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Mrs. Mary Tucker stepped down from the hired wagon onto a street that was so far removed from her recent experiences that it might have belonged to a different planet altogether.

A pair of well-dressed ladies stalked past, peering down their noses at her travel-stained cloak and worn boots; London’s fashions might have changed since she had left England a decade before, but the people had not, it appeared.

An ironic smile warmed her eyes in an expression that would never have occurred to Miss Mary Bennet.

A noise from the street recalled Mrs. Tucker’s attention to the present, however, and she looked to a gangly youth of nine with her own eyes but his father’s sandy hair.

“Matthew—you’re in charge. Everyone is to stay seated in the wagon until I come back, do you understand?

” She waited until all the children nodded.

“I shall only be a few minutes.” Turning to the driver, she added, “I have your fare here in my purse; I will pay it when I come back—do not move from this spot, do you understand?”

The old jarvey nodded obediently, unconsciously touching his cap.

To himself, he admitted not a little admiration for the lady’s pluck, for there were not many females who could keep such a flock together once deposited alone on the docks, much less pack the whole lot and their luggage into a hired wagon and keep the young’uns quiet while directing a driver through London traffic.

Mrs. Tucker would have appreciated the compliment.

Resolutely, Mary climbed the steps and tapped the knocker. The door was opened so quickly that she wondered if someone had been watching out a window, though the solemn, black-clad butler did not appear remotely welcoming. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Is this still the Darcy residence?”

The man might have been astonished to receive such a question, but the only emotion he showed was in the rapid blinking of his eyes. “Indeed, ma’am.”

“I need to see Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, or if she is not at home, her husband. I am Mrs. Mary Tucker, Mrs. Darcy’s sister.”

The manservant remained still for just an instant before nodding once. “Do you wish to leave your card, Mrs. Tucker?”

Good humor lit an otherwise exhausted countenance. “I have been in Africa for almost eleven years; I cannot remember the last time I paid a call, much less had a card to leave.”

Such directness and composure, combined with various aspects of physiognomy so reminiscent of Mrs. Darcy, prompted the servant to open the door wider. “Would you care to wait inside, then, ma’am?”

Mary looked back to the wagon and, deciding that her little flock appeared safe enough for the moment, stepped through the portal and back into a world that she had walked away from a decade prior.

The butler departed to search out his mistress and Mrs. Tucker was left in the foyer, feeling not a little out of place.

Catching sight of her rather crumpled hat in a mirror, she felt a tremor of that insecurity which had so plagued Miss Mary Bennet, but shrugged it off an instant later.

“After all, how many of these fancy London ladies can claim to have plucked their ostrich feathers right from the bird himself?” she reminded herself amusedly.

However, she forgot all about her bonnet when the sound of light footsteps tripping down the stairs came echoing from the hall. Mary turned and caught sight of her sister, a little older perhaps, but with the same brilliant smile she remembered from girlhood. “Lizzy!”

“Mary? Is that really you? Oh my stars—what a wonderful surprise!” Even as Elizabeth was catching her up in a hug, Mrs. Tucker caught sight of the butler, trailing along in his mistresses’ wake with a bemused expression.

“Oh Lizzy, it is good to see you,” said Mary, holding her sister very tightly for a minute before stepping back.

“I apologize for showing up on your doorstep uninvited like this, but I wasn’t sure where else to go.

We stopped at Gracechurch Street first, but no one was home.

We can find an inn, if this isn’t a good time… ”

“Oh pish tosh—my sister will not be staying at some inn while I’m mistress of this house!

And the Gardiners won’t be returning from Kent for three more days, so you have no choice, you see?

Ah, Mrs. Wilkins, excellent—this is Mrs. Tucker, my sister just returned from Africa.

Now Mary, how many of you are there? Hutchinson mentioned a cart with children waiting outside on the street. ”

“Ten, all totaled.” Upon seeing her sister’s astonished expression, Mary laughed a little. “Not all the children are mine—it’s a long story, I fear.”

Mrs. Darcy took it all in stride and fortunately, as the mistress did, so did the servants. In minutes, the foyer was filled with eight children of varying ages, the older ones holding tight to the hands of the younger, but all left speechless by the grandeur of their surroundings.

Mrs. Tucker performed the introductions and was impressed by Elizabeth’s ease in greeting each child and making them feel welcome.

She did not even blink when Mary reached the end of the line and, taking a deep breath, introduced a very thin man with a bushy beard and a vacant expression.

“And this, of course, is my husband, Mr. Avery Tucker.”

The missionary showed no sign of recognition and made no response when Mrs. Darcy greeted him.

“Well, come along then, all of you,” exclaimed their hostess, barely missing a beat. “Let’s go up to my sitting room where you can all have a bit to eat and drink while Mrs. Wilkins sees to your rooms. How does that sound?”

“I fear we’ve just come off the ship, Lizzy; none of us have bathed in weeks,” murmured Mary apologetically.

Elizabeth nodded in understanding. “Mrs. Wilkins?”

That good woman ran a considering eye over the lot. “I’d suggest we take them all down to the laundry room for a good scrubbing right off. That tub is as big as any and it’s right by the kitchens, so they’ll not get chilled and there’ll be plenty of hot water.”

Mrs. Darcy agreed, but added, “That will do very well for the children, but have the tub in the blue suite filled for Mrs. Tucker. And let us round up some clean clothes for everyone to wear until their own have been washed or we can have some new ones made up.”

Mrs. Tucker watched with bemusement as a small army of uniformed servants leapt to work and the children were herded off. As Elizabeth turned to lead her upstairs, Mary could almost feel the house humming with purpose. She took her husband by the hand and followed.

The sitting room that Lizzy brought them to was just what Mary would have imagined for her sister. The furniture was simple and comfortable, with full bookshelves and a basket of children’s blocks in the corner.

A tray magically appeared just as they arrived, and Mary sighed a little when the cup of hot tea with just a little cream was placed in her hand. “Oh, this is heaven.”

Elizabeth smiled, but seemed to be thinking very hard about something. “Mary, Mr. Darcy will not be home for a few hours at least. Perhaps his valet might assist Mr. Tucker for now?”

Appreciating her sister’s tact, Mary agreed and the manservant was sent for.

When he arrived, Mrs. Tucker set down her cup and turned to help her husband stand again.

Leading him over to the valet, she explained, “Mr. Tucker suffered an illness some time ago and the fever addled his brain. Treat him as you would a child of four or five; he is not violent, but he will not recognize something that may hurt him—a hot stove or a sharp knife, for example—so he must be watched at all times.”

Hawkins indicated his understanding and, after a few more questions, led the missionary away by the hand.

Mary watched them go before turning back to her sister.

Observing Elizabeth’s curious look, she explained softly, “It was almost two years ago, now. We were going to visit another missionary for Christmas, but we arrived at their village to find the couple and all the natives suffering from fever and chills; the English call it marsh fever, I believe. By the time we got there, several were already dead, including Reverend Burgess. We did not have much medicine with us—just a bit of fever tree bark—but we did what we could. I promised Mrs. Burgess that I would look after her children, just before she passed on as well.”

Elizabeth drew her sister over to a sofa and sat by her, holding her hand.

Mary smiled a little in thanks, but her eyes still looked into the distance.

“Mr. Tucker developed a fever almost immediately.” She sighed a little.

“We were blessed, I suppose. I spent the first fortnight helping those who were too sick to move; by the time I fell ill, there were several survivors well enough to nurse the rest of us.”

“Oh Mary—I can’t even imagine it! Thank the Lord you have been returned to us.”

The younger woman nodded grimly and continued her story; “Mr. Tucker was bedridden for several months, but even when the fever subsided, he remained as you see now.”

“And you, Mary?”

The other lady made a small movement with her hand.

“I was in the middle of Africa with eight white children to look after. There was no time for me to be ill.” When her sister continued to study her as if a tree might suddenly sprout from her forehead, Mary smiled a little.

“Truly, Lizzy. I was not as ill as most, nor for so long. There was an old healer from the next village who arrived just as I was starting to run a fever; her concoctions may have tasted horrible, but I believe they worked very well indeed.”