Attempting Elizabeth (18 page)

He looked like Darcy, he really did, as much as I looked like Lizzy Bennet, but everything about his attitude and posture was screaming another name at me.

“Oh my god...” I whispered.

He looked up at me, cocking his head to one side—questioning.

"Mark.” I breathed. “Oh my god, Mark...”

“Well, I’m not really supposed to talk to strangers, but we’ve met before.”

He pushed away
from the tree in a swift, compact motion that was so unlike anything I’d ever seen Darcy do that I knew I was right. Beyond a shadow of a doubt.

“Are you someone else too?” he demanded. "Are you Kelsey?"

I gaped at him, my mind completely gone—like a nuclear bomb had been set off in my head and all that was left was scorched earth and the charred remains of everything I thought I knew about how this whole jumping thing worked.

“Yes, it’s me.” I swallowed painfully. “Kelsey.” The name felt weird on my lips, somehow foreign.

A strange look skated across his face. I’m not sure, but it looked almost like disappointment.

“So, does that mean this isn’t a dream, then?”

I shook my head. I still hadn’t been able to let go of my death grip on the tree. “I’m sorry, it's not a dream. It’s real.”

“Real? As in we are really in
Pride and Prejudice
as other people?”

"Yes. As in, I'm not crazy. I was telling the truth about being able to jump into the book."

He narrowed his eyes at me as he leaned back against the tree and crossed his arms again. "Yeah, obviously you were telling the truth. But the crazy is still up for debate."

I flushed hotly. "That's a jerky thing to say. It's real, not something I've made up inside my head."

"I get that it's 'real.’ I still don't get why you'd keep jumping into different characters."

"Because I want to be Lizzy! Who wouldn't want to be one of literature's greatest heroines if they had the chance?" My voice was getting louder and louder. Someone was going to hear me yelling if I wasn't careful.

Mark—I couldn’t think of him as Mr. Darcy now, even though he was looking at me with Darcy’s eyes set in Darcy’s face—shook his head. "I don't know, I think most people would be weirded out by being someone else. You know, when I asked if you knew who you were—”

"Don't even!" I cut him off. That had angered me. It seemed somehow wrong to bring up our fight in the real world when we were standing there in the bodies of one of the world’s most famous romantic couples. Which was probably stupid of me. What was wrong was that Mark and I were representing Darcy and Lizzy at all. It suddenly seemed like a horrible travesty to me.

“I can't seriously believe you’re going to bring that up right now.” I finally let go of my grip on the tree and stomped off a few feet toward the parsonage before whirling around. “You’re experiencing a totally amazing and mind-blowing event—you’re inside one of the greatest novels ever written, literally inhabiting one of the most beloved literary characters of all time and all you can think about is starting in on the ‘Kelsey doesn't know who she is’ crap again?”

Mark threw back his head and laughed. This had the effect of irritating me even more, but I had run out of things to say and so I fumed in silence.

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s all very exciting, getting into an Austen novel and all that. Likely more for you than for me. But after the first few days it gets kind of old, wouldn’t you agree?”

I crossed my arms over my chest and avoided his eyes. After a pause he asked, “Kels, how long have you been here? I’m guessing more than a few days.” He had that tone of voice again, the one he had used at the restaurant. As if he was a concerned citizen and I was standing on a freeway overpass threatening to swan dive into rush hour traffic.

The tree branch over his head was suddenly very fascinating to me. I kept my eyes fixed on it when I answered.

“A few weeks.” A little over four could still be considered "a few," right?

“A few weeks? Dear God, Kelsey, really?” He ran his hand through his hair. He’d dropped the hat when he’d first leaned back against the tree and crossed his arms. It killed me, it was a gorgeous hat. I glanced over at it: there it was, still lying on the grass, probably getting all wet with dew. Mark noticed my lack of response and eye contact. “A few weeks, total? Or just this time?”

The hat was getting wet, I could see the discoloration from the dampness. It was probably going to be stained beyond repair. Darcy’s valet would likely have a fit. And he should, it was a really nice hat. Or it had been before Mark had let it fall to the ground.

“This time,” I mumbled.

“So, if you had to take a guess at the grand total of time you’ve been here in an entirely fictional world, what would that number be?”

I was seriously running out of things to look at. There wasn’t much going on in the grove. The bark on the tree Mark was standing by looked like it had the potential to be fascinating.

“Um, maybe, um, a little over two months." The last word was more of a mumble than an actual word.

“Two, what? Weeks?"

“Um, months.” I didn’t even have to be looking to know what his reaction was.

“Months? You’ve been here, playing someone else, for
months
?”

I finally snapped my eyes back to him. “Yeah? So what? What do you care? I’m not hurting anybody or anything!”

“Except yourself. It’s not exactly healthy, is it?”

“Who are you, my father? My shrink? Go away. I don’t want you here.” I turned back around and crossed my arms. It may have been a little childish. All right, it was a lot childish, but I’d never had to explain my jumping or my reasons for staying to anyone and I was kind of upset that it was Mark I was having to explain myself to. It made me feel horribly inadequate and like he was disappointed in me. I didn’t want to examine why it would matter to me if Mark was disappointed in me. It shouldn’t matter to me at all.

“Are you sure about that?”

I tried ignoring him, really I did. I held out for thirty whole seconds. “Sure about what?”

“The whole not wanting me here thing?”

“Of course I’m sure! Why wouldn’t I be sure?” I threw over my shoulder. “You’re screwing up my favorite novel! You’re ruining the most dashing and romantic hero
of all time!
”
Mark snorted. “I only ask because I think you brought me here.”

At that I spun back around, Lizzy's skirt swishing around my legs. “I highly doubt that!”

“Yeah, remember how I said I was dreaming and then suddenly I was here? Well, I was dreaming about you—”

“You were?” I tried in vain to keep the hot blush from spreading across my face. Damn Elizabeth and her pale, English skin.

“Last few nights before I ‘jumped’ as you call it, actually. It was weird, I could see you, and you’d reach for me, but I was just a bit out of your reach and then I’d wake up. But the other night the dream was different. I could see you reaching and then you finally caught up to me. You grabbed me and pulled and then all of a sudden I was Darcy.”

I bit my lip. I had been thinking about Mark a lot recently. Not that I was about to admit that to him. Torture and wild horses couldn’t pull that little gem out of me. “So, you’re saying I
pulled
you in, instead of you jumping in yourself?”

“Well, I certainly didn’t have any thought of entering
Pride and Prejudice
.”

“Neither did I. At least not the first time.”

“How did you get in the first time?”

“I fell asleep reading it, and I guess I sort of slid into the scene I was reading. Well, sort of, I was reading Darcy’s letter to Elizabeth, and I ended up as Georgiana like during what was going on in the letter.”

Mark looked at me in utter confusion. “I have no idea what the hell you are talking about, but I trust that you do.”

“Haven’t you ever read
Pride and Prejudice
?” I asked, horrified.

“Kelsey, I’m a guy.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? It’s classic literature! Didn’t you have to read it in school? As a history person shouldn’t you have read it for a greater understanding of the Regency era?” I was outraged. My voice was getting higher and higher with every sentence.

“Okay, okay, I’ve read it. Years ago. Maybe high school? As in, I read it
one
time, as required reading, at least a decade ago. I obviously do not have your level of, uhh,
intimacy
, with this book.”

I bristled at his inflection on the word “intimacy.” As if, my level of knowledge of the intricate details of the novel was somehow wrong or unhealthy. Okay, he may have a point regarding the whole “being” in the novel as other people thing, but previous to jumping, my level of obsession was normal-ish.

I mean, I had to be somewhat detail orientated about it. Literature was my field of study after all, and I specialized in Regency Literature. There was a certain level of professional pride...

I realized I sounded like a completely insane person and could only be thankful that I wasn’t saying any of this out loud. Regardless, Mark could take his sarcastic inflection and stuff it.

“This whole conversation is pointless. It’s getting late. Someone is going to start wondering where I am.”

He stared at me. “So, what, you’re upset with me so you are just going to leave me here? Not even tell me how to get back out to the real world?”

I shrugged. “You write yourself out.”

“What?”

“It’s a book...a story. The best way to get out is to write yourself out. Like, take a book or some paper and write your story on it. Then I put it under my pillow at night or whatever. But that’s how I get in. I fall asleep reading
Pride and Prejudice
. I get out by reading my story.”

“Like my life story?”

“Yeah. I’ve noticed with the stronger—or more main storyline, characters—it's better to be really detailed in your life story, as in names and dates and all that. Darcy is a pretty strong character, so you’d better write a lot about yourself.”

“Okay, I can do that. And just sleep with it?”

“Uh—huh. I’m assuming you’re trying it tonight?” At his nod I sniffed. “Good, you’re messing up the story, somehow. I don’t know how. Hopefully it’s not screwed up forever.”

“Messing up the story, how?”

“Darcy hasn’t done what he is supposed to. He was supposed to visit Lizzy on Monday, and really pretty much every day this week. Then tomorrow he is supposed to propose to her for the first time.”

Mark laughed. “Oh, poor Kels, are you worried I’ll mess up your big romantic proposal?”

“It’s neither big, nor romantic, because you—I mean, Mr. Darcy—completely blows it. However, it is vital to the storyline of the book, so I’d rather it actually goes off as written.”

“Maybe you should write yourself out too. Wouldn’t it be better to just leave? If the proposal is for Elizabeth, wouldn’t it be better if it was directed actually to Elizabeth?”

I huffed out a frustrated breath. “I could try to explain it to you, but my guess is there is no way you’d ever understand.”

He shrugged, and I’d never been so annoyed by his laid back attitude. Although, to be honest, I would have given my right arm to be as calm and collected. I could put on a pretty decent show. For example, I was about to convince the Collinses that I’d experienced nothing more interesting on my walk than repeated viewings of local flora and fauna, but inside I was a roiling mess of nerves, frustration, and stress. But I suppose that was the difference between me and Mark. My calm facade was just that, a facade, and he really was that chill. Right now I hated him. And I was mad enough to pick a fight.

"You know what your problem is?"

He smirked at me. "I wasn't aware I had one. Other than having been pulled into a piece of fiction by my almost girlfriend."

"Your problem is that you’re too damned laid back. Seriously. Like embrace life a little. I know you’re mad at me, why not show it?" My brain eventually caught up. "I’m sorry, what was that?"

"You heard me. So I'm too laid back, huh? What is the appropriate reaction, Kelsey? What would you like me to do? Yell at you? What is that going to accomplish? Should I ask you why you can't just be you instead of having this bizarre desire to be fictional characters? Should I punch something? Put my fist through Darcy's hat? Would that make you feel better? What would your precious Mr. Darcy do in this situation?"

I stared at him, eyes wide. "I have to go."

He shook his head and sighed. “So I guess I’ll see you in the real world then?” he asked.

“Sure.” I started to walk past him on my way back to the parsonage, but stopped. “Oh, in your life story thing just say that you woke up in your own bed and that no time had passed. That way you won’t have missed any time back home.”

“I wondered how you were managing that.”

“The time thing?”

“Yeah, I just saw you two days ago, but you’ve been here as Elizabeth for weeks.”

I started walking again. “Yup, well, now you know. Just stick that in there and you’ll be fine.”

“Good to know. Enjoy your proposal.”

I muttered something derisive and offensive about his parentage under my breath as I stormed off. He must have heard me ‘cause he snorted in laughter again. I didn’t turn back to look at him. I’d see the real Darcy tomorrow evening, hopefully, and I didn’t want to give Mark the satisfaction of thinking I cared enough to look back.

I maintained my furious pace—I was referring to it in my head as outraged stalking off stage—as long as I could. Eventually the burn in my thighs was too much and I slowed back down to a normal pace. It was probably good in the long run. I didn’t want to arrive at the parsonage all sweaty and flushed and obviously having just come from an altercation of some kind (because outraged stalking off stage immediately suggests that the heroine has just had an altercation with person or persons of interest).

I entered the parsonage as if nothing had happened, ran up to my room to dispose of my bonnet and spencer, and then joined Charlotte and Maria who were still chatting over breakfast. Through the window I could see Mr. Collins puttering around in his garden. I counted my blessings that he hadn’t decided on an early morning walk as well. Nothing would have made my little meeting with Mark in the wood more awkward than Mr. Collins happening upon us.

“Good morning, Eliza, how was your walk? You look quite invigorated,” commented Charlotte as I sat down across from her.