Page 23 of Transforming Mr. Darcy
Darcy’s happy anticipation gave him a kind of agitated energy. He never swam far from Miss Elizabeth, who had seated herself near the water this evening, determined not to miss the moment they were awaiting, when she could slip the shirt over his head and they would both be released. Only when they were free would she accept the proposal he was determined to make.
Miss Elizabeth, who was very pretty by daylight, was nearly ethereal in the moonlight, its diffused glow softly illuminating both a shapely silhouette beneath a rumpled, well-worngown and her long, dark hair, which had been for several days tied back with a single ribbon.
No duchess could be more delightfully attired. No woman could be more achingly beautiful.
It was far from a curse, this predicament of theirs. It had allowed him to spend so much time alone with Miss Elizabeth, enough to know that he would be unable to leave her behind. Even were he to return to London, she would always be with him.
The owl that followed her everywhere hooted. Perhaps his senses as a swan were more attuned, but it sounded approving.
He did wish Miss Elizabeth might have been allowed to speak more, but her silence had forced him to speak. No, that was not true. He hadwantedto speak to her of his most personal matters. He felt able to unburden himself to Miss Elizabeth. He had explained his insult during the few moments she had to converse with him—he had seen her acting oddly and was put off by it. Though she had rolled her eyes, she had not been upset withhim.
“Mildread!” she had cried, whirling to face the owl. “Itoldyou this would happen. It is almost as though you do these things on purpose!”
He wished for more time to speak, but the brief minutes of speech she was given each day were enough to demonstrate anew her wit and spirit. She had something more as well—courage. She handled herself well, even confidently, despite their circumstances. It boded well for their life together, though he could reasonably hope to never again be placed in a situation that required quite so much bravery.
He began another circle. He cut back at the halfway mark so he could keep his eye on Miss Elizabeth and caught her shaking out her hands before once again taking up the stems.
She had been required to make many sacrifices over the past week. Darcy had been allowed to help a little, but mostly he entertained her while she worked. Never had he put forward more effort to distract someone, but it was very little compared to what had been required of her. She had remained anxious, but she was concerned forhimrather than herself. It had been obvious, though she attempted to hide it. She ought not fear forhissafety—the very notion was painful to him. Darcy was determined that in their future he would protect her as assiduously as she was protecting him.
Then a pleasing idea occurred to him—they might share each other’s burdens. They might protect one another. Miss Elizabeth was strong, so much stronger than him in theways that truly mattered. It would be an honour to be protected by her—to be loved by her.
Darcy had never dared hope for so much. A wife who cherished neither his position nor his fortune buthim. One who would, if required, do battle for him as he would for her. As Miss Elizabeth had done all week. As she was preparing to do now.
He would have smiled had he lips. But having wings was not terrible and he had always enjoyed swimming, so burying his face in the water as he searched for food was rather enjoyable. He had been so strict and proper for so long, it was a relief to shed the pretence, even briefly.
It was incredible how Miss Elizabeth had transformed him. She had him seeing the best parts of a terrible situation. No one who knew him would recognize the man he was now.
Well, of course they would not. For he was not a man at all, was he? But even from the viewpoint of a swan, it was cheering to see the world as Miss Elizabeth did. He could not reproach himself for it.
He watched Miss Elizabeth on the shore, working feverishly to complete the final lines of the garment, a blanket tucked around her shoulders. He swam across the lake as she shivered, in part to work off the frustration that he could do nothing to warm her. Just as he reached the far edge of the small lake, she at last rose to stretch and waved at him. When she saw she had his attention, she held up the shirt. The sleeves were completed and the hem of it fell to her knees.
It was done, and just in time—the grey sky was brightening, streaks of weak light reaching out to touch the treetops, signaling the impending dawn.
The owl, as it had before, lifted from its perch and flew away with great haste. He moved to the far side of the lake in its wake, fearing some threat.
But his attention was drawn back to Miss Elizabeth when a shower of light began to flicker and then rain over them both, as though they were in the tail of a comet—it glimmered off the surface of the water and lit up the air.
It was time.
His wings unfurled, propelling him out of the water and into flight. He remained low over the lake’s surface and aimed for the place he had last seen Miss Elizabeth. At the final moment, the sparks faded to reveal her holding out the shirt so that he could dive right through. He concentrated, pushed hard, felt the sting of the shirt against his back . . .
There was a scream. An impact. Two bodies tumbled down while the shirt,the shirt,was yanked away. He spread his wings and turned back in a wide arc.
The sun lit up the lake as he watched the shirt float down onto the grass. He landed nearby, waddled over, and tried to nudge it over his head, but even as he succeeded, he knew.
It was too late.
He walked through the shirt, just to be sure, but any magic it might have possessed was gone.
Miss Elizabeth was flat on her back, but she turned onto her stomach hurriedly, desperate to see behind her. Darcy met her anguished gaze.
Her lips moved, and he heard her “No,” as clearly as though she had actually spoken.
Their intruder rose from the ground, dusting herself off. “You Bennets do always seem to be underfoot,” she said sneeringly. “Whatever are you doing on Netherfield’s lands so early in the morning, Miss Elizabeth? All alone? And without an invitation?”
Mildread was back.Her scorn rang out in a string of cant. “Trust this nipcheese, bracket-faced, bird-witted . . .”
Elizabeth’s head swam as she stared at Mr. Darcy. Still a swan. After all that work and hope. All the pain.Still a swan. Something very close to despair dampened her spirits.
