Chapter 1
Liz first saw Darcy in Regent's Park while cycling. He'd been there the past two mornings, sitting on a bench and staring intently in front of him. She remembered him because he was dressed formally, with a top hat and cane.
Liz stopped her bike in front of the odd stranger. Taking off her helmet she asked, "Hello?" The stranger continued to stare. Now that Liz was so close, she noticed that he wore a slight, frozen frown.
"Hello?" she asked again, this time getting his attention. He stared at her, looking both confused and a little shocked.
"Hi," Liz said again, "I'm Liz. I've seen you here the last two days and you seem a bit lost. Can I help you?"
"No, thank you. I'm not lost," he bit back. He furrowed his brow again and said, "I just don't know why I'm here."
"Are you meeting someone?" Liz offered.
"No. I . . . I don't know how to explain what's happening." The stranger bent over with his elbows on his knees and began speaking in agitation, clenching and unclenching his hands. "I'm not supposed to be here. I live down the road in Mayfair, but my home is not my home. It's now a shop for furniture and, as I was told by the store clerk, it has been for nearly 70 years. I assure you, madam, I was sleeping in my home three days ago. I didn't sell my home and I have no intention of doing so. I tried to reason with the clerk and she had me forcefully escorted out!"
The stranger looked up at Liz, her eyes displaying her pity and concern. This only seemed to agitate the stranger even more. "I know I'm in London, but it's not my London. I know my name is Fitzwilliam Alexander Darcy, but none of the establishments I frequent, if they still exist, know who I am. I'm not crazy – as has been suggested by more than a few people I pass on the street. I just don't know what's happening."
Liz listened and looked on the man with compassion. Though his story was absurd and not a little crazy, she recognized the look on his face. He was desperate and lost.
"Here," she offered her hand. "You can stay with me as you try to find someone who can help you. Surely you have family in the area."
Darcy stared at her hand in confusion and disbelief. I will not be handled like a stray or some urchin off the street! But her face was kind and Darcy was tired of wandering around a city he didn't recognize and among people he didn't completely understand.
Liz's hand was still out-stretched and she extended her hand a little further. "Can I call you William?"
Darcy stood up abruptly, stating a little more harshly than he intended, "No you may not. You may call me Mr. Darcy." Then continued more softly, "and I appreciate your offer. I do not relish the thought of spending another night sleeping in the park."
Liz had to look up at him; he was tall, a little over 6" without the hat. She was a little taken aback by his reply, but could not rescind her offer. "Alright, then. I live on the other side of the park. Come with me."
Liz walked her bike with Mr. Darcy walking beside her, complete with hat and cane. Liz would glance up at him a few times as they trekked back to her apartment. Not for the first time did she question to the wisdom of her actions. Mr. Darcy didn't seem one for conversation. After his confession on the bench, he sported a stony expression that didn't exactly inspire small talk.
As they neared her apartment, she said, "You should know that if you try to harm me that I own a firearm and I'm more than capable of taking care of myself." While the second part was a slight fib, she turned towards him, her face steely and her eyes determined. Mr. Darcy looked at her a little shocked by her speech. "If this is your plan, I recommend that you find another target."
"I beg your pardon! Who do you take me for?! I am a gentleman and would never dream of harming another person, the least of all a woman."
Liz relaxed a bit and explained, "I don't know who you are and I do believe that you need help. I just don't want my charity to backlash." Mr. Darcy huffed. "You have to admit that this situation is classic predator material."
"You have my word, as a gentleman, that you will come to no harm by me. I truly appreciate your offer as you are the first person to offer me genuine assistance instead of suspicious and mocking stares. When I figure out what is happening, I will repay you for your services."
By now they had reached the entrance to her building. Liz took her key card out of the pocket on her bike and said, "I appreciate the reassurance, but I don't need to be reimbursed." She offered him slight smile and opened the door. "You remind me of me when I first came to London. I only ask that you pay it forward."
Mr. Darcy held the door open for her as she maneuvered her bike into the entranceway. The concierge was just arriving and they exchanged a nod. After passing through another door, they entered Liz's spacious apartment. Mr. Darcy followed and looked around him, stunned at the space and furniture he saw. The entranceway was lined with . . . interesting art that made him instantly feel warm. The stress and anxiety he experienced the last two days was slowly beginning to ebb. The hallway led to a round, open room with a simply dining table and large white couches facing a wall of windows, opening to a balcony that wrapped around the room and open balcony. Mr. Darcy was stunned. He'd never seen a room so light and open that wasn't a ballroom. The natural light poured in through fine curtains, making it unnecessary to light a candle.
Liz leaned her bike against a wall and removed her shoes. She gestured for Mr. Darcy to follow her to the other end of the open room. She showed him a simply and spacious bedroom.
"You can stay here tonight. There is an en suite bathroom around the corner. Towels are underneath the sink and the shower should have everything you need. I have some clothes that might fit you in my room. I'll just be a minute."
She turned to leave when Mr. Darcy stopped her with his raised hand.
"I'm afraid I don't understand. Are you going to fill the bath with water and why do you have men's clothing in your room?" he asked rudely. "And I'm not sure I'll be able to remove my jacket and boots with the help of a valet," he sheepishly added.
Liz stared, not sure to respond and questioning, not for the first time, the man's sanity. It didn't surprise her that he'd have a little trouble removing his clothing – everything fit him like a glove, a latex glove. She took a deep breath and headed to the en suite, gesturing Mr. Darcy to follow.
"I will not need to fill the bath with water because the bathroom is equipped with a shower," she explained. "See, you turn the nob and water comes from the showerhead. You can control the temperature with this nob."
"Extraordinary," he mumbled.
"To be clear, I do not have men's clothing in my room. I have a man's clothing in my room. They are my husband's clothes and I believe you two are about the same size."
Mr. Darcy had the grace to blush and look at his boots for his insinuation.
"As I do not need servants to manage my home, I do not have a valet handy. I suppose, if you really need the help, I can help you remove your boots and jacket."
Mr. Darcy was shocked. "Absolutely not! It is not proper for a woman to help a man with his clothes. I will not allow either of us to be in such a precarious position."
Liz rolled her eyes and said, "Well, if you still need help, just holler." With that, she left to get him some clothing.
Mr. Darcy was left alone to admire the bathroom. This room was cooler than the bedroom. The walls were covered with soft brown tile. One wall, however, housed a water basin that was connected to a stone bench and had a large frameless mirror hung on the wall. Looking in the cupboards underneath the stone bench, he found soft, white towels that Liz had mentioned. He saw similar nobs on top of the water basin that Liz showed him in the shower. Turning the left nob, he was astounded to see water flowing out of the faucet. He put his fingers underneath the continuous stream and his eyebrows rose dramatically to find that the water was hot. To his right, he saw a white porcelain bowl, blushing as he figured out what it was. Why is this not in a separate room? And how is the odor eliminated?
At that moment, Liz reentered the bathroom with a small stack of clothing in her hands. She turned off the faucet and handed him the clothing. "Okay, I have jeans, an undershirt, and sweater for you, as well as any undergarments you'll need."
Mr. Darcy continued to blush and murmured his thanks.
"Are you sure you don't need my help with your boots?"
"I'm quite sure. Thank you," he answered a little tersely.
Liz could tell that his pride was taking a small beating and left him alone.
She made her way to her own bedroom, closing the door behind her even as she heard grunting coming from the guest room. His boots must be winning this battle of wills, she thought wryly. She grinned and sat on her bed to think about her morning. She returned to London a few days ago to get the apartment ready before she started work again. She took a deep fortifying breath, imagining what next week would mean for her. She'd return to the hospital after an almost 12-month sabbatical. She was scared and anxious to return. Twelve months was plenty of time to break the routine she loved about her work and she hoped she wasn't too dazed among all of the activity, and trauma.
The only silver lining in the next week was her daughter. Genny was with her grandparents this week so Liz could "have a break". What people didn't realize was that Genny was her break. Aside from the closet in their London apartment, Genny was the last physical remnant she had of her husband. She shook her head to stem the direction her thoughts were heading and, after hearing Darcy's shower start, started her own.
Now clean from her morning ride, Liz made her way to the freshly stocked kitchen to make breakfast. After she got the burner going, she heard footsteps in the sitting room.
"I'm glad you survived your shower," she quipped. "I wouldn't have wanted to offend your delicate sensibilities and save you from the bathroom."
Mr. Darcy followed her voice to what he assumed to be the kitchen. "I admit that every contraption in that room is as extraordinary as it is confounding, but I'm not such a simpleton that I cannot bathe and dress myself." He stood erect and awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, watching Liz cook.
"Is it customary," he asked, "to walk around in one's stockings?"
Liz began filling their plates and glanced at him. She offered him a small smile. "I'm glad the clothes fit and no, it's not necessarily customary. I have house slippers you can wear if it makes you more comfortable."
"No, no, that won't be necessary. If you don't need to wear slippers," he gestured awkwardly to her bare feet, "then I won't burden you further with my, what was it you called them? Oh yes, my delicate sensibilities."
Liz broke into a full smile. Maybe he does have a sense of humor after all.
"Here," she said, handing him his plate, "et's sit and eat and figure out what is happening."
Darcy followed her to the dining room and made to sit at the opposite end of the table. He set his plate down, waiting for Liz to sit while she looked on amused.
"What are you doing?"
"I will not be seated until you have."
"Seriously?" she sat down, staring at him with a raised eyebrow. "Would you mind sitting closer? I don't feel like shouting across the table."
Darcy looked ready to refuse, but eventually moved to sit next to her. "I feel obliged to say that this is highly unorthodox. Everything I see doesn't make any sense. The last two days I've spent wandering around London at the height of confusion. I know who I am, but I cannot comprehend the world I'm living in. I feel like I have missed something monumental. "
Darcy's voice rose with the speed of his speech as he began listing all the differences he noticed from strange carriages, strange clothing, moving pictures, and deplorable manners.
"Then I meet you. I never would have expected a woman to approach me and invite me to her home, and I never dreamed that I would accept such an invitation from a woman clothed the way you were. Truly, your garments left nothing to the imagination. Then, I come here and find a home that is both peculiar and comforting and I experience a shower – I've never seen a cleaner bathing room. And the clothing you provided for me, while comfortable, is odd and too casual for a gentleman, but my last two days of observation has proven that this," he said gesturing to his sweater and pants, "is normal."
Darcy ended his speech in a huff, staring at his breakfast. Liz wanted to reach out to him, touch his arm or hug him, but knew instinctively that he wouldn't feel any comfort from her touch.
He continued more quietly, "I've been observing my environs for two days and trying to figure out what I missed. I have never been more lost."
Throughout his speech, Liz had listened and watched his expression shift from disbelief, shock, wonder, confusion, and finally defeat. Her heart went out to this stranger. Though not really in a place in her life to lift others, she felt rather than knew that she was the only one that could help him and that maybe, just maybe, his presence would help her as well.
She cleared her throat before addressing him.
"Mr. Darcy, I assume you haven't eaten in a few days. Why don't you eat and we'll solve your mystery after you've been properly fed."
While he ate she continued, "I understand how it feels to be in a strange, new place. I believe you, Mr. Darcy, and I promise to do what I can to help you."
Darcy stopped eating and looked at her, his grey eyes examining her brown. He didn't sense any pity in her voice, but understanding and compassion.
"I would be most grateful for your help . . . Miss Elizabeth."
"You're very welcome."
Understandably, Darcy was exhausted after he had eaten. He apologized for needing to sleep and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Liz used the quiet time making sure Genny's room was ready. While making her bed, she remembered when they started decorating her room. Charles was almost giddy arranging stuffed animals and putting together her crib. They spent weeks pouring over patterns, designs, and fabric samples. At the time, there was nothing more important than creating a safe haven for their baby. Liz would spend hours in the rocking chair, imagining what it would be like to finally have her in her arms.
"Do you think she'll like her home?"
"Of course, what does she have to compare it against?"
"I'm serious, Charles. I just want to start all of this right. You can't redo first impressions and I want to make sure everything is ready for her."
"Everything is ready," he reassured her and kissed her forehead, "we are ready and this little girl will be the most loved little person on the planet."
Liz shook her head to bring her thoughts back to the present. She wondered if she would ever stop missing him. Charles' parents encouraged her to sell the apartment and find a place that wasn't filled with the memory of him, but she couldn't. Not yet.
She turned her thoughts to the man in her guest bedroom and recalled the look of defeat that clouded his handsome face. Alone in her musings, she could admit that he was handsome. He was tall and lean like her husband was, but where Charles was fair, Mr. Darcy had dark hair, thick brooding eyebrows, and the clearest grey eyes she had ever seen. The poor man was so lost. She assumed he was in his early thirties and carried himself as one who never lacked confidence. He seemed to have lost that confidence, as well as his bearings. It seems we've both lost our bearings, she thought.
She sighed and prayed that, at the very least, she would be able to help him find his place
The next morning, Liz woke up and rode her bike around Regent's Park. As she rode, she thought about how to help Mr. Darcy. He seemed like an intelligent man, just completely out of her element. What could have happened to him? Amnesia is a possibility. Maybe he's filming a documentary and she haplessly strolled into the role of the Good Samaritan. She was certain he wasn't planning on hurting her—his eyes were as honest in his desperation for answers while reassuring her that he was a gentleman. She hoped that a little time looking for him online would give her an idea of who he was and where he came from.
When she got back to her apartment, she didn't hear any movement and decided to hop in the shower. Darcy was still sleeping while she cooked breakfast, but the sound and smell of sizzling sausage woke him up. Works with every man, she mused.
"I must beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth. I assure you that I don't normally oversleep."
"I imagine the last few days have been more than a little exhausting for you," she replied. "How do you take your coffee?"
"Coffee isn't usually my drink of choice," he absentmindedly responded while watching Liz use the coffee maker. His curiosity evident as his eyes followed her movements with hawk-like intensity. "Extraordinary."
Liz grinned at him, amused by his childlike fascination with every piece of tech he'd encountered in her home. "Would you like a cup? A nice strong cup will be sure to put you to rights after the last couple of days you've had. If it's too strong, I have creamer in the fridge."
Mr. Darcy continued to stare at the coffee maker as the black liquid started to stream into the pot. "Yes, I think I just might need to try some." With his own mug in hand, he unconsciously closed his eyes and groaned in pleasure. She was right. All of my stress seems to be melting away.
Liz let him enjoy his coffee as she debated which questions she needed answered first. Though he seemed sincerely in his confusion, she couldn't completely rule out the looney bin. His dress and mannerisms bespoke of someone definitely out of place and time. His precise and clear diction clearly indicated that he was well-educated. Was he a method actor? Was she in the middle of some social experiment? If so, she was suddenly grateful to her mother and her southern upbringing. All of those lectures on hospitality had miraculously sunk in.
"So, where are you from, really?"
Mr. Darcy still hadn't opened his eyes since he started drinking his coffee. Liz had to clear her throat and say his name a couple of times to get his attention.
"I apologize, Miss Elizabeth. I wasn't attending what you were saying. I must of sunken into the abyss of this delightful drink."
Her mouth quirked up into a half smile as she considered her method actor theory. "I asked where you are from, really." He looked at her quizzically. "You're mesmerized by everything you see in my home. You act as if you've never seen a shower, a coffee maker, jeans, bicycle shorts, or literally any modern convenience. You can't be more than 30, and I guarantee my grandparents are more self-reliant. You speak of your home in Mayfair, even though Mayfair has been a ritzy shopping district for years. So, I'll ask you again. Where are you from?"
Liz noticed his back stiffen has she listed each of his social missteps. He set down his mug and his lips set into a thin, hard line. "I've already told you," he curtly answered. "My home in London is in Mayfair, but my family's estate is in Derbyshire."
"Do you have any form of ID to prove who you are?"
"ID?" he asked.
"Identification," she said more brusquely than intended. She was becoming really frustrated with this entire . . . whatever this was. "Look," she said. She had to squeeze her eyes shut and ball her fists to avoid shaking him. "I want to help you; I really do, but you have to give me something to work with."
She opened her eyes to see that his frown was still in place, though his mouth and shoulders had relaxed somewhat. She continued to look into her eyes, hoping that she saw her sincerity, even if her words seemed accusatory.
"I assume that you want to go home." He nodded in response. "And I want to help you do that, but I have a life to start again in two days. My daughter is coming home soon and I don't feel comfortable having a stranger staying here when she comes home. I also go back to work next week, among other family responsibilities. Since I only have a couple of unencumbered days to help you, I need you to be upfront and completely honest with me. Please don't take advantage of me."
Mr. Darcy swallowed as he listened to her speak. The intensity and light in her eyes commanded his attention and seemed to steal his breath. He attempted to mirror her calm intensity as he responded, "I assure you, madam, I abuse the kindness you have shown me. I have been honest with you. I want to return to my life as quickly as you want to return to yours."
"Thank you. Let's try to find your roots. Clearly, your London home is no longer there," She held up her hand to stay his rebuttal, "or there seems to be some confusion about ownership. Let's head north to Derbyshire and see what we can figure out. We can make it there and back in a day, but my husband's family has home close to Matlock where we can stay the night if we leave this afternoon."
"I hesitate to argue with you, but it takes much longer than a day to travel to Derbyshire. I've made the trek several times and it takes at least two days when the roads are clear."
"Mr. Darcy, we're going to drive a car."
"A car? The contraptions on the street? How fast can they go?!" he exclaimed. Each new question made his eyebrows raise higher and higher.
"You'll see, Mr. Darcy," Liz called behind her as she walked back to her room to prepare for their trip.
