Page 16 of Transforming Mr. Darcy
“What was that?” someone asked out in the main hall. One of the footmen, perhaps.
Oh no.“Shh,” she begged Mr. Darcy. He flapped his wings impatiently.
“You were worried he would be an obstacle to Jane and Mr. Bingley, and so he would have been,” Mildread reminded her.
Elizabeth was unable to contain her distress but attempted to keep it under regulation. “Youpromisedyou would not make him disappear!”
This was met by another swan hiss.
“I have not.” Mildread threw out her arms with a dramatic flourish. “I have transformed him!” She winked at Elizabeth. “Now it is your turn.”
“What?” This made no sense. Why a swan of all things? Elizabeth wanted to shake the fairy, but it was never wise to anger her.
Voices drifted down the hall. Miss Bingley was asking her brother to check on Mr. Darcy.
“Caroline.” Mr. Bingley was annoyed, the first time Elizabeth had ever heard him lose his temper, even a little. “Darcy is entitled to his privacy. If he requires anything, Cartwright will request it.”
The Bingley party seemed to be approaching the stairway. She could not allow them to see her here when she should be upstairs with Jane.
“Mr. Bingley, sir,” said a member of the staff, “I am sorry to disturb you, but I thoughtI heard something down the hall just here.”
Elizabeth gasped. They would see her, standing alone in the dark. No, not alone. With a swan. An uncommonly large and handsome swan, but a swan nonetheless.
“There is a door to the outside down this hall and to the left, dear,” Mildread informed her, a hint of laughter lingering in her words.
Several heavy footsteps approached.
Elizabeth pulled a face at her fairy godmother before she hauled Mr. Darcy up into her arms—gads, he must weigh more than two stone—and staggered from the house.
“Are we there yet?”Elizabeth asked plaintively.
Mildread had guided her nearly a mile from the house out to the ruins of what appeared to be a castle. Elizabeth had carried the swan—Mr. Darcy—at least half the distance before she was unable to continue and set him down. Fortunately, he seemed willing to follow them on his own.
The fairy turned where she was hovering just above the ground. “Patience, my dear.”
Elizabeth was tired and cross. “I am trying, Mildread,” she replied.
Mildread clucked and turned back to survey the rubble. “This will do,” she said cheerfully. She lifted her wand, made two circles with it, and directed the end towards the ruins. Elizabeth blinked as the remnants of stone rose from the ground and reassembled themselves into a tall, wide castle. It shimmered in the moonlight.
“Shall we go inside?” Mildread asked smugly.
“How?” Elizabeth asked. “There is no . . .” Her voice trailed off as a drawbridge dropped from the entrance and hit the ground with a heavy thump. She tipped her head to evaluate it. “Why is there a drawbridge when there is no moat?”
“Enough of your complaints,” Mildread scolded. “There is a lake instead. You are welcome.”
It was a pretty lake, truthfully. Mr. Darcy waddled in its direction, and she followed him, too weary and bewildered to do anything else.
“You cannot leave him like this,” Elizabeth protested as he waded into the water. “He has a sister.”
“The spell can be amended,” Mildread admitted. “But it cannot be entirely undone.”
“Iwasupset,” Elizabeth said, “but I would not wish this on him. Will you amend the spell? For me?”
“How much are you willing to do to restore him?”
Elizabeth gazed across the lake at the swan. He was elegant and graceful. Beautiful, really. Mr. Darcy was all of those things as well. Behind his haughtiness was kindness, of a sort. She shut her eyes and shook her head. “What must I do, Mildread? Simply tell me.”
The fairy smiled. “You must share his burden.”
