Page 27 of Transforming Mr. Darcy
“I do, Mildread.”
“You did not answer his proposal.”
“I wanted to be sure. I wantedhimto be sure.”
“Of what?”
“That it was true love and not a spell.”
“Well,” Mildread said thoughtfully, “that is an interesting phrase, ‘true love.’”
“Why?”
“Because that is the only thing that can save Mr. Darcy, and I am sure Miss Bingley could not manage it.”
Elizabeth squinted at the fairy. “What are you saying?”
Mildread rolled her eyes. “I suppose you require a demonstration?” She snapped her fingers. Miss Bingley appeared, a little the worse for wear. Her perfect coiffure was askew, and her gown had a great rent at the hem. The moment she spied Mr. Darcy, however, she let out a scream and threw herself at his prone form.
Elizabeth grabbed at the woman’s arms. “Leave him be!”
Mildread shook her head, and Elizabeth found herself ten feet away and forced to watch as Miss Bingley peppered Mr. Darcy’s face with kisses. He never responded. Elizabeth saw with rising panic that he barely even breathed.
Miss Bingley stood and began to stalk towards them, but Mildread snapped her fingers, and as quickly as the woman had been summoned, so was she dismissed.
Elizabeth dipped Mr. Darcy’s handkerchief into the clear, cool water of the lake andbegan to carefully remove any evidence of Miss Bingley’s determined ardour. “I know you must be very angry with me for allowing her to assault you in such a way,” she told him. “But you shall simply have to wake if you wish to scold me.”
Mr. Darcy remained motionless.
She sniffed. “I cannot bear to see him so still, Mildread.”
“True love, Elizabeth. Is that what you feel for Mr. Darcy?”
A tear escaped her, trailing down her face and splashing against Mr. Darcy’s lips. “Yes,” she said, the word choked from her in her grief. “But what good does it do either of us now?”
“Kiss him.”
“What?” Elizabeth asked with surprise.
Mildread’s sigh ended in a little grunt. “Kisshim, you foolish girl. It is not as if you have not done so already.”
What harm would it do? One kiss to remember for the rest of her life. One kiss for him to carry through the rest of his.
One final kiss to say goodbye.
She lovingly pushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead and stroked his bearded cheek. Then she took his face gently in her hands and leaned in to touch his lips with hers. She lingered, tasting the salt of her own tears and shedding a few more.
“I love you, Mr. Darcy,” she said when she pulled away at last, the futility of words spoken too late coiling in her chest and waiting to strike. “I would have said yes.”
She threw her arms around him, laid her head on his chest, and surrendered to her grief.
Darcy came backto himself slowly. First, he acknowledged that he had all his limbs and that they ached, as though a carriage had run him down. This led him to the conclusion that he was a man and that he was alive. Then he heard Elizabeth speak. He would know her voice anywhere, even when it was pinched and broken as it was now.
“I love you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said in an impossibly tender lament. “I would have said yes.”
There was weeping, and a warm weight pressing against his chest. After a moment of rest, he raised a hand to touch it. Something soft curled around his fingers, and the scent of jasmine wafted over him.
She loved him. She wanted to be his wife. His heart soared. She must have heard the change in its beat, for the weight lifted, and soon Elizabeth was gazing down at him.
