He shrugged, “I don’t mind it. Everyone has some feature they wish was different, I guess. It’s my dad’s nose, but his never got broken like mine.”
“It adds character,” I informed him gravely and he laughed at me. “I suppose we should discuss the fact that we are still in
Pride and Prejudice
,” I said after a moment.
“I suppose we should,” he agreed. “Though, actually, I’ve got a more interesting topic I’d like to touch on.”
“Do you? What could possibly be more interesting than us still being trapped in a book as fictional characters? More interesting that my best, and honestly my
only
, theory for getting us back home has failed spectacularly.”
“Well,” he paused, considering. “It might really be of more interest only to me, but I’m actually quite pleased with at least some of today’s developments.”
I looked at him, completely at a loss.
He sat up and reached over to the lantern and held it up in front of my face. I stared at it in confusion, the candle inside had long since burned down. I looked at it harder, and that is when I saw my reflection in the glass.
My
reflection.
The wide set hazel eyes, the high cheekbones and mobile mouth, and that damn too-square jaw that was the bane of my existence. Kelsey Edmundson stared out at me from the glass on the lantern. I couldn’t see a single trace of Lizzy Bennet.
“I’m in a real identity crisis here, Al!”
“Well, that
is
interesting,” I admitted as stared at my reflection. And that is when I realized that this whole time I'd been speaking in my own voice. Gone was Lizzy's light soprano with its crisp British accent, back in full force was Kelsey's brash, American alto.
“I think it’s awesome. I’d rather you looked like you.” Mark set the lantern down and I attempted to school my features into a neutral expression.
“Thanks,” I said. “I wonder if this means we’ve completely erased Lizzy and Darcy, or what?”
Mark eyed me speculatively and I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Is that the only thing that’s upset you?”
“I’m not upset.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I’m not any more upset than a person who is stuck in a work of classical literature and has likely just destroyed the two main characters of said work has any right to be,” I amended huffily.
“Uh huh,” he grunted looking highly unconvinced.
“It’s true,” I insisted.
“You didn’t seem this upset a few minutes ago.”
“Well, that was before...” I trailed off and glanced away.
“Kels, are you upset that you look like yourself?”
“No, I’m upset that I’ve erased Elizabeth Bennet somehow.” I thought I sounded pretty convincing, but he didn’t look convinced and somehow my next words came out without my permission. “She’s prettier than me.”
To his credit Mark didn’t laugh, but he did cross his arms as he leaned back on the tree trunk and studied me. “I guess it’s just a matter of taste,” he commented drily.
“Yeah? Well, I’d prefer to look like Lizzy,” I bit out.
“I prefer you to look like you,” Mark responded. “By a large margin.”
I glared at his crossed arms and generally closed-off body language. “I can tell,” I said sarcastically. It was probably not the smartest thing to say, it left me wide open to a whole world of hurt, but I couldn’t help myself.
Mark ran his eyes over me before looking heavenward as if praying for patience.
“Kelsey, I am trying to keep myself from showing you—physically and explicitly—how much I like how you look. We happen to have serious things to discuss. And as much as I’d enjoy taking advantage of you here in the grass, they're going to miss you at the parsonage and we need to come up with a plan of action.”
I don’t think Crayola has yet invented color name that could adequately describe the bright red that infused my face. I have to admit, that only a part of me was flustered by what Mark had just said. The other part of me wanted to lean forward and kiss the section of collarbone the neckline of his shirt had gaped open to reveal just to see what would happen.
I couldn’t think of anything to say in return that wouldn’t sound horribly stupid and naïve, so I settled for whispering, “I don’t have another plan of action.”
“Well then, why don’t we each think about it for awhile and maybe one of us will have a stroke of genius.”
I nodded silently. Neither of us spoke for a moment. “I’m sorry, Mark,” I said eventually.
He looked surprised. “For what?”
“That it didn’t work. I really wanted it to work.” I found myself fighting back tears. I’d wanted to wake up with Mark at home. Where we could have a chance together. Where we could be ourselves. I realized with a start that this was the first time in months that I’d wanted to be myself over someone else. Of course I’d wanted to get out of Caroline rather desperately, but it wasn’t so I could stay myself so much as so I could try again to get into Lizzy. It was a cruel irony that now that I was finally looking forward to just being me I couldn’t seem to figure it out.
“It’s not your fault. For all we know you could still be here because you were holding on so tight to me and I held you back from jumping somehow. It might be better if you tried on your own to get out.”
I shook my head violently.
“You could come back for me, like you said,” he pointed out. “I mean, we could test the theory. If you can jump back out, then it’s me holding you back.”
“I’d rather not leave without you,” I sniffed. "I don't know what will happen to the storyline or if I'll be able to get back to you."
“I appreciate it, but we might have to explore it as an option at some point.”
“I’ll come up with something better. I just need some time to think about it.”
“Sure,” he grinned at me. “Don’t cry. It will work out.”
“I’m not crying,” I insisted as a tear slipped down my face.
“Why don’t we get you back to the parsonage. Don’t want to mess up your favorite book more than we already have, right?” He rose swiftly to his feet.
“Okay,” I agreed half-heartedly. I was quickly losing interest in trying to preserve as much of the storyline as possible. We’d already screwed it up completely beyond repair as far as I could tell. What would it matter if anyone found Lizzy and Darcy traipsing in from having obviously spent the night together? At this point I was beginning to wonder if anyone would even notice. They didn’t seem to be noticing other obvious physical changes going on around them.
"Darcy's valet is going to have a heart attack and die when he sees what you've done with this shirt." I shook my head sadly at the dirt and grass stains on Mark's back.
"I'm planning to hide it," he grinned at me mischievously. "Actually," he reached into the picnic basket and pulled out a neatly folded lawn shirt. "I should just bury it out here where he will never find it."
"You brought a change of clothes?" I'm sure I sounded as disappointed as I felt. "Did you know it wasn't going to work?"
"No. I just thought it was best to prepare for all contingencies." He pulled his shirt over his head, and I forgot what I was about to say.
Oh my gosh. I knew Mark worked out—I'd spent the better part of the night lying on top of his chest—but nothing had prepared me for the reality of Mark shirtless. I seriously almost cried. Angels may have sung. I made all sorts of promises to myself that I was going to start going to the gym when we got back.
"I—I—" I stuttered.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset." He looked over at me contritely, his arms halfway into the clean shirt.
I swallowed hard. "I'm going to need you to put your shirt on. Now."
I saw comprehension dawn in his eyes as he realized I wasn't melting into a Kelsey puddle because he'd prepared for my novel-jumping not to work. A slow grin spread across his face, but he obliged me by pulling the shirt over his head.
I gasped in a breath. I hadn't realized I'd been holding it. I felt lightheaded.
Mark walked over and offered me his hand. As I stood, Mark pulled me against himself and covered my mouth hungrily with his. I felt as if my entire body was bursting into flame. I kissed him back eagerly, running my hands up under his still untucked shirt, trailing my fingers across his corded abs. Before I could even settle into the kiss he broke it off and stepped away from me.
“Wha?” I slurred in confusion, my brain struggling to catch up.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist just one,” Mark smiled in chagrin as he offered me his arm, “May I escort you home, Miss Edmundson? I promise I won’t maul you again.”
“That’s unfortunate.” I pouted at him for a moment before accepting his arm. “I’m not averse to being mauled, you know.”
His smile widened. “I noticed, but somehow these Regency manners are rubbing off on me.”
“Annoyingly bad timing for that to happen,” I responded as we started walking back toward the lane. It was really later in the morning than I’d originally thought. We’d be lucky not to run into Mr. Collins on his morning walk. “Although, I suspect, even in the twenty-first century you’ve got rather old-fashioned manners.”
“Hmm, this may be true. I admit nothing,” he winked at me as he repeated my expression from the night before.
We walked the rest of the way in silence. Right before we got to the juncture of the lane with the walk that led up the little hill to the parsonage, Mark suddenly came to a halt. I took another step or two before I was pulled up short and realized he had stopped.
“Kelsey, will you go out with me again?”
“Go out with you?” I repeated, confused.
“Yes, like on a date.”
I looked at him in shock. “Like right now?”
He smiled. “No, not right now, when we get home. A real date with dinner and everything, just you and me. I want to make up for our last one.”
Something about the fact that Mark was making plans post
Pride and Prejudice
was comforting to me. It meant that he still thought we could get out of the book and also that he wanted to be involved with me post-book. I suppose I could have assumed that based on the last twenty-four hours or so, but I’ve learned that assumptions aren’t always a good thing in relationships.
“Yes, of course I will go out with you.”
He leaned forward and brushed a kiss across my forehead. “See you later today. Try not to freak out.”
“Easier said than done,” I responded darkly as I turned and made my way up the walk to the parsonage. I turned around halfway and waved back at Mark who returned my wave and then started back in the direction of Rosings.
I grinned as I watched him go. He really did wear breeches well. It probably was horrible of me to stand there and ogle him as he walked away. I found that I was completely unrepentant, however, and I watched until he was out of sight and then I turned and let myself in through the front door of the parsonage as quietly as I could.
It was apparently even later than I thought, because the family was already in the small breakfast room. Silently cursing whatever architect had decided to put the breakfast room so near the front of the house (my money was on Lady Catherine being behind it) I made a valiant attempt to walk past the open door without making any noise.
Charlotte looked up as I walked by and called out, “Lizzy, there you are. We thought you must be out on a walk but were wondering if you were ever going to get back.”
I froze in place, but there was no getting out of it now. I reluctantly turned and entered the breakfast room.
“Yes. I am sorry to see I have missed the start of breakfast. I had quite a long walk and was going to just, um, freshen up a bit before coming back down.”
Both Charlotte and Maria took in my rumpled clothes and mussed hair with widened eyes. Mr. Collins did not deign to look up from his sausage and eggs, which was just as well. I knew he had a moralizing streak hidden somewhere in that rotund body of his that I kind of wished to avoid.
Charlotte looked from me to her husband and then quickly back to me. “I am sure we would not mind if you took a moment to freshen up, Lizzy.” Mr. Collins, still plowing through his breakfast, made an assenting noise without looking up from his plate.
I sent her a grateful look. “Thank you, Charlotte. I’ll be right back.”
I turned and left the room and nearly ran up the stairs. Once I got to my room and looked at myself in the mirror I almost collapsed in laughter. Mark may not have had his way with me outside under the trees but it certainly looked like he had. My hair was a complete mess, my clothes were creased, there was a rather large grass stain on my skirt, and a smear of ink on my chin from pressing my face into my story. I can’t believe Mark didn’t say anything before he let me walk into the parsonage. I was going to have to read him the riot act. Although, there wasn’t much I could have done about it if I had known I suppose, maybe run my hands over my hair and try to make it look a bit more decent.
God knows what Charlotte thought I’d been doing. I was so glad Mr. Collins hadn’t seen my state of dishabille. He likely would have carried the tale to Lady Catherine. It turned out he was a bit of a gossip about his poor parishioners. He considered it his duty to report all of their failings to Lady Catherine, and Lady Catherine in turn, thought it her duty to correct all of their bad behavior.
I sorted myself out as best I could, put on a new dress, and went down to breakfast. To her credit, Charlotte never asked me what had wreaked such havoc with my appearance, even after Mr. Collins went out to visit in the village and we were all assembled together in the sitting room. I could tell Maria was dying of curiosity, but she seemed wise enough to follow her older sister’s lead in social situations. Neither of them seemed to notice my complete physical transformation either. It was weird, yesterday when it had been just my height and my hair, Maria had said I looked as I always had. And much like Mark had found with Darcy’s clothes, mine fit even though there was a height difference. For my part, I was more than willing not to bring either topic up, so we conversed on typical daily topics and whether or not we might see the two gentlemen from Rosings later.
I knew for a fact that they would call, but I couldn’t exactly say that to either lady. Behind my polite conversation I was trying to figure out another possible option for getting out of the book. A new theory to present Mark with when he came that afternoon.
Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam came by the parsonage later that afternoon. Unfortunately, Mark and I didn't get much chance to speak privately. Charlotte must have been beginning to suspect something because she watched us like a hawk; conveniently placing herself where she could see both our faces and abandoning her sister to Colonel Fitzwilliam's flirtations.
When they finally got up to leave, Mark bowed in my direction. "Good afternoon, Miss Bennet, Mrs. Collins, Miss Lucas."
"Mr. Darcy." Charlotte and I curtsied in response, but I delayed my curtsy long enough to see Mark mouth "Trees. Morning." over Charlotte's head.