Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam sat in the quiet stillness of his family's drawing room, the shadows from the late afternoon sun casting long stripes over his injured leg stretched carefully before him. He was only three months home from the Peninsula, still new to the slow life of recovery, to a life in England without the clamor of battle.
A soft knock interrupted his reverie, and his father's steward entered, bowing low and holding out a sealed letter. "A message for you, Colonel," he said, his tone cautious, as though hesitant to disturb the Colonel's peace.
Richard took the letter with a nod of thanks, catching sight of the crest emblazoned on the wax—a familiar "D" embedded within the Darcy family crest. His brow furrowed as he turned it over and broke the seal, curiosity already prickling at the edges of his thoughts. Darcy was not one to write idly, nor would he reach out without cause.
As he unfolded the heavy paper, his eyes scanned over Darcy's urgent, neatly penned words:
Richard,
I must ask a great favor of you. It is a matter of utmost importance, and I require your presence at Pemberley at once. It would be improper to commit the details to paper, and I beg you to exercise the utmost discretion. I am not willing to entrust this task to anyone but you.
Yours, F. Darcy
A thrill of unease crept up his spine as he finished reading. There was no mistaking Darcy's tone—this was no ordinary summons, nor a mere appeal for his company. Darcy's words were as precise as his character, always measured and without frills, but even for him, this was uncharacteristically cryptic.
Richard folded the letter thoughtfully, feeling the familiar pull of loyalty and friendship tugging at him. The mystery gnawed at him, for Darcy was not a man to show his hand, even to one as close as he.
Richard called for his manservant. He would make his way to Pemberley as swiftly as possible. Darcy's request was both unsettling and compelling, a combination that would have him abandoning all else for the journey north.
As he settled into his carriage an hour later, watching the countryside roll by in an evening mist, Richard's thoughts drifted over what little he knew of Darcy's affairs. His cousin had always been the embodiment of control, self-possession, and moral rigidity. But there was something else, something unspoken here, a vulnerability hinted at in the request for "discretion."
He could not shake the sense that, whatever awaited him at Pemberley, it was likely a matter that went beyond social propriety or family pride. For Darcy to summon him alone, it must be deeply personal—a matter that he could not risk in anyone else's hands.
After the long journey north, Colonel Fitzwilliam's carriage pulled to a halt at Pemberley. The evening light bathed the estate in a golden glow, and though the sight was familiar and always comforting, today Richard could think only of Darcy's urgent letter and what it might mean. Ignoring the dull ache in his injured leg, he stepped from the carriage with the assistance of a footman and ascended the steps toward his waiting hosts.
At the top stood Darcy, his expression tense yet welcoming, with Georgiana beside him, half-hidden behind her brother in her usual shy manner. And next to her was a young woman Richard did not recognize.
Her hair was swept up into an elegant style befitting a lady, but something about it seemed… off. Perhaps it was the loose tendrils that framed her face, or the way she kept absently tucking them back, as if she wasn't accustomed to such meticulous arrangements. The style suited her, accentuating her delicate features and the sunlit gold of her hair, but there was a subtle unease in her movements, like she wanted to undo it all and let it fall freely.
Her dress was fashionable enough—a pale muslin gown cinched at the empire waist, its modest cut embellished with subtle embroidery—but it didn't seem to belong to her. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, as though unused to the constraints of such clothing, her posture lacking the careful, practiced grace of most ladies of society. Instead, she stood with a relaxed energy, her hands clasped loosely in front of her but always fidgeting, her stance open and unguarded.
It was her face, though, that held his attention. Her bright eyes—blue-green, clear as a summer sky—darted between Darcy and Georgiana, her expression somewhere between curiosity and exasperation. When her gaze met his, it was disarming: direct, unfiltered, and utterly lacking the layers of artifice he was accustomed to. She didn't look down shyly or turn her head demurely away. Instead, she studied him with a frankness that almost made him take a step back.
"Richard," Darcy called, stepping forward to greet him. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
"Of course, Darcy," Richard replied, clasping his hand. "Your letter left me little choice, I fear." His tone was light, but he gave his cousin a probing look, hoping for an answer to his summons.
Darcy gave him a tight nod, then turned to the young woman beside him. "Allow me to introduce Miss Stephanie Williams, my ward. She has recently arrived from Canada."
Miss Williams's face broke into a wide, confident smile, and she extended her hand without hesitation. "Colonel Fitzwilliam, it's so great to meet you!" she said brightly with an unmistakable American – or he supposed – Canadian accent.
The gesture caught him off guard, and he noticed Darcy's faint sigh and the twitch of amusement on Georgiana's lips. A moment of uncomfortable silence fell as Miss Williams's eyes flicked between them, and Richard saw her cheeks color slightly, realizing her breach of etiquette.
"Oh! I'm so sorry, I…." She hesitated, withdrawing her hand with an embarrassed smile and glancing at Darcy, who offered her a look of mild reproach mixed with something else—affection, perhaps.
But Richard, not wanting to let her feel more out of place, reached out and clasped her hand in a quick shake. "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Williams," he said with a warm smile.
To his surprise, her handshake was not the demure, delicate touch he'd expected but a firm, confident grip, almost like a fellow soldier's. Just as quickly, she pulled her hand back, her gaze turning apologetic as it flickered toward Darcy.
Darcy cleared his throat, looking both exasperated and faintly amused. "Miss Williams is, as I mentioned, recently arrived," he said, his tone dry. "The customs here may be… a bit different than she's used to."
Richard fought to keep his face composed, biting back a smile. "Indeed," he replied with a slight bow of his head toward Stephanie. "But you are refreshingly direct, Miss Williams. A quality not unwelcome, I assure you."
She managed a grateful smile, though her cheeks were still pink, and Georgiana stifled another giggle. Darcy, meanwhile, merely cast a long-suffering glance toward the heavens before leading the way inside, his expression a curious mixture of fondness and exasperation. Richard's curiosity only deepened—who was this young woman who so easily flustered Darcy?
Later that day, fter he had settled in and taken a much-needed rest, Colonel Fitzwilliam made his way to Darcy's study. The warm glow of the sun inside and the murmur of voices drew him to the door, which was slightly ajar. Expecting only Darcy, he was surprised to hear Georgiana's voice, and even more surprised to hear Miss Williams's low tones mingling with them.
He paused in the doorway. Darcy sat at his desk, looking uncharacteristically concerned. Georgiana was perched on the edge of a chair, her hands folded primly in her lap, her expression hovering between worry and comfort. But Miss Williams—she was anything but composed.
Slouched back in her chair with one leg crossed over the other, she fidgeted with the hem of her dress, twisting the fabric around her finger in a nervous rhythm. Her gaze was fixed downward, a furrow of worry etched between her brows as she listened to Darcy.
"Miss WilliamsStephanie," Darcy said, his voice low and measured, "you have my word. Colonel Fitzwilliam is one of the few people I trust implicitly. He will help us, as I would, without hesitation".
Stephanie gave a quick, doubtful nod, looking anything but reassured.
Richard's mind raced, his first thought a pang of shock—and something close to disgust—at the idea of why Darcy might be so protective of his ward. Was she… could she be pregnant? He frowned at the thought, and his pulse quickened with disbelief. Surely Darcy—Darcy of all men—wouldn't have allowed himself to become involved with this young woman. She was his ward, and Darcy's principles were unshakeable. But if it wasn't that… what could be causing Darcy such unusual worry and protectiveness?
Darcy's gaze shifted, and he noticed Richard in the doorway. "Ah, Richard," he said, his tone noticeably more formal as he gestured for him to enter. "I hope you had some time to rest."
Richard inclined his head, stepping inside, though his eyes were on Stephanie, who had quickly uncrossed her legs and sat up straighter, looking equal parts embarrassed and uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
"I did, thank you," Richard replied, moving his attention back to Darcy. "Though I admit, I'm still perplexed as to the nature of my visit." He gave Darcy a meaningful look, hoping for an explanation.
Darcy sighed and gestured for him to sit. "I had hoped to spare you the details until you were fully recovered from your journey, but…" He glanced at Stephanie, whose face had paled a little. "The matter requires delicacy. And, as I said, your discretion."
Stephanie looked down, twisting the fabric of her dress again. Richard felt a pang of sympathy for her but couldn't dismiss the instinctive mistrust that her unusual demeanor, coupled with Darcy's protectiveness, had sparked in him. A brief silence fell as Colonel Fitzwilliam absorbed Darcy's words. The unusual tension between Darcy and his ward, paired with Stephanie's anxious movements, only deepened his curiosity and unease.
Georgiana cast him a timid glance, her brow furrowed with concern, while Stephanie continued to fidget, clearly uncomfortable but keeping her silence. Richard's gaze returned to Darcy, silently urging him to explain further, but Darcy's expression remained guarded.
"Very well," Richard said finally, settling himself in the chair Darcy had indicated. "Whatever it is, you have my word that I'll approach it with the utmost discretion. But, Darcy, you must understand that I am left entirely in the dark."
Darcy's jaw tightened, but he nodded slowly, as though weighing his words with care. "I will explain everything, Richard. But before I do, I must ask that you withhold any judgment. This is not a simple matter, and—"
"Not simple at all," Stephanie murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes remained fixed on her lap, her expression clouded with something that Richard could not quite name, a mix of apprehension and determination.
Darcy gave her a nod of reassurance, then turned back to Richard, his gaze solemn. "Very well," he said again, with a weightiness that only deepened Richard's sense that, whatever lay ahead, this evening would be unlike any other he'd experienced.
Richard blinked, waiting for the punchline. Surely this was a jest—Darcy, his cousin who had scarcely a playful bone in his body, had taken up some elaborate, ridiculous scheme for his amusement. But Darcy's face remained entirely serious.
"I understand your skepticism," Darcy said, his voice steady. "It was much the same for me."
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked from his cousin to the young woman, her cheeks now a vivid shade of red, her gaze fixed on the floor. She looked as if she would rather sink into it than face his scrutiny. There was no humor in her expression, no hint of a charade. Richard's amusement wavered.
"Let me be clear," Darcy continued. "Stephanie is not from this time. She was born in 2003, in a place called Winnipeg, in a land we know as Canada. But the year… is 2024."
The room seemed to grow heavier as Richard struggled to comprehend the claim. He opened his mouth to laugh, to dismiss it all as absurd, but the words caught in his throat when Darcy, in one swift motion, opened a drawer, pulled out a strange object, and placed it on the desk.
It was small, thin, and sleek, gleaming like polished glass, but somehow brighter, more vibrant. At its center was a glowing screen that shifted with colors and images as if alive, a square of light that seemed utterly foreign, like a miniature painting backlit by an impossible flame.
Richard stared, mystified. The glow of it was steady, unnatural, and yet somehow contained. It cast a faint blueish light across Darcy's hand and the surface of the desk, and there, embedded in the glass, were small, detailed symbols. Letters, perhaps, yet arranged in ways that made no sense.
He felt his pulse quicken as he reached a hand out, only to pull it back. "This… this is some trickery, Darcy," he said, though he could feel the certainty slipping from his voice. "Some—some illusion?"
Darcy shook his head. "It is no illusion, I assure you. It is a device from her time, a common one for them, as familiar to her as paper and ink are to us."
Richard looked back at Stephanie, whose face was now hidden behind her hands, clearly wishing to be anywhere else. He swallowed, unwilling to believe yet unable to dismiss the cold, unsettling certainty building inside him.
"This… object," Richard said slowly, gesturing to the glowing screen. "It's from this… future?"
Stephanie looked up, her voice small but clear. "Yes, Colonel. It's… well, it's called a phone, but it does much more than you'd think. I… I know it sounds insane, but it's true."
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the soft hum from the glowing device, an otherworldly presence that defied everything Richard knew. He searched Darcy's face one last time, hoping for any sign of mischief, but saw only calm conviction.
The Impossible was settling around him, bit by bewildering bit, and though his mind protested, the proof was there, clear and silent on the desk before him.
Richard's eyes stayed locked on the glowing device as if it might suddenly leap off the desk and bite him. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "A… phone?" He couldn't stop the incredulous laugh that escaped his lips. "But what—how does it…? What is this phone, exactly? And why—why does it glow like that?"
Stephanie, who had been shrinking under his scrutiny, suddenly lifted her head, a small, nervous giggle escaping her lips. It was a brief sound, but one that broke the tension in the room. She looked at him, her cheeks still flushed, but there was something almost comforting in her unease.
"Well, a phone is… it's something we use to talk to people far away, anywhere and any time as if you are speaking to them in person" she began, as she spoke she got up and reached for her phone casually and confidently in contrast to the others caution. With an ease of familiarity not common in his time, she moved herself right next to him angling the screen in front of him for him to see. Her fingers gently tapping the surface of the phone, and with a soft swish, images began to appear—flashes of people, places, and things so unfamiliar to Richard that his eyes widened in shock.
The first Image that appeared was of a street, lined with tall structures made of glass and metal, impossibly large, gleaming, and shaped in ways that Richard could not have fathomed. The roads were full of strange horseless carriages, moving at speed without a horse in sight. The buildings loomed overhead, shining in the midday sun, casting strange reflections in every direction.
"That's the city I live in," Stephanie explained, her voice steady but still laced with a hint of apprehension. "It's called Winnipeg, in Canada. That's a city in… the year 2024."
Richard could hardly believe what he was seeing. The buildings were like nothing he had ever seen, and strange machines carrying people – carriages with no horses. The people in the image were wearing clothes that were so different from anything in his world that they almost seemed unreal. Some wore bright, form-fitting garments, others strange, long coats. The colors were vibrant and unlike anything from his time, but even more astonishing were the faces—strangely familiar, yet still utterly foreign in their expressions and demeanor. The laughter of some was clear, as if captured mid-conversation, while others looked lost in thought or entirely unaware they were being observed.
"Good God…" Richard whispered, leaning in closer. "What manner of sorcery is this?"
Stephanie gave a soft smile at his disbelief. "It's not sorcery, Colonel. It's technology. A… a sort of magic, yes, but it's a real thing. It's called a 'smartphone.' People use it for all sorts of things—calling, texting, taking pictures, getting directions, sending emails, watching movies…"
Richard looked at the screen, still trying to wrap his mind around it. As if to prove her point, the images changed, shifting from the street scene to a video. It showed a young man—her friend, by the looks of it—laughing as he stood in front of a towering, transparent wall, the background of the video sparkling with strange lights. The man spoke, and his voice came through the phone's speakers, clear and articulate, though Richard could not fully understand his words. Then the video switched again to a scene of a vast, snow-covered landscape, the mountains distant and jagged. The cold, crisp air seemed to emanate from the image, a world so different from the one Richard knew.
"How is this possible?" Richard muttered, not expecting an answer. "These… these images, they look as real as… as life itself."
Stephanie tapped the phone again, and this time, the image zoomed in, showing a room full of people—none of whom were dressed in anything remotely familiar. Their clothing was light, strange, and made of materials Richard had never seen. They were standing in a setting that seemed both indoors and outdoors at once—impossible to define. She quickly flicked the screen again, and Richard saw what looked like a pair of young women sitting at a table, laughing, their outfits modern, though quite peculiar to his eye.
"I—I don't understand," Richard said, shaking his head. "How… How could you have come from this time? And why? You—You're—" His gaze shifted back to Darcy, as if searching for confirmation that this wasn't some elaborate ruse. Darcy's face remained as serious as ever, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.
Stephanie sighed, her fingers still hovering over the glowing screen as if it could offer some comfort. "I know it's hard to believe. I can hardly believe it myself, to be honest. But… I didn't mean to end up here." She lowered her eyes for a moment, the faintest touch of embarrassment returning to her features. "I was visiting a historic site in the area—a ruined house called Pemberley—and… well, I must've walked into some kind of portal. I don't know how, but all of a sudden I was in this office."
Richard leaned forward, his mind spinning with confusion and curiosity. "A portal?"
"Yes," she said, meeting his gaze with a hint of something that seemed like cautious hope. "A portal, or a time rift, I think. It just… happened. One moment, I was in 2024, and the next, I found myself here. And now… now I don't know how to get back."
Richard's thoughts reeled, and he looked again at the glowing phone. It wasn't just some trick, some fancy illusion. This… this was real. He felt a strange sense of vertigo as the world he knew seemed to shift and change before him.
"This is impossible," he said, but the words were hollow. In the face of such proof, what else could he say? As Richard sat there, his eyes flickering between the glowing screen and the young woman, he felt as though the world was spinning out of his control. His mind fought to process what Stephanie was showing him, but it wasn't just the impossibility of her presence in the past that made his pulse quicken—it was the images themselves.
Stephanie tapped the phone again, and the screen shifted. The next image made Richard's breath catch in his throat.
It was a picture of Stephanie and a group of young women, each dressed in what could only be described as scantily clad outfits—tight skirts and low-cut tops that left little to the imagination. Some of the women's faces were painted with bright colors, their hair styled in ways Richard could not comprehend. The scene felt alien, vulgar even, and the heat of discomfort rose in Richard's chest. It was a sharp contrast to the modesty of his own time, and the stark difference made his stomach turn.
But it wasn't just the clothing—no, there was something else. The way the women posed, arms draped around each other's shoulders, their expressions flirtatious, playful—it made him feel strange, something akin to jealousy, though he couldn't understand why. He glanced at Stephanie, who seemed entirely unbothered by the image, as if it was perfectly normal, yet his eyes lingered on the face of one young man who stood among them.
Stephanie's beau, he presumed, as they were clearly paired off. The man was standing with his arm around her waist, his expression relaxed and easy, his posture confident. His skin was a rich brown, and there was something striking about his features—sharp cheekbones, dark eyes that reflected warmth and a quiet strength. Richard's mind flashed with a flare of something he couldn't place. But it was more than that. It was a gnawing sense of inadequacy, an unsettling discomfort that left him feeling unsettled.
The phone flicked again, and more images appeared. There were pictures of Stephanie and her friends—more of them in revealing outfits, smiling and laughing as they held drinks in their hands, standing in dark rooms filled with pulsing lights. The young man was always close by her side, his hand on her back or her waist. The crowd around them was ethnically diverse—there were faces of every color, every type, mingling freely. In Richard's mind, this was nothing short of scandalous, a scene of excess and liberty he couldn't reconcile with the reserved, modest world he was accustomed to.
He felt his jaw tighten, his breath becoming shallow. It was as if the walls of propriety had crumbled before him, and he didn't know how to deal with the overwhelming rush of emotion. A deep sense of discomfort churned in his gut, and an unfamiliar bitterness twisted in his chest. His hand gripped the edge of his chair as he stared down at the phone, fighting the urge to look away, unable to shake the feeling of… resentment.
Stephanie must have noticed the way he was looking at the screen, his eyes narrowed, his face a mask of distaste. The color drained from her face, and she quickly swiped the screen again, as if trying to end the display of images.
"I… I can explain, if you'd like," she said, her voice tight with discomfort. "But I'm guessing you're not exactly a fan of what you've seen." Her words were careful, but her tone had changed, hardening just a little, as though she was preparing herself for a confrontation.
Richard blinked, startled, as he realized that his feelings—his judgment—hadn't gone unnoticed. He quickly cleared his throat and tried to compose himself. "It's not that…" His voice faltered, and he glanced away, trying to suppress the tide of emotions that threatened to overtake him.
"No," she cut him off gently, but there was an edge to her words now, a sharpness that hadn't been there before. "I get it. You think it's vulgar. You don't like the clothes, the way people act, the way I look. You're probably uncomfortable with the fact that my boyfriend's what do you call it now? Indian she said as she visibly cringed like she didn't want to say the word. "that we're surrounded by people who don't look like you. And that's… that's fine. I guess."
Richard felt his face flush with shame, the words hitting harder than he expected. He opened his mouth, but she raised a hand, stopping him.
"You can judge me all you want," she said, her voice surprisingly calm. "But I'm just… I'm just telling you the truth. Things are different in my time. People wear what they want, they act how they want, and we don't care what anyone thinks about it. Not in the way you do at least. No one's ashamed of themselves for who they are, or where they come from, or who they're with. And we don't have time for that kind of… narrow thinking. I know it's hard to understand, but…" She trailed off, her gaze dropping to her phone again, her fingers lightly tracing its edge.
Richard felt a stinging discomfort at the truth of her words, but there was no denying the discomfort that had built up inside him. He had been raised in a world that valued restraint, propriety, and a sense of honor—and here was this young woman, whose reality was something he could neither grasp nor accept. Her life, her relationships, her way of being—it felt as if it had shaken the very foundation of his understanding of the world.
He swallowed, unsure of how to respond. The world had shifted around him—far beyond anything he could control—and now, for the first time, he had to confront it, as much as it made him uneasy.
"I didn't mean…" He trailed off, not sure how to explain the tumult of feelings in his chest.
Before Richard could respond, Georgiana's voice rang out, laced with an incredulity that left him almost as stunned as Stephanie looked. "She's courting a savage!" Georgiana's eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed with a mix of shock and excitement as she looked between Stephanie and her cousin.
The room fell silent for a moment, thick with tension as Stephanie's face paled and her brow furrowed, her lips parting as if to respond. But Georgiana's shock quickly gave way to something else—a curious, unfiltered excitement.
"I mean, Stephanie, I cannot believe the things you've shown me!" she exclaimed, leaning forward, her face lighting up with a rare, youthful enthusiasm. "The freedom, the clothes, the choices! Women… women in your time can pursue work, make their own way, even decide who to marry without a second thought?"
She turned to Richard with a mixture of disbelief and awe. "Cousin, you wouldn't believe it! Stephanie says that in her time, women can vote, own property, work, and travel without the approval of any man—not even their fathers or husbands!"
Richard could only gape, still processing Georgiana's statement. "That cannot be true," he said, glancing at Stephanie, half-expecting her to confirm it was a jest.
But Stephanie met his gaze with a steady, almost defiant look. "It is true, Colonel. Women can do all those things and more. We're equals—at least, we're meant to be. No one expects us to simply sit at home and… and wait to be married off."
Georgiana practically bounced in her seat. "And the clothes! You should see the outfits Stephanie showed me earlier." She looked over at Stephanie with a conspiratorial grin. "They're so different from what we wear—shorter skirts, and sometimes… well, no skirts at all! And no corsets! Women dress for comfort, for activity, as well as for beauty." She sighed wistfully. "It's all so… liberating. And to think, she has friends from all walks of life, of every background and station. They don't think of it as improper at all."
Stephanie offered Georgiana a warm smile, though her expression was still tinged with the tension of the earlier exchange. "I know it sounds strange, but the world is… different. We've had centuries to change how we think, to understand that people should be valued for who they are and how they treat others. It doesn't matter where you're from, or… or what color your skin is."
Richard felt a mixture of amazement and discomfort as he listened to them, his mind struggling to accept this vision of a world so far beyond his understanding. "And… and this young man you—" He hesitated, his voice softening as he sought the right words. "This man in the pictures, your… your beau. You have no qualms about—"
Stephanie's gaze was direct, though her expression softened. "His heritage doesn't matter to me, Colonel. What matters is that he's kind, he's good to me, and we share a bond that has nothing to do with where we came from." She paused, her eyes moving between Richard and Georgiana, her voice firm but not unkind. "In my time, we don't think of people that way. And I think… I think it's a better world for it."
Georgiana sighed, her eyes bright with longing. "Imagine, Richard! A world where we can make choices freely, where our friends aren't chosen for us by our families, where women can travel, work, and speak their minds without fear." She turned to Stephanie, her voice filled with admiration. "You must miss it so terribly."
Stephanie's face softened, and she nodded, her voice quiet. "I do, Georgiana. But I'm here now, and… well, I have to make the best of it." She glanced at Richard, her expression cautiously hopeful. "I only ask for understanding. I know it's difficult, but… I'm still just me. I haven't changed because I come from somewhere different."
Richard's defenses wavered as he saw the sincerity in her gaze. This young woman had a depth, a strength, and a kindness that, for all its strangeness, held a kind of beauty he couldn't ignore. He inclined his head, offering a small, almost reluctant smile.
Richard's initial shock quickly turned to a mix of anger and confusion, his mind reeling not only at what he was seeing but also at the implications of it. As Stephanie continued to show more images on her strange device, he found himself growing more uncomfortable, his patience wearing thin.
One image showed Stephanie and her friends, each dressed in a way he found utterly indecent—short skirts, bare shoulders, and an easy, almost brazen confidence that struck him as scandalous. Another image revealed her suitor again, dressed casually with an arm wrapped comfortably around Stephanie's waist. Then there were more friends—men and women of different backgrounds, laughing together in a scene that, to Richard's eyes, seemed almost blasphemous in its openness.
His discomfort hardened into anger. These images seemed like an affront, not only to his sensibilities but to the very society they lived in.
"Enough," he said, his voice sharper than he intended. "You call this freedom, but all I see is impropriety and disregard for any sense of modesty. And these… people," he gestured at the diverse group in the images with a curl of disdain, "you act as though it's perfectly acceptable to throw aside every rule of propriety, every barrier. It's reckless."
Stephanie's eyes narrowed, her expression cooling. "So that's what bothers you? That people are free to be themselves without having to worry about offending your precious rules?"
Richard bristled, unable to contain his irritation. "It's not just about rules; it's about respect. Respect for order, for decency. And if you ask me, the company you're so eager to keep, these… savages you seem to hold in such high regard—"
"They're not savages," Stephanie interrupted, her voice sharp. Her eyes flashed with a fire he hadn't expected. "And you know what's ironic, Colonel? Those 'savages' are the very reason – she stopped herself. "they – ….you owe them more than you know, for helping in wars you are fighting right now!"
Richard's jaw tightened; his fists clenched at his sides. "How dare you," he said, his tone laced with indignation. "You presume to know anything of the battles my men fight? I am sending soldiers to defend that very land even now—against the Americans and against the native tribes who threaten our order, our civilization."
Stephanie scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her. "Civilization? Order?" She shook her head. "Let me tell you something about 'order.' The people you're so quick to call savages, those Indigenous fighters, fought alongside the British troops. They know that land, they protected it, and they paid dearly for it. But I guess none of that matters because they don't fit into your tidy little world, do they?"
Richard glared at her, his anger mingling with something close to shock. No one had ever spoken to him like this, much less a woman—and certainly not a woman claiming kinship with the very people his country saw as enemies. "You have no idea what you're saying," he spat, the words heated. "You stand here, in my cousin's home, preaching these… these foreign ideas, filling Georgiana's head with fantasies about a world that doesn't even resemble reality."
"Maybe it doesn't resemble your reality," Stephanie retorted, her voice steady, though her hands trembled slightly as she gripped her phone. "But it's my reality. And just because it's different doesn't mean it's wrong."
For a long, tense moment, they simply stared at each other, the distance between them widening with every unspoken word. Finally, Richard took a step back, unwilling to continue the argument but unable to quell the resentment building within him. He turned to Darcy, who had remained silent through the entire exchange, his expression unreadable.
"This is madness," Richard said quietly. "Madness to entertain these notions, to expose Georgiana to such… ideas."
But Darcy only inclined his head, his gaze unwavering. "Perhaps it is madness, Richard. Or perhaps… it is simply the future."
Darcy, who had remained silent through the heated exchange, finally stepped forward, his expression calm but grave. He looked at Richard with a mixture of determination and something like resignation.
"Richard," he began, his voice steady, "I would hardly have believed any of it myself had I not seen it with my own eyes." He glanced at Stephanie, who gave him a small, uncertain nod, then back to Richard. "The night Miss Williams arrived… well, it was unlike anything I've ever witnessed."
He paused, as if searching for the words. "Mrs. Reynolds and I were here, in my study. It was late, quiet, and then… the very floor began to tremble. We heard a strange buzzing sound, almost like a swarm of insects, but louder, accompanied by flashes of light that seemed to come from nowhere. It was… beyond explanation. And then, out of that light, walked Miss Williams—looking as bewildered as we were, I assure you."
Richard's jaw tightened, his disbelief warring with the weight of Darcy's words. This was no easy tale, no jest Darcy would conjure to amuse himself. Darcy's face was too sincere, his tone too measured, for Richard to dismiss the story outright.
"After the shock wore off," Darcy continued, "Miss Williams and I reached an… agreement." He nodded toward Stephanie, whose expression shifted, as if gathering her composure. "She explained her situation—her… origin, and I offered her protection. She would remain here at Pemberley as my ward, given the same respect and rights as Georgiana, with one condition."
Richard raised a brow, not entirely convinced. "And that was?"
"That she would share her knowledge of the future, as best she could," Darcy replied, his voice low. "Miss Williams knows things about this estate, about the world to come, that no one could possibly know. She has agreed to help me protect Pemberley, to preserve its legacy so that it might avoid the ruin she's seen in her time."
Stephanie lifted her chin, her expression softening as she looked at Richard. "Pemberley… it's a ruin in my time," she said quietly, her voice touched with something almost like regret. "I came to visit its remains, as a tourist. It's beautiful, even as ruins, but… it's broken. Empty. The house itself is barely recognizable, and what's left of it is mostly just… remnants. Memories of a great house that once was."
Richard felt a chill run down his spine, the image of Pemberley in ruins filling him with an uneasy sense of loss. "You mean to say that this house—this estate—does not endure?"
"Not in the way you would wish," Stephanie answered, her tone gentle but firm. "Pemberley becomes a part of history, yes, but a sad one. It's a famous landmark, a tourist attraction for people fascinated by what was once here. People walk through what's left of it, guided by maps and signs. It's… well, it's part of why I'm writing," she added, glancing at Darcy. "I've been documenting everything I can—the names of Pemberley's staff, its layout, the customs of its residents, every detail. One day, those things may be all that remains of this place, and I want them to be remembered accurately."
Richard's initial anger had cooled, but skepticism lingered. "And you believe, Darcy, that… by giving her such rights, by treating her as your ward, that you can change this… future?"
Darcy looked thoughtful. "Miss Williams believes that some elements of the future may be altered, though nothing is certain." He glanced at Stephanie, nodding for her to explain.
Stephanie shifted in her seat, choosing her words carefully. "Time travel is mostly theory in my time—hypothetical ideas about cause and effect, and no one really knows the rules because no one expected it to actually happen." She paused, her gaze serious. "But I can't promise anything. Even the small things I tell you could change something down the line, or they might not. The future isn't necessarily fixed, but it isn't exactly flexible either. I can only share what I know and hope that it's enough to make a difference."
Richard's eyes narrowed, his doubt mingling with a strange fascination. "So… you're saying that by revealing these details of your time, you risk disrupting it entirely?"
Stephanie nodded. "Yes. And that's why I'm cautious. I won't tell you anything that I think might… well, have catastrophic consequences. I can only guide you based on what I know about this house, the people connected to it, and some of the historical shifts that shaped it. But even with all that knowledge, nothing is guaranteed."
Darcy's expression softened as he turned to Richard. "You see, Richard, this is not a matter of idle curiosity or trivial information. Pemberley is my family's legacy. If I have any chance of securing its future, of avoiding this fate that Stephanie has witnessed, then I must take it."
Richard struggled with the gravity of it all—the absurdity of her story, the strange allure of her knowledge, the implications for his own world. His mind reeled with unanswered questions, yet he could not deny the sincerity in Darcy's eyes or the conviction in Stephanie's voice.
Finally, he spoke, his voice tinged with reluctant acceptance. "Very well, Darcy. I will… reserve my judgment, for now. But I can hardly believe we're placing such trust in a future that may be beyond our control."
Stephanie's gaze softened, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "That's all I ask, Colonel. A chance to help, if I can, in whatever way I can."
The room fell into a thoughtful silence, each of them contemplating the uncertain path that lay ahead.
Darcy continued, turning to Richard with a look of deep resolve. "For my own personal understanding, I've asked Miss Williams to share as much detail about the future as she can, though she reminds me that certain events may change simply by her being here. Still, what she knows is fascinating. She's shown me things about science, art, politics—knowledge that is invaluable, even if it serves only to broaden my perspective."
Richard raised an eyebrow, still skeptical, but he couldn't deny his curiosity. "And you truly believe her knowledge could… benefit us, beyond securing Pemberley's legacy?"
Darcy nodded. "It already has, in ways that are practical as well as enlightening. She has knowledge of health practices that could save lives—remedies, methods of care for illness and injury that are far beyond what we currently understand. One of her medicines, something she calls 'Tylenol,' can relieve fevers. She insists it is only to be used in life-or-death situations, but the mere fact that she possesses it is… well, remarkable."
Stephanie nodded, her expression serious. "In my time, it's common—a medicine to reduce pain or fever. But here, I understand the risks of using it. If I have to, I'll use it to help, but only when there's no other choice."
Richard struggled to process all of this, feeling as though the ground was slipping out from beneath him. "So she is a… a guardian of knowledge, then? A healer as well?"
"Precisely," Darcy replied. "I've learned that if nothing else, Stephanie's knowledge of the future is a gift—a gift we must treat with caution, yes, but one that could make a meaningful difference for myself, my family, and this estate."
Richard frowned, still grappling with the strangeness of it all. "And what of society, Darcy? Surely, this arrangement cannot go unnoticed."
Darcy inclined his head. "We've devised a story, one that explains her presence without arousing suspicion. Our cover story is simple: Stephanie's father was an old friend of my late father's, and she was sent to us for protection during the war. It's reasonable, given the turbulent times, and if she should manage to return to her own world, we'll say that she simply grew homesick and returned to her family."
Stephanie nodded, a faint smile on her lips. "It's not a perfect story, but it gives me the freedom to move about without too many questions. And I've agreed to abide by certain rules—to avoid saying anything too… futuristic when others are around. I don't want to make life harder for you or for Georgiana."
Richard regarded her carefully, his initial skepticism tempered by a grudging respect for her composure. "And you truly think you can maintain this… arrangement? You, who come from a world so radically different?"
Stephanie's expression softened. "I'll do my best, Colonel. I know this isn't easy for you to believe, but I'm here, and I want to help however I can. Whether I find my way back home or not, I owe Darcy and Georgiana a debt of gratitude."
Darcy placed a hand on her shoulder, his gaze steady. "Indeed. Stephanie is here, and she's part of this family now. We may not know what the future holds, but with her help, we have the chance to face it with a measure of understanding that few could dream of."
Richard could only nod, his mind reeling as he absorbed this strange new reality
Darcy straightened his posture, the tension in his frame betraying his reluctance to leave. "Richard," he began carefully, "I must entrust you with an unusual task in my absence. It is not one I undertake lightly."
Richard's gaze narrowed. "Go on."
Darcy glanced briefly at Stephanie, who was fiddling with the edge of her strange glowing device, before looking back at Richard. "I am needed in Hertfordshire. Bingley has recently taken possession of Netherfield, and his inexperience with the management of an estate requires my attention. I had hoped to delay my departure, but his letters have grown increasingly desperate."
Richard nodded slowly, though his expression was still wary. "And you need me to stay here and… look after Pemberley in your stead?"
"Not just Pemberley," Darcy replied, his tone more urgent. "Georgiana and Stephanie as well. Stephanie is…" He hesitated, his gaze flickering toward her. "She is not ready to be introduced to society, and her presence here must remain discreet. She has already attracted enough attention simply by being here."
Stephanie straightened slightly, setting her glowing device down on the table. "I don't think your society is quite ready for me either," she said dryly, though a flicker of unease crossed her face.
Darcy nodded, his expression serious. "And that is why I need you here, Richard. Stephanie's presence must remain discreet, but she must also have the freedom to complete her work. Georgiana, too, will benefit from your guidance while I am away."
Richard sighed, leaning back in his chair. "You've certainly left me with a great deal to consider. But I'll do it," he said at last. "I'll stay, ensure Georgiana and Miss Williams are safe, and see that this… unusual project of hers continues without interruption."
Darcy's expression softened with gratitude. "Thank you, Richard. I knew I could count on you.
Richard considered this, his gaze moving between Darcy and Stephanie. "It's plausible enough, though I imagine there will still be whispers."
"There always are," Darcy replied with a faint smile. "But as long as you and Georgiana treat her with the same respect I do, any doubts should fade. It is vital that she feels safe here, Richard."
Stephanie's expression softened as she glanced at Darcy. "Thank you," she said quietly, her voice laced with gratitude. "It means a lot."
Richard studied her for a long moment before nodding. "Very well. If this is the arrangement, I will honor it. Stephanie, you have my word that I will treat you as I would Georgiana."
Stephanie offered a small smile, her tension easing slightly. "Thank you, Colonel."
Darcy stepped forward, clasping Richard's shoulder. "I knew I could rely on you. And I trust you'll see that Georgiana and Stephanie are well looked after while I'm away."
Richard sighed but managed a faint smile. "It seems I have little choice, Darcy. Go to Hertfordshire and attend to Bingley. I'll see that Pemberley remains as you left it."
Darcy's gratitude was evident as he nodded. "I am in your debt, cousin. And Stephanie, I trust you will continue your work with the care and determination you've shown thus far."
Stephanie straightened, her confidence returning. "I will, Mr. Darcy. I promise."