“There you go; you’re getting it already!”
His cheeks colored at the compliment. “I will rehearse this tomorrow with Mrs. Atallah, and I hope that by tomorrow night, I shall be the most exemplary—sorry, perfect date.”
I laughed, my heart swelling. “I’m sure you will be, Mr. Darcy.”
* * *
At eight the following evening, I stood in front of the mirror, surveying my reflection. A few weeks ago, Bianca and I had gone shopping for outfits for tonight’s party, and she’d talked me into buying a completely ridiculous electric-blue bandeau dress. I hadn’t even taken the price tag off, knowing full well that I was never going to have the confidence to wear it. But tonight, I’d dug it out the bag and slipped the dress on. It clung to my curves, its skirt skimming over my thighs and the color making my own blue eyes sparkle. I’d washed and curled my hair earlier, and it hung over my shoulders in the kind of soft, beachy waves that I normally found impossible to create; the hair gods were clearly smiling on me tonight.
“Miss Knight? Are you ready?”
I heard Darcy’s voice outside the bedroom, so I did a quick final check in the mirror and then opened the door. As I did, my breath caught in my throat.
Darcy was wearing the dark jeans, crisp blue shirt, and trainers I’dbought for him today, but it wasn’t his clothes that left me speechless. At some point this evening, he’d cut his hair into a much shorter, more modern style, and he’d shaved off his muttonchops, revealing smooth, angular cheekbones underneath.
“Wow, Mr. Darcy. It really suits you.”
“It was Mrs. Atallah’s work; she used to cut Mr. Atallah’s hair for him and still had the implements.”
“And how do the clothes feel?” I asked.
“Most satisfactory. There is much more freedom to move in them than my own attire.”
“Well, I think you look very handsome.”
“Thank you, Miss Knight. You have chosen these garments well. And may I be so bold as to compliment your dress, which is most becoming.”
I waited to see if he’d say anything else, but he stepped aside. “Should we depart?”
“Eh, yes… OK. Let’s go.”
I grabbed my bag and phone, trying to quash my feelings of disappointment that Darcy hadn’t been more effusive about the way I looked.
I’d prewarned him that we were going to take the Underground, as the party was in South London, and Darcy had watched some clips on YouTube to prepare himself, but I still saw fear flash across his face as we walked into the Tube station and made our way through the ticket barriers.
“Just follow my lead,” I whispered as we walked toward the escalator.
He paused for a second at the top, and I felt his whole body tense as he saw the moving staircase, but I gripped his arm tightly as we stepped on. He didn’t relax the whole way down, nor when we reached the platform and a train came roaring toward us.
“Have we descended into hell?” he muttered as the train doors slid open and we stepped inside.
It wasn’t too busy and we were able to find seats, which was just as well, as Darcy’s face had gone white and I was worried he might be about to pass out.
“Just focus on breathing in and out,” I said as the doors whooshed closed and we started to move.
My arm was still entwined with his, and I felt him squeeze it tightly as we hurtled into the tunnel. The noise of the train on the rails was deafening, so all I could do was grip his hand and watch his face contort in agony as we whizzed southbound. We changed trains at Euston onto the Victoria Line, which was crammed with people, so we had to stand. I kept a tight hold on Darcy for the whole journey, trying to keep him calm by talking through the backstory we’d rehearsed.
“So your name is Will and you’re from Derbyshire, although you’ve spent most of your life living in a remote forest in rural Norway, which is why you’re so out of touch with cultural references,” I recited to him in a low voice. “You inherited a fortune from your parents, so you don’t need to work.”
“Yes, ten thousand pounds a year,” Darcy muttered, wincing as the train swerved around a bend and he was thrown sideways against the person standing next to him.
“No, way more than that!” I hissed. “Best not to talk figures at all. In fact, the less you can say about yourself, the better. Just leave me to do the talking.”
Finally, we reached Brixton station, and I hauled Darcy up the escalator and out onto the street. It was swarming with people, the air thick with the smell of traffic and noodles from the shop next door, but Darcy didn’t seem to notice, too busy gasping for air.
“I pray, never make me ride on that infernal contrivance again,” he panted as we set off in the direction of the bar.
“I won’t, I promise.” His face was still worryingly pale, and I kicked myself for bringing him along. Clearly, I’d overestimated how ready Mr. Darcy was for my world.
