Darcy smelled the lush, fragrant scent of fresh flowers before he even opened his eyes.
Damn it, had Sutter brought flowers into his room? He knew of Darcy's hay fever. When had Darcy ever requested fresh flowers?
There, across the room. He saw them. A thick bunch of colorful flowers tied together with a ribbon and set in a vase. Pink petals clashed with purple irises and red and orange blooms. Overall, it was very intense. Who had created that monstrosity?
Darcy's lips set with irritation. A moment later he took in the whole room. Flowers were everywhere.
Floral wallpaper. Floral embroidery on the pillows, flowers on the chintz bedspread on top of him. By God, had he fallen asleep in one of the lady's rooms?
He sat up quickly. He certainly was not in the bedroom he had taken as his own. He was in a delicately framed four-poster bed. How had he fallen asleep here? He pulled the quilt off his body and stopped.
Something was very wrong.
He was wrong. His limbs were small and white under his long gown. And tiny. He could feel their delicacy before he glanced down at them. Indeed, he examined his arms, which were soft and rounded. No muscles, bruises or scratches, or marks his body usually carried. His tiny feet touched the rug on the floor, and he stood, swaying for moment as he caught his reflection in the looking glass on the vanity. He saw a rumple-haired Miss Elizabeth Bennet in a nightdress looking back at him. and nearly felt ill.
He turned behind him, but saw no one. He staggered two steps toward the vanity and saw his own small, white feet coming from the nightdress underneath him.
These were not his feet.
His face grew hot, his throat, tight, and he struggled to inhale. He glanced around again. No one else was in the room. Only himself, and yet the only person he saw in the etched looking glass was the face of Elizabeth Bennet. He could not understand. He struggled to make sense of it.
He raised his hand, and in the glass, Miss Bennet raised her hand. His fingers touched his lips as did Miss Bennet's.
No! This was all wrong! Darcy pulled his hand back quickly, and in the reflection, Miss Bennet did likewise. His eyes darted around the room. Was she here playing a game with him? He could see no one else in the room. He swallowed thickly.
He was going mad. That could be the only answer to this. Maybe his admiration for Miss Bennet had caused his mind to rupture and now he fancied himself to be the object of his desire.
He sat back on the bed, watching Miss Bennet's figure do the same in the reflection. He must be gravely ill. Fear poured through him. He had heard of men losing their sanity after battles, thinking they were the king or some other historical figure. He'd never heard of a man imagining he became a woman. Certainly not a woman one admired.
He stood, moved slowly to the vanity and sat down, forcing himself to study his reflection. It was Miss Bennet's lovely face, to be sure. Slowly, he raised a hand and smoothed down her chestnut hair and his hands undid the loose braid that held it so it flowed down his back. How? Why? It made no sense.
Her eyes were lovely and dark, and he smiled in the reflection to himself, watching her face.
Someone knocked at the door.
"Miss Bennet, are you awake?" a female voice said and a young lady's maid opened the door. He immediately froze, self-conscious to be seen. The maid glanced at him once briefly but did not recoil. Nor did she run fleeing when she saw him in the lady's guest room. She merely brought in a cup of tea and toast on a tray and smiled fleetingly.
"Might I get you anything else?"
Darcy froze again. "No," he said quietly. It was a high, female voice. Elizabeth's voice. The maid nodded her head.
"Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst are just now waking up. Breakfast will be served at quarter past the hour."
"Wait," Darcy said, his thin voice completely at odds with how he left.
The maid stopped and waited.
"Ah, I-" his female voice stuttered and stopped.
"Are you wanting to know of your sister?" she asked cheerfully. "Miss Jane is already gotten up and broken her fast. I'll wager the Bennet household rises much earlier than Netherfield's."
Darcy had forgotten that Elizabeth's sister was still here.
"You may visit her whenever you are ready."
Darcy nodded. The maid curtsied and left the room. He felt as though he was a wolf in sheep's clothing having a conversation with a maid alone here in a female guest room. He exhaled in relief when she finally left.
Another knock at the door, this time more insistent. Darcy considered not answering at all. Maybe they would simply go away.
"Miss Bennet? Eliza, have you risen yet? It's Caroline."
Darcy winced. Caroline Bingley was the absolute last person he wished to see at the moment. Fear sparked through him as he realized the door was still open. He stood, lunging for it, reaching it just as it opened.
"Miss Bennet? You are still abed! How surprising," Caroline Bingley said as Darcy pressed the door close to his body to the door to keep her from coming in. "I am surprised. Louisa and I had you guessed as an early riser."
The sudden movement made Darcy's head pound. "Forgive me, I did not sleep well last night," Darcy said quickly in Elizabeth's soft voice.
Caroline Bingley's smile was bright and false. "Is everything all right?"
"Of course, I'm preparing to dress now."
"Capital. My brother was just saying breakfast is not the same without your sharp wit."
Darcy made himself nod as Caroline curtsied. What a cold fish Caroline Bingley was to Elizabeth. She just barely hid her dislike behind a false smile and sharp comments, but her intent could hardly be veiled. Had she always been so impolite to Elizabeth or was he simply noticing it now? Darcy shut the door and sighed with great relief.
He needed to find Elizabeth Bennet and reverse whatever horrible thing had occurred or figure out if he were truly insane. Certainly, if nothing else, perhaps she was suffering a similar fate. Or maybe he was truly ill. But first, he needed to dress for the day.
Darcy's arms went to his small waist. He swallowed carefully and stood up. Not only was he able to–he would have to–see Elizabeth Bennet's body undressed.
Good God.
Instantly sweat broke out on his brow, under his arms, and, Lord, even under his bosom. He tentatively wiped the liquid that pooled there away. Gads, he had no idea women perspired as much as this. He grasped a towel and moped his brow and then his torso. What was happening to him?Courage, he told himself. Whatever happened could likely somehow be undone. He simply had to figure out what had happened so he could reverse it.
He knew one thing. He wasn't going to discover it inside this room alone.
He heard light footsteps moving down the hall, and he went to the door and listened. It was the light tread of a female. He swallowed hard and cracked open the door. Thankfully, it was as he hoped, the lady's maid. She looked startled.
"Apologies for startling you, but might you have time to help me dress?" The maid nodded and came to Darcy's aid.
Women, Darcy realized with exasperation, wore many more layers of clothing than men, and as far as he could tell, several were unnecessary.
He sighed and endeavored to hold still (yet again) so the maid could tie the lacings and adjust the layers of skirts. Truly, it was maddening. He glanced at the clock–-it was time-consuming too. It was already a quarter past the hour.
But–to his surprise–the image looking back at him in the mirror was that of a dressed and relatively well-presented Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy had politely averted his eyes from his figure when he was undressed, so except for a moment, Miss Bennet's modesty was still intact. The maid had combed Elizabeth's hair and smoothed it into a bun at the nape of her neck. Then she gave him the choice of three dresses, as he had not seen them before, he wasn't sure which were Miss Bennet's and which might be on loan from Caroline Bingley. He chose the most feminine one of the bunch, a pink one with a ribbon at the waist and ribbons at the sleeves.
"Jewelry?" The maid asked.
Darcy had no idea how to answer. He nodded briefly and the maid pinned a hideous brooch to her dress. He had never understood the appeal of brooches. Finally, he was free to leave the room. He stepped and very nearly tripped on his skirt. He found it best to hold his skirts when he walked across the room. It was trickier than he expected to be a woman.
Slowly descending the stairs, Darcy wondered what he'd find downstairs. Although he'd been a guest at Netherfield for several days, he hoped he'd find Miss Elizabeth first, or rather, that he'd met himself. Then perhaps he could get this mess undone.
The first person downstairs he saw was Caroline Bingley. Yet instead of her brow arching playfully, and her smiling, the way she usually did at Darcy, he noticed her mouth pull into a tighter line as if she were displeased. Darcy paused.
"Miss Bennet," She called tartly a moment later. "We were beginning to wonder if you might rise at all today. I did not take you for a late riser."
Darcy exhaled slowly, reminding himself that she was addressing Miss Bennet, and not him at all. Still, he felt surprised at the sour nature of Miss Bingley's tone. Was she always so rude?
"I did not mean to keep you waiting."
"I was not waiting, merely observing. You rose so early the previous days. Louisa and I wondered if you had caught your sister's illness."
"No, I am well. Thank you." Darcy made himself say.
"Excellent. We'd not wish to turn Netherfield into a hospital full of Bennets," she said, her lips curving into a false smile. Behind her, Lousia suppressed a giggle. He had no idea Caroline spoke so rudely to Miss Elizabeth, but her meaning was clear. She meant to belittle her.
Darcy, despite his extreme discomfort of standing in a dress, felt shocked to his bones. Caroline Bingley was quite rude. He knew she might say cutting remarks of strangers to her brother and even Darcy at times, but he had never seen her be rude to someone's face.
Then something odd occurred, Darcy's stomach growled. He smelled the bacon and coffee the ladies were enjoying and he realized he was hungry. Well, his body was, whomever's body it was now. Miss Caroline and Miss Louisa carried plates of food from the sideboard to their seats in the breakfast room. Darcy realized how hungry he was.
Caroline pursued her lips. "Will you be breaking your fast with us?"
"Yes," Darcy said, eyeing their plates. Caroline gave small frown, but his appetite caused him to ignore it.
At the sideboard, Darcy loaded his plate with three pieces of toast, a plateful of scrambled eggs, several sticks of bacon along with a good portion of potatoes. Caroline's eyes widened when she saw his plate as he sat. "My, you must be hungry this morning,"
Darcy glanced from his loaded plate to their dainty ones which held less than half of the food his held. "Er, yes, I am."
Charles Bingley entered the room, smiling cheerfully at him. "Good morning, Miss Bennet. How does your sister fare today?"
Darcy looked up, realizing he was being addressed. "Oh? Sorry, I have not visited her yet."
Bingley's face fell into a pout. "Oh, well, I hope she is well."
Darcy nodded in between bites. He found the food tasted delicious, and he was ravenous. "Yes," he said. Darcy looked up to see the women staring at him oddly.
"You are very hungry this morning, Miss Bennet," Louisa said, her brows furrowing.
"Indeed," added Caroline. "Careful, Miss Eliza, you'll not fit into your corsets."
Darcy reluctantly swallowed the last of the eggs from his fork. He glanced again at Caroline's plate and then his own. He did wish to eat more but found himself uncomfortably full.
"Has anyone seen Mr. Darcy yet this morning?" He felt stupid asking about himself.
Caroline's rolled her eyes. "He has not risen yet, which is unusual for him. He is usually up with the sun." She peered at Darcy. "Why do you seek him?"
Darcy shook his head. "I was just wondering."
He studied Caroline. He knew she disdained many of the people here in Hertfordshire as simple "rustics," but he hadn't considered she would make her snobbery so visible to the Bennets, particularly Elizabeth, who was, after all, a gentleman's daughter. How cruel and cutting she was, considering she and Bingley's own family, though rich, were mere tradespeople. She had no right to condescend to the Bennets, rustic though they may be. He knew Caroline was opinionated and confident, but he never thought her truly foolish til this moment.
Darcy cleared his throat, making a feminine, almost-catlike sound to his ears. He should not be judging Caroline Bingley. He should not be considering her behavior toward other women at all. Perhaps he was truly losing his mind. That worried him.
Perhaps he was still asleep and he simply needed to wake. He'd never had a dream seem so realistic, but he brushed that idea aside. He looked down at his silverware, examining the shiny breakfast knife. He held it under the table, pressing it into his palm, feeling the teeth of it against his skin. He felt its sharpness, but what if he were dreaming that too? Quickly–before he could think of it–he jabbed his palm with the knife, and a startling wave of pain shot through his hand. A tiny red welt rose where he had punctured himself. Apparently, he wasn't sleeping or his dream was so complex as to approximate the jab from a butter knife. He chewed the inside of his lip. He was not dreaming, which only meant his mental faculties were left to blame. It was asinine that he was sitting here, stabbing himself with a breakfast knife.
No one noticed him at all, he realized as he sat there. In the looking glass on the opposite wall, he saw the pert face of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Was this some spell? An illness? A trick of the psyche? He knew not. He simply knew he felt very different. And when he looked at his reflection, it was definitely not Mr. Darcy.