Page 88 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

I came here fully aware that playing Jane required horseback riding. But I marched up to Lady Catherine before the costume fittings and told her I wouldn’t be doing it—because I was a paying customer and, therefore, didn’t have to. It was very forward of me, and while I’ve gotten better at speaking mymind, it still feels a little itchy sometimes. She answered a haughty, “Fine,” before she told me to stand taller because I was apparently slouching. So, all in all, much easier than I anticipated.

Zane, to my complete surprise, said he’d return and play Bingley. Amelia was not happy with that plan. She wanted this to be our trip, just the two of us. According to her, Zane has already been monopolizing too much of my attention—which is a fair assessment. I spend time with Amelia, we still watchPride and Prejudiceweekly, but much of my free time is spent with Zane.

We’ve gone on too many dates to count—some casual and fun, others more formal and dressy. I’ve been his plus-one at his work dinners and grand openings for projects Foothills has done. I’ve gone to family parties and am still a regular feature at Friday dinners at the Porters, except now I’m there with Zane instead of Amelia, and she never grabbed my knee under the table.

And Zane has been by my side. He was there the first time I saw my mom after rehab and helped me move her into her new apartment. He’s come with me when I’ve taken her to AA meetings and sat outside with me while we waited. He held my hand under the table when my mom apologized for the first time—not just words, but real, genuine regret. He’s talked me through my moments of panic and doubt with her, and been my rock as she and I have begun to rebuild our relationship. We still have a long way to go, but we are getting there, and I’m grateful for it.

Zane’s come to my work stuff too. He’s attended some improv nights at the center, which are mostly terrible, and has been my date for our low-budget holiday potluck parties. He’s let me rant about annoying clients and office politics, even when he has no idea who I’m talking about. He’s even stayed up lateon work nights to help me make big posters and banners for my programs.

We’ve been each other’spersonfor the past couple of years, and it’s been, hands down, the best two years of my life. Zane sees me—even the messy, scared, vulnerable parts—and somehow, he never looks away. And I make him feel the same. Or at least, I hope I do.

I did understand why Amelia didn’t want him to come to Pride and Prejudice Park with us, even if I was dying to see him in breeches again. Sadly, he hasn’t once put on the costume that he wore for me after our first trip here, that night in his parent’s backyard. But then, out of the blue, Amelia changed her mind and he booked the trip.

So now we’re all three here at Pride and Prejudice Park, and it’s like a dream. I do wonder, though, if Zane’s main reasoning for coming was more forbidden romantic pursuits.

“Zane?” I whisper as I squeeze through the gate to find him sitting on the small bench in front of the fountain. I’m glad it’s dark because I can feel my cheeks heat at the sight of him sitting there, waiting for me in Regency garb. It seems like yesterday that he kissed me for the first time in this garden.

“Miss Bennet,” he says, standing up from the bench and walking toward me, a grand smile on his face as he pulls me into his arms.

“Why, Mr. Bingley, this is quite forward of you,” I tease, wrapping my arms around his waist.

“I told you I would kiss you thoroughly, did I not?” he says in a regal accent.

“You did.” Butterflies gather in my stomach as he leans in, his lips finding mine.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you all day,” he says when we come up for air, arms still wrapped around one another.

I make a tsking sound. “Romantic pursuits are not allowed,” I say in my best Lady Catherine voice.

“I love breaking that rule.” He reaches up and tucks some loose curls—left out by my lady’s maid to frame my face—behind my ear.

“I know you do,” I say, even though I’m enjoying it just as much.

“Come sit with me,” he says before grabbing me by the hand and guiding me over to the bench.

We take a seat side by side, his hand still holding mine.

“So, what’s the plan?” I ask after a bit of silence.

He pulls our intertwined hands toward his mouth and plants a kiss on the back of mine. “I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

I smile, remembering that he said something similar the first time we came here.

“Oh, and I wanted to give you this.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slightly worn, folded piece of paper before handing it to me.

I furrow my brow. “What’s this?” I ask, taking the paper from him.

“Open it,” he says.

I pull my hand from his and open the paper, careful not to tear the worn edges.

My breath catches when I see the words:

"Dear Zane, I’ve written this letter so many times I’ve lost count..."

It’s the letter I wrote to him, all those years ago.

“Why ... what?” I ask, looking up at him and seeing a soft smile on his face. “Why do you have this?”

---