Real: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Iris Lim

  Like water bursting through a broken dam, the relief and air spill right out of me. "Darcy — he's — he's here."

  Mrs. Reynolds nods really, really hard. Guess I haven't been hiding my worry too well.

  "He — where is —" I turn back towards the window, hands braced in front of me on the panes. The carriage — the Darcy crest — it's all there. It's rumbling towards the house, towards home — towards me.

  "Mrs. Reynolds, thank you!" I turn around and I hug her. She takes just a split second before hugging me back. "Thank you! Thank you for telling me!"

  I let her go, smiling wildly, and start the twisty way towards the door. I holler for Lilieth, for something to wear, something to shield me from this very annoying chill. She's running down in an instant and dressing me. I thank her and throw the door open.

  Darcy!

  I can hardly contain myself. I skip down the first flight of steps. The carriage is close, really close. All that unseeing window-staring had made me miss out on the one sight I've been waiting for all week. I run down the second flight.

  Darcy!

  I catch a glimpse of him through the carriage window. He's with someone — a guy, someone else. They're both bundled up ridiculously. I can feel my fingers freezing.

  It takes every last drop of self-control I possess to not run at the carriage like a madwoman. I don't think they have asylums back now.

  Wait — or do they?

  It doesn't matter, because the carriage is rolling up to the driveway. Darcy and his friend are unbundling — and I'm almost fainting from the chilly air.

  He steps out of the carriage and he trips a little — like his legs are still waking up. I look at him, I wait.

  Then he looks up — and a thousand angels in heaven sing their Hallelujah Chorus.

  "Darcy!" I'm in his arms in seconds, and he's leaning back and holding me impossibly close. I sniff, refusing to cry and barely succeeding.

  "Elizabeth," he says by my ear. "I have missed you."

  I nod furiously against his coat. I feel his hands tighten even more around me. Gloves and all — his touch is still electrifying.

  "Thank you," he says.

  I pull back a little, surprised.

  He smiles at me — eyes as deep as the Marianas Trench. "Thank you for waiting."

  I don't really know what I'm supposed to say to that — so I laugh. I laugh because I'm happy. I laugh because I'm relieved.

  "Of course," I say — and I mean it.

  Behind him, the other guy steps down from the carriage. Around us, footmen galore unload the trunks and whatnots. For me — he's all that matters.

  "You are freezing, my love." I look down to see his hands rubbing mine. "Come, let us warm ourselves by the hearth."

  I nod blindly. He's almost lifting me as we make our way back up. The stairs feel so much longer than they did a moment ago. I feel — drunk. I'm drunk on the weather, on the pain, on the joy.

  I'm drunk on Darcy.

  And heck, to be honest — I don't even care if I get that promotion anymore.

  I'm Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy. There are very few lives better than this.

  • • •

  "Must you go?" He peeks up at me from under his curls. His naked back makes a very pretty picture against the off-white sheets. "The bed chills without you."

  I bite my lip smilingly. Nothing like a good hearty round of reunion sex to get a man sleepy — or two, maybe. The cold sheets feel extra cold under my equally naked butt. "Need another round?"

  "If my wife demands." He sighs dramatically. "There can be myriad ways a man obliges."

  I can feel myself blushing from the thought of just one of the ways he's just obliged me. The man sure knows how to work his fingers. "And what about the rest of the household? I can't be so selfish as to keep you all to myself."

  "On the contrary, I find your selfishness entirely proper." He turns a little, offering that sexy, smirky smile. "I would not feign to be quite as magnanimous with other members of the household, of course."

  "You better not." I chuckle. It's really nice like this, to be honest — the intimacy, verbally and physically — the little touches and kisses and flirtations. Whoever said married love was boring? The throbbing between my thighs is still bearing witness to just how awesome this is.

  "Have the days served you well, my love?" He's talking again. The morning-after nerves don't exist for him, apparently. "The air chills."

  "Especially without you," I answer easily. He smiles, and I lean over to kiss his forehead.

  "How fares Georgiana?"

  "Not well," I reply honestly. He frowns right away. "I mean — yeah, she's recovering — at least, physically. But she's still sad, especially about you."

  "She fears for my safety?"

  "No — not that. I mean, yeah, maybe." I shrug. My puffy, long hair — hopeless without conditioner — doesn't even begin to warm my shoulders. "I just — I think she's still feeling guilty."

  Darcy nods solemnly, face scrunched up against the pillow and all. "Wickham has been transported to the continent — the North had been too flimsy a barrier."

  "We won't see him again?"

  "No." Darcy sounds very satisfied about it. "We shall not. Your sister, of course, I regret to send with him."

  "Oh." I remember all over again that poor Lydia is shackled to him in this universe. Maybe not everything is nice around here.

  "Lizzy."

  I look up just as his hand grabs mine.

  "Are you mad?"

  "No — oh, no, of course not." I offer what I think is a reassuring smile. "I'm just — well — sad."

  He nods understandingly, and I fall in love with him all over again.

  "Come, let us turn ourselves away from the grievous." He twists around and pushes up to sit beside me. The thin sheets welcome my eyes to feast on his every limb and muscle. Never did deny his hotness. "How are you, darling."

  He lifts my hand to his lips — and the tingles start fresh. The man will be the death of me yet!

  I gulp. "I'm fine, really. I missed you a lot, of course."

  "Of course." He grazes my knuckles with his lips. I'm about to jump him again any second.

  "It's hard to run the house without you." Even if I don't remember doing much.

  "Thank you." He smiles and leans over to kiss my cheek. "Best of wives and best of women."

  I smile at the compliment, despite a vague nagging that I've heard that line before somewhere. Somewhere far away, maybe something someone says — someone sings.

  "Now," I take control. He looks at me compliantly. I squeeze his hand. "Let's visit your sister."

  "Right, of course."

  We don't speak much as we get dressed. His guy and my gal give us the finishing touches. It's practically ludicrous how formally people dress at home. Then again, maybe because we have a visitor — a man I've been so kind as to neglect all day.

  I only feel a little guilty.

  "Shall we?" Darcy appears beside me when he's done. The multiple collars, the clean shave, the thick sleeves — he looks dashing, a true prince.

  I smile and hope I look just as good to him. "To the study?"

  He looks at me suddenly, taken aback. "Not her room?"

  I smile wider because, of course, he passes the test. "To her room."

  He nods, and we're on our way with our arms securely hooked. The hallways, the paintings, the stairs and the carpets don't feel half as foreign as they used to.

  "How has she done with Dr. Haddon?" He asks when we get to the ornate door.

  "Very well." I smile a little. "But not so much with the rector."

  "Right." He lowers his head and tucks his chin in — it's all so familiar that I want to kiss him and hug him and run and hide all at the same time. "Shall we?"

  I nod, and we knock. Georgiana's handmaid answers.

  "Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, are you to see Miss Darcy?"

  Because it's apparently not obvious.

 
I smile anyway. "Yes, is she awake?"

  Darcy starts a little at my question, and then he's frowning so hard that he's giving me a preview of what he'll look like at 80.

  Not that it matters — I'll love him even then. I grip his arm tighter, and he relaxes a little.

  "Sir, madame." The handmaid (Sarah, I think) leads the way. We follow mutely.

  She leaves us when we're in front of Georgiana, and the room falls still.

  My supposed sister-in-law looks at us from where she sits on her bed, eyes red and face gaunt. I can practically feel Darcy tensing up beside me. The room smells vaguely like fever and tea and herbs and pain. The problem's only just begun.

  "Have you seen Richard?" My husband asks, taking me completely by surprise. He's standing tall and rigid — like that very first time I saw him at the media launch.

  Georgiana, also surprising me, smiles back. "He came to pay his respects. I believe I shall see him again — at supper."

  The implication that everyone will be reunited at last seems to calm everyone in the room. Darcy drops my arm and walks towards his sister.

  "Georgiana," he calls, voice deep.

  The young girl starts crying — and opens her arms to him anyway. He rushes to hug her, and I'm suddenly witnessing a Hallmark moment live. Can't really help the sniffles.

  "Fitzwilliam," she sobs against his shoulder. He seems to hug her tighter. "I am so, so sorry. I thought I was strong, that I was right — that the foolishness could surely be forgiven in light of such anger. To know you and Richard are safe, I am beyond relieved. I —"

  "Hush, child," Darcy soothes her. I'm pretty much really crying by now. "Hush. We love you — always."

  I lose it, and soon I'm part of a three-way group hug.

  "Thank you, Lizzy — for protecting me," Georgiana says between sniffs.

  I nod. "You are worth every effort I exert."

  She cries again. The circle tightens.

  Then, suddenly, it's Darcy speaking, to me, "You, my love, are the very best thing to have ever happened to us."

  I pull back, a little dazed. His eyes say he means it. Georgiana's nodding frantically in agreement.

  I'm sobbing, she's sobbing, and he's breathing heavily, too. I look at them — at the true and tender emotions.

  I mean it completely when I say, "And you two are the very best thing to have ever happened to me."

  • • •

  The gardens look particularly nice this time of day — glowing and cozy like a Renoir painting. The view of Pemberley, despite its strange combination of modern and traditional architecture, is also pretty impressive.

  Nothing says 'home' like a towering mansion, apparently.

  "Oomph!" I trip over a low bench. The rose bushes barely break my fall. It takes a few seconds to readjust my ensemble back to presentability — and I can't help missing Darcy a little bit. I mean, where's his ever-present help when I need it?

  I sigh when I sit down. Because, to be honest, I'm still pretty shaken by that reunion scene (both between me and Darcy and between those two).

  I scoff at myself, because it's just — silly. Who needs fictitious family members when I have so much of my own in real life? My hands toy at the edge of my frilly sleeves. Georgiana had been pretty right about those fashion choices, to be fair. I pull off the Regency look — so much that I sometimes forget I used to wear something else.

  "Lizzy."

  I look up to see Darcy standing by the door. He must've just arrived.

  I put on a smile. "How's Georgiana?"

  "She is well." He walks over, smiling. I scoot over to give him room on the delicate bench. "Your presence heals her much faster than my own had upon Wickham's last attempt."

  I nod vaguely, frowning a little at the memory of a fresh-from-Vegas Gigi Darcy.

  "How's, uhm — Richard?" I suddenly remember. So I'm not the perfect hostess. Sue me.

  "He escorts Georgiana to supper as we speak." Darcy looks — happy. And say what you will, it's ten times more attractive than 'broody.' "I have come to take you as well, darling."

  I smile faintly, both ashamed and delighted to have gotten used to his calling me all sorts of pet names. For a split second, a wave of nostalgia drowns me. My handsome husband — gallant and kind; lovely young Georgiana — fragile and sweet; servants and estates and rooms and suppers and gowns — since when have I gotten so used to it all?

  I reach out for Darcy's hand. He takes it.

  "Thank you," I whisper, for no reason.

  He nods, eyes tender. I keep melting. It's like I'm a piece of butter left out in the heat. I'm like Olaf when he finally encounters summer.

  But, hey, take it from the snowman.

  Some people are worth melting for.

  I turn away just as the first sniff comes. Lizzie Bennet has never been overly sentimental. Jane is always kind, Lydia ever expressive. Me? I was always the sarcastic one. I feel — but I don't say.

  So it's a little discomforting to find myself feeling and talking so much in my head.

  "Lizzy." His voice is warm and caressing. He puts his arms around me, and I lean willingly against his broad, hard chest. "Lizzy, are you well?"

  I sniff against his neckcloth-tie thing — cravat, right. I blink at high speeds and frequencies. I barely force out the word, "Yeah."

  I can feel him smiling above me before pulling me so much closer I'm practically on his lap.

  Not that the pose was that foreign.

  "Lizzy, please forgive me," he speaks hoarsely. "I have caused you great worry."

  "No, silly." I laugh bitterly against his vest-slash-waistcoat thing.

  "Silly?" He pulls back a little. I get a momentary fear of being kicked out of this house again.

  I mean — he must sense something wrong by now, right?

  "You are," I try a save. "You are being silly — because you're too nice."

  He lifts a brow, probably confused — but ends up being annoyingly sexy.

  "Hey." I tug at his hands. He smiles gently. "I love you — okay? I — I may not always be around. Maybe I'll wake up one day and everything will be — gone."

  He's listening intently to my fumbling attempts. I'm getting a lump caught in my throat.

  "But I'll always remember how nice you are — how kind and generous and loving," I go on between sniffs. "I know that right now, this all feels like a wonderful dream: you and Georgiana and all."

  He's getting increasingly confused, but I go on.

  "So, if one day — if I just, you know, stop being here or stop being me or something like that. I — I really hope you know you made me happy — right now."

  He gazes at me like I'm a walking porcelain doll, fragile and strange.

  "Fitzwilliam —"

  "Lizzy," he interrupts, hand on my cheek. I start wishing he'll just kiss me. "Our happiness shall always be present. Our marriage, our love — no matter how unlikely the beginning — shall always be long and lasting."

  I choke up to an embarrassing degree.

  "But what if —"

  "There shall be no deviations, love." He grabs both my shoulders now. He's leaning down to look me in the eye. "I shall not allow our love to ever waver."

  Deviations? Sure. Try time travel, buddy.

  I give off a choked laugh. "If you only knew, Darcy, I —"

  "There is no new knowledge I could ever uncover that would put me in doubt of our future."

  And here's a guy who's supposed to be shy. He's the king of smooth, sometimes.

  "And if you find out that I'm —" It takes a few seconds for me to go for it. I gulp. "— that I'm not who you think I am?"

  "Am I who you believed me to be?" he asks instead.

  I'm taken completely aback. "Well, I — I mean, I — I — uhm — maybe?"

  He smiles (those dimples!), and I feel a little less in trouble. "Yet, despite those prejudices during our unlikely beginnings, you have come to make me the happiest of men. There are no alterations, Elizab
eth, that could ever thwart dedicated, marital love."

  My mind is scrambling to infer these supposed 'unlikely beginnings.' My heart, on the other hand, is too busy soaring over mountain and meadow and glen.

  "Do you believe me, Lizzy?" He says, hands tight around my shoulders.

  I want to — I hope to — I wish I could.

  I lick my lips and smile. "Yes."

  • • •

  "Darcy!"

  I sit up, sweaty, hands gripping the sheets like there's no tomorrow. I'm panting as hard as a couple after sitcom sex. But this time — it isn't sexy.

  "Lizzy?" He sounds groggy as he twists and fumbles until he's sitting up beside me. The feather bed bounces and twists under our weight.

  "Darcy." I flip around instantly. My hands grab at his face, his neck, his chest. He's real, he's here — with me.

  My breath takes a while to resume any normalcy.

  "What did you see?" He asks, already holding my hands.

  I look at him, unapologetically wide-eyed. I lick my lips. "Uhm — I dreamt — I dreamt —"

  What did I dream?

  I shake my head a little. "I don't remember."

  He quickly takes me into his arms. Then he's soothing me and rubbing my back and doing everything just right. "Hush, my dear, you shall be fine."

  "Yeah," I squeak. He holds me quietly for a few more moments.

  I try really, really hard to recall what has me waking up in cold sweat. Darcy's here, Georgiana's well, Wickham's gone — what else is there to worry about? My sleep-addled mind barely functions.

  "Was I in danger?" He softly asks against my forehead.

  Was he?

  I shrug as I pull back, still holding his hands. I shake my head, frustrated. "No — I don't think so."

  "You were calling my name," he explains, and I remember a little better.

  It was something — something about wormholes and shifting and time and maybe a TARDIS or two. It was about — oh.

  I look up at my husband and grip his arms. For one moment, my mind is completely clear. "They were taking me away — through time and space — to another land."

  He nods patiently, so I go on.

  "They were taking me away — from you."

  Darcy sighs, eyes on mine, and I feel my heart breaking.