Page 47 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

“It felt good, though, right?”

She reaches up and punches me lightly in the arm. “No, it didn’t,” she says, irritation in her voice. I kind of like seeing this fire in her. It’s very attractive.

“Macey,” I say, tilting my head. “If you didn’t say something, someone else would have taken the role, and did you really want that?”

She lets out a breath. “I guess not. Everything feels tainted now, with Monroe going to the hospital. I just don’t know how to feel.”

“I know this isn’t turning out how you wanted,” I say.

She sniffles but doesn’t look at me. “It’s not.”

“We’re here, though; shouldn’t we make the best of it?”

“Honestly, I kind of just want to go home,” she says.

The defeat in her voice rankles, more than I want to admit. What I want right now is to somehow make this right for her. But I can’t magically go back in time so Monroe doesn’t fall off her horse.

“How about this,” I say. “Let’s stay through the day, do our best to make Jane Austen and Lady Catherine proud, and then if you still feel the same tomorrow, we’ll go home.”

She nods. “Okay,” she says, her voice quiet. “We can do that.”

“Come on,” I say, standing and holding out my hand. “Let’s gather our wits, as Lady Catherine suggested.” This gets me a small smile. “I’ll walk you to your house so you can change.”

Macey hesitates for a moment before placing her hand in mine, and we walk like that through the house, out the back door, and into the gardens.

The afternoon air is still cool, but the sun’s starting to burn off the morning haze. The gardens outside the main house are massive, featuring meticulously trimmed hedges and flower beds still bursting with colors. Statues of Greek gods are dotted throughout, and at the center of the garden is a stone fountain with a stone bench.

Macey doesn’t let go of my hand as we walk, and I don’t let go either. Have we ever held hands like this before? I don’t know. But I think I like it.

We’re both silent as we stroll along the gravel path, and I look over at Macey. Her demeanor just looks sad. Her shoulders are slumped, and her eyes are distant. I want to say something—anything—to cheer her up, but I can’t think of what to say.

“So, Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” I say in my British accent, attempting to at least lighten the mood. “Are you excited for the assembly tonight?”

She gives me a half-hearted smile. “Sure,” she says, unconvincingly.

I stop walking, turning to face her. “Macey,” I say gently, tugging on her hand. “We don’t know how things are going to turn out. Monroe could be just fine. Hopefully, we’ll get an update soon. But in the meantime, we can’t sit around here dwelling on what-ifs.”

She nods, but her eyes are downcast. “I know,” she says. “You’re right. I just ... feel so bad.” Her eyes well up again.

Without thinking, I pull her into my arms once more. She doesn’t resist, her head resting against my shoulder as she lets out a shaky breath. It should feel strange to keep hugging her like this, to keep touching her, but it doesn’t. She fits so perfectly in my arms.

“This sucks,” she says against my chest.

“Yeah,” I agree, my voice soft.

“Thank you,” she says after a bit.

“For what?”

She pulls her head back so she can see me. “For being so understanding, and for trying to help me feel better. And ... for not saying I told you so after the horse thing.”

I pinch my brow. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Um, yes you would,” she says. “Remember that time when we went sledding and I cut my head open?”

“Yeah?” I say. I remember that day well. We’d driven up to Tahoe after a big snowstorm to go sledding, and the trip was cut short because Macey had to be taken to the urgent care.

“You told me the hill was too steep, and I didn’t listen. I went flying down and crashed into the bushes, cutting open my head. The first thing you said to me wasI told you so.”

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