Puck and Prejudice

Chapter Thirty

All the very best love stories end tragically.

Lizzy repeated this refrain to herself in the days and weeks after Tuck disappeared from her life.

The pain she felt upon waking, lingering until it was time to retire in the evening, the sense that she was missing a part

of her body... this was how it was supposed to be. For who could have a love affair and walk away unscathed?

The fact she hurt meant it was a good thing. She should be grateful for the pain, glad that it happened, happy it was over.

Now she could get on with her business of widowhood.

Should. Such a useless word. It lingered in the realm of missed opportunities, dwelling on what could have been but wasn’t. It should

be relegated to the same trash heap as the word try .

Lizzy doodled two intersecting rings on the corner of the blank page of her vellum notebook, her thin gold band on her ring

finger teasing her. She could take it off anytime she wanted. No one would have such bad manners as to comment on it. But

she couldn’t bring herself to twist it off. Every time she went to do it, her fingers found some other way to occupy themselves.

She set aside her lap desk and strolled to the window. Beyond, the oaks encircling the yard had taken on hues of flame, their leaves a vivid reminder that the August day Tuck departed had long passed, and autumn was encroaching.

In the end, she couldn’t muster the resolve to execute Jane’s scheme. No staged fishing trip to Southampton Water or a contrived

accident. The notion of becoming a widow no longer held any appeal. She glanced down at her green walking dress, its hue reminiscent

of fresh grass, a far cry from the somber black of mourning. The thought of Tuck meeting his demise—even a fictitious one—was

too agonizing. Instead, she penned a letter to her family, explaining that Tuck had been summoned back to Baltimore for urgent

and pressing business.

This new deception certainly complicated matters. When was he expected to return? Would it eventually cast her in the light

of an abandoned woman, subject to society’s pity and scorn?

She exhaled slowly, her breath clouding the glass before she traced a heart in the condensation, then wiped it away.

That could be an issue for future Lizzy to deal with. For now, she needed to shake off the stupor that had gripped her for

the past weeks. She used to drift off to sleep effortlessly, but now she tossed and turned until dawn, her reflection in the

mirror revealing dark circles under her eyes, signs of exhaustion and what appeared to be a broken heart.

Her hand drifted to the concealed pocket nestled within the folds of her skirts, brushing against the folded parchment within.

Surely she couldn’t bring herself to read it for the fourth time today. She ought to return to her desk and resume her attempts

to try to complete the story she had pledged to him.

Should. Try. The words grated on her nerves like sandpaper.

With a low groan of frustration bubbling in her throat, she retrieved the letter. Who was she attempting to deceive? Herself? Of course she was going to read the words Tuck left her. The letter she’d found beneath her pillow when she returned from the pond trembling and tearful.

Dear Lizzy,

It feels weird to write those words. It feels weird to write words, period. I should be leaving that work to better people,

like Jane or you. But I couldn’t leave without telling you a few things. First off, I never pushed you to come with me for

a simple reason—and it had nothing to do with me not wanting you. It’s that I want you to always get to choose your path.

Your future. Your destiny. I saw how your family used you like a piece on a chessboard—and I’m never going to do that.

But let’s say that at some point you wake up one day and think that you’d like to come. And you decide to enter the pond on

one of those Druid holy days, and you appear in my time. I realized, how are you going to find me? I don’t live in Hallow’s

Gate. Hell, I don’t even live in England, so what am I going to do to help you?

Well, I came up with a plan. If you ever do come, I want you to go to Ye Olde King’s Head. It still exists in my time. So, make your way there and approach the barkeep. You’re going to want to give them the numbers written at the bottom of this note. This will let them contact my sister Nora. I’ll have told her all about you. She will come. Bath isn’t far, especially in my time. And then she’ll figure out how to get you to me. Again, this isn’t to pressure you. If you want to hear me say I want to see you again? Please know I’ll always want you, Lizzy. That’s never going to stop. You’re it for me. And if the time we had together is all I ever get? Then I’ll count myself luckier than most. But our marriage? It’s as real as anything to me. And I’m always going to be yours.

Tuck

Lizzy folded the letter back up and returned it to her pocket. She was well on her way to having every word memorized.

Footsteps echoed down the hall—Jane’s unmistakable pace. Lizzy recognized it by the swift, purposeful rhythm; her friend was

never one to dawdle. Her movements resembled those of a songbird—nimble and precise.

“Hello,” Lizzy greeted as Jane entered.

Jane responded with a small yelp. “Goodness. I didn’t realize anyone was in here. The servants said Georgie would be out for

a few hours. You’re haunting the room like a ghost.”

“I feel rather like one,” Lizzy admitted with a forced smile that felt more like a grimace. “How are you?”

“Tired. But happy. I have finished my novel.”

“Oh, congratulations.” Lizzy was relieved no envy cropped up despite all her empty pages impatiently waiting for her. Her

own success wouldn’t come at the expense of her friendship. “How shall we celebrate?”

“The book is at a stage where it doesn’t feel real, so celebrations aren’t quite in order. All I can do is ponder the three

to four plot points that are still very much amiss and endeavor to find a solution.”

“I can leave you to your thoughts.” Lizzy made to move toward the door.

“Darling. Stop.” Jane blocked the exit, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You are behaving so small and skittish. What’s gotten into you?”

Lizzy parted her lips, yet for once, words eluded her. There were so many to say that it rendered the next sentence perplexing.

Where to start? Everything seemed congested, akin to a river blocked after a storm.

Jane’s mouth spread into a slow smile. “It’s love, isn’t it?”

Lizzy looked away. “I’ve never used that word directly.”

“Does that make it any less real?”

“I had rather hoped that avoiding speaking it would mean everything might hurt less.”

“That’s a sweet, but ultimately flawed, idea. Come sit with me a moment, dear, I want to tell you a story. A real one this

time.”

Lizzy joined Jane on the camelback settee. “Real?”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever shared the tale of my past love with you, have I?”

“Love?” Lizzy huffed a little in surprise. “You?”

Jane laughed, genuinely amused. “Do not appear so astonished, or you shall wound my sensibilities. Yes, indeed, I had a suitor

once, Tom Lefroy, an Irishman.”

“An Irishman!” she blurted out, her mind racing so she was left to just repeat words dumbly. She thought she knew her friend

inside out, but now she felt like she might as well be talking to a stranger.

“Our initial connection was forged through books. He took pleasure in Tom Jones , a sentiment I didn’t quite share. Yet, his striking appearance was hard to ignore—fine eyes, admirable ears, and a manly physique, all wrapped in gentlemanly charm. He was quite the flirt, leaving me feeling rather bashful and tongue-tied whenever we were together. Interestingly, I’ve since imbued this similar reticence into my latest literary hero. Some may read my work and assume the heroine is a reflection of myself, but how lacking in imagination they are! In truth, I’ve woven aspects of myself into my Mr. Darcy.”

“And while I do want to know more of this book, I desire to hear more of this man! What happened?”

“When we first crossed paths, he hadn’t a sixpence to his name, and you’re well aware of my own modest circumstances—no dowry

to speak of. Despite this, he did propose to me, and in a moment of impulsiveness, I accepted. However, his parents, acting

with wisdom and prudence, quickly intervened.”

“Oh no! How dreadful of them.”

“Sometimes, the most difficult decisions are the right ones. Love doesn’t always conquer all, as I came to realize. Reality

must take precedence, and life isn’t always adorned with happily-ever-afters and picturesque sunsets. It can quickly become

little more than a succession of busy nothings.”

“I understand.”

“No.” Jane’s gaze sharpened. “You don’t understand. Disregard everything I’ve said. I opted for the practical route, yielding

to others out of mere logic. And every day since, I’ve regretted my decision. I will continue to do so until my last breath,

for I loved Tom deeply, and I’ll never love another in the same way. Nor would I wish to. Once is sufficient for such intense

emotion. Yet, I’ll spend the rest of my days endeavoring to capture those feelings on paper—to compose a happiness denied

to me. And that’s not what I desire for you, Lizzy. If there’s still a chance for you to find love, pursue it.”

“What if I want too much?” There. She was finally asking the question that had been nagging at her.

“Elaborate, please.”

“First, writing. I’m afraid that I’ve left it too late. The comic sketches I’ve done in the past, or the amusing stories to be read during Christmas, all the pieces that I’ve ever finished are childish and amateur. I should have been more diligent since girlhood and now I’m afraid my ambitions are all a bit of a joke.”

“You poor dear.” Jane scootched over and gave her a hip bump. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing to have waited as long as you

have to take up the pen in earnest. You have spent much time reading, and therefore absorbing how a story is meant to feel

to the audience. What counts the most is to know you’ll take what you’ve learned and trust yourself. The most intimidating

moment is prior to initiating. As for me, I’m often not at all in a humor for writing, so I persist until I am. It will be

the same for you, and yet different. I want you to find your happiness, but it will be in your own way.”

“Thank you.” Lizzy seized her friend’s hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry if I’m a bother with my problems.”

“Don’t be silly. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for those who are my true friends. I don’t love my people in halves. It’s not

in my character. What else is on your mind?”

“What if I want Tuck, to be with him, to... to... love him, to know him and see if it gets better, and deeper and richer

with time. But...” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, grimacing in frustration. “But what if I don’t want to leave

my whole life? What if I want to have love, but also have me?”

“I see.” Jane stared thoughtfully into space for a few moments, nibbling the corner of her lower lip. “And you believe that

it’s a choice? That you’re unable to have both?”

“Yes. If I go to him in his time, I leave you, Georgie, this place that I love and feels like home. But if I remain—I’m afraid

my heart might really break.”

Jane’s brows pushed toward each other. “Who says you have to choose?”

Lizzy rolled her eyes. “The laws of the universe seem to be quite clear on this point.”

“Perhaps.” Jane was monitoring her carefully. “Perhaps not.”

“I’m getting the sense you’re dancing around some truth you want me to grasp. It would be much kinder and more useful if you’d

speak plainly.”

“Lizzy. Do you know what’s the most powerful thing a woman can be? Happy. Why can’t you go to see him and then return? Live

some of your life there, some here. You explained how time travel works. The lodestone theory. Goodness, he could return for

a season as well. You’ve gone and complicated what appears to me to be very simple. It isn’t our words or thoughts that define

us, but what we do.”

“So continue my marriage but with the idea that Tuck and I don’t need to be with each other all the time?”

“Or even more to the point, in the same time.” Jane sat back against the sofa and kicked out her legs, crossing them at the

ankles. “Why are you making such a face?”

“I feel a little bewildered. But what you say makes sense. It felt as if since he was too far for me to hold, I’d have to

resign myself to letting him go. However, I’ve been studying the Druid’s Wheel of the Year. Tomorrow marks Alban Elfed—the

time of equal balance between day and night. It’s possible that I could make the journey then.”

“And I say you should. I know yours is not an easy path. It’s unconventional. There are those who think to love a person is

to need to be with them at all times, but in my limited experience, love often doesn’t come easy. It’s approaching obstacles

and figuring out a way around them. You may hold each other’s hands only sometimes, but who says you can’t hold each other’s

hearts forever?”