Chapter Sixteen
ZANE
A letter from Macey to Zane, Tuesday, September 17, 7:02 p.m.
Mr. Darcy,
I am most affronted by your declaration. Not handsome enough to tempt you? I shall summon my lady’s maid and demand the mirror at once to determine how I might remedy this grievous fault. Is it my nose? My hair? It’s my forehead, isn’t it? I’ve always suspected it’s much too big.
Until I uncover the truth, I must console myself with the knowledge that, at the very least, my toes will be spared. For now.
Barely breathing in a corset,
Miss Bennet
“PSST, MACEY,” I WHISPER FROM behind a tree outside Longbourn. All the lights in the house have been turned off except one on the top floor. She’s standing in the doorway wearing the same dark-blue dress from tonight with a short, cropped jacket over the top.
She sees me and then looks around to make sure the coast is clear before heading my way.
She’s giggling as she approaches. “What are we doing?” she asks when she reaches the tree—a tree that’s definitely not wide enough to hide us. Not to mention, we’re sitting ducks on the other side of it.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing her by the hand, and we begin to run toward Netherfield, where I found a secluded walled garden hidden behind the house, with tall brick walls draped in ivy and a wrought-iron gate slightly ajar. Enough for us to slip through.
Macey doesn’t ask me where we’re going; she simply trusts me as we run through the property, taking a more circuitous route, staying in the shadows and darting behind statues and other trees to check for people before continuing. It reminds me of when we were younger. She was always so trusting, following my lead when I’d get her and Amelia to sneak into the community pool after hours. She’d be giggling so hard, she could barely climb over the short metal fence.
We’re out of breath by the time we reach the garden, and I let go of her hand to slip inside the gate as she follows right behind.
“Wow,” she says, looking around. “I bet this is pretty during the day.”
“It is,” I say. I found it earlier as I was walking back from Longbourn and had to check it out. With its weathered walls and flowers and hedges lining the inside, it looked like a secret place to just sit and think. And so that’s what I did. I sat on a bench facing a fountain in the center and thought about my life. I didn’t have any epiphanies. Honestly, my mind kept coming back to Macey and her smiling face as she played Elizabeth in the opening scene. I was happy I got to see it, to witness Macey in her element.
When I saw her at the assembly tonight, looking so beautiful, I nearly forgot I was supposed to be acting like an aloof Darcy. I had to consciously stop myself from smiling at her or letting my eyes linger too long. She seemed to glow in that dark-blue dress, her hair swept up to show off the lovely curve of her neck.
Then we weren’t allowed to spend time together because we had to stay in character ... and I don’t know. I didn’t like it. I tried to have fun, to enjoy myself, but all I wanted to do was find Macey, and be with her. I spent most of the night looking for her. So, remembering this garden, I proposed the idea of meeting later, and here we are.
It’s cool out tonight, but not unpleasant. The air is crisp, clinging to my skin just enough for me to notice without it being uncomfortable. There’s the earthy scent of fallen leaves, and overhead, stars peek through the clouds, casting just enough light to make this garden feel like a hidden little world.
I sit down on the bench facing the fountain and pat the spot beside me. A smile plays on Macey’s lips as she settles next to me. The gentle trickle of water muffles any sounds beyond the garden walls, making it seem even more secluded in here.
“So what’s the plan?” she asks, turning her head toward me, her voice soft. The bench is small, so we’re sitting close, pressed together from shoulders to knees.
The plan? Honestly, I don’t have one. I just wanted to bring her here, away from everyone else. No Lady Catherine hovering over us with her clipboard, no lectures about keeping a respectable distance. Just us, the quiet night, and a little breathing room to enjoy it.
“I don’t have one,” I say, and she chuckles.
“But you wanted to sneak away? I thought you had something grand planned.”
I lift a shoulder and let it drop. “I just wanted to spend time with you without everyone around.”
“Oh,” she says, her voice breathy. I can’t see in the dark, but I’m sure her cheeks are a light shade of pink right now.
“And now here we are,” she says, after some silence.
“And now here we are,” I echo.
My hand is so close to hers, if I wanted to, I could reach over and grab it. But I’ve never held Macey’s hand like that, with no purpose. It’s always been because I’m dragging her somewhere, or helping her climb over something, or steadying her after she trips. This would be different—intentional, deliberate. My fingers twitch at the thought, but I stop myself, unsure if she’d want me to, or if I want me to. I kind of do, and I haven’t taken a minute to think about why, about what’s changed. But ... something has.
“Step on many toes tonight?” she asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“So many,” I say, and she smiles.
I actually did okay tonight and only stepped on one, or maybe two. Possibly three.
“Those poor toes,” she says.
“Indeed,” I answer.
“So ... someone pinched your butt,” she says.
I chuckle. “I knew you were going to bring that up.”
She laughs quietly in response. “But ... did you like it?”
I scrunch my nose. “No,” I say with a chuckle.
“I mean, it is kind of flattering,” she says. “It means your butt in those breeches is too enticing.”
“It’s violating,” I say, but I’m mostly joking. I’m pretty sure I know who it was. A woman who introduced herself as Edith, who was not staying in character and tried to get me to tell her my real name. I told her it was Fitzwilliam.
“So, how are you really feeling about everything?” I ask, watching her closely. She seemed like she was having fun tonight, but every now and then, I caught glimpses of something—a look of sadness on her face.
“I still feel awful about Monroe,” she says quietly. “But then there are moments, like tonight at the assembly, where I get caught up in everything and forget—just for a little while. And then I feel guilty, like I’m a terrible person for having fun while she’s in the hospital. I just hope she’s awake.”
“Macey,” I say. “That doesn’t make you a terrible person. I’m sure if the roles were reversed, you would want her to have fun, right?”
“Of course,” she says. “But ...”
“But that’s what you do,” I say.
“What do I do?”
“Worry about other people.”
She looks away from me. “I guess.”
“You do,” I say. “You’ve always cared about others.” You just started caring more about them than yourself, I want to add, but I don’t want to make her mad or scare her away. I enjoy sitting like this with her, in this quiet garden.
It’s true, though. I’ve watched Macey’s caring ways my whole life. She would get me to do things when we were younger, like build a fort in our basement, but then she would insist on helping clean it up so my mom wouldn’t get mad. One time she joined in when Amelia and I thought it would be fun to put a sprinkler under the trampoline, but then tried to take the blame for it when all the water ruined my mom’s flower beds. That’s just Macey.
But then when her dad left and her mom got into alcohol and drugs, that’s when it started to shift. It was a slow change, but she went from being someone who just wanted to help, to someone who felt like she had to earn people’s love by keeping them happy. It wasn’t enough to just be kind or thoughtful—she started bending over backward to avoid upsetting anyone, even at her own expense. If her mom snapped at her, she’d apologize, even when it wasn’t her fault. If someone needed something, she’d drop everything to do it, no questions asked. Somewhere along the line, she must’ve convinced herself that being liked was the same as being loved.
It’s too heavy of a topic, and whatever this thing is between us—this return to friendship or whatever—it feels too fragile right now to bring it up. Besides, I’m not trying to fix her. I’ll take Macey exactly as she is; I’d just never let her wear herself out trying to please me. Because she doesn’t need to.
“Sorry,” she says.
“For what?” I ask. She says the word so often, I wonder if she even realizes she’s doing it.
“I don’t know—it just seems like you think worrying about others is a bad thing,” she says.
“It’s not.” I shake my head. “Not always. But sometimes you do it to the detriment of yourself.”
“Like how?”
Oh, I have so many examples, just from this trip alone—where do I even start? Not wanting to say something when she was mistakenly cast as Jane instead of Elizabeth. Agreeing to ride a horse when she’s petrified of them, blaming herself for Monroe’s injury. So many to pick from. But there’s one that’s been bothering me the most.
“Like how you let me come on this trip even though you didn’t want me to,” I say.
She pulls in her chin. “I did too,” she says, sounding defensive.
“No, you didn’t. You gave me a bunch of reasons not to come—which, by the way, I do like the nightshirt. So much, I might buy one to take home. Do you think the park has a gift shop?”
She laughs softly at that. “I just wanted to let you know what you were in for, that’s all.”
“But see, were you doing that because you were worried I wouldn’t have fun, or because you didn’t want me here?”
She huffs out a breath. “You know, for someone who claims they didn’t have a plan tonight, you sure seem like you did.”
I chuckle. “I promise I didn’t,” I say, reaching over and tapping her lightly on the leg, which makes her sit up a little straighter.
“I just ... I don’t know ... I miss you,” I say.
“I’m right here,” she says, humor in her tone.
“No, I mean, how did we grow apart?”
She sighs now, like she doesn’t want to say.
“Was it the letter?” I ask, not sure how she’ll respond. Maybe she won’t know what I’m even talking about.
She stands up from the bench so fast, like something ejected her from her seat.
“Oh gosh,” she says, her hands going to her face.
I stand up too and take a step toward her.
“You’re not supposed to remember that,” she says, her hands still on her cheeks.
“Of course I remember it,” I tell her.
“Well, do you think you could forget it?” she asks, her voice sounding flustered.
I chuckle. “Why? It was the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” I say. It still is, actually.
“I’m so embarrassed,” she says. “Zane, I was young—”
“So was I,” I tell her.
“Yes, but ...,” she trails off, and I wonder what she wants to say to me right now. I know it’s been ten years and things change; I know she doesn’t feel the same way. So why do I find myself wishing she did? It’s so strange. Maybe it was her on the runaway horse, the fear I felt of her being hurt, or worse. Maybe it’s getting caught up playing Mr. Darcy, although I highly doubt it’s that.
“I should have talked to you about it, when you gave it to me,” I tell her.
“You know, can we just ... not,” she says.
“No, I need to say this.” I put a thumb under her chin and nudge it upward so she’s looking at me. “I should have said something to you, but I didn’t know how to handle it. So, I didn’t.”
She nods, and I remove my hand. “It was years ago, Zane. It’s fine.”
“Is it, though?”
“Yes,” she says. “I mean, it might be one of the most embarrassing things I’ve ever done, and ... Can we just not talk about it anymore?” she asks.
I chuckle. “Sure,” I say.
What I won’t tell her now is that back in El Dorado Hills, that letter she wrote sits in my sock drawer. I could never bring myself to throw it away, and sometimes, on occasion, when life felt heavy, I’d read it and wonder what could have been.
“Anyway,” I say. “I just wanted to clear the air. I have really missed you, Mace.”
“That’s Miss Bennet to you,” she says, and I smile because just like that, I know we’re okay.
A noise from outside the gate has us both moving to the wall to hide.
“Ya see anything?” a man’s voice says, in a thick accent.
“I didn’t,” says another man. “Probably nuttin’ to worry ’bout.”
“But the mistress said someone saw a couple walking this way,” says the first man.
“It’s the watchmen,” Macey whispers in my ear, her face so close, a strand of her hair brushes against my cheek, sending tiny pinpricks down my spine.
We listen until the footsteps fade away, and then when it seems like we’re in the clear, I turn to her. “We’d better go back,” I whisper.
She nods, and carefully, I slip out the gate with her right behind me.
“Oy! You!” the voice of a man says, and I don’t even look for him. I just grab Macey by the hand.
“Run!” I say to Macey, and we take off, running toward Longbourn.
The men don’t even try to chase us, but we keep running until we get back to where Macey is staying, and we’re both out of breath by the time we get to her door. But we’re also smiling and laughing, like we can’t believe we just did that.
“Are we going to get another lecture tomorrow about romantic pursuits?” Macey asks, her voice winded.
“Probably,” I say, breathing heavily.
“Of course Lady Catherine has spies out at night,” she says.
“We’ll just have to be more careful next time,” I say, and she smiles.
The door to Longbourn opens, and Mr. Bennet pops his head out.
“Oh no, Macey, I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice low. We’ve definitely been caught now, and it’s very possible we might be sent home tomorrow.
But Macey just smiles and takes a step away from me, toward the door. “Who do you think helped me sneak out?” she says.
Mr. Bennet gives me a little head nod in response.
I shake my head, laughing to myself. “See you tomorrow, Miss Bennet.”
“Good night, Mr. Darcy.”