I smiled, touched by his apology. “That’s OK, Darcy. Both Crispin and my dad were terrible men, so I appreciate your sentiment.”
“May I also be permitted to say how sorry I am to hear of the passing of your mother. I myself know the deep pain of losing a parent too young, and the shadow grief casts over one’s life.”
Of course, Darcy had lost his parents too. There wasn’t much about them in the novel, aside from them being good people, but it was clear from the look in Darcy’s eyes that he’d loved them and missed them justas much as I missed my own mum.
“Although this will be of little consolation to you, Miss Knight, I must say that it does credit to your mother that you are evidently such a conscientious and self-possessed young woman despite the poor character of your father. She was clearly an excellent woman to have raised a daughter such as yourself.”
My breath caught in my throat. I never talked about Mum with anyone but Bianca, and even with her I found it difficult, so to hear Darcy speak so freely and generously about her brought tears to my eyes.
Darcy must have seen them, because he frowned. “Have I spoken out of turn?”
I shook my head, trying to wipe the tears away. “No, not at all. I just… I find it hard to talk about Mum. She died when I was a teenager and it was horrible…really traumatic. But what you said just now… She was a wonderful woman, so thank you.”
I knew it wasn’t a very articulate explanation, but Darcy nodded thoughtfully. “My sister was in her infancy when my parents died and has no memories of them, but I hang their portrait in the picture gallery, and I feel it is prudent to tell Georgiana stories of them. While I of course wish to protect her from sadness, it is also important that we do not forget, for I believe there is solace to be had from sharing memories of happier times.”
Darcy turned and walked toward the kitchenette, and I stared after him, open-mouthed. I’d imagined meeting this man many, many times since I’d first readPride and Prejudicewith Mum and dreamed of Mr. Darcy whisking us off to Pemberley, which in my fourteen-year-old imagination was always warm, full of food, and had the best doctors. As I grew older, I’d had hundreds of fantasies where a Colin Firth /Matthew Macfadyen mash-up appreciated my wit and intellect the way Darcy appreciated Elizabeth’s, or burst into Cake Expectations and declared how ardently he loved and admired me. But never, in any of my thousands of daydreams about meeting Mr. Darcy, did I consider that he’d leave me speechless with a few simple words of kindness about my mum.
Chapter Nine
I had a work shift on Saturday, so after breakfast, I made Darcy pledge an oath on King George III not to touch the oven, the microwave, or my hair straighteners, and reluctantly left him while I went into Cake Expectations. Although I was fairly confident that he’d spend the day glued toPlanet Earth, I still locked the flat door when I left, just to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally wander outside and get lost.
I caught the Tube at Kentish Town station, found a seat, and pulled out my phone to see a message from Bianca.
Mum’s freaking out the caterers won’t make enough food for the party on Friday and wants to bring 2kg of homemade jollof rice. Give me strength!!!
I paused with my finger over the reply button. Darcy had now been with me for almost forty-eight hours, and I’d still not told my best friend. We’d never kept secrets from each other before—I’d even told her about the time I farted so loudly during sex that Crispin thought a chair hadfallen over in the next room—so surely I had to tell her about Mr. Darcy, even if I knew she’d make me throw him out of the flat. I thought back to last night. Darcy was proving to be every bit as kind, steady, and thoughtful in real life as he was in the book; plus, I wasn’t sure the last time I’d slept as deeply or felt as safe, and that was all because of the presence of this man I’d known and trusted for more than half my life. And so, although I hated keeping a secret from B, was it so terrible that I wanted to enjoy Darcy’s company while I worked out how to get him back home?
I typed a quick laughing emoji in response to the message, trying to ignore the now-familiar guilt gnawing away at me. As I was about to put my phone away, I saw an email notification from someone named Lily Howard.
Hi Zoe! Thanks for your message and for reading my old blog! I actually stopped writing that years ago—I’m on TikTok these days. I’m afraid I don’t remember much about Baskerville Books beyond what I wrote in the post. Maggie was super sweet and really funny, but I heard she died a few years after I wrote the post. Her son took over the shop, so you could try talking to him if you have any questions? Funnily enough, you’re not the first person who’s contacted me about my Baskerville Books post—I’ve had a few people message me over the years asking about it. Some lady from Canada asked me if I knew anything about a secret romance book club that Maggie apparently used to run out of the back room, but she’d not mentioned it to me. Sorry I can’t be more help, follow me on @lilyloveslondon x
I felt a flicker of excitement as I got to the end of the message. For one thing, the fact that other people had messaged Lily about BaskervilleBooks suggested that I wasn’t the only person who suspected there was something strange going on at that shop. Also, this news about Maggie’s “secret romance book club” was definitely interesting. Maybe Maggie had a whole library of magical books that brought their characters to life, and she used to share them with romance readers at the book club? If that was the case, I needed to speak to someone who’d been, in the hope they could tell me what to do about Mr. Darcy. I quickly typed another email to Lily asking her if she could forward me these other messages.
I put my phone away and stared out the window as the train pulled into Euston station, my mind whirring with possibilities. Nick told me he’d destroyed all his mum’s books, but maybe that was a lie to put me off the scent, and he actually still had her magic books hidden somewhere in the shop? If that was the case, the answer for how to get Darcy back intoPride and Prejudicemight be hidden somewhere in Baskerville Books too. Nick’s glowering face popped into my mind—he’d surely know how to do it, given he’d inherited the shop and its contents from his mum—but I quickly pushed the idea away. This was a man who refused to sell his own mother’s favorite genre of book and mocked me for being a “Darcy stan,” so there was no way I was asking for his help.
What I really needed was another chance to explore the bookshop without Nick around. Both times I’d visited, he’d been the only staff member working there, but I assumed there must be other employees; even someone as evil as Nick must have a day off to read dick lit or murder bunnies or whatever he did for fun. If I could just work out what days Nick wasn’t there, I could visit the shop and have a snoop around without having to explain what I was doing and arouse his suspicions.
I glanced at my watch. It was 9:20 a.m., and I was due at work at ten, but if I hurried, I could probably take a quick diversion via Cecil Court to see if I could spot who was working today. I got off the Tubeat Leicester Square and made my way down Charing Cross Road. As I turned onto the side street, I could see the front shutters were already open at Baskerville Books, so I retrieved an old baseball cap I kept in my bag for bad hair days and pulled it on low to disguise my face. I slowed my pace as I reached the shop, trying to surreptitiously glance through the front door. I could just make out the counter at the back and, behind it, a young woman with bright-pink hair. Did this mean Nick wasn’t working right now? And if so, should I take this opportunity to have a snoop around, given I might not get this opportunity again? Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The young woman looked up as the bell rang and gave me a half smile. Her arms were covered in tattoos, and she had a book open in front of her on the desk.
“Hi,” I said, trying to deepen my voice in case Nick was in the back and could hear me. “I was wondering if the owner’s here?”
I bit my lip, praying he wouldn’t overhear my question and suddenly appear.
“I’m afraid Nick’s not in this morning. Can I help you with anything?” the woman said, and I had to stop myself from grinning. Bingo!
“No, it’s fine, thanks. I’ll just have a browse.”
She nodded and returned to the book in front of her, and I crossed to the nearest bookcase. The coast was clear, but the question now was, what the hell was I looking for? It wasn’t like there was going to be a reference book entitledHow to Return Fictional Characters to Their Storiessitting on the shelf—but still, there might be something here that hinted at how Maggie’s magical book worked. My eyes scanned the shelves, but as Nick had said himself, there wasn’t a single romance novel for sale. Why did he hate them so much? Was he really such a misanthrope that he refused to sell them simply because of “the lie of the happy-ever-after,” as he’d toldme the first time I came in? No, it had to be more complicated than that. Perhaps he’d been so scarred by his mum’s death that he couldn’t bear to be around the books she’d loved. I reread my mum’s favorite books so I could feel close to her, but I could imagine a state of grief where someone had the opposite reaction. If that was the case, I couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for Nick, even if he was a moody arse.
I carried on browsing the shelves, but it soon became apparent I was wasting my time. Everything about this bookshop seemed completely normal, and aside from the lack of romance novels, there was actually an excellent, thoughtful selection of books from authors around the globe. However much I wanted to hate him, it was clear Nick had good taste. Which was all very well, but didn’t help me in my hunt for answers about getting Darcy home.
“Are you looking for something in particular?”
I turned around to see the pink-haired girl watching me from behind the counter. I was about to say no when a thought occurred to me. Nick might not want to talk about whatever his mum had been up to here, but maybe this woman would?
“Do you have India Holton’s new book in?” I asked.
