Chapter Eleven
At Darcy’s request, we spent the evening watching RuPaul’s Drag Race.
A couple of times, I tried to suggest that we turn off the TV and chat, keen to get to know him better on what was potentially our last evening together, but Darcy was completely engrossed in the show.
In fact, he only spoke to tell me how impressed he was with the contestants as seamstresses, or how their creations rivaled anything he’d seen at any ball, even at St. James’s.
The rest of the time, we sat watching in silence, although it wasn’t the kind of stilted, awkward silence that Elizabeth complained about with Darcy in the book.
I liked to think that was because he was getting more comfortable around me, although deep down I suspected that the TV just gave him the perfect cover for his social anxiety.
At eleven, I finally managed to pry the remote control out of Darcy’s hand and suggested we both get some sleep.
“Shall we continue with the queens tomorrow, or am I to watch this Island of Love with Mrs. Atallah?” Darcy asked as he moved toward the bathroom.
“Actually, I was thinking you and I could go on a little excursion in the morning.”
He stopped and looked back at me in surprise. “You mean outside?”
“That’s right. A friend of mine suggested that the way to get you back home might be to return to the place where you first appeared, so I thought we could take a ride on the bus.”
“You believe there is some kind of time-travel portal on the omnibus?”
“When you put it like that, it does sound ridiculous. But in the absence of any other ideas, I thought it was worth a try.”
Darcy didn’t say anything, frowning as he hovered by the bathroom door.
“Is something wrong?” I asked. “You do want to go home, don’t you?”
He didn’t answer immediately, and I felt my pulse quicken.
Shit, did Darcy want to stay? I’d assumed he was desperate to get back to his own world, so it had never occurred to me that he might prefer it here.
And did I even want him to stay? I remembered my horror earlier when I thought Darcy had disappeared and I’d lost him for good, and how special he’d made me feel in our conversation last night.
But how would it work if he stayed? Where was a fictional early-nineteenth-century aristocrat supposed to get a job in twenty-first-century London?
Would he carry on living here? And if so, what would that mean for us?
“I am sorry for my silence, Miss Knight,” Darcy said, snapping me back to reality.
“I found myself momentarily discombobulated—but of course I wish to return to my own time, for I have a sister who I miss terribly, and an estate and staff and a great many responsibilities. Let us go out on the bus tomorrow.”
I felt a flutter of relief in my chest. “Great! See you in the morning, then.”
It was only when I was lying in bed later that it occurred to me the flutter might have been disappointment, not relief.
* * *
I woke up the following morning with the Fear.
The Fear and I were old friends. We’d first met at Bath University, when I’d frequently drink too much and the Fear would try to convince me I’d flashed my breasts to the entire bar the night before, or cried on a complete stranger about my mum.
We became better acquainted when I graduated and started my writing course, when the Fear would spend countless hours tormenting me with images of my classmates laughing at how bad my writing was, or wake me up at 2:00 a.m. to question why Crispin was dating someone as talentless as me.
We’d been less frequent companions over the past few years, my life too small and quiet to interest it.
But that morning, the Fear was back with a vengeance, listing all the reasons why taking Darcy out on the bus was a very, very bad idea.
For one, Darcy had been completely overwhelmed by London the day he arrived, so what if it got too much for him and he caused a scene on the bus and ended up being reported to the police?
I couldn’t imagine the Met officers readily accepting my explanation that he was just really into cosplay; then social services might get involved, Darcy would be taken away from me, and I’d never manage to get him back into Pride and Prejudice.
Or what if someone overheard him talking and guessed who he was, and then Darcy found out he was actually a fictional character rather than a time-traveler, at which point he’d be so angry/confused that he’d storm off in a rage, never to be found again?
Or—and here the Fear really kicked it up a gear—what if someone took a video of him that ended up on social media, and Nick Baskerville saw it, recognized who Darcy was, and tried to track him down?
Not to mention the fact that even if Enzo’s plan worked and Darcy managed to travel back to his own world, I’d still have to explain to a bus full of strangers why a man had just disappeared in broad daylight.
So all things considered, this was clearly a terrible idea.
When I headed out to the kitchen, I found Darcy dressed and eating a slice of Nutella-on-toast he’d miraculously made himself.
“Good morning, Miss Knight. Shall we depart?”
I swallowed, taking in his outfit. I’d told Darcy his own clothes were too conspicuous to wear out of the house, and so last night I’d lent him some of mine to wear instead.
Unfortunately, all I had that would fit a tall, skinny man was a pair of old tracksuit bottoms, which were too big for me but still only came down to his mid-calves, and my baggiest T-shirt, which had the words “I Like My Books Spicy and My Coffee Icy” emblazoned across the front.
Needless to say, Darcy looked pretty bizarre, even before you factored in his old-fashioned shoes and muttonchops.
I felt the knot of anxiety in my stomach twist tighter.
For a moment, I considered telling Darcy I’d changed my mind and we shouldn’t go out, but then I remembered what he’d said last night about missing his sister, and felt the now-familiar pang of guilt.
It was bad enough that I was lying to Darcy about who he really was, but I couldn’t also keep him from a possible chance at getting back home. I took a deep breath.
“Let’s go.”
Given that it was early on a Sunday morning, I’d hoped the bus would be relatively quiet, but as an 88 pulled up at the stop, I saw it was almost full.
“Remember to talk quietly so you don’t draw attention to yourself,” I whispered to Darcy as the bus doors opened in front of us. “And whatever you do, please don’t say your name or where you’re from.”
“Whyever not?” Darcy asked, and I winced. How to explain this without telling him he had one of the most famous names in the English language?
“It’s quite an old-fashioned name, so people might think it’s a bit weird,” I told him, hoping my face wasn’t flushing. “I just don’t want anyone realizing you’re a time-traveler, as then they might interrupt our efforts to get you home.”
This explanation seemed to satisfy Darcy, as he bowed to me. “I assure you, I shall remain incognito.”
I was tempted to tell him that bowing was the opposite of incognito, but the bus driver was waiting impatiently, so I tried to ignore the Fear twerking in delight on my shoulder and stepped on board.
Darcy had told me that he’d woken up on the floor at the back of the lower deck, so once I’d tapped a payment for us both, I led him to the rear of the bus, where there were thankfully two available seats.
But before we’d sat down, the bus pulled off and Darcy was thrown into me, his hand grazing my thigh just below the cuff of my denim shorts.
I heard him let out a gasp of surprise at the physical contact, and I held my own breath, waiting to feel a jolt of electricity at his touch, but there was nothing.
Weird. I must have just been too anxious.
We traveled in silence for a few minutes, and I saw Darcy looking around the bus, taking in the range of passengers.
He seemed particularly interested in a man sitting in the row opposite, dressed from head to toe in black leather, with silver hoops lining his ears and a tall, red-tipped mohawk atop his head.
“Stop staring,” I muttered, but although Darcy’s head snapped forward, I saw his eyes soon drawn back to the punk.
I prayed the man wouldn’t notice, but thankfully he was absorbed in talking to the elderly gentlemen on his other side.
Still, my heart was racing at a hundred miles an hour as the Fear kept up a running commentary of all the different ways this could go wrong.
The bus carried us down Kentish Town Road, and as we neared the stop for Camden Town Underground station, butterflies joined the knot in my stomach.
It was around here that I’d fallen asleep wishing Darcy would appear, so if Enzo’s theory was correct and there was some kind of tear between Darcy’s fictional world and ours, then this was the point at which he’d potentially pass back through, and I’d lose him.
I glanced at Darcy, who’d finally stopped staring at the punk and was looking out the window, his eyes wide as he took in the busy, colorful streets of Camden. He must have sensed me watching him, as he turned to me.
“Are you quite all right, Miss Knight?”
I nodded, my mouth dry. How to put into words how much I appreciated this man, and how important he’d been to me and my mum, without telling him who he really was? I cleared my throat.
“I just wanted to say…if this works and you’re about to return home, then thank you. I know this won’t make any sense, but you’ve been a big part of my life, and I will forever be grateful for the way you’ve supported me.”
He looked at me in surprise. “I do not understand, Miss Knight. We have only known each other for a matter of days, so how have I been a big part of your life?”