Page 20 of Transforming Mr. Darcy
He had been lying under a tree on the bank of a small lake, its water murky in the new light of the day.
“Why am I sleeping out of doors?” he asked aloud.
Moreover, why did he feel he had done this before? He was the master of Pemberley. He had not slept out of doors since he was a boy, and never at this time of year. “Is anyone there?” he called.
When Miss Elizabeth Bennet emerged from behind the trees holding scissors in one hand and a pile of wild roses tied together with a rag in the other, he ought to have been surprised. Strangely, he was not.
“Miss Elizabeth?” he asked quietly, his teeth beginning to chatter. It must be a dream. Still, he knew, somehow, that he must call her by her correct name.
An owl hooted from a branch behind her before flying silently but hastily upwards and away.
Miss Elizabeth said nothing but did set down her scissors and the bundle to walk behind a tree and produce a blanket which she shook out and draped around him. The blanket carried a faint scent of jasmine. He buried his nose in it and took a deep breath while she motioned to the structure behind her.
It was a castle. He had not carried her away to Scotland, had he? He felt so strange;anything might be possible. A memory started to drift back to him. A bedchamber. A fire. His cheeks warmed.A kiss.
“Yes,” he said, though she had not spoken. “Iwouldprefer to go inside.” He reached for her bundle of flowers. “May I carry that for you?”
She smiled a little and shook her head, but he had already grasped the ends of the rag. He held it up to identify the flowers. “Wild roses?” he asked, pulling his thumb away from where he had nearly impaled it on a thorn.A pile of roses.
She did not speak, but one gloved hand touched her throat. Again, something played at the edge of his memory.
“Have you contracted my illness, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked quietly. “I could not speak for nearly a week after you saw me at Lucas Lodge. If I have inflicted it upon you, I must heartily beg your forgiveness. I would never knowingly cause you harm.” He reached for the abandoned scissors. “If you require more roses, I will cut them for you.”
He felt a shiver run down his spine when her fine eyes met his own. She had never gazed at him in this way before, with gratitude, yes, but also tenderness. He had felt a longing for her for some time. Did she feel the same?
When she bent to take the bundle, Darcy tucked the blanket around himself more tightly and took it from her, pleased when she willingly relinquished it. They set off for the castle, which shimmered a little in the light. It almost . . . wavered, like a reflection in a lake.
If this was some illusion of the mind, Darcy determined he would simply enjoy the time he was able to spend with Miss Elizabeth, away from everyone else who might interfere. His own life and obligations felt increasingly distant, but for some odd reason, he did not mind it. The anxiety that always accompanied the responsibilities he had inherited did not weigh quite so heavily when he was in her presence.
“You are making something with these. For me?” he asked, trying to grasp the memory.
Miss Elizabeth’s smile was blinding, and she nodded enthusiastically.
“There is a reason I woke out of doors,” he told her. Again, the smile and the nod. He wished to see it again but could not think of anything else to say until they had returned indoors. He entered her chambers, if the empty room could be called such a thing. There was nothing but a pillow, a stack of blankets, and a basket near the fire.
“Where is your bed, Miss Elizabeth?” he inquired, dismayed.
She shrugged and moved to the basket, whereupon she withdrew from the basket anintricately constructed shirt, a little more than halfway finished. It was far too large for her.
He pointed at himself. “That is what you are making for me?”
She nodded, though her expression was uneasy.
“Are you frightened, Miss Elizabeth?” As his conversation partner could not help him along, he must resort to direct address. “Is there something I might do to allay your fears?”
She paused for a moment with her head down before she nodded a third time. Darcy heard the smallest of sniffles and reached over to tip Miss Elizabeth’s face up to his inspection. Two small tears were making their way down her cheeks.
“What must I do to stop your tears?” he asked quietly, reaching into his rumpled coat for a handkerchief and holding it out. “Please, I cannot bear them.”
She blinked at his words, shocked, no doubt, by their intimacy. She took his handkerchief and dabbed at her cheeks. Two more tears were already falling from her eyes, but no others followed. She held up the shirt slightly and pointed at him.
It was almost as if he was being asked to wear the shirt in penitence for the sin of insulting Miss Elizabeth, like a hair shirt. He would have smiled at the strange wanderings of his mind had these events the feeling of a dream. But while he did feel peculiar, it did not have the quality of a dream, not anymore.
“You wish me to wear it?” He reached for it.
She shook her head and waved at the roses, then indicated the missing sleeves.
“You wish me to wear it when it is finished?”
