Chapter 2
Darcy had never experienced anything as chaotic as the modern highway. Miss Elizabeth repeatedly assured him that there were "rules of the road" that every driver had learned to follow. If one considered the speeds they were all traveling, it was a wonder he didn't see more overturned cars. Even with his seatbelt fastened, he wasn't reassured in the least. To distract him, Miss Elizabeth chose some recordings of Mozart for him to listen to while they drove north. You seem like a classical kind of guy, she had said. Mozart is hardly a classic, he had thought. Plato, Aristotle, Homer. These are the classics. Each new element that he encountered proved that his world had been completely overturned by some force bound and determined to see him crumble.
After about an hour on the road, the traffic cleared, and Darcy was able to think. Elizabeth had mercifully remained quiet as they drove through the city, whether to concentrate on the road or to avoid overstimulating him, he wasn't sure.
Darcy briefly considered their situation. She didn't seem overly concerned about her reputation and, if some of the displays he witnessed in the park by many couples were any indication, decorum was no longer a prized attribute. She did mention having a firearm. Taking into account her American accent and forthright behavior, he didn't doubt she was brash enough to use it on him. This world he was experiencing barely resembled his own.
His overactive mind tumbled question after question around in his head. Why was he here? Why is everything so different? What will I find in Derbyshire? How am I supposed to return home? Am I supposed to return home? And the most disturbing question of all: when am I? This was the question he didn't dare answer because it had the potential to alter everything he thought and knew. He'd always felt confident and self-assured. He reluctantly, but dutifully, became master of his own estate at the age of two and twenty when his father passed. He didn't feel like Pemberley's true master until he was six and twenty. He knew he was well-read and innovative; diversifying his farming techniques and business interests in ways few of his peers ever considered. He endeavored to be kind to his staff and tenants, loyal to his friends, and devoted to his family. Why was this happening to him?
After nearly a week in this strange new reality, he had to admit that he wasn't dreaming. The days and nights he spent in the park, hungry, wandering around London, and bearing the incredulous and incredibly rude stares from passersby was humbling and humiliating in the extreme—feelings that Darcy worked scrupulously to avoid since his Cambridge years. His only source of relief was Elizabeth. In a place where his good name meant nothing, she provided him with a place to sleep, food to eat, and a shower—easily the most delightful thing he had experienced this week. He had never been indebted to someone and wasn't sure how to thank her or "pay it forward" as she had suggested on the day they met.
"Alright," Liz said, breaking the seemingly interminable silence in the car. "You've had your time to think, but we still have two hours to kill until we reach Derbyshire. I suggest we play a game."
"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours."
"Excellent!" she exclaimed with a gleam in her eye that made Darcy more than a little suspicious of her motives. "The game is 20 questions. It's what we call a get-to-know-you game. If you play this well, I will know more about you and you will know more about me. Shall we begin?"
"Am I required to answer all of your questions?"
"Yes, and I'm required to do the same." Darcy was beginning to feel more nervous, but inexplicably wanted to know more about her.
"Fine, let us begin. Ladies first."
"I'll start with an easy question. Where in Derbyshire are we going? It's a large county and I don't want to drive around aimlessly until you find something familiar."
"My estate is east of the small village of Lambton."
"Are you serious?" she asked in disbelief.
"Do you know how to get there?"
"Yes. I've only been there a handful of times, but the directions are already stored in the GPS." Liz tapped the screen on the dashboard a few times and the directions, as well as ETA, appeared.
"The car knows how to get to Lambton?" Darcy asked incredulously.
"No," she replied while smirking. "GPS, which stands for global positioning system, is installed in the car. It uses satellites to locate the car and the location I wish to get to and calculates the best route to get there. "
Though he had no idea what a satellite was, he could only murmur "extraordinary" at the thought of knowing how to get anywhere you wanted to go.
"Okay," she said. "That was my first question. Shoot."
"Shoot what?" he asked quizzically.
Liz couldn't help rolling her eyes before clarifying, "Go ahead. Ask your first question."
"You are an American."
"That is a statement, Mr. Darcy. Should I describe what a question is?"
Darcy flushed and stammered, "What I mean is, well, what I was wondering was why you live here. I don't recall relations between the colonies and England being particularly amicable."
Liz quirked an eyebrow at his use of "the colonies", but answered as if he hadn't committed yet another faux pas. "I moved to London after I married my husband. His family has deep roots here and mine weren't deep enough to keep me in the States. What's your favorite food?"
"My London cook makes a wonderful sweet and sticky confection with raisins. I gather from your selection of Mozart that you are a lover of music."
"That's another statement, Mr. Darcy."
"Yes, yes, I know. My question is: do you play?"
"The piano? I used to. My mother subjected me to lessons for years so I'd have a 'classy' talent to display in pageants. I grew to love playing, but I haven't touched a single key in years. What do you like to do for fun?"
"Fun?"
"Yes, Mr. Darcy, fun. Other than eating sweet confections from your cook, what do you do that brings you joy and makes you smile."
"Well, I suppose I can say that I like to ride my horse. But I don't ride just for the enjoyment. I ride to travel and survey my estate—riding makes it possible for me to meet the demands of my position. It's serendipitous that I also take pleasure in the activity."
"I guess that response will have to do for now. For the record, normal people like to dance, cook, swim, play sports, or just about anything only because it brings them joy. You might be able to relax a bit more if you found a little more fun in your life."
Mr. Darcy thought on his life and realized it left little room in the way of real, pure enjoyment. He enjoyed fencing and debating, but only because he was particularly skilled at them and they were suitable and respectable activities for a man of his station. He enjoyed listening to his sister, Georgiana, play the pianoforte, but he also viewed it as part of his duty as her guardian, brother, and father figure. He quickly reviewed what he liked to do—he was saddened to realize the list was short indeed—and couldn't think of anything that could be classified as fun. It was unseemly to engage in pure frivolity, but there must be merit in finding an activity that would allow him to enjoy life rather than dutifully attack it.
He was about to ask Miss Elizabeth what she did for fun when his periphery was accosted by a man that seemed to fly by on something black and fast. "Good heavens! What was that?" he exclaimed.
Liz's hands gripped the wheel a little harder when the bike sped by. It took her a few seconds to steady her voice to respond.
"That, Mr. Darcy, is a motorcycle. That particular type is also known as a bullet bike or a crotch rocket, depending on the crowd."
"Is it a car?"
"It's like a car, but it's more like a motorized bicycle." Not wanting to discuss the bike anymore, she sought to bring him back to their game.
"Okay, my turn. So…"
"That doesn't qualify!" he interrupted.
"The game is 20 questions. You asked about the bike; now it's my turn."
"But that wasn't what I was going to ask!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Darcy," she answered sweetly. "I didn't make the rules, but we must adhere to them." She turned her head enough to smile enigmatically at him. Mr. Darcy was arrested long enough to forget his argument and allow Liz time to ask her next question.
"I think I already know the answer to this, but I'll ask it anyway. What do you do for a living?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"For work. What do you do to earn money?"
"I don't understand how that question is entirely proper."
"Need I remind you of the rules of the game, Mr. Darcy?" Liz asked while quirking that infernal eyebrow.
"No, indeed," he replied, his frown deepened. "I do not work, madam. I'm a gentleman. My estate earns money from our farms and tenant-run farms. There are other things I do to "earn money", as you so coarsely put it, but do not think it's needful to detail my income."
Liz only smirked in response. Knew it. He's way to prim and proper. He reminds me of some of my in-laws.
Mr. Darcy cleared his throat and clasped his hands in his lap as he attempted to phrase his next question. "Um . . . is it customary for a woman to work?"
"Excuse me?"
"You mentioned needing to go back to work. Is that, um, normal . . . for women?"
"I think what you are trying to ask is why I work, so that is the question I'll answer. I work because I want to and a part of me needs to. I want to be a good example to my daughter, someone who works hard to provide for her family, and uses whatever talents she has to improve the lives of others. As to its normalcy, yeah, I'd say it's normal and acceptable for a woman to work."
All Darcy could do was blush and quickly nod his head. He couldn't fault her logic or reasons for working, though it still seemed odd to him. Every indication (aside from those blasted bike shorts) told him that Elizabeth was well-educated and a gentlewoman. It was obvious that she wanted work, though he couldn't really credit a reason or circumstance as to why it was necessary.
"Let's ask a few innocuous questions, since I get the feeling you are itching to say something truly misogynistic. What is your family like?"
"My family consists of myself, my sister, and two cousins with whom I am close. My sister is ten years my junior and recently married to a Lord Reginald Wattley. She is kind and gentle, like I remember my mother being. She loves to play the pianoforte and Mozart was her favorite composer."
"And your cousins?"
"I must beg your pardon, Miss Elizabeth, but you have already asked your question. I believe it is my turn."
"Well played, Mr. Darcy," she said with a grin.
"What is your family like?
"My family is also small. I have my daughter and an aunt and uncle who live in New York. Genny is 10 months and way too curious about the world around her. She's the happiest child I know and has yet to meet a stranger or anyone she doesn't count as a friend."
"And what of your husband?"
"Tsk, tsk. It's my turn. What is your favorite season?"
Since wearing the man's clothing, Mr. Darcy was curious about a man who would leave such a vivacious wife at home and how he would react to a strange man sleeping down the hall from her. Were they estranged? Darcy couldn't contain the frown that overtook his face as he realized she was avoiding the question.
"I think I prefer autumn." Remembering to keep the questions light and innocuous, he parried with, "Who is your favorite author?"
"Ooh, it's too hard to pick just one, but I'll settle with Tolkein. You don't look like the type to read fantasy novels, but Tolkein has a talent to create a world so unlike our own yet so similar that I feel like I'm escaping reality for just a moment , then reemerging with the fortitude to face it."
Darcy watched her as her face took on an almost dreamlike excitement as she described Tolkein's work. She was correct, he didn't much like novels, but he'd be willing to put aside his prejudice to experience what she had.
"What is the weirdest thing you've seen this week?" she asked, breaking his dreamlike rumination.
"Like you, I think it's difficult to choose just one," he quipped, making Liz throw her head back and laugh, a delightful and completely artless sound. Warming to his topic, he thought about everything he had seen and heard and settled on, "Trousers."
"Trousers?"
"Yes, especially on women."
"You have a creepy fascination with women's clothing, Mr. Darcy."
"I suppose women's trousers do fascinate me, but it's more the novelty of seeing them worn by everyone. It's difficult enough to preserve the appearance of rank when everyone's clothing looks the same while also confusing an onlooker about one's gender. It took no less than three misappropriations of sex when asking for assistance, that I settled with simply asking 'Excuse me' without the benefit of adding 'sir' or 'madam.'"
By the end of his explanation, Liz could hardly breathe for laughing. "Poor, Mr. Darcy," she lamented while wiping her eyes.
"'Poor, Mr. Darcy', indeed. I was and am extremely grateful that you saved me from the streets and any more embarrassing encounters." He watched her try to regain her composure and warmed at thought of being the cause of her merriment. Perhaps this is what it felt like to 'pay it forward.'
"You have already expressed an interest in the piano," he said, continuing their game. "May I ask who your favorite composer is?"
"Easy, it's Beethoven."
"The deaf and angry German?"
"Of course! He injects more emotion into his pieces than any other composer I know. When I played his work I felt like I had run a marathon with my fingers. There's nothing more satisfying than mastering one of his difficult and crazy fast movements. Mozart may be classic and classy, but Beethoven is brazen and beautiful."
"You are certainly led by your emotions," he stated, though it sounded more like an accusation. He cringed, waiting for her rebuttal.
"How else should I be led?" she asked sincerely. "My head will take too long to make a decision and may judge too hastily. My gut can be distracted by hunger. Though my heart isn't infallible, I've never regretted a decision I've made while following it, such as rescuing you from streets," she concluded with a charming wink.
"I can assure you that I will be the last person to ask you to recant that decision," he responded with equal sincerity. When she turned to look at him, he gave her a small smile that softened and brightened the storminess in his grey eyes. Discomposed, she turned her eyes back to the road.
"Now that we've settled that it is perfectly appropriate to be led by one's emotions, I get to ask my next question. When is your birthday?"
"October 14," he answered and paused before continuing,"1784."
Liz jerked into the next lane as she spun to look at him. "You're joking," she accused while righting the car.
"I am not. I've thought on my current state incessantly over the last four days. From the things I've seen and experienced, I must conclude that I have somehow been catapulted to some future date for reasons completely unknown to me."
"Impossible," she murmured.
"While I would normally agree with you, madam, I'm afraid my presence says otherwise."
Silence fell over the car as each considered the implications of their situation. All that could be heard was the eerie and misplaced tinkering of Mozart through the car stereo.
"May I ask what year it is?" he said with a little trepidation.
"It's 2015," she answered a little breathlessly. "Today's date is September 10, 2015."
Author's Note: Though not as long, I hope this chapter helps you get to know these characters as well. I've been thrilled by the response I've already received and happy that a number of you are taking a chance on this modern story. I got a couple of great questions in the reviews that I would have like to answer privately, but I can't since the comments were left by guests. First is Darcy's use of "Miss Elizabeth". As you can see, he drops the formality, at least in his thoughts, in this chapter as he becomes more comfortable around Liz. Although married, Liz hasn't supplied him with her last name, so I imagine he would default to Miss in the absence of all of the needful information. While I think regency Darcy would have asked for a formal introduction, my poor Darcy has been emotionally assaulted for the last couple days and is trying get a grasp on reality. You also said that the use of 'Miss' and 'madam' were incongruent. Madam can be used when addressing women, regardless of marital status. Case in point, in the original P&P, Mr. Darcy ends Elizabeth's rant/refusual by saying, "You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings . . ." Another reviewer asked why Darcy wouldn't already know he was in the future by looking at a newspaper. My only defense, puny as it may be, is denial. He hasn't been willing to accept the truth, even though it was plain and obvious, until now. Thanks, again, to those who have read and reviewed. I want to update once a week and finish this story in a timely manner, but I make no promises as my time is held hostage by two little girls.
