Puck and Prejudice

Chapter Seven

The woman hustled into the drawing room, her white dress swishing with each step. While her hair was mostly covered by a lace

cap, a few curls peeked out. “I hope this is important,” she said, her voice equal parts annoyance and curiosity. “I’ve had

an aching head, barely managed to write a page, walked to the village to purchase more paper, got caught out in the rain,

and was about to take a nap. We indulged in far too much wine last night, Georgie. Look at my hands; they’re trembling. I

wonder if—” She halted upon noticing Tuck. “Oh.”

Tuck fought the urge to squirm. Her bright eyes bore into him like he was a fish in a bowl being observed by a curious cat.

Time to do what he did best: give nothing away.

“I was not aware we were to have callers.” She beelined toward the velvet couch where Georgie was perched and parked herself.

“I confess, my curiosity is piqued.”

“Jane.” Lizzy spoke from her bench at the piano as she plonked out what sounded vaguely like Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.

“Allow me the pleasure of introducing you to Mr.Tucker Taylor.”

“Mr.Tucker. Taylor.” Jane enunciated each word slowly, as if the name was as weird as someone shouting “hippopotamus” in

a crowded bar.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Tuck offered his most charming drawl and added a small bow for good measure. He wasn’t a born-and-raised Texan, but this Michigan kid had lived in the Lone Star State long enough to have absorbed a few southern manners.

Jane’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

“Yes. You heard him correctly. Mr.Taylor’s American.” Lizzy’s tone could mean anything from “What did I do to deserve this?”

to “We must all suffer together.” She hit another discordant note on the keys, the jarring sound making everyone flinch.

Tuck was suddenly tired. Tired of the headache that lingered behind his eyes. Tired of the fact that he felt half starved

and sick from swallowing so much swamp water. Tired of standing in these fun-sized pants and too-tight shirt, hoping his next

deep breath didn’t split a seam and send all these proper women into fainting fits. Tired of Lizzy butchering Beethoven to

mask their whispers.

“I’m sensing quite a tale,” Jane remarked, stating the obvious.

Georgie exhaled a windstorm through her nose.

Lizzy told the story, while her cousin interrupted most sentences with an exclamation or a curse. Jane listened in absolute

silence, almost quivering with concentration.

When Lizzy was done talking, her words seemed to hang in the air, each one hitting Tuck like a gut punch. His mind reeled

as he tried to process everything that had occurred in the past few hours. The tension coiled up inside him until he could

barely draw a breath.

“Absolutely preposterous,” Jane whispered. “Completely impossible.” As Lizzy stood from the piano bench, ready to argue, Jane

raised a hand to stop her. “But,” she continued, “there have been local legends.” She glanced at Georgie with an unreadable

expression. “You know them too.”

Georgie nodded as Jane continued. “Folks arriving from other times or vanishing for good during the full moon. This land has ancient roots, what with all the barrows, and then the stones.”

“Barrows?” Tuck asked. “You mean—”

“Yes, the mounds back in the forest,” Lizzy finished.

“Druids, and those who came before them—the Old Ones,” Georgie interjected. “They understood the land’s magic, the ancient

knowledge that’s been long forgotten. When Christianity arrived with its priests, they forbade everything interesting and

wild.”

“That’s heresy,” Jane murmured. Although, she didn’t sound as shocked as Tuck had expected.

“I know you’re a curate’s daughter.” Georgie spoke calmly, soothingly, even. “But I’m not wrong. It’s only a day’s ride out

to the Salisbury Plain to see the rock ring at Stonehenge. The Old Ones understood the world in ways we don’t. Magic is likely

all around, and they knew how to read the signs. We’ve lost the ability in this modern world.”

Tuck’s mind swirled as he rocked back on his heels, but Georgie was right. This was the modern world. To them at least.

“But without proof...” Jane rose and walked to one of the large windows, idly flicking the fringe on the curtain.

“His clothing,” Lizzy hissed so loudly it might as well have been a shout. “Look at the shoes he is wearing. I’ve never seen

anything like them. None of us have.”

He glanced at his Nike Dunks. Would he have to burn them? Bury them? Hide them away? The idea of someone a few hundred years

from now opening up a trunk and finding the mystery of his shoes was a little funny.

“Show them the talking device that took that portrait of me,” Lizzy ordered.

“A talking device?” Georgie leaned in, intrigued. “What do you mean by that?”

“Yeah. I have something. I don’t want to show you much because—” He glanced at Lizzy, mentally willing her to help him explain.

“He fears we’ll disrupt the future should we possess too much knowledge,” she clarified.

“My goodness. He’s quite right. That does require an adjustment,” Jane said to no one in particular as Tucker went to his

jacket and unzipped the inner pocket, taking out his phone.

Georgie, Jane, and Lizzy drew in close, attracted to what he was holding, making small noises of wonder. Lizzy reached out

and poked the glass.

“Wait until you see what it can do,” she breathed.

He pulled up the photo he’d taken of Lizzy by the pond. Before they finished gasping, he swiped to a picture that Nora had

snapped last night, a selfie with Tucker from inside the pub.

“This is me and my younger sister.”

“I know this place,” Georgie breathed. “That’s Ye Olde King’s Head. You can tell from the fireplace.”

“I’ve never seen such a painting.” Jane covered her mouth with her hands. “How is it like looking in a mirror?”

Tuck couldn’t explain how phones worked even if he wanted to; he’d always used them without thinking about the technology

involved. “We take a lot of these kind of pictures in my time.”

“You use such a strange little thing to record the world?” Georgie spoke in a tone of reverence, as if they discussed the

lost Ark of the Covenant and not a device that people used to record themselves doing funny dances to trending music.

“You can use it for all sorts of things. Imagine Lizzy is out, and you want to reach her, ask her a question or whatever. You can enter some numbers in a special order, and a connection is formed to her phone. Then she can go ahead and talk to you, even if she’s miles away. Hundreds or thousands of miles. There’s way more to it, but that’s probably saying enough. Plus, it’s better to save the battery. I don’t know how long it’ll last.” He turned it off and shoved it back in his pocket.

“So, we need your creative mind, Jane,” Lizzy said, “to figure out how we can get Mr.Taylor home and craft a believable story

for him while he’s here. We can’t very well just have him go back to the pond and try to dive under.”

“I already tried that anyway,” Tuck interjected. “When you went to find the clothing, I swam down to the bottom, but nothing

happened.”

Lizzy’s expression registered shock, but it vanished so quickly that he must have imagined it.

“First things first,” Jane said. “We must incorporate clever details and hints grounded in half-truths and plausible explanations.

However, it should be mundane enough to deter anyone from delving into further inquiries.”

“Then please don’t ask him how he makes a living,” Lizzy muttered, letting out a snort.

“Hey now.” He turned toward her. “Play nice.”

“Let me guess,” Jane said. “Given your size and bearing, I’m going to guess you’re a soldier.”

“In a roundabout way.” Lizzy shrugged. “He guards a net with a stick and people try to hit discs at him.”

“It’s a game,” Tucker broke in, exasperation tinging his words. “I play a sport for a living. It’s all skill and speed.”

“Like gladiators,” Lizzy blurted. “Engaging in a battle, except no one is dying.”

“No, no,” Tuck protested.

“You are employed to play to crowds who are invested in your wins or losses.”

Jane mulled it over. “I must say, it does sound fascinating.”

“But it’s not a story we can tell others,” Lizzy said.

“To be sure, to be sure,” Jane agreed. “Why not say that he is a merchant from Baltimore. I encountered such a man once, dreadfully

dull. I daresay, if you mention trade and Baltimore, very few people will press for additional details. Why don’t you claim

to specialize in dry goods? As soon as you utter those words, people will be eager to discuss anything else.”

“I don’t have a Baltimore accent.” Tuck frowned.

“You are an American. That’s enough for around here.”

Tuck went to the whiskey decanter. A drink sounded better and better. He wasn’t much of a hard-alcohol guy as a rule. A beer

or two usually sufficed. But nothing made sense now. He was no longer a goalie for the Austin Regals; he wasn’t even a player

on medical leave. He was going to masquerade as a dry goods merchant from Baltimore visiting England, but for what purpose?

“What should I be doing here again, professionally speaking?”

“Expanding trade contacts in teas and ceramics,” Jane stated matter-of-factly. “Your duty is to be believably boring while

we figure out what is to be done about you.”

“And there is that nasty business with the growing tensions,” Georgie broke in. “I haven’t heard it so bad since the war.

According to the papers, the Americans are seething over the press gangs.”

“What gangs are pressing who?” Tuck poured a double and drained the contents in a searing swallow.

He caught Lizzy staring at his throat. Her cheeks flushed as their eyes locked.

He arched a brow, just a fraction, and the pink crept even higher on her cheeks. But she didn’t look away shyly this time.

Rather, she held his gaze, her lashes not so much as fluttering in a blink. It was as if she silently challenged him. Yeah, I was looking. What are you going to do about it?

She was seriously attractive, in a way that made him want to crack the code. Her nose was a bit on the larger side and her

mouth was pretty wide, but somehow her face just came together perfectly. It had been a while since he’d been with anyone,

even before he got sick. That must be why she hit him like a one-timer, catching him completely off guard. His drive was coming

back, stirring up reactions he’d nearly forgotten he could feel.

But not here.

Not now.

“My brother recently wrote, mentioning that British sailors have boarded American ships in the Atlantic, forcing them into

service,” Jane said.

“Is that allowed?” A stupid question, Tuck understood, as the weight of the era’s injustices crashed down on him. People were

enslaved. Women couldn’t vote.

“Some in the navy appear to believe that once a British subject, always a British subject, and use that as justification for

impressment, or forcible recruitment,” Jane said. “Of course, your country disagrees. It’s an awful fuss, and a topic that

could be raised in company.”

“I think we all agree that Tuck should avoid conversations that attempt to draw him in about the tense relationship between our two countries. But what else shall we do? Hide him at the Woodlands until we figure out how to return him home?” Lizzy asked.

“He can’t stay here!” Georgie was adamant. “Not for a prolonged time with just you and me. Out of the question. Not unless

you want to see your reputation gone forever and whatever is left of mine go up in smoke on a pyre of scandal.”

“But”—Lizzy gaped—“I thought you don’t mind what people say.”

“That’s true. But I do care if we are never invited to any home to dine or dance again. I do like to go out from time to time

to have a chat or a laugh.”

“What, then?”

“Just a moment.” Jane rose to her feet. “My goodness. He is perfect.” She circled Tuck like an angular shark. “Do you remember,

Lizzy darling, how you shared a desire to be a widow, to have the independence of our Georgie?”

“Yes, but I don’t see—”

“Marry Tuck.”

“And murder him?” Lizzy yelped.

“Uh, ladies?” Tuck took three steps away from the iron poker next to the fireplace.

“Of course not. What on earth do you take me for?” Jane seemed aghast. “You marry and that will give credence to him remaining

in your company as we work to find a solution. I’m not suggesting it’s a real marriage of body and mind, simply legal protection

for you both.”

“But you told me once that anything is to be endured rather than marrying without affection.” Lizzy swayed on her feet, her

face drained of color.

“In regular circumstances, yes. But do not overlook the opportunity such an unusual moment affords. Mr. Taylor made his way here. And he will find a way home. When that happens, you tell the world he went swimming at sea and never returned to shore. Afterwards, you can move permanently to the Woodlands and work on your writing. I’ll visit when I can and do the same. Someday Georgie can bequeath her estate to you, and you will not have to rely on support from your brother. Trust me when I say, from firsthand knowledge, it is not comfortable to be in a brother’s debt.”

“What a terrible, marvelous idea!” Georgie threw herself back against the sofa and kicked her feet. “You are an evil genius.”

“Cousin!” Lizzy hissed. “You can’t be condoning this.”

“With all my heart I am.”

Tuck wasn’t a piece of meat, so why was Georgie eyeing him like he was a tasty snack? In another moment, she might pinch his

biceps or poke his abs.

“You two are both mad.” Lizzy spun to face him. “How can I marry you?”

Marry? Tuck’s brain short-circuited. It felt like a joke, but the eager, earnest faces of the two older women told him it

was all too real.

“If he wants to get back to his time, then he needs assistance,” Georgie continued matter-of-factly. “Between us, we know

scholars, but also villagers and even some mystics. But there is no possibility he can keep respectable company with us unless

it’s sanctioned.”

“By a minister?” Tuck croaked.

“A Scottish blacksmith,” Georgie said firmly, as Jane added, “In Gretna Green.”