He rises to power in what was once the Holy Roman Empire—what you'd call Prussia and its surrounding lands—but by my time, we call it Germany."
Richard frowned, tilting his head. "Germany? I've heard of the Germanic states, yes, but I thought them divided—scattered kingdoms and duchies. How does one man come to control them all?"
"He unites them under a single nation," Stephanie explained. "By the early 20th century, Germany is a powerful empire. But after losing a war in 1918—a war I won't get into now—it's left humiliated, its economy shattered. Hitler uses that anger and desperation to seize power, preaching a message of hate and dominance."
Richard's brow furrowed deeper. "Hate? Against whom?"
Stephanie hesitated, her voice lowering. "Primarily against Jewish people, though also against Roma, disabled individuals, political opponents—anyone he sees as a threat or as lesser. He blames them for Germany's problems and uses that hatred to justify horrific actions."
"And the war itself?" Richard asked, his tone sharper now. "How does it spread?"
"He rebuilds Germany's military, violating treaties meant to keep peace," she continued. "He annexes nearby lands, claiming they belong to Germany. In 1939, he invades a place called Poland."
Richard's expression tightened. "Poland. That's… part of the lands divided between Russia, Prussia, and Austria, is it not?"
"Yes," Stephanie confirmed. "By my time, it's an independent nation again, but in 1939, it becomes the first victim of the war. When Hitler invades, Britain and France finally declare war on Germany, though they'd tried to avoid it for years."
Richard leaned forward, his tone clipped. "And how does this war unfold? Do armies march as they do now, muskets and cavalry?"
Stephanie hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Not exactly. By then, the weapons are far more advanced. Soldiers still march, but they're supported by machines—tanks that move like carriages but with armor and weapons. There are also battles fought in the air."
Richard's brows shot up. "In the air? What madness is this?"
"By my time, men have learned to build machines that can fly—metal crafts called airplanes. They're used to drop explosives and attack enemy positions from above. Entire cities are destroyed by bombs."
Richard's face turned pale, his hand gripping the arm of his chair. "Cities? Bombed from the sky? That is no war—it's devastation."
Stephanie nodded solemnly. "It is. Millions of civilians die in bombings. And that's not the worst of it."
He tilted his head, his gaze piercing. "What could be worse than the destruction of cities?"
She took a deep breath, her voice trembling. "The Holocaust. It's Hitler's plan to exterminate the Jewish people and others he considers undesirable. Over six million Jewish men, women, and children are murdered in camps designed for death."
Richard's jaw dropped slightly, his disbelief evident. "Camps? For death? You speak as though these atrocities are organized."
"They are," Stephanie whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. "They're called concentration camps. People are taken there, starved, worked to death, or killed in gas chambers—rooms filled with poison designed to end lives quickly. Entire families, entire communities… gone."
Richard sat back, his face pale, his hand running through his hair. "This is not war. This is… evil incarnate."
"It is," Stephanie agreed, her voice breaking. "The world didn't realize the full extent of it until the camps were liberated near the end of the war. By then, it was too late for millions."
He was silent for a long moment, his expression one of deep sorrow and anger. Finally, he looked up at her. "And what of this Hitler? Does he meet justice?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "In 1945, as the Allies—the nations fighting against him—close in on Germany, Hitler takes his own life. Germany surrenders shortly after, and the war ends."
"The Allies," Richard repeated, his tone cautious. "Britain fights alongside… whom?"
"America and Russia," Stephanie explained. "Though the Americans don't join until 1941, after Japan—a country allied with Germany—attacks a place called Pearl Harbor. Russia switches sides when Hitler invades their land."
Richard shook his head slowly, his voice low. "It seems as though the entire world is at war."
"It is," Stephanie said softly. "That's why it's called a world war. Over seventy million people die, soldiers and civilians alike. But the Allies win, and out of the ashes, the world begins to rebuild."
Richard rubbed his temples, his voice thick with disbelief. "Seventy million. That is more than I can comprehend. How does one live with such loss?"
Stephanie swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "By remembering. By learning from it. Even in my time, we teach the lessons of that war, the horrors of the Holocaust, so we never forget and never repeat it."
Richard looked at her, his expression a mixture of sorrow and respect. "Thank you for sharing this. It's grim, but… perhaps it's important to know, even if it's beyond my understanding."
Stephanie nodded, offering a faint, sad smile. "It is. And I hope it gives you perspective, if nothing else."
The two sat in heavy silence, the weight of her words lingering in the room like a shadow, connecting their two vastly different worlds in a shared acknowledgment of human resilience and tragedy.
Richard leaned forward, his expression thoughtful as he studied her. "It strikes me, Miss Williams, that you know a great deal about the grand events of my time—wars, revolutions, leaders. But when it comes to the smaller details of how we live, you seem… less certain. Why is that?"
Stephanie offered a sheepish smile, leaning back in her chair. "You're right, Colonel. I know the big stuff—the major events, the turning points, the famous people. Those are the things everyone learns in school, and they're what most history books focus on. But the little things, like how people live day to day or how they interact? That's not covered much unless you specialize in history at a higher level."
Richard tilted his head, curious. "Specialize? What do you mean?"
"In my time," she explained, "you can study history at different levels. Right now, I'm at the equivalent of what you'd call a university student. I've studied general history—big events, broad timelines. But to really understand the details—things like how households work, how people address each other, what they eat, or even how they socialize—you'd need to pursue advanced degrees."
"Advanced degrees?" he repeated.
Stephanie nodded. "Yes, like a master's or a doctorate—what we call a PhD. It's education beyond what I currently have. People who study history at that level focus on specific periods or even specific aspects of life. They dig into personal letters, diaries, legal records… all the little things that help them reconstruct what daily life was like."
Richard leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "So, your understanding of this time is… incomplete."
"Exactly," Stephanie said with a faint laugh. "I know the headlines of your world, but not the texture. That's why I've been asking so many questions—not just to Mr. Darcy, but to Mrs. Reynolds, to Georgiana, and, well, to you now. Things like etiquette, household routines, even brushing your teeth—none of that is explained in the books I've read."
Richard's lips curved into a small smile. "And that explains why Darcy has been so put upon of late."
Stephanie grinned, a hint of pink touching her cheeks. "Probably. But it's fascinating to see how things actually work here, to fill in the gaps of what I don't know. Honestly, I feel like I've learned more from living here for a short time than from all the books I've read."
Richard regarded her with a mixture of amusement and respect. "I imagine it must be strange, to know so much about the broad strokes of history yet feel adrift in the world they belong to."
"It is," she admitted. "But that's what makes this so important to me—piecing together the details. I just hope I'm not driving everyone crazy in the process."
Richard chuckled lightly. "Not yet, Miss Williams. Though I suspect Darcy might beg to differ."