Page 18 of Transforming Mr. Darcy
She blinked at him before staring at his . . . neck?
He would normally be embarrassed that he was not properly dressed, but now he just smiled. He had used her Christian name, too, but there was no harm done. He wondered why she was perplexed—was not this play his to create?
Darcy wanted to lift a hand to trace the small wrinkle in her forehead, but surely if he touched her, she would vanish. That often happened, in dreams.
She did not answer, only shook her head and bent back to her work.
“Are these wild roses?” he asked, crouching down beside her. He touched one of the stalks, but the bite of a thorn made him yank his hand back. He had never felt pain in a dream before.
Miss Elizabeth tipped her head and glared at him for a moment. She slapped his hand away. It was not sewing. Rather, she was carefully twisting the stems together in such a way as to avoid being pricked. Around and around she twisted the stems so that the small head of each rose touched the other. It was painstaking work. Forgetting his concern about touching her, he held her hand gently in his own and turned her palm up so he could see. The mind could conjure every sort of wild fantasy—why not roses without thorns?
But her fingers showed evidence of the thorns’ bite through the fingers of her gloves. He winced in sympathy.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” he said softly. “Why are you doing this?”
Her cheeks pinked at the contact before she frowned and poked him in the chest with a finger. He shook his head.
“I do not understand.”
Her shoulders slumped as she lifted an injured hand to her throat, much as he had done the week before. He had coughed in her face at dinner. It had been an accident, but he remembered it quite clearly. Could he have passed on his illness so quickly?
“This is my fault,” he said, almost to himself as she nodded at him. “But that does not explain your illness, your hands. Nor why we are here. I ought to have dreamt up something better for you.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and picked up another stem.
Chapter 7
Mr. Darcy had eventually wandered away, still believing himself in a dream. Last night Elizabeth had called this a nightmare, and so it was.
Mildread appeared in the room near dusk to check on her work. “You are making good progress, Elizabeth. You should have the shirt completed within the week.”
Elizabeth could only gaze balefully at the fairy, who chuckled. “It was your choice, you know. He might simply have remained a swan. Easier for us both.”
No.That was impossible. No one, not even Mr. Darcy, who dared to question Jane’s suitability, would suffer such a fate could she prevent it. If for no other reason, Mr. Darcy had a younger sister in his charge! She opened her mouth, but of course she could not give voice to her indignation.
“I know this is difficult, Elizabeth,” Mildread said quietly. “But it will be for the best. You will see.”
For the best of what?Elizabeth sighed. She had made the deal with Mildread. If she did not wish Mr. Darcy’s transformation to be permanent, she need only spend a week creating this shirt with wild roses before slipping the finished garment over Mr. Darcy’s handsome swan head. Mildread wanted it to fit his human form, and for the first time, she wished Mr. Darcy was not quite so tall.
A week. She hoped Priscilla would explain so that Jane was not anxious for her.
“No one will realise you are gone,” Mildread assured her. “Please,” she said dismissively in response to Elizabeth’s raised brow, “you are not so difficult to read as you believe. Mr. Bingley and his family will forget he invited Mr. Darcy to visit Netherfield, and everyone will forget you ever arrived to tend your sister. When you return, if you return, they will believe you have been there all along.”
If?Surely Mildread did not mean to keep them under this spell forever. Elizabethshook her head slowly. She did not understand why all of this was necessary.
“Soon Jane will be well enough to leave her room, and then Priscilla will see to her courtship with Mr. Bingley. Without his friend’s interference, I do not believe it will be long.”
Elizabeth smiled a little. This was why. It was for Jane’s happiness. There was nothing she would not do for Jane. Well, she would not leave Mr. Darcy a swan forever, not even for Jane. Her sister would not like it.
Mildread peeked outside. “It is nearly dark, so I must tell you one last thing. Each day, in the final quarter of an hour before Mr. Darcy becomes a swan for the night, you two will be able to converse. It begins now.”
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. “A quarter of an hour?”
“A little less, now,” Mildread warned.
Elizabeth sprang to her feet. “Where is he?”
The fairy shrugged. “I am sure I do not know.”
