Henry froze at Georgiana's words, his expression shifting from incredulity to stunned disbelief. His hand tightened around the bottle of medicine, his knuckles white as his mouth opened and closed wordlessly. Finally, he managed to choke out, "A… time traveler?"

Georgiana nodded, her voice trembling but steady. "Yes. Stephanie is from the future. She appeared here—at Pemberley—in a flash of light. It's the truth."

Henry stared at her as though she'd grown a second head. He turned to Darcy, his voice rising. "This… this is preposterous! A time traveler? Do you hear yourself?"

Darcy, standing with arms crossed, met his cousin's gaze evenly. "It may sound unbelievable, Henry, but it is the truth."

Henry's laugh was sharp and incredulous, the sound almost hysterical. "The truth? The truth? You expect me to believe that this woman—this Miss Williams—is from another time? Another century? And you've all just… accepted this?"

Darcy's expression didn't waver. "We have seen enough to know it is true."

Henry shook his head violently, backing away as though the very idea was contagious. "No. No, this cannot be. You're all bewitched—or, deceived. She's… she's tricked you somehow!"

Darcy crossed his arms, his expression resolute. "I don't expect you to believe anything without proof. But I assure you, the truth is undeniable."

Mrs. Reynolds, standing at Stephanie's bedside, turned slightly toward Henry, "Mr. Darcy speaks the truth, my lord. I was present when Miss Williams arrived. It was… unlike anything I have ever seen."

Henry gaped at her, his disbelief growing. "Mrs. Reynolds? Even you are part of this…?"

She met his gaze steadily. "I am, my lord. Because I know what I saw. And I have seen enough since to confirm it."

Henry paced, running a hand through his hair. "This is absurd!"

Darcy stepped forward, his voice steady and commanding. "We will show you proof, Henry. All of it. But not here. Stephanie needs quiet and rest to recover."

Henry looked at Georgiana, then to Richard, and back to Darcy, his face a storm of conflicting emotions. After a long moment, he nodded stiffly. "Very well. The study."

Darcy motioned for Henry to follow him out of the room. As the door closed softly behind them, Henry shot him a sharp look. "You had better have an explanation, Darcy. And it had better be convincing."

Darcy didn't respond immediately, his stride purposeful as he led the way to the study. Only when they entered the room and shut the door behind them did he finally speak.

"You want proof, Henry?" Darcy said, his voice low and firm. "You shall have it."

Darcy stood behind his desk, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, while Richard leaned against the edge of a chair, his expression grim but composed.

"When Darcy first told me what had happened, I thought the same as you," Richard said, his voice steady but with a hint of weariness. "I thought he'd lost his mind. Until he showed me… the phone."

Henry stopped mid-stride, turning to face Richard, his brow furrowed. "The phone? What phone?"

As if on cue, the door opened, and Georgiana stepped inside, her face pale but determined. In her hands was a soft pink bag, incongruously modern in its simplicity. She approached Darcy and handed it to him without a word, her gaze flicking nervously to Henry before quickly retreating.

Darcy took the bag and set it on the desk, opening it to reveal the strange assortment of items Henry had seen in Stephanie's room. He pulled out the phone—a sleek, smooth rectangle of glass and metal—and handed it to Richard.

Richard turned the device over in his hands before pressing a button on the side. The screen lit up immediately, casting a soft glow in the dimly lit study. As he touched the surface, the screen responded, shifting and moving as though alive beneath his fingers.

Henry stared at the glowing device, his disbelief melting into astonishment. Watching as Richard demonstrated its touch-responsive screen, he whispered, "It's impossible… and yet, here it is."

Richard scrolled through the phone, his brow furrowing slightly as he searched for something specific. His lips curved in a faint smile when he found what he was looking for, though he said nothing to the others. He tapped the screen, the soft glow reflecting in his eyes, and turned the phone toward Henry.

The video began with the sound of a roaring crowd, a cacophony of cheers, clapping, and music playing over loudspeakers. The camera panned across a finish line where Stephanie, drenched in sweat but smiling widely, sprinted across with a burst of energy. The clock overhead displayed glowing numbers, counting the time it had taken her to finish.

Stephanie let out an elated yell, and without stopping to catch her breath, she ran directly toward a man waiting just past the finish line—her father. His face was red and wet with tears. As Stephanie reached him, she leaped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

"That's my girl," he choked out, his voice breaking as he hugged her tightly. "That's my little girl. You did it. I'm so proud of you."

Stephanie buried her face in his shoulder, laughing and crying at the same time.

In the background, her brother was jumping up and down like a lunatic, shouting, "You're a beast, Steph! Absolute legend! Nobody can stop you!" He threw his arms up and started doing an exaggerated victory dance that was both ridiculous and infectious.

From behind the camera, her mother's voice rang out, loud and unabashedly emotional. "I love you, baby! I'm so proud of you! You're amazing! Go, baby, go!"

Stephanie's father finally set her down, and she flopped onto the ground, her legs splayed out in exhaustion. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, laughing weakly while her family circled her, showering her with love and congratulations.

It was then, In the background of the frame, that Henry noticed another runner—a man—catching up with a woman just beyond Stephanie. The man threw his arms around her and kissed her full on the lips, an act of pure, unreserved joy. No one around them seemed to react; the crowd continued to cheer, laugh, and celebrate as though the kiss was the most natural thing in the world.

The video ended, leaving the study silent.

Darcy, who had been silent, crossed his arms and glanced toward the phone. Outwardly, his expression was neutral, but inwardly, he felt a wave of sadness wash over him. Watching the video had made something painfully clear: Stephanie had lost so much more than just the conveniences of her time when she arrived here. She had lost this—the warmth, the outward pouring of love, the unreserved joy of her family.

He knew she didn't talk about them often, and now he understood why. How could she? How could she put into words what it felt like to be surrounded by people who adored her, who celebrated her with such freedom, and then to have it all ripped away? To be dropped into a time where emotions were subdued, propriety was paramount, and even the simplest gestures of affection were restrained?

Darcy's chest tightened as the thought settled in. She must miss them terribly, he realized. Every moment of her life here must remind her of what she'd been taken from—what she could never truly have again.

"That… that was…" Henry stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "What was that?"

Richard couldn't help the faint smirk tugging at his lips. "It's called a video. A recording of real life—captured and preserved, then played back whenever you wish. From her world, this is common."

"Common?" Henry whispered, still staring at the now-dark screen. He shook his head, his hand raking through his hair. "You're telling me that… that moment—those people—were real? And this… thing… captured it?"

Henry's knees seemed to buckle slightly, and he sank into the nearest chair, his gaze unfocused. "It's… impossible," he muttered, though the wonder in his voice betrayed his awe. "Moving pictures? Music? Real people? It's like… like magic."

"It's not magic," Richard said gently. "It's technology. Something far beyond our understanding."

Henry looked up at him, his face pale. "And she has more of these? More… moments like that?"

Richard nodded. "Many more. And they all prove the same thing—Stephanie is not from our time."

Henry leaned back in the chair, his hand pressed to his forehead as he tried to process what he'd just seen. For the first time since the conversation had begun, he seemed to lose his sharp edge, his voice soft and uncertain.

Henry looked back at the phone, then at Richard and Darcy, his disbelief slowly giving way to reluctant acceptance. "I… I don't know what to say," he admitted. "It's… extraordinary. And terrifying."

Darcy placed a hand on his cousin's shoulder. "Take your time, Henry. But understand this—Stephanie's presence here was unintentional – at least on her part. She did not choose to travel here, she was ripped from her time, her family, her life as she knew it. And whether you believe it yet or not, she is part of our family now."

Henry leaned forward in his chair, his voice sharp with urgency. "I understand that you feel some responsibility for her, but you're taking an enormous risk. She's a time traveler, Darcy! If she makes a mistake, if someone realizes she isn't who she claims to be, what then?"

Darcy let out a long breath, his hands braced on the back of a chair as he stared down at the floor, clearly at the edge of his patience. The toll of the day was written all over him—the stress of Stephanie's injury, the fever that followed, and now Henry's seemingly endless questions and ranting. His shoulders were tense, and there was a weariness in his eyes that wasn't often visible.

"Your reputation, Georgiana's future, even Richard's—everything could come crashing down. Have you thought of - "

"THINK, Henry!" Darcy's voice cut through the room like a whip, sharp and commanding. He straightened, his eyes blazing as he fixed his cousin with a glare. "We have a time traveler in our close circle—our family. Do you have any idea what that means?"

Henry blinked, momentarily stunned into silence.

Darcy leaned forward, his voice low and sharp, the strain of the past few days evident in his tone. "Henry, listen carefully. Stephanie's value to us isn't just personal—it's strategic. She knows things we can't even begin to imagine, and it's not some abstract, theoretical knowledge. It's practical, tangible, and it could change everything."

Henry's gaze didn't waver, his expression calm but calculating. "Explain, then. What exactly does she bring to the table that justifies this risk?"

Darcy exhaled, his frustration barely contained. "She told me, in no uncertain terms, that Pemberley is a ruin in her time. A ruin, Henry. She knows what leads to the downfall of estates like ours—bankruptcy, mismanagement, changing economies—and she knows how to avoid it. She knows which industries will thrive, where to invest, and what to avoid. That alone could preserve not just Pemberley, but the Matlock estates as well."

Henry's brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, allowing Darcy to continue.

"And it's not just the estates," Darcy pressed on, his voice hardening. "She knows about safe pregnancies and childbirth, Henry. How many women and children die because we don't know what she knows? She could save lives—our wives, our children, our tenants' families. And it's not just childbirth. She understands how illnesses spread and how to prevent them. Hygiene, sanitation, nutrition—things we consider trivial could make the difference between life and death."

Henry's tone remained sharp. "You're saying she can do all this on her own?"

"No," Darcy admitted, his tone unwavering. "But she can teach us. She already has. Do you think I would risk everything for her on sentiment alone? She's a time traveler, Henry. She knows exactly how fragile our way of life is because she's seen it. She understands what we don't, and she's willing to share it."

Henry leaned back slightly, his gaze narrowing. "And what of the risks? What if she makes a mistake? If someone finds out what she is, it could destroy not just her, but all of us."

Darcy's jaw tightened, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less intense. "Yes, there are risks. But the alternative is unthinkable. To dismiss her, to ignore what she offers, would be the greater mistake. You saw her knowledge save her own life today. Multiply that by everything else she knows—everything she can teach us. Is that not worth protecting? Worth risking?"

Henry stared at him for a long moment, the weight of Darcy's words sinking in. "So, you're saying she's not just a person to protect. She's a way forward."

Darcy nodded firmly. "Exactly. She's not just a risk, Henry. She's the opportunity of a lifetime. And we'd be fools to squander it."

A soft knock broke the tense silence in the room, and Georgiana peeked her head in. "Fitzwilliam," she said quietly, "her fever is gone. She's sleeping soundly now. Mrs. Reynolds and I are being relieved by the maids, and they know to watch her all night, just as she asked."

Richard let out a deep breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. "Thank God," he murmured. "Thank you, Georgiana."

Darcy stood, his movements heavy with exhaustion. "Good. I'm going to bed," he said curtly, as he began to collect Stephanie's things. Looking at both Richard and Henry he added. "You should too."

Henry, still seated, glanced at the pink bag in Darcy's hands and shook his head. "I'll be damned," he muttered. "That medicine worked."

Richard nodded, his voice quiet. "It did."

Darcy paused in the doorway, glancing back. "She's safe. That's all that matters tonight." Without waiting for a response, he left, his footsteps fading down the hall.

Henry leaned back, staring at the fire. "Remarkable," he said softly.

Two days later Richard paced his room, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. The fire in the hearth had long since dimmed, leaving the room in shadow. His mind, however, was ablaze with restless thoughts. It had been two long, unbearable days since he'd last seen Stephanie. Every time he thought of her lying in bed, injured and possibly still in pain, his chest constricted with a tightness he couldn't shake.

Henry had retired to his room an hour ago, and Darcy and Georgiana had gone to bed even earlier. The maids who had been stationed to watch over Stephanie were finally dismissed. Tonight was the first night she was truly alone. Richard couldn't wait another moment.

Quietly, he slipped from his room, his footsteps soft against the wooden floorboards. The house was still, the only sound the faint crackle of a dying fire in one of the distant rooms. Reaching her door, he hesitated for only a second before opening it and stepping inside.

When Richard stepped into Stephanie's room after two long days apart, he paused by the door, his eyes softening as they landed on her. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Stephanie offered a faint smile, her cheeks pale but her tone light. "I'm fine, just a killer headache. I've missed you."

Relief flickered across his face, though his expression quickly shifted to exasperation. "Well, I've missed you too—especially while enduring Henry's relentless interrogation about us. I'm convinced he missed his true calling as an inquisitor."

Despite her weariness, Stephanie let out a soft laugh. "If you cracked under pressure, Colonel, I might have to reconsider this whole relationship."

Richard's lips twitched into a small smile as he moved closer to sit beside her. "Not a chance," he murmured, his hand brushing hers gently. "I held the line."

Richard sat on the edge of Stephanie's bed, her hand clasped tightly in his. The flicker of the candlelight made her pale complexion seem even more delicate, and the faint tension in her features betrayed the discomfort she was trying to hide. Despite that, her gaze was steady as she looked up at him, her fingers tightening around his.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. "I know I caused everyone so much worry."

Richard opened his mouth to respond, but she shook her head, cutting him off. "No, listen," she insisted, her voice firming. "I was an idiot."

His brow furrowed as she continued, the regret in her tone tugging at his heart. "I knew better. Not wearing a helmet was stupid. I knew the risks, and I didn't take them seriously. And then, on top of that, I dragged all of you into it. If one of you had gotten hurt instead of me—if it had been Georgiana, or Darcy, or you—I don't know what I would've done."

Richard exhaled slowly, leaning closer as his hand cupped hers. His voice was low but resolute. "Stephanie, it wasn't one of us. It was you. And that's what terrified me."

Her breath hitched, her gaze dropping to where his hand covered hers. "I hate that I scared you," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I hate that I made you feel like that."

"You scared me because I love you," he said simply, his voice soft but steady. "And I couldn't bear to lose you."

Her eyes lifted back to his, tears threatening to spill, though she smiled faintly. "I'll do better," she promised, her voice thick with emotion. "I swear, I'll be more careful."

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, letting his fingers linger against her skin. "That's all I ask," he murmured, his voice gentle. "Stop beating yourself up over what's already done. You're here, you're safe, and that's what matters."

Stephanie hesitated, her lip trembling slightly, but then she nodded, her expression softening. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "For being here. For… always being here."

Richard smiled faintly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to her forehead. "Always," he said.

I know I took a long break for Christmas. I got so many messages asking me to continue – I know the feeling of wanting more and hating the wait. So happy New Years and here are two new chapters…

The fab 5 are about to celebrate new years themselves so maybe just maybe I can have those up tonight or tomorrow too…