Not Quite Darcy Read Free Page B

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.
    â€œAre you—are you trying to upsell me?” Eliza shot a suspicious glance to Lancaster.
    His mouth fell open. “I must beg your pardon! What?”
    â€œUpsell. You lure me in with a deal on the gown to high-pressure me to buy some kind of high-def Victorian doodad?”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œIt’s genuine what?”
    â€œSee 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.”
    â€œAnd 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.”
    â€œWe get that reaction almost one hundred percent of the time,” York soothed. “Even with the Rasputin case.”
    â€œWho are you guys?” Eliza blurted.
    â€œWe’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.”
    â€œWhich is precisely the reason you insist upon using it.” Lancaster shot a dark glance at his partner.
    â€œWhat do you repair?” Eliza asked.
    â€œWe 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.
    â€œSo if something bad happened in the past, it’s your job to go back and fix it?”
    â€œIt’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.
    â€œBut why me?” Eliza asked.
    â€œYou’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.”
    â€œYeah, you mentioned something about the tight parameters.”
    â€œSo, would you be willing to partake of such an endeavor?” Lancaster asked.
    â€œWhat 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