From Pemberley to Manhattan Read online

  “ROBERT ESTEVEZ BROWN!” Everyone in the family knew my code: if I used your full name, you should consider yourself warned. “Come downstairs this instant!”

  “Nat, I know I promised Mom I’d help you welcoming the guests, but I’m in the middle of something really important here!”

  What the– the little rascal didn’t show up and was blowing me off? “I don’t care, Robert! I need to pee!” I yelled and turned around, facing the entrance. I wasn’t alone as I’d believed. “Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Ambassador. Mother will be thrilled to see you again.” Great, now I’d just embarrassed myself in front of the Chinese Ambassador. Motives to kill my brother kept summing up. As I was left alone again in the foyer, my threatening continued. “Come. Here. NOW!”

  “Stop pressuring me! You have no idea what I’ve been through the last hour, Nathalie! Ethan’s in 1811 and now this guy– OUCH! Stop that!” I heard him scream after a sound of a slap. What was he talking about? Ethan wasn’t even in New York. He’d been involved in a new – ultra secret, of course – project. Mom was devastated when she learned he wouldn’t make it to her birthday party.

  Suddenly, I comprehended Robert’s erratic behavior. “Are you with someone? Are you high?”

  “I wish I were, Nat. Trust me.”

  What?! “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve told you! Ethan’s gone! And now there’s this two-hundred-year-old guy sleeping in my bed and–OOOUCH!” Again, another slap noise and a scream on the other side of the line.

  Unbelievable.

  “You’re totally and absolutely high!” I accused.

  “Who are you speaking to?” Dad was right behind me and, as usual, I hadn’t even heard him approaching. Ninja alert.

  Dad had a deep line between his eyes, indicating my words had him worried. My brothers’ adventures had been responsible for a few new strands of gray hair on his head, and some new lines on his forehead. Still, he was a handsome man with his chocolate-brown eyes, his olive skin and full brows. Being over six feet tall also helped.

  When I was younger, many of my girlfriends had a major crush on him. They kept giggling and whispering at each other whenever he showed up. I thought they’d get over it with time and most of them did. Except for Fanny, who insisted on being highly inappropriate and making the most disgusting remarks whenever Dad was around.

  Fanny!

  “It’s Fanny, Dad. She wants to use the stairs to leave her apartment building! Over twenty flights of stairs and all because she wants to lose a few pounds, which she doesn’t need at all. She’s a victim of a society that imposes impossible standards to women.” Oh, that was bad. I was prattling, which was a dangerous indicator of Nathalie-lying. Worst of all, I couldn’t manage to stop myself once I’d started. “Anyhow, I just told her it’s too high, but she insists on using the stairs. Can you believe it?”

  Trying to loosen up his tie a little bit, he looked at me with an amused expression and a half-smile on his lips. He hated to wear tuxedo, but I’d never heard him complain to Mom. When a man spends the night wearing a tux and talking to boring people without complaining to you, you know you’ve found the love of your life. Just so you know. “No. I don’t believe you, honey. Protecting your brother again?”

  He took the phone from my hand without waiting for my confirmation of his suspicions, barking an order to the receiver, “Get down here. Now.” Robert’s desperate yells made the line on Dad’s forehead grow deeper. Should I be concerned about my brother too? “Calm down and stay exactly where you are, Bobby”, Dad commanded and ended the call.

  “What was that about?”, I asked him.

  “I’m not sure. All I know is your brother can’t come to the party in his present condition. Stay here, Nat.”

  “Dad!”, I turned to him, conscious I sounded like a toddler. “But I need to pee!” He completely ignored me as he reentered our building. After whining alone for a few seconds, I faced the entrance again. There were three very powerful, very elegant people staring at me. “Mr. Mayor! Mrs. First lady! And Mr. Secretary! What an honor.” And major embarrassing moment, but that part I left out.

  I was so going to kill Robert Estevez Brown.

  ♥

  Chapter 3

  “Hello there, sleepy head.”

  “He’s from the nineteenth century, Dad. Not a five-year-old.”

  Having already explained the story all over again to Carlos Estevez – and convincing father and son they would have to assist the gentleman from over two hundred years ago, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to bring Ethan back – Trevor had left to meet his team. Not before reminding Bobby he’d had to send the family texts and e-mails pretending to be his brother.

  “No one can suspect anything, Bobby.”

  Even though Carlos felt less than happy to lie to his wife, he considered it less terrible than the truth. Since Ethan’s time travel would be kept as a secret, so it would be Mr. Darcy’s identity.

  They decided to introduce him as a friend of Ethan’s who was an actor and had just been hired to play an important fellow from the nineteenth century in a play. Naturally, he’d be described as incredibly talented and… eccentric. One of those actors who really became the character.

  It was the worst story ever invented, by the two worst liars in History of Humankind.

  Yet, they hoped that for that exact reason people might believe them.

  By the time Trevor was gone and they had talked things over, Mr. Darcy was waking up.

  “I’ve got this, Bobby.” His son rolled his eyes, but stayed quiet. Carlos focused his attention on the man sitting on his son’s bed. “Hey, Mr. Time Travel! My name’s Carlos Estevez. This is my son, Robert Estevez Brown. This is our home. Are you feeling all right?”

  Mr. Darcy remained silent, trying to remember what had happened in the last few hours and why there was a stranger speaking to him as if he were an idiot. Somehow, the gentleman and the young man in the tiny room seemed quite familiar.

  “What? Cat ate your tongue?”

  “Seriously, Dad?”, Bobby turned to the other man and said, “Trevor told us you’re Mr. Darcy, right? Are you feeling okay, dude? You were out for a while.”

  He couldn’t understand even a word the youngest Mr. Brown had just pronounced. On the other hand, now he finally recalled where he knew those faces from: these two must be blood related to the lunatic who had trespassed his land. Had they taken him by force so they could demand his family gave them money so Darcy could be returned to them? Their accents were ugly and vulgar. Perhaps they were from the Americas.

  “Why am I here? Where am I?” He’d ignored all formalities, since these men were probably bandits.

  “You’re in the best place on Earth, dude!”, Bobby replied animatedly.

  “Oh, Thank God! We’re in England, then.” Mr. Darcy felt relief wash over him. At least, they hadn’t taken him abroad.

  “No way! We’re in Manhattan!” When Bobby saw the blank expression Mr. Darcy offered him, he tried to explain. “As in New York? As in the United States of America?”

  That explained the nasty accent. Despair took over him as realization sunk in; they’d taken him not only abroad, but across an entire ocean! How was that possible? It had felt like he’d slept merely hours, not the long weeks that the trip must have taken.

  “I demand to know why you have brought me here against my will!”

  “Trevor hasn’t told you?” Carlos was curious. This man had more than enough reason to be confused, but he seemed to be completely clueless of his situation.

  “Mr. Nolan? What should he have told me? I don’t know what your intentions regarding me are, yet I am quite certain my family must be concerned about my whereabouts and I must return to my sister–”

  “Dude–”

  “It’s Darcy!”

  “Okay, then.” Bobby took in a d
eep breath and continued. “Look, Darcy-dude, here’s the thing; you’re not in Kansas anymore.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Noticing the man was about to punch his son – which Bobby sometimes deserved, by the way – Carlos decided to intercede.

  “I can imagine your confusion, Mr. Darcy. We can – and we shall – explain everything; we don’t want to hurt you. We haven’t brought you here. But we can help you.” The man from the past sat back down on the bed, and waited for Carlos to finish. “What my son meant is that you’re no longer in 1811. This is the twenty-first century.”

  ♥

  Another half hour passed before Mr. Darcy was convinced the gentlemen in his company did not wish him harm. About the time traveling tale, he had some reasoning to do. Maybe the entire family had mental conditions, even though they seemed to be well-intended.

  When Bobby noticed his guest was still oblivious to his new reality, he took the man to his window and showed the view of the streets. Five minutes later, after watching cars pass by, skyscrapers and, especially, the million lights of the city, Mr. Darcy finally believed he’d been brought to a different century.

  “We need to get to the party, Bobby.” Carlos told his son, and then turned to Mr. Darcy again, “I guess you’d like to wash up, right?”

  Being still too stunned to respond, Mr. Darcy only nodded. He was desperate for a bath and new clothes. Mr. Estevez left the room and returned with his hands full. He was holding a white towel, a deep green button shirt and a pair of gray woolen trousers.

  “I’m sorry, but I just have one tuxedo. Most men have already taken off their jackets, so I guess you’ll be all right.”

  “I am much obliged, sir.” Mr. Darcy had enough in him to be grateful, even though the clothes were inappropriate. It was the dignified thing to do. “I thank you for sheltering me and taking me to my rooms.”

  “Rooms? As in plural?” Bobby snorted, before his dad elbowed him, reminding him when this guy came from. “Oh, dude. Sorry. Here, you’ve only got a room. In the singular, you know?”

  “Of course. I should not impose. I am sure you are doing your best to accommodate me, regardless of your inferior circumstances.”

  “Inferior circumstances?” For a second, Carlos worried that his son had been offended by Mr. Darcy’s remark, until he moved his head back and began laughing. “You talk like my late grandpa, dude!”

  “Dar-cy!”, the gentleman repeated slowly. The young man could be amusing, but he was definitely not bright.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Bobby waved a hand at him, “So, how old are you, anyhow?”

  Even though the tone was so familiar to make it quite rude, Mr. Darcy kept in mind these people were trying to assist him anyway they could. So he answered, “I am seven and twenty.”

  “Seriously?!” Bobby didn’t even try to disguise his surprise. “I thought you were in your mid-thirties. You need some serious make-up or Botox or whatever, dude! What made you age like Lindsay Lohan? Was it booze or chicks? It was both, right?”

  Before Mr. Darcy could admit he had understood nothing the younger Mr. Estevez Brown had said, the older one guided him to the bathroom.

  “Pardon me, sir.” Mr. Darcy shyly said as father and son left him alone. “Is there a servant to help me with my bath?”

  Carlos and Bobby gazed at each other in blunt surprise. They were silent for a few seconds, before the son blurted out, “There’s no way I’m standing alone with a naked dude in the bathroom, Dad!”

  ♥

  Chapter 4

  Nat

  “Holy Cheetos! Where’s Dad?”

  Apparently, whatever Bobby had been doing upstairs was pretty amusing, since Dad had lost track of time as well. Mom had already asked after the two of them a couple of times. I did send them some messages about it, but their only answer was “We’ll be there in five.”

  The last time Dad had typed that on his phone had been over half an hour ago.

  Fanny’s laugh brought me back from my reverie, “You and your weird cussing.”

  Yes, I had a funny way of swearing. Which, at the end of the day, wasn’t cursing at all. At twenty and four, I was finishing my Masters, my thesis related to how the way we taught in schools could be determinant for our children growing up as tolerant citizens, instead of radicals.

  Having graduated in IT with honors and having been a summer intern at Google made my parents expect me to begin a startup or something. However, I’ve always wanted to find a way to help the younger generations. That said, I believed technology, being an amazing way of bringing people together, could also be used by the educational system to help at least minimize cultural, religious, sexual and racial prejudices.

  Back to my bizarre swearing. I was never a “perfect lady”, if there was such a thing (and, if she ever existed, she must have been a pain in the lass). I never had a problem with that, never cared when guys looked at me in disgust and women judged me.

  Nevertheless, wanting to become a schoolteacher made me care, if not for myself, for the children I’d teach and – I truly hoped – inspire. As soon as I’d made that decision, I’d made a huge effort to stop swearing. Nothing had worked. I was a cussing addict, and there was no professional help for people like me. No Cussing Anonymous or a No-Cussing Retreat.

  The only successful method had been replacing the offensive term by a similar and innocent one. It had been my brother, Bobby, who had come up with it, one of his brightest moments ever.

  Still, he was a pill.

  “Your father’s here, Nat. Wow, he looks great all suited up.”

  “Stop it, Fanny! I’m serious!” Remember how I told you about Fanny’s brief crush on my Dad when we were younger (which made me want to puke green vomit on her every time she sighed when he entered the room)? Fortunately, it had ended soon enough. What didn’t cease to exist was her endless jokes about it. She knew I absolutely hated them, and she found it hilarious. Ha. Ha. Ha.

  Feeling my anger building up, I decided to concentrate on a more agreeable subject: the garden decoration for the party. Encased candles drifted on the water’s surface, illuminating the fountain in a romantic way; the tables positioned around the fountain were decorated with white cloth and a vase with lilies, making the air smell delicious; white Christmas lights adorned the creepers on the garden’s walls. It looked like fairyland.

  “Uh-la-la!” She suddenly began smoothing her red hair, checking her own reflection on the water’s surface for any flaws on her makeup; even though I considered her freckles adorable, she usually hid them behind layers of compact.

  “Uh-la-la? Are we back in the sixties?”, I snorted sarcastically. But her tone worried me; it generally meant there was a guy she found attractive in the vicinity. If that were the case, I’d be forced to spend the rest of the evening speaking to Mom’s guests by myself. No. Way. “Don’t even think about it, Fanny. You promised you wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  “Oh, but you won’t be alone. You’ll be with your new BFF, Patricia.” She gritted her teeth as she pronounced Patty’s name.

  Admittedly, at first I hadn’t much liked the violinist myself. I’d had the impression she was an elitist snob. We’d met through a NYU friend who dated her for a couple of months. She was this petite and thin blonde, with sexy dark eyes and porcelain skin, and fair, shoulder long hair. That, combined with Thank-the-Lord-Almighty breasts and a sophisticated talent, made her Juilliard’s princess.

  I’d learned to admire Patty for her never ending determination to become a better musician. She could have used her beauty in her favor, but she never took her practice for granted. She desired to be recognized by her competence with the violin, not by her looks. That and the fact we took self-defense class together (which Fanny refused to take, by the way) made us develop a friendship the past year.

  The closer we got, the more Fanny found flaws in Patty. No matt
er what I told her, or how much Patty tried to become her friend, Fanny claimed she couldn’t shake the feeling Patty wasn’t trustworthy.

  Jealousy could be a powerful thing.

  “Well, she’s not here yet. I’m not even sure if she’ll make it. She’s been practicing hard this week.”

  “He’s even hotter from up close.” Fanny ignored my reply. “Why can’t your brother just come over here and introduce my future one night stand to us?” Fanny didn’t do the whole relationship thing. She had dates all the time. Occasional affairs. Rare relationships. Never (not ever, really) I-love-you type of boyfriends.

  I turned my gaze to the spot she was shamelessly staring at, and finally found out the reason Dad and Bobby had been so delayed. He had alabaster skin, dark hair, piercing blue eyes, thick brows and classical – yet very masculine – features that almost made my knees turn into strawberry jelly. His presence was imposing, and his posture indicated he was clinically analyzing every detail of his surroundings.

  “Pity he’s so short”, Fanny mentioned, still checking the guy up with fire in her eyes. He was about six feet tall, same height as her without the extra inches of her peep toe shoes.

  “He’d be considered a rather tall man a while ago”, I said absently, also staring at my brother’s friend with interest. Almost forgot I was dating someone else. Get yourself together, Nat!

  All went to oblivion, including my own dignity, when he stared back at me. As I blushed like an eight-year-old girl for being caught, he arched a brow, the tiniest smile beginning to show on his perfectly shaped lips.

  “When? In the nineteenth century?”, Fanny countered, but I could barely remember what we’d been talking about. “Anyway, look at the size of his hands! Can you imagine what he must be like if he’s all proportional?” That made me break eye contact with the mysterious man and turn my full attention to my enthusiastic friend. Using my peripheral vision, I noticed a couple was approaching us, but do you think she cared? Of course not! “I’m going to have a blast with this guy. He must have a huge–”