Chapter Thirty-One
A smile spread across my face, and for a second I had an overwhelming urge to throw myself into his arms and never let go. Nick was here! And then my heart dropped, because Nick was here, which meant he was also stuck in Pride and Prejudice.
“Zoe,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “I found you.”
He was still holding on to my arm, and I felt the heat of his fingers on my wrist. Then I heard my name being called from across the ballroom.
“Shit, Darcy!” I said, glancing back to see him pushing his way through the crowd. “We need to hide.”
Without saying a word, Nick turned and began to lead me through the crowd toward the exit.
I could still hear Darcy behind, but it sounded like he was struggling to get through the mass of dancers, whereas Nick’s height made him more of a human battering ram.
When we reached the door and into the main hall, I took over.
“Through here,” I said, pushing open a door and leading us down some stairs into a servants’ corridor.
I’d gotten to know the house pretty well over the past week, what with my late-night creeping around to the kitchen, so I knew there was a pantry at the end of this corridor that barely got used, and that I was pretty sure neither Darcy nor the Bingleys even knew existed.
When we reached the room, it was dark, lit by only a few candles, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloom.
When they did, I stared at Nick, my brain still struggling to comprehend what I was seeing.
Nick, the man who I had misunderstood so terribly—the man who I now realized was kind and funny and in many ways kind of perfect—was here, at Netherfield, making a tailcoat and breeches look indecently sexy.
I felt something molten stir in my core, and bit back a smile; so it turned out my sex drive hadn’t shriveled up and died after all.
“How did you get here?” I asked, glad the lighting was low so Nick wouldn’t see the color creeping up my neck. “You don’t have the book magic, do you?”
He shook his head. “No, although I did spend several days trying to do it anyway. Then I remembered my great-aunt Matilda, my granny’s sister, who’s in a care home in Manchester.
She’s really unwell, and I had to wait until she understood what I was asking, but eventually she managed to read me into the story.
Given you’d been gone for twelve days, I estimated this was roughly where you might be in the book, and I arrived here this afternoon. ”
I felt a sudden spark of hope. “Have you got the copy of Pride and Prejudice?”
He shook his head. “I tried holding on to it, but it didn’t come with me.”
“Do you have another plan to get us home, then?”
“Not currently, but I’m working on it.”
And just like that, the spark of hope was extinguished. “Why the hell did you come if you knew you might not be able to get back?”
Nick didn’t answer, the question hanging between us in the air.
I was suddenly conscious of how alone we were back here, no sounds but distant music at the far end of the house.
I saw Nick swallow as he stared at me, and I felt heat spread through my body.
His lips were slightly parted, and for a second I found myself wondering what it would be like to kiss them: They looked so soft, like it would probably start gently with little more than a brush against mine, but then he’d put his hand in my hair and lean into me, and his mouth would—
The pantry door flew open with a bang, jolting me from my fantasy. Nick sprang around with his fists raised, as if ready to fight Darcy for my honor. HOT. But it wasn’t a fictional character standing in the doorway. Instead, it was a redheaded woman, disbelief in her eyes.
“Nicky?”
“Mum?”
They threw themselves at each other in a mass of limbs and cries, and I felt my heart lift at the sight of their joy. God, what I wouldn’t give to be reunited with my own mum like this. I smiled as I watched them step back and stare at each other in tearful wonder.
“You’re here,” Maggie gasped. “My darling, it’s really you.”
“I had no idea you were in this book,” Nick said. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”
“I’m so sorry,” Maggie said, taking Nick’s face in her hands. “I’m so sorry I left you.”
“The police thought you’d run away,” Nick said, and I could see tears tracking down his cheeks. “I suspected you’d read yourself into a book, but I had no idea which one or if you’d done it on purpose.”
“Of course it wasn’t on purpose; it was a horrible accident!” Maggie wiped his tears away with her thumb. “I can’t believe it’s really you, Nick. Are you OK? What are you doing here?”
“I came for Zoe.”
Four simple words that made my stomach do a somersault, like I was on a roller coaster. Maggie’s eyes snapped toward me and I saw her frown, as if a puzzle piece was slotting into place.
“I felt responsible for her getting stuck here,” Nick said quickly. “I put pressure on Zoe to read Darcy back, but I hadn’t briefed her well enough. I should have explained it better so this never happened.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said.
Maggie was still looking at me, apparently deep in thought.
“Do you know why Zoe was able to read Darcy out?” Nick asked his mum. “Is it something to do with your old copy of Pride and Prejudice?”
“I don’t think that’s it,” Maggie said slowly.
“Then how did it happen? I didn’t think anyone outside our family had the ability.”
Maggie didn’t reply; then her eyes flicked from me back to Nick.
“Why Zoe could do it isn’t important right now.
We have a much bigger concern, which is that Darcy remembers bits of his time with Zoe in London, and he’s so distracted by his memories that he’s no longer falling in love with Elizabeth. ”
“Shit, what does that mean?” Nick asked.
“I don’t know, but it’s not good. Something has gone wrong with the plot; the characters are behaving differently and not following Jane Austen’s narrative.”
“We’ve been trying to find a way of getting out, but so far nothing has worked,” I said. “Your mum thinks that without a copy of Pride and Prejudice, we’re trapped.”
“Have you tried re-creating the text?” Nick asked his mum.
“Of course, many times,” Maggie said. “I’ve tried copying the dialogue the characters say, but the problem is that there’s so much more to Austen’s storytelling than just dialogue, and I’ve never been able to get it right.”
“If only we had access to Jane herself,” I said. “She could write us returning to London, and then you could just read us back.”
Maggie gave a small laugh, I think probably more out of pity for me than actual humor, but Nick was staring at me.
“That might work, you know…”
“Erm, I was joking,” I said. “I assume we don’t have access to Jane Austen—right, Maggie?”
“Sadly not,” she said. “And believe me, I’ve tried some madcap ways of communicating with her over my time here, just in case. This long alone can make you do some really strange things.”
“I don’t mean Jane Austen,” Nick said. “Zoe, you’re a writer. You could write about us back in our lives in London, and then Mum could read us into that?”
It was such a bananas idea that I couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t write anymore, Nick! Besides, I assume your mum’s tried that tactic and it didn’t work.”
I looked at Maggie, but she was lost in thought again.
“Mum?” Nick said.
“I did try it, but not until I’d already been stuck here for quite a long time,” she said.
“It obviously failed, but maybe that was because I’d been away from my own world too long, so what I wrote wasn’t convincing enough?
Besides, I’m definitely not a writer; a reader, yes, but I don’t have a creative-writing bone in my body. ”
“So, do you think it might work?” Nick asked her.
Maggie sighed. “I don’t know. I mean, there’s a risk that we’d end up reading ourselves into Zoe’s version of 2026 London, as opposed to the real one. It would all depend on how true to life her writing is, I suppose.”
“But it has to be worth a try, surely?” Nick said.
“Whoa, hang on a second,” I said. “There’s no way I can do this! I told you, Nick, I gave up writing years ago because I wasn’t good enough.”
“You told me you gave up writing because you were comparing your work to the dick lit Crispin was writing, but that’s not who you are. You have your own, unique voice, and I’m sure that if you use that, you’ll be able to do this.”
“That is 100 percent not something you should be sure about,” I said. “Plus, I also gave up writing because I couldn’t write a happy ending that felt convincing, and that’s exactly what we need right now.”
Nick shook his head. “We don’t need a happy ending, Zoe. I told you when we first met, I don’t believe in them anyway—they’re unrealistic. All we need is for the story not to end yet, and you’re our best chance to make that happen.”
“But what if your mum’s right and we get trapped in whatever weird faux-London I write?” I said. “I think I’d much rather take my chances in Jane Austen’s beautifully crafted, perfectly executed world than whatever crappy two-dimensional world I come up with.”
“But Jane Austen’s beautifully crafted world might be about to fall apart, and if it does, we may fall apart with it,” Nick said gently. “I genuinely believe you can write us out of here; otherwise I wouldn’t be asking you to do it.”
He was looking at me with those deep, piercing eyes, and I glared back at him. “You believed in me once before when I tried to read Darcy back, and look how that turned out.”
“But this time my mum’s here to read us out, so all you have to do is write it.”
I looked at Maggie, who shrugged. “In the absence of any other ideas, this is the best we have right now.”
I groaned. “Right, so what you’re both saying is that the survival of the three of us rests entirely on my writing skills, despite the fact that all I’ve written for the past four years are shopping lists and a few diary entries?”
Nick gave me a slow, soft smile. “I know it’s a lot to ask. But you said yourself, nowadays women in romance novels don’t get rescued by the man—they rescue themselves. I’m just sticking with the trope.”