I reach inside the slot underneath my desk and pull out the torn antiquated page from Vivian Elmstock Haskins’s diary, the page Mama discovered one tipsy night at the Cowherd when Daddy was away getting sober. I may not believe in the legend of Darcy, but Vivian is a woman I can relate to. She’s the Olde English version of my mother—bitter, melodramatic, and trapped in a marriage she both desired but despised.
Vivian was the first lady of Darcy. She was married to town founder and first mayor Frederick Woodholm Haskins, and her diary has been kept as a historical artifact. It belongs to the Darcy Museum, but The Cowherd borrows it for every wedding season in Hill Country.
I sigh as bullet points of the legend burst into my head:
In 1857, Vivian found a copy of Pride and Prejudice left behind by Frederick’s high-society mistress. I guess she wasn’t too happy because she blamed the forty-years-deceased Jane Austen and her idealistic notions of romantic love for Frederick’s affair.
Desperate to keep his angry wife from leaving him, Frederick hired a witch to cast a curse and kidnap Jane Austen’s spirit. The story goes that she was taken away from her soul mate lover who lived in the same cemetery. She ended up at the county jail in Darcy, Texas, the same jail my great-great-granddaddy won in a poker game and converted into The Cowherd Whiskey Saloon & Chapel.
The curse has only one way to be broken: two soul mates must marry in the presence of Jane Austen’s ghost by the one hundred and fiftieth year of the town’s founding.
I glance down at the diary page in my hand. I don’t need to unravel it and read Vivian’s faded beautiful cursive to remember its bullet points:
The eldest daughter of the jailkeeper is also cursed, a curse marked by a scar on her flesh.
If the spell holding Jane Austen’s ghost is not broken by July fourth during the one hundred and fiftieth year of the imprisonment, the cursed eldest daughter will share the ghost’s fate—both will lose their chance to be with their Mr. Darcy, and thus, their hearts will remain locked forever.
Mama grabs the page out of my hand. “This.” She shakes the paper. “This is serious business, baby.”
I half-laugh as I look down at the white scar on the soft side of my left wrist.
The jail became defunct once the prison moved out of Darcy, so my daddy isn’t technically a jailkeeper. He’s a bar owner. And Vivian was clearly either deranged or enjoyed dabbling in fantasy writing.
But Mama blames herself for the accident that caused my scar. She ripped this page out of the diary and demanded I hide it so I won’t be labeled cursed. She’s certain my Mr. Darcy is out there and that I need Jane Austen’s spirit to be freed or else I’ll lose my chance at true love.
Yeah, small-town urban legends are the worst.
“Mama.” I take the page back and return it to my desk just as Daddy starts shouting for us. “It will be okay. Come on, the race is about to start.”
“Macey,” Mama whispers as we walk down the hall to the front porch of the bar. “I just want the perfect man to sweep you off your feet.”
“Let’s just try to get through the derby without talking further about my love life,” I beg her. “Please.”
My mother pretends to zip her lips shut. “Not to worry, Mace. But I’ll be rooting for you.”
I stand with the “singles of Darcy” group as we gather outside The Cowherd. I’m leaning against the porch railing, but many of the contestants are standing behind me on the porch and craning their necks toward the opening to the woods at the edge of Wild Ranch. That opening is where the Wild Darcy Derby riders will come through on route to the finish line.
Ginny waves to me from her spot next to Mama on the lawn. I smile back and try to appear nonchalant, but inside I’m a bundle of nerves.
What if Logan doesn’t cross the finish line first? Like Ginny said, lots of men in this town can ride—and ride well. Darcy doesn’t exactly have a shortage of cowboys.
I waited with Ginny at the starting line so I could watch Logan mount his horse. He lined up in front of the pack of riders on the outside—right where I knew he wanted to be. Then, he messed around with something on his lap before he looked over at me and lifted his chin toward my right hand, the one holding my phone.
I glanced down at the screen.
Are you going to kiss me when I cross the finish line?
I felt my cheeks heat, and I quickly texted him back.
In your dreams. I’ll kiss you when nobody’s watching, though.
What about up at the altar? You better not leave me hanging.
I made a face at him, and he laughed.
Let’s see how much you impress me in the race, I typed back.
Within minutes, Daddy fired the gun, and Logan was off. I lost sight of him pretty quickly, and ever since, I’ve waited impatiently to see him again.
