Not Quite Darcy (2 page)

“You felt we could wait during the Rasputin situation as well,” York grumbled. “Need I remind you how that turned out?”

With a twang, Eliza felt her last thread of patience snap. “This right here is why people shop online.” She stood, her purse gripped firmly in her hand, and stepped toward the door.

York moved to block her path and offered an apologetic smile. “Miss Pepper, forgive our somewhat cryptic manner. I fear we've tried your patience most horribly. I do feel, however, that once you've heard us out, you'll find it worth your time.”

Eliza took another step toward the door.

“In addition,” York said, holding out his palm, “to thank you for your time, I'm willing to offer you the gown in the window for twenty dollars.”

Lancaster made blustering sounds behind her back. Though she was no expert, the gown had to be worth several hundred.

“I'd be robbing you. Fifty bucks. Not a dollar less than fifty.”

“And she's got a strong sense of ethics.” York beamed a smug smile over her shoulder to his partner. “At this point, your reluctance is only a matter of pride.”

“Very well.” Lancaster's tone was resigned. “If you'd please just give us a few more moments of your time. No more than thirty minutes. We have a proposal for you. After which, should you choose to accept or reject our offer, the gown shall be yours for the ridiculous sum of fifty dollars.”

Eliza shook her head. She knew she should feel victorious, but the whole situation kept twisting and turning in such odd ways she had difficulty keeping up.

She stepped back and eased herself into the chair. Her stomach twisted. She only hoped her exterior projected calm and cool, since her insides were currently in freak-out mode. “Okay, it's a deal,” she said. “Give me your pitch.”

“My…pitch?” Lancaster asked.

“Yeah. Your spiel. Go ahead and try to sell me some Amway or make me listen to your indie demo or whatever it is you're building toward here.”

Chapter Two

Both men stared at Eliza. Neither said a word.

“Well, yes,” York said. “Quite. Direct and to the point, American-style.” He raised a white eyebrow at Lancaster and some kind of silent communication pass between them.

The younger man nodded thoughtfully, then flashed his gray eyes upon Eliza. His lips quirked in the hint of a smile and Eliza's breath caught in her throat.

“Please forgive us, Miss Pepper. This must seem an exceedingly strange circumstance to you.”

“It's the first time I've been interviewed to buy a dress.” She returned his gaze. When he didn't look away, she felt a rush of discomfort. “But the dress had nothing to do with why I got called into the back office, did it?”

“Intuitive too.” Mr. York clucked.

“Yes, I know, Archie. You needn't sell me on the girl any longer.”

“So what is it about?” Eliza asked. “Have you considered using Craig's List? 'Cause they have sections for just about everything and you'd be way less likely to scare off potential customers.”

Mr. Lancaster smiled at that. His teeth were brilliantly white. What else would they be?

“Mr. Craig's list wouldn't suit our purposes. The situation we offer requires a meeting and a very specific type of person. Someone similar to yourself, Miss Pepper.”

“Well, I know you're English and just coming right out with it seems indelicate or something to you people, but how about you tell me about the situation, I say no, I give you fifty bucks and leave the store with my dress?”

“Declining an offer without first hearing it doesn't seem terribly prudent.” Lancaster leveled a dark glance over her shoulder at his partner. Eliza had to admit the haughty English lord demeanor played a little better in the pages of a book than it did in real life.

“So, let's hear it. Good god, if it takes you two this long to get to the point, it's a miracle you're still in business.”

“Very well. You've expressed a fondness for and a knowledge of the nineteenth century. That would be correct, would it not?”

She nodded.

“Would you be interested in experiencing that time for yourself?”

“Experience it? You mean like a theme park or a kind of Renaissance fair?”

He rubbed his chin and shook his head. “Not something as contrived as that. I mean to ask if had an opportunity to go back in time and actually experience life in the Victorian era, would you take it?”

“To actually live in the nineteenth century? That's what you're asking?”

Lancaster nodded, watching her carefully.

“Carriages and balls and dashing young lords?”

“Nineteenth-century London,” he replied with an even tone.

“Yeah, sure. If I were given a chance to actually go back in time, I think I'd have to go for that.”

“You merely
think
you'd do it? You're not certain?” The older shopkeeper interrupted. He sounded disappointed.

Eliza twisted her purse strap, unsure what the pair of men were trying to get at.

“Would you,” he continued, “be more certain about participating if it weren't merely satisfying your curiosity about the time? If there was a purpose to the trip? A greater good?”

“Well, sure. I mean, assuming all of this stuff isn't rhetorical. Which it has to be.” She gave a nervous laugh. Such a thing wasn't possible. She knew this. Any sane person would.

York smiled timidly at her and gave her a hopeful smile. “If there was a compelling reason to go or something out of place that you could set straight, would you be more willing to participate in such a venture?”

Eliza blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Traveling through time to right a wrong? Kind of like a female, all-human, temp version of
Doctor Who
. Sure, I'd be game for something like that.” She tried to sound flippant, but couldn't help but wonder what was going on with this pair. Perhaps they were involved in some kind of elaborate
Doctor Who
cosplay. It would go a long way to explaining all the general weirdness of the situation, and it went right along with the whole “British” thing.

“A picture is worth a thousand words. Or so they say.” Lancaster stood up and whirled around to the large rectangular object behind his desk. He lifted his hand to sweep the material to the side, but York stopped him.

“James, you're going to give her no more preamble than that?”

“You're the one who keeps reminding me that Americans prefer the direct approach, Archibald,” Lancaster snapped.

Lancaster tugged on the cloth. Eliza braced herself as it fell to the floor. She was almost disappointed to see a simple mirror, albeit one with a very elaborate gilt-edged frame. Reflected in it she could see Lancaster, York, and herself seated before Lancaster's desk. Her dirty-blonde hair was a disheveled mess and her green eyes reflected a lot more wide-eyed fear than she would have expected. She tucked her features into a controlled mask of calm.

“Very nice mirror you've got there,” she said in a perky, soothe-the-loony voice.

“As a scholar of his time, I'm certain you're familiar with Lewis Carroll?”

“Alice, Wonderland. Yep.” Eliza nodded. Though the mirror seemed a common-enough object, she was unable to take her eyes from it.

“This device would follow along with Mr. Carroll's ideas. Please, step around to get a better view,” Lancaster said. “Our thirty minutes aren't over yet. I assure you, you've nothing to be afraid of.”

“I'm not afraid of it.” She gulped. “This whole situation is just a little weird, that's all.”

She slipped past the desk and approached the mirror. The frame's gold finish snapped and sparkled as she neared.

“Touch it.” Lancaster's baritone rumbled in her ear and nearly made her jump.

He stepped past her. “Like this.” He placed his palm in the center of the mirror for just a moment, then pulled his hand away and gestured for her to do the same.

Cautiously, she held her hand up to the mirror. As she inched toward the bright surface, she felt a slight electric buzz dance across her skin. She fought the urge to scratch and pressed closer. The strange frisson intensified. Her instincts told her to pull back, but she caught a smug look in Lancaster's eyes and pushed her palm flat against the surface.

The buzzing sensation ceased as though someone had thrown a switch.

She watched, mesmerized, as the mirror began to ripple, like waves receding from a thrown pebble. She snatched her hand back and stared at it in wonder as the reflection of the office dimmed and an entirely different scene shimmered into view: a rainy London street, apparently in Victorian times, as the few scattered people in the scene were dressed as though they were costumed for a Charles Dickens production.

It was neither a painting nor a photograph, for the surface was alive with movement. The image was startlingly clear—far better than any 3-D or high-def television she'd ever seen. It was so terribly
real
that it seemed less like something to hang on a wall and more like a window into another world.

“Are you—are you trying to upsell me?” Eliza shot a suspicious glance to Lancaster.

His mouth fell open. “I must beg your pardon! What?”

“Upsell. You lure me in with a deal on the gown to high-pressure me to buy some kind of high-def Victorian doodad?”

“I assure you, Miss Pepper, we are doing nothing of the kind. This item is most certainly
not
for sale. And it is not a
doodad
, whatever that may be. It's genuine.”

“It's genuine what?”

“See for yourself,” Lancaster said cryptically.

She moved her hand back toward the surface of the mirror. When her palm was an inch from the frame, she felt a slight dampness, tiny drops of spray—from the moving picture—misted upon her skin. As she leaned in, she heard the faint sound of rain splattering against the cobblestones and a distinctive
clop-clop
of horse hooves.

Her world tilted and the ground beneath her turned spongy. As her heart stuttered, she snatched her hand away and back-pedaled toward her chair. She sat—or rather, collapsed—with a thump. “It's
real
?” she gasped.

Lancaster gave her serious look and a nod. “As real as you or me. Should you choose, you could step through that frame and find yourself in London in the year 1873.”

“And why would you—? Why would I—?” Unsure of how to finish either sentence, Eliza shook her head. Her former skepticism burned away like dew in the summer sun.

Lancaster stepped toward her and perched on the edge of his desk. His eyes studied her carefully. “Are you quite all right, Miss Pepper?”

Eliza nodded vigorously. The room seemed to sway so she kept her eyes on the wood floor. “It's just…wow. A lot to take in. I kind of thought you guys were a pair of nutters.”

“We get that reaction almost one hundred percent of the time,” York soothed. “Even with the Rasputin case.”

“Who
are
you guys?” Eliza blurted.

“We're the Repairmen.” York pulled up a stool and settled in next to Eliza, looking concerned. “James doesn't like the term because it sounds too working class.”

“Which is precisely the reason you insist upon using it.” Lancaster shot a dark glance at his partner.

“What do you repair?” Eliza asked.

“We are tasked with mending situations that have gone wrong in times past. Hence, we have the ability to time travel.” Lancaster gestured toward the Victorian scene playing out in the gilt-edged frame.

“So if something bad happened in the past, it's your job to go back and fix it?”

“It's very similar to that, yes. Only we work under very strict parameters, which do not allow us to intervene directly. We are tasked with finding a person who's willing to travel back and repair the damage themselves. Someone like you, Miss Pepper.” Lancaster kept a clinical gaze on her.

“But why me?” Eliza asked.

“You're the first candidate we've met with a working knowledge of the Victorian era. You're the right gender and age for the position and most importantly, you're an American.” Lancaster pursed his lips and continued watching her. “And we need someone to fill the position, rather expeditiously.”

“Yeah, you mentioned something about the tight parameters.”

“So, would you be willing to partake of such an endeavor?” Lancaster asked.

“What about my job?” Eliza asked. “I'm not so much with family, but I do have friends. People who would miss me. I can't just—poof—off to the nineteenth century.”

They watched her, but said nothing.

“I have plants to water. I have, you know, a life.”

York patted her arm. “Should you decide to do this, it would only seem as though moments have passed. No more than a few hours. Time is relative, as Einstein so astutely said. It would be similar to that old movie. Oh, what's it called? With the race car and the boyish fellow in the puffy jacket?”

“
Back to the Future
?” Eliza asked.

“That's the one.” York chuckled.

“Only with less shooting at the end, I hope.” Eliza looked at York. He gave her a reassuring smile.

“How long would I stay in their time?” She glanced toward the Victorian scene still playing out on the wall behind Lancaster's desk. The rain dripped down the frame, pooling into a puddle on the carpet.

“A few weeks,” York said. “Our longest case yet ran just under a month, didn't it James?”

“Twenty seven days,” Lancaster replied. He began to drum his fingers on his desk.

“What would my job there be?”

“Unfortunately, we can give you almost no details regarding that,” Lancaster said. “We work under—”

“Tight parameters, I know,” Eliza interrupted. “What
can
you tell me then?”

“You'll be placed in the household of a London family and in your dealings with them, within a short time you will encounter a certain—situation. When the incident occurs, you will instantly have knowledge of the correct response due to your experiences within your own time.”

“If
vague
were an Olympic event, you would so take the gold.”

“You'll know the right thing to do when the time comes along,” York reassured. “If you follow a few simple rules, things should go quite wonderfully.”

“What are your rules?”

“One,” Lancaster said, “Always remember that time is short. Make it count.”

Eliza immediately recalled the note pinned to the dress, but before she could form a question, Lancaster continued.

“Secondly, form no lasting attachments. Since your time there is brief, the reasons for this rule are obvious. Thirdly, and finally, tell no one that you're from the future.”

“Because if I told someone it would ruin the timeline?”

“Not exactly,” York said. “Because if you spouted off about being from the year 2015, they'd lock you away in Bedlam. You needn't worry about being discovered, however. The house you're being placed in has been carefully chosen. You should blend in as long as you attempt to be subtle.”

“Oh, I put the
b
in subtle,” Eliza assured.

“Then, you're willing?” Lancaster raised a brow.

Eliza paused.
Was
she willing? Could she really take this big of a leap? Worse, if she said no to this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, would she be able to forgive herself? How would it feel to spend the rest of her night alone in her apartment with a bookcase of romance novels and a heart full of regret?

“Yeah,” she blurted before she could change her mind.

“You're quite certain, dear?” York asked.

“I am.” She grinned widely. “It's time to stop reading about others' adventures and have one of my own. Lady Eliza Pepper, here I come.”