Chapter Twenty-Two
MACEY
A letter from Macey to Zane, Saturday, September 21, 11:40 p.m.
Mr. Darcy,
I fear I shall be finding leaves and dirt in my hair for the foreseeable future, thanks to the brazen way you threw me up against that wall and kissed me thoroughly. Truly, I shall never forgive you for this.
Or forget it.
Yours,
Miss Bennet
“I WILL MISS YOU, MY darling girls,” Mrs. Bennet says as we sit at the table at Longbourn for the last time.
Today is my final day at Pride and Prejudice Park, and I have mixed feelings. I’ll miss living in this world—wearing the beautiful clothes and reenacting my favorite love story of all time. I won’t miss the corsets and Lady Catherine. That’s pretty much it. If I didn’t have to deal with either of those two things, they would probably have to drag me out of here.
I can’t believe it’s coming to an end. When I first found out I won this trip, it felt like my luck was finally changing—like I was handed something truly magical, just for me. And being here has been all of that and more. It has exceeded all my expectations and hopes. I’m sure Zane has something to do with it too.
“I’ll miss ya’ all too,” Kitty says, and Mary nods her head, agreeing.
“And I shall miss all of you dearly,” Jane says, her soft voice full of warmth. “But we must not dwell on partings when we still have this moment together. Let us treasure it, as I know I shall.”
Jane is being kind of a buzzkill here, as she stays in character, but we all nod around the table like she’s said the most profound thing.
“I, for one, will not miss this porridge,” Mr. Bennet says, lifting his spoon. The porridge slops off it and lands back in the bowl with an unappetizing plop.
We all laugh, including Jane.
“I want to thank you all for making this week memorable. I can’t imagine how it would have been without all of you,” I say, feeling a little melancholy about saying goodbye.
“Well,” Mrs. Bennet says, with a quick nod of her head. “Shall we get ready? We have a big day today. Two of my girls are getting married.” She beams at Jane and me.
It’s our last reenactment; there will be a double wedding for Jane and Bingley, and Elizabeth and Darcy, and then we’ll have one final ball—a send-off of sorts where the locals join us, and there will be lots of dancing and not having to stay in character, which honestly doesn’t sound all that fun. I’ll miss being Elizabeth—her courage, her wit, and the way she always speaks her mind. Maybe some of her essence has worn off on me.
My wedding dress is ivory, with a gorgeous, embroidered-lace bodice and a flowing, silk skirt that goes all the way to the floor. I saw it when we picked our wardrobe and grabbed it, even though back then I was playing Jane. Still, it’s perfect for Elizabeth too. I imagine if someday I get married for real, I’d want something like this. And whomever I marry would have to wear breeches, a tailcoat, and a cravat, of course. And he will have dark hair and gorgeous blue eyes.
Oops. There I go again. But after the way Zane kissed me last night, I can’t help but wonder if, and hope that, this isn’t just a vacation romance or a Pride and Prejudice romance, but the real thing.
LADY CATHERINE CLAPS HER HANDS twice as we stand outside the ballroom, which has been decorated with garlands and flowers. It’s so beautiful. She even went as far as to have pews and an altar brought in. The room is now full of staff and locals, and the best surprise: Monroe is here. She looks happy and healthy—although a little bruised from her fall—and seems very much in love with her duke, who hasn’t left her side since they arrived.
“All right, everyone,” Lady Catherine says, wearing a deep-purple gown, her gray wig extra grand. “We shall now proceed with our final reenactment of the week.” A few of the cast and staff let out exaggerated sighs of disappointment at this.
“I know, I know,” she says, raising a hand to quiet us. “It is indeed a somber moment. But as Jane Austen herself has taught us, all good things must come to an end.”
“Did she coin that phrase?” Zane asks, leaning in toward my ear, his proximity making butterflies dance around in my stomach.
“No.” I shake my head. “She did not.”
“Now, as we do this final scene, please do conduct yourselves with the utmost propriety. This is a momentous occasion—the culmination of our tale and the joining of these two most esteemed couples.” She tips her head toward Zane and me, her wig bobbing as she does. “Let us ensure that every detail is performed with the dignity and grace befitting such an event. Remember, you are not merely witnesses; you are part of history.”
Zane snorts out a little laugh that hopefully no one else hears.
“And let me remind everyone,” she goes on, looking pointedly at Zane and me. “There shall be no kissing. This is not some frivolous play; this is a reenactment of the highest caliber. Keep your passions firmly in check.”
“Yes, Miss Bennet,” Zane says, whispering to me again. “Keep your passions in check.”
“I’m not worried about myself, but I am for Mr. Darcy.”
He nudges me with his shoulder. “Have I told you that you look incredible?”
“You have. Twice,” I say, a blush creeping up my cheeks.
“Right, I remember now,” he says, quietly. “And then I kissed you in the back of the library.”
My blush deepens. He did do that. After a quick moment with our phones during our final leisurely pursuit—since we’re getting them back this evening before we leave, along with our other personal items. I used the time to send an update email to my mom and reply to an impatient Amelia, who was demanding more details. But then Zane grabbed my hand, pulled me behind some shelves, and kissed me until my lips tingled. Passions, clearly, were not in check.
“Everyone, please line up,” Lady Catherine directs. “Let us start the reenactment.”
THE WEDDING SCENE WAS LOVELY, the locals who joined in made for a fantastic audience, and overall, it was a wonderful day. Now, as I finish a lively reel with an overly enthusiastic Mr. Collins as my partner, I’m more than ready for a much-needed break.
Zane sat this one out after doing back-to-back dances with Edith and some of her friends. So far, she hasn’t touched his butt. But there’s still time.
I walk over to Zane, who’s deep in conversation with Monroe’s duke, and slide into the open seat beside him. His hand moves to my knee, giving it a quick squeeze before settling there, as if this is the most natural thing in the world for us.
Zane has no hesitation about touching me in public now, making his affection obvious for everyone to see. It’s clear he doesn’t mind a little PDA, much to Lady Catherine’s horror. She’s shot him more than one reprimanding look, but all he’s done is hold my hand or hug me. Honestly, the woman is insufferable. But she does know how to put on a great Pride and Prejudice reenactment, I’ll give her that. Who knows—maybe I’ll even miss her slights and curt demeanor.
Speak of the devil . . .
“Mrs. Darcy,” Lady Catherine says as she approaches me, holding a piece of paper in her hand. I do love that she’s been calling me “Mrs. Darcy” since the wedding. It gives me a thrill every time I hear it. “May I have a word?”
A tendril of nerves moves down my spine, but I have nothing to worry about here. Even if she somehow caught Zane and me sneaking out, she’s not going to bother kicking us out now, only a couple of hours before the entire thing is over. Is she?
I follow her over to the corner of the room, away from the music and the dancing.
“I was wondering if you could help me with something,” she says before handing the folded paper to me.
“Yes?” I ask, waiting for her question, not sure what she’s getting at.
“You see, I wanted to contact the company that organized the giveaway you won, so I could thank them properly, and perhaps arrange another one in the future,” she says. “But when I looked up your booking, there wasn’t a company name listed—only the name of the purchaser.”
“Oh,” I say, looking down at the folded paper.
“I printed it off so you could see. Perhaps you might be able to direct me to the right place?”
“I can try,” I say. “But I don’t really know all the details. My best friend is the one who entered our names into the contest, so she might know.”
I open the paper, though, just in case I see something that sparks a memory. It’s possible Amelia told me and I forgot.
I unfold it and scan the details, my eyes catching on the section where the payment information is listed—and then I see the name.
“This can’t be right,” I whisper, staring at the paper like it might rearrange itself if I look hard enough.
“Do you know what company Miss Amelia Porter works for?” Lady Catherine asks, a head nod toward the paper in my hand.
“No,” I say, shaking my head, confused. “This isn’t right. Amelia is ... my friend.”
“Oh,” Lady Catherine says, nodding slowly. “Well, that clears that up, then. It must not have been a giveaway, but rather a gift.” She lifts a hand to her cheek, her expression softening. “How lovely of your friend to give you such a gift. True friendship is such a rare treasure these days, is it not? As our dear Jane Austen said ...”
I’ve stopped listening. I keep looking at the paper in my hand, seeing Amelia’s name there and trying to make sense of it. What does this mean? Was there no contest? I didn’t win?
Still not sure what to believe, I walk over to Zane, who’s now sitting by himself drinking some lemonade, to see if maybe he can give me some clarification. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong and he’ll be able to clear it up.
“Zane,” I say, holding out the piece of paper toward him. “Do you know what this is about? Why is Amelia’s name on here?”
Furrowing his brow, he takes it from me and scans it, and then I see it—the color draining from his face, telling me everything I need to know.
I didn’t win this trip. Amelia paid for it, and Zane knew about it.
Something hot and angry works its way up my neck, and my cheeks feel like they are about to catch fire. I will myself to calm down because I don’t want to make a scene. That’s not what I do. No, what I normally do is just take it. I push my own feelings away and tell myself that it’s not a big deal and I shouldn’t be mad. All in the name of making sure everyone else feels more comfortable than I do. To keep the peace.
But I am mad. I’m also hurt. And for once in my life, or at least for the first time in a very long time, I want to say exactly how I’m feeling.
You are strong. You are brave. You are channeling Elizabeth Bennet.
“I didn’t win,” I say. It’s a statement and not a question. Zane only shakes his head. I take a step toward him and rip the piece of paper out of his hands, causing a few heads to turn our way, making a slight bit of unease work its way down my spine. But I forge on.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask him, my voice trembling. “Why would you let me go on and on about winning, knowing the whole time that it wasn’t real?”
Zane opens his mouth, then closes it again. His gaze drops to the floor, and I feel my anger spike.
“Mrs. Darcy,” Lady Catherine says sharply, her voice cutting through the tension. “Must we really air such matters in public? A lady does not make a spectacle of herself, no matter the provocation.”
I turn to her, this infuriating woman who’s spent the entire week nitpicking my every move.
“Lady Catherine,” I say, my voice steady. “Please, do shut up.”
Her mouth falls open, and for a moment, she looks like she might respond. I almost apologize for being so rude—but I stop myself. Zane was right: I do say I’m sorry too much. So instead, I channel my best Elizabeth Bennet stare, and it works. With an indignant huff, she pivots on her heel and sweeps away, her skirts swishing dramatically behind her.
I turn back to Zane. “Well?” I press, feeling emboldened. “Do you have anything to say?”
“Macey, it’s ...,” he stutters over his words. Reaching up, he swipes a hand down his face.
I realize then there is nothing he can say. He can’t change what happened, and there is no excuse that will make this better. He let me believe the lie. I trusted him, and he kept this from me, and now I feel foolish and ... stupid.
I shake my head at him, my eyes filling with tears before I turn and run out of the ballroom.
I hear him call out my name, but I don’t stop; I just keep running. I run through the property, not really sure where to go. Maybe the walled garden? But there are too many memories there and it would probably be the first place Zane would look for me. No, I need to go somewhere no one would think to look.
I make my way to the stables, find the large door, and yank it open, barreling inside as the sharp scent of manure and hay assaults my nose.
I walk toward the back and plop myself down on a bale of hay, not worrying about what it will do to my dress; I’ll have to figure that out later.
I look to my left to see that I’ve sat right in front of Thunderbolt’s stall. That’s perfect, really. He looks at me, and I stare back.
“You tried to kill me,” I say to the beast. But he only answers with a twitch of his ear.
I take a deep breath, trying to ease all the thoughts running through my head and feelings coursing through my body right now. But there’s so many happening at once, it’s hard to parse through them.
I can’t believe Amelia did this. Actually, I can. This is classic Amelia—exactly the kind of thing she’d do. If I confronted her, I already know what she’d say—that if she’d told me she bought the trip, I wouldn’t have accepted it. And she’s right; I wouldn’t have. It’s too much. Too big. Too grand.
How foolish I was to not look into it. All I could see was that out of all the bad that recently happened, there was this morsel of good. Winning the trip felt like the one good thing to happen to me in forever. Like the universe finally threw me a bone after all the crap I’d been dealing with. I didn’t question it because I didn’t want to. I just wanted to believe that, for once, something good had happened to me—something I didn’t have to share or explain away. Something without strings. But now, knowing the truth, it just feels like another reminder that I can’t even catch a break without someone stepping in to help.
The door to the barn opens, and in walks Zane.
“Macey,” he says, out of breath.
“How did you find me?” I ask, standing up from the hay bale. Thunderbolt makes a snorting noise.
“I thought maybe you’d gone to the garden, but that felt too easy. So I checked the last place I thought you’d go.”
I huff out a breath. Freaking Zane. Of course he’d figure me out.
“Plus, you dropped the paper outside the door.” He holds it up for me to see before putting it in the pocket of his breeches.
Drat. Way to cover your tracks, Macey.
“Well, I don’t want to talk right now, Zane,” I say, crossing my arms.
“Can I at least explain?” he asks, stepping closer and stopping in front of me.
“No,” I snap. The word rolling off my tongue with surprising ease. Even Zane looks taken aback. I think some of Elizabeth Bennet’s boldness has rubbed off on me after all.
“Macey,” he says.
I’ve always loved the way he says my name, like there’s so much meaning in his tone. How his voice pitches up and then down in a way that’s always made it sound like a term of endearment. But right now, it feels different—condescending, almost. Has it always been this way and I’ve just been too lovestruck to notice?
“Amelia didn’t pay for the trip,” he says.
I blink, my anger faltering. “She ... didn’t?”
Did I get this all wrong? Did I run out of the ballroom like a child over nothing? Oh gosh. That’s so embarrassing.
“No,” he says quietly. “My parents did.”
“Right.” Never mind, the anger is justified. I let out a bitter laugh. “Another thing to add to the list of what I owe the Porters: a ridiculously expensive trip to Pride and Prejudice Park.”
“Macey,” he says again, and now I’m sure there’s condescension in his tone. Has it always been that way, or just now?
“Go away,” I say, my voice cold. I almost tack on a polite “please,” but that’s not something Elizabeth Bennet would do.
“Can we please talk about this?” he asks.
“What’s there to talk about?” I say, my voice trembling despite the wall I’m trying to put up. “I didn’t win this trip. Amelia—or I guess your parents—made it happen.”
“Why is it so important to you that you won?” he asks, his brows pulling together in confusion. “Why does it matter?”
I let out a breath. “Because it was mine. Something good that finally happened to me after years and years of ... disappointment.” The last word catches on a sob, and Zane instinctively reaches for me. I step back, pushing his hand away. “But now, instead of something I earned, it feels like I’m here because someone else decided I should be—just another thing someone has done for me, another thing I’ll never be able to repay.”
“Macey,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “You don’t owe us anything.”
“That’s good,” I say, my words laced with bitterness. “Because at this point, I wouldn’t know where to start.”
He takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, his tone is gentler. “My parents love you, Mace. We all do. We’d do anything for you.”
“I know,” I say. “And I love all of you; I do. But you can’t keep stepping in. Do you know how that makes me feel? Like nothing is my own. Like nothing good that’s happened to me is mine. Amelia is always trying to fix things for me—your parents too. And you’re even changing your plans and jumping on planes for me.”
“I thought you didn’t want to go alone,” he says, squinting his eyes. “You were crying at the airport. I thought—”
“I was crying because I’d gotten another ‘please forgive me’ email from my mom,” I cut in, letting my arms fall to my sides. “Not because I was too scared to go by myself.”
“Oh.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in that familiar way he always does when he’s frustrated or unsure. It’s been so carefully styled this week that I almost forgot how he looks with it like this—so much younger, softer, more like Zane.
“I didn’t know,” he says softly.
“That’s on me,” I admit, my voice quiet now. “I let you believe that. I should have said something. I ... need to work on that.”
“You’re doing a great job right now,” he says, offering a sad smile.
For a moment, I almost apologize. The word “sorry” teeters on the tip of my tongue, but I catch it. I’m not the kind of woman who apologizes for things anymore. Well, I still might be because it’s the polite thing to do, but only if I’m actually in the wrong. No more taking responsibility for other people’s feelings.
I exhale, feeling the weight of everything between us. “I don’t need you to save me. Or your parents. Or Amelia.”
“You’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry. I feel like such a jerk now, invading your trip like I did.”
I shake my head. “I’m not sad you came, Zane. There have been some amazing moments that wouldn’t have been the same without you. But what about you? You were supposed to be figuring out your future; have you even thought about what you want to do?”
He lifts a shoulder, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a self-deprecating way. “Not really.”
“See?” I say, letting out a shaky breath. “You were supposed to be on a beach in Costa Rica, figuring out your life, and instead, you jumped into this Pride and Prejudice adventure with me.”
“Macey—” he starts.
“You can be so impulsive, Zane,” I say, cutting him off. “And that’s something I’ve always admired about you—how you can just decide to hop on a plane to England without a second thought.”
“That wasn’t me being impulsive,” he says, defensively.
“Yes, it was. You’ve done it all week. What about jumping into reenacting with hardly any preparation or even hesitation to do it? Who does that? What about getting me to sneak out with you?” I swallow hard, forcing myself to say the next thing on my mind. “Or what about kissing me? Did you think that through?”
His eyes widen. “Of course,” he says, but then his gaze drops to the ground. My words, it seems, have struck a chord.
I wait for him to say something, to deny it, but he doesn’t.
“I don’t want to be something you decide on a whim, Zane,” I say, my voice trembling. “Or someone you think you can save.” It might be the most real thing I’ve ever said, and yet it doesn’t feel empowering. It just feels ... sad.
He looks at me then, and there’s hurt there, and I hate that I’ve done that to him. I want to fix it, to tell him that it’s okay, but I know I can’t. I have to stop with all that.
“Macey, that’s not how I feel about you,” he says, his voice steady now. “I’m not trying to save you—I just want to be with you. Isn’t that enough?”
I shake my head, and tears fill my eyes. “I don’t think you know how you feel. It’s only been a week since I could act like an actual human around you. That’s not enough time to know.”
“So that’s it? You’ve just decided?” he asks, his forehead creased, his tone heavy with disbelief.
Tears are streaming down my cheeks now. Because as much as I want to tell him no, that I haven’t made up my mind ... I think deep down, I already have. If we try this and it turns out to be another one of his impulsive decisions—if one day he wakes up and realizes I’m not what he wants—I don’t think I could handle that.
So, for the third time this week, I have to turn someone down. But this time, I’m not Elizabeth Bennet rejecting Mr. Collins or Mr. Darcy’s first proposal—I’m just Macey telling a man she’s loved for more than half her life that this is it.
“I think,” I say, giving him a sad smile, “that I’ll always remember this week and having you here. But maybe that’s all it was meant to be—just this week.”
I don’t wait for him to say something—whatever he might say that could change my mind. Instead, I take a step forward, go up on my toes, and kiss him on the cheek before walking away.