Not Quite Darcy (28 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

She ran across the attic to the far corner. Now that she'd made her decision, she needed to get it over with. The thought of leaving him felt like a sucking chest wound. The sooner she returned to her own time, the easier it would be on both of them. The mirror remained just where she'd hidden it, leaning against the old brass bed, behind a row of battered trunks. She tugged off the quilt and tossed it onto the bed. She placed her shaking hands on the frame. With a mighty yank, she pulled the mirror from its hiding place and propped it against the wall.

If she waited, even for a few more heartbeats, the thread of her determination might snap.

She stood in front of the mirror and placed her hands on the center of the surface. It shimmered with a kind of electric excitement, like a living thing. Starting from her palms and rippling out to the frame—the surface crumpled and crinkled her reflection. The image of the attic walls warped and shifted until they were replaced by a wavering scene. It was difficult to make out at first, but when the waves receded, the image gradually focused, like dialing the lens on a camera. She blinked. The mirror's image appeared to be an extreme close-up of black dress pants. Rather, the ass end of someone wearing a pair of black trousers.

She caught the sound of voices echoing faintly from the mirror's surface. She ducked her head closer to listen.

“Simply talk to the customer for a moment, James. And when you're finished, please close up the shop for the day.”

“You'd like me to interact with a client?” Though she couldn't see him, she recognized Lancaster's haughty tone instantly. He sounded equal parts amazed and horrified.

“I wouldn't ask, but my lumbago is acting up.”

“You have…lumbago?”

“James, please. Go. Make a sale. With luck, you might make up for my giving that gown away.”

She heard the sounds of footsteps, then a door opening. Once it shut with a
thwick
, the person blocking the mirror turned around, revealing, as expected, Archibald York.

He made a gesture of tipping an invisible hat to her, then clasped his hands together and scooted closer to the mirror. “Eliza.” His voice was warm, grandfatherly. Eliza burst into fresh tears.

“There, there, dear girl.” York took a step toward her.

“I messed everything up, didn't I? Lancaster is going to be pissed.”

“Agitation is James's natural state. I shouldn't worry about it, dear.” He smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“Will it mess with your parameters to tell me about my mission? I desperately need to feel like less of a fuck up right now.” She dabbed at her tears with the back of her hand.

“We haven't much time, I'm afraid. James will be returning shortly. What do you wish to know?”

“At least tell me”—her voice hitched—“that my stupid mission was a success.”

“It was.” Though he looked directly at Eliza, his eyes had a faraway glaze to them. “You saved the life of Jennie Jerome.”

“And she went on to become Winston Churchill's mom, right? He's the only Churchill I've ever heard of.”

“Indeed. The very next year. He was born a mere seven months after their wedding.” York untucked a handkerchief from his suit coat and handed it through the mirror to Eliza.

“Thank you.” She took the proffered cloth and sopped up her tears.

“You must know that without Winston Churchill the Second World War would have gone quite differently indeed. Your mission here is far from a failure, dear.”

“Doesn't feel that way right now. I don't think”—her voice hitched again—“William would feel that way about it.”

York looked over at her guiltily. “I am sincerely sorry for the distress caused to you and your William. I do hope you understand, we did not wish this for you. Lancaster and I are granted only a limited window into the past. We knew of Beatrix Brown's desire to pair him with an American, therefore it seemed a good placement for you. We needed to position you near Miss Jerome at a very specific place, at a precise time—within our somewhat limited means.”

She blew her nose. “Aren't you going to give me shit for not following your guidelines?”

York gave her a kindly expression and shook his head. “If scolding you would make you feel better, I suppose I could. But I would just feel terrible about it.”

Eliza sniffed. “It's my fault. I made this mess by breaking the rules. I tried to do what was right, to do what was for William's own good. It was just so hard.”

“Ah, Eliza. ‘The heart has its reasons, whereof reason knows nothing.' I think Pascal said that. Or perhaps it was from an episode of
Buffy
. These later decades become a jumble in my mind.”

She couldn't put it off any longer. “What happens now?”

“You step back through the looking glass. Only you'll be going back to your life and not stepping through to Wonderland.”

They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming up the attic steps. They were too light to belong to Mrs. McLaughlin, but too determined to belong to William.

Eliza wrapped her arms around her middle, torn in two.

“Eliza? Are you in there?” William yelled through the attic door. His voice was so raw and coarse, it sounded nothing like him.

She tried to speak, but the words clung to her throat.

“Goddammit, Eliza,” William said. “Talk to me. You can't leave me now. Not without saying goodbye. You promised.”

The door banged loudly and Eliza jumped. This was followed by another loud bang and the crunch of shattered wood. The door latch clattered to the floor along with wood splinters. William kicked open the ruined attic door.

He looked frantic. When he spotted Eliza, he ran toward her. He reached her side and cast a quick glance down at the mirror. “You are Lancaster, I presume?”

“Archibald York, sir.” He gave a formal bow. “At your service.”

“Are you here to take her back?” William asked, his voice cracking.

“I'm here because she called me,” York replied placidly.

William turned to face Eliza. “Is this it? Are you leaving me, then?”

She'd been honest with him from the start. She couldn't stop now. If she was going to break both their hearts in this, she at least owed him the plainspoken truth. “I'm going back to where I belong.”

“Please don't. You can't.”

“I have to. You know I do.”

“I know nothing of the kind. If it's my uncle and my bloody inheritance that you're concerned about, you shouldn't be.” He looked down at the sheet of paper crumpled in her hand. “Have you even read my letter?”

“What's in the letter doesn't matter, William. I can't let you give up everything. I have to leave. It's for your own good.”

“My own good? Dear god, Eliza. Sometimes you can be such an assclown.”

“What?”

“I am quite certain I did not stutter. You taught me the term yourself.” He stepped toward her and clasped her hand tenderly. “I love you to distraction, but you are the only thing that is ‘for my own good,' you great bloody assclown.” He blinked at her, his eyes burning with sincerity. “You've changed everything about my world, my love. You've taught me how to be a man and stand up for what's important. Thanks to you I've stood up to mother, and then my uncle. Now I'm standing up to you.”

“Will you try to stop me? Try to force me to stay?”

He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it with a sigh. “No. I could never force you. You know that. I want you to be happy, Eliza.” He looked at her tearstained face. “Will leaving make you happy? It doesn't look as though it will.”

“It doesn't make me happy. But staying here, ruining your life, makes me unhappier. I can't ask it of you, William. I won't.”

“You didn't ask a thing,” he said. “I'm the one asking you. Be my wife. Stay with me. You're not ruining my life, my love. You've ruined me for any kind of life without you. And I may be a great fool, but I believed you when you said you loved me too.”

A voice echoed up from the nearly forgotten mirror. It took her a moment to recognize it as York's. She had completely forgotten about him. His back was to them and he was calling to Lancaster in the other room. “Yes, James. I understand. But if the customer calls the Better Business Bureau, it'll be on your head. Don't forget to lock up and…do bring back the contents of the cash register, won't you?”

York turned to look at Eliza, slightly flustered. “I've stalled as long as I'm able. We have but moments left, my dear Eliza.”

William released her hand and stepped back. Tears swam in his blue eyes, but she could barely see them through her own. “It's your choice, Eliza.”

“It's not though, William.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Staying here was never an option. It was always a matter of when.”

“Strictly speaking, that is true.” York cast a nervous eye over his shoulder.

“What do you mean ‘strictly speaking'?” Eliza asked. “I have to return. That was the deal.”

“It is true that it was the deal. We have always returned participants to their lives.” York quirked a smile. “There is, as they say, a first time for everything. It's not been done before. Not precisely. But such a thing might be worth a try.” He chuckled to himself. “I should think Lancaster should be most distressed. That, in itself, may be reason enough for you to do it.”

“Darling,” William interjected, “stay with me. Trust me, just a little bit.”

“I believe your young man has made his desires quite clear,” York said. “Eliza, from the beginning of this conversation, you've been trying to answer all the wrong questions. You think you know what is for William's own good. You assume that just because a thing has never been done before, that it can't be done. The question I'd like to see you answer is the one you won't ask.”

“What's that?” Eliza couldn't imagine what York was getting at. York gave William an exasperated glance and shook his head.

“What do you want to do?” William's curious blue eyes widened. “Leaving aside what's best for me, ignoring whatever it was I had to say in the letter, ignoring Lancaster and York altogether—what would make you happiest?”

She paused for a moment, thinking of her friends, her apartment, her entire twenty-first century existence. It was almost too much to consider. She wouldn't only be parting with everyone she'd ever known, she'd be giving up everything. Cell phones and cars. Electricity and bikini briefs. The right to vote and the advances in medicine. She would say goodbye to all of it, forever.

William watched her, earnestly, patiently—his hands clasped together. He'd already given up everything for her. Could she do the same?

What would make her happiest?

Oh, William. He was already entwined with her being, heart and soul. Just William. To hell with society, to hell with the perfectly good reasons to leave him, to hell with Lancaster and York. And to hell with electric toothbrushes. It was William.

Maybe it was a selfish choice. Maybe it was foolish. They seemed to have nearly everything stacked against them. The
only
thing they had on their side was love. Looking at him, hope shining in his bright blue eyes, she knew that love, at least this time, outweighed everything else. He loved her, goddammit, and she loved him. Maybe, sometimes, that was enough.

Eliza stepped toward him. “I choose you.” The biggest Geronimo leap of her life.

William wrapped his arms about her. As he enfolded her into his warm embrace, she felt his body shudder a little. “Oh, Eliza,” was all he said.

“Excellent.” York clapped his hands together, a great grin spreading across his face. “To simplify matters with Lancaster, I suggest you destroy the mirror rather expeditiously.” He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder.

Eliza looked around the room for something metal, but nothing caught her eye. William stepped to the corner where a pile of dusty fireplace implements lay in a heap. He picked up a fireplace poker and handed it to her. “As I recall, you're quite good with this.”

“So you
do
remember what you said that night you were drunk.”

“You've corrupted me most thoroughly, my love.” He grinned widely at her. “Thank you for that.”

“Hurry now,” York urged from the mirror. “He'll arrive any second.”

Eliza gripped the poker tightly. She wound her cane arm back, like a batter at Dodger Stadium, looking at Archibald York for the last time.

He gave a jaunty wave. “And try to resist changing Victorian society too much, Eliza. We can only push Lancaster so far. Goodbye, my dear. And good luck to you both.”

“Goodbye, Mr. York. Thanks—for everything.”

York bowed deeply and before he stood up, she swung for the bleachers. The cane arced down to the mirror's center and connected with a crack. York's image fractured, then vanished. Spider webs of breakage spiraled from the center to the edge of the frame and a frisson of electricity shot about the room. Whatever the thing had once been, it was now only a mirror.

For good measure, Eliza gave a solid yank and the mirror crashed to the floor. The sound of breaking glass had never sounded so sweet.

“Seven years of bad luck can bite my ass,” Eliza said.

William looked at her with wonder. She fell into his arms. His mouth was warm and hungry on hers. God, how she'd missed the feel of him, the slightly peppermint taste of his kisses. As their tongues entwined, some dark recess of her mind was aware of footsteps pounding up the attic stairs. It was only by some minor miracle that the sound of Mrs. McLaughlin's voice broke through Eliza's consciousness.

“What did you break now, Bessie? I swear, girl if you…”