A Timeless Love (Darcy and Elizabeth Across Time #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Summer Solstice

What passed for dancing in the twenty-first century was truly disconcerting.

Although the amount of words, actions, or items that astounded him had lessened over the years, there were still things here that took Fitzwilliam Darcy aback.

When he was young and in another century, dancing was a way to find a suitable marriage partner.

It was a meaningful public activity within a community, with elaborate steps executed with an upright but relaxed carriage.

Now it was only an excuse to move one’s body in a way to flirt and entice.

Although, as he watched his wife dance and hum to herself while she put away dishes, he conceded modern dancing was not all bad.

The short skirt of her white summer dress flared as her hips swayed to music only she could hear.

Darcy set a book on the counter, and when Elizabeth did not look up at the noise, he went nearer and pressed a kiss to the base of her neck.

She started, then smiled before plucking the tiny white amplifiers from her ears and, with a few swipes of her finger across her watch, the song played from a speaker instead.

“You don’t know how fortunate you are.” He smiled as he listened to the music.

“For many reasons.” She gave him a quick kiss before returning to the dishes. “Which did you mean?”

“You are able to hear music whenever you want to,” he said, leaning against the counter. “No need to attend a concert or hope that someone in the house can play or sing. No need to wonder if you’re remembering a song accurately, or fear you will never hear a favourite song again.”

Elizabeth gave him a thoughtful look. “I guess that’s another reason women were pushed to be musically accomplished, and why it was important to find a wife who could entertain people.

” She laughed a little. “Sandra’s piano lessons went terribly, so it’s a good thing she was born in my century rather than yours. Is she finally asleep?”

His daughter was seven, and full of boundless energy and curiosity. “I had to read three chapters before she closed her eyes. And what dreadful characters,” he added, tapping the cover. “Those children at the candy factory got what they deserved.”

“Did you mind reading that long?” she asked. “I know the books kids read now seem—”

“No,” he said tightly. “I never mind caring for Sandra.”

She looked at him askance, confusion in her eyes at his tone. There was an uncomfortable stillness before she resumed putting away the dishes. The clang of porcelain and the closing of cabinet doors filled the room, along with the music.

He should not have snapped at her. Elizabeth meant nothing by it.

It only reminded him of how he felt back when he did not know how to be a father in this century.

His old-fashioned assumption that she would do most of the parenting and he would discipline and provide had led to a short-lived strain.

Of all the things to learn in order to thrive in this century, how to be a father had been the most challenging.

But he had soon learnt to listen, to play, to comb hair, and to cut the crusts off sandwiches.

Darcy now took joy in it. And his wife had learnt to trust him and ask for help, and accept what he offered.

Sometimes, however, moments still reminded him how hard that adjustment to child-rearing had been—harder than any technology, history, or slang.

She looked like she was about to ask what was the matter, but Darcy shook his head to tell her nothing was wrong.

He smiled gently in apology. She had faith in him as a parent, even if he had struggled all those years ago.

Still, as she passed him to put away the last dish, Elizabeth gave his arm a squeeze, to say she cared even if she did not understand what bothered him.

After thirteen years together, full conversations took place with looks, nods, and touches.

“It’s after ten,” she said. “She will be tired tomorrow. It’s a good thing it’s nearly summer vacation.”

“I think they say summer hols here, dearest.”

His wife’s American accent and vocabulary still stood out, although it was fainter after having lived in England for so long. Though it had been a hindrance during her brief stay in 1811, he found her inflection and words delightful.

“See, we both had to learn a new way of talking.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as a new song came on. “Dance with me.”

Darcy put his hands on her hips. “This is not dancing. This is rhythmic swaying.”

“But it’s couples rhythmic swaying.”

It was an old argument, but Elizabeth was between his arms, so he won either way.

“This song is rather on the nose, is it not?” He had learnt that phrase at some point.

Modern word usage and slang came so easily to him now that he wondered if he could still make himself understood to someone born in the 1780s like he was.

Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder. “I’ve read the lyrics to some of those bawdy songs popular when you’re from. There was no nuance then either.”

“Why do people dance in the dark?” he murmured into her hair as he listened to the lyrics.

“When I danced in the nineteenth century, the ballrooms were splendidly lit up with candles.” For him, darkness in the evening had been a way of life.

The sun went down, and any light after that was a luxury that required effort. Now, darkness at night was a novelty.

“Focus on the other words, my dear.”

“Well, you do look perfect tonight.”

Elizabeth raised her head and looked at him with a mixture of mild exasperation and warm regard. He pulled her close and pressed her lips in a fierce kiss. Every old quarrel and upbringing difference between them faded, insignificant against the life they had built here together.

She curled her arms around his neck and tucked her body against his. After kissing him a while, she caught his earlobe between her teeth, sucking a little. He groaned, tilting his head back as he brought his hands behind her thighs just beneath her skirt.

A sharp knock at the door broke them apart, and they looked at one another in alarm.

They had carved out private apartments for themselves from Pemberley’s first floor.

There was another door to a flight of stairs to the exterior of the house, but this one accessed the public rooms. They had wanted to enter directly into the house when needed, but it was a hidden door used by the family.

“Who would work in the house at this hour, and on a Sunday?” Darcy asked. Elizabeth managed the museum and house staff while Darcy directed the tenants, home farm, and stables. She shrugged in concerned confusion.

Darcy picked up his phone to look at the app connected to the camera outside the door. “It’s Tom Roland,” he said as the frantic knocking continued.

Their groundskeeper had been in his employ nearly since Darcy had staggered out of the stone circle thirteen years ago to find Elizabeth and reclaim Pemberley.

Now in his thirties, Roland had grown even more dependable, a trait Darcy was certain correlated to more responsibilities and less time spent on video games.

Elizabeth turned off the music as Darcy strode to the door. Roland barged in, stark white and rambling. “I thought you were barmy. I really did!”

Roland turned in a complete circle, looking all round, but appeared to see nothing. Darcy shared an astonished look with Elizabeth. Roland’s hands shook, and he was pale as death.

“Here, sit down, and tell us what’s wrong.” Elizabeth tried to steer Roland to a chair, but he paced restlessly.

“Not that it’s hard, and you pay me well.” Roland was out of breath. “But I really thought you were mental.”

This was directed at Darcy, and Elizabeth said quietly, “He means he thought you were mentally ill, like you were crazy.”

“Oh, I got that one,” he said faintly, eyeing Roland and considering that if anyone had lost their senses, it was his groundskeeper.

“See!” Roland cried, pointing at him. “That. The way Mrs Darcy translates English to English for you. Or how you hate talking on the phone more than any millennial I know. Sending me out to Stanton Moor at sunset in June and December to ‘look for anyone who doesn’t belong’?

Mental. But whatever. Weird ask, but easy. ”

Elizabeth gasped and turned to Darcy. “What’s the date? Is it the solstice?”

A creeping alarm descended over him. The power held in the stone circle four miles away was hardly something they thought of any more. “Did you find someone at Nine Ladies?”

Roland fell into a chair by the counter and placed his head in his hands. Darcy poured him a glass of whisky, pressed it into his hand, and ordered him to drink it.

“What happened?” He was not certain he was ready for the answer.

“I followed those strange instructions you gave me when you first hired me, before Pemberley even reopened. Summer and winter solstice, sunset, go to Nine Ladies and see if anyone shows up who ‘doesn’t belong,’ whatever that means.

Bring them back to my house. Don’t let anyone see them, and come find you.

” Roland took another long drink, his hands still shaking.

“I never thought it would happen,” Darcy whispered to Elizabeth. At that time in history, no one had reason to wander the moor at night. It was more likely someone from 2026 would have the misfortune to fall back rather than anyone come forward from 1826.

A stomach-turning terror washed over him.

What could happen to the life he and Elizabeth built here if his secret was exposed?

Someone from the past who saw Pemberley now might go back and change something that undid everything his family had fostered.

By accident or on purpose, they could reverse the carefully orchestrated events that led to the happiness he had with his wife, perhaps even erase his daughter’s entire existence.