Chapter Nine
MACEY
An email from Macey to her mom, Monday, September 16, 8:43 a.m.
To : [email protected]
From : [email protected]
Subject : Today!
Hey Mom,
Thank you for your email. I’m glad you could finally write me back. I’m grateful for your words, and hope that you’ll get what you need out of therapy. Just know that I love and miss you.
I’m heading to Pride and Prejudice Park today. I’m so excited! Hopefully Zane Porter won’t ruin this for me. And also nervous that I’ve built this up too much. Here’s hoping it’s as grand and wonderful as I’ve been wishing.
I’ll email you as much as I can while I’m there.
Love,
Macey
TODAY IS THE DAY. IN a matter of minutes, our Uber driver will pull into Pride and Prejudice Park, where I get to leave behind all my work and life drama and step into the world of Elizabeth Bennet for the entire week.
It was raining when we first woke up, but now the sky is clearing, and I can even see some glimpses of blue peeking through the clouds. I think this is a good omen.
You are strong. You are brave. You are going to have the best week ever. Hopefully.
“You can’t stop smiling, can you?” Zane says, leaning toward me in the back seat of a blue Tesla. He’s wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt—the best we could manage since he hadn’t packed anything remotely formal, given his original plans for Costa Rica. I, on the other hand, am dressed to impress in a light-blue dress and heels. It’s giving mismatched-pair-at-a-high-school-dance vibe, but I don’t actually care.
I nudge him with my elbow, feeling my cheeks warm. “Yes, I can.” I try to stop the grinning and fail.
“Gotcha,” he says, but there’s a smile on his face too, although it’s not quite as big as mine, and probably not there for the same reasons.
“Sorry,” I say, but I’m really not.
“Don’t apologize,” he says. “I like it.”
I don’t know if it’s the decent night’s sleep I ended up getting, or that my excitement for today is taking over all other feelings I’ve been experiencing, but I don’t mind him being here so much. I would have had to be excited by myself, had I gone alone. And that doesn’t sound all that fun, to be honest. It’s nice to have someone to share it with, even if it is Zane and I still have no idea how this will go. For now, I’m choosing to enjoy the moment.
Last night I remembered to email the resort and let them know I’d be bringing a plus-one again. I’m sure I’ve completely confused them—first saying I’d bring Derek, then telling them I wasn’t bringing anyone, and now, at the last second, saying I’m bringing someone after all.
The driver makes a turn, and I let out an actual squeal—one I don’t have time to feel embarrassed about, but surely will later—because we have arrived. Behind a wrought-iron gate sits an absolutely gorgeous, large country house, the exterior made of brick and stone in a lighter color, which gives it the loveliest golden hue. It’s surrounded by manicured gardens with mature trees and meticulously maintained landscapes.
I am immediately obsessed.
Zane chuckles next to me, probably amused by my over-the-top response. But I can’t help myself. I’m finally here.
“Oh my gosh,” I say, before squealing again as two footmen, dressed in Regency clothes, open the gates and wave us through. I’m practically bouncing in my seat. Actually, I’m literally bouncing right now. Zane shakes his head at me, but it’s in a what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you kind of way.
“Look, we have an entourage,” Zane says, pointing to the lineup of staff in front of the house, all in costume, waiting for us to pull up.
They are all dressed impeccably, with outfits ranging from servant uniforms, consisting of aprons and waistcoats, to more elaborate attire to resemble characters from the book. A few of the women are in bonnets and long dresses in muted colors, a look I can only assume is for the lady’s maids. One man, tall and in a dark tailcoat, is surely the butler. He stands rigid, at attention, near the center of the line.
I’m so excited, I might burst. All my worries about playing Elizabeth to Zane’s Darcy have now vanished because I couldn’t care less. That’s not to say it won’t come creeping back in, but right now I feel like a kid who’s just seen Disneyland for the first time.
“Welcome,” an older woman says as we exit the car.
Zane lets out a snort at the sight of her, one that, luckily, only I can hear. She’s wearing a huge gray wig and a massive purple dress with ample bosom pouring out the top of it for all to see.
“I am Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” she says, dropping her head in acknowledgment of us, her voice deep and regal sounding.
I’m guessing this is Agatha Smythe, the park proprietor. According to the welcome packet, she oversees the reenactments and will also play the part of Lady Catherine.
“I’m so happy to be here,” I gush.
“Well, I can assure you we are most thrilled to have you,” she says. However, her facial expressions don’t reflect her words. She looks almost annoyed, which, to be fair, is very Lady Catherine–like. She’s in character already, and I am here for it.
“Thank you, Your Ladyship,” I say, before curtsying, and I hear Zane make that same snorting noise again. I stand up straight and elbow him lightly in the gut, which thankfully Agatha/Lady Catherine doesn’t see.
Instead, she’s walking toward the doors of the house, an arm outstretched toward them. “You are our final guests to arrive. If you would kindly follow me into the marble hall, the rest of our esteemed party awaits. The staff will attend to your bags.”
I look over to see the two footmen who opened the gates for us, now carrying our luggage—one with Zane’s heavy backpack and the other with my suitcase and backpack. The contrast between their period costumes and our modern baggage is almost absurd, like two worlds colliding in the most awkward way. And I love it. I already love everything about this place.
“That is a ridiculous amount of cleavage,” Zane says near my ear as we follow behind Agatha, the skirts of her purple frock sweeping the floor as we follow her up the steps and toward the entrance.
“Shhh,” I whisper. “She’ll be playing your aunt this week.”
“Gross,” he says, scrunching his nose as the butler opens the double doors, ushering us all inside.
“Welcome to Pride and Prejudice Park,” Agatha says upon entering, her deep voice echoing throughout the entrance.
It’s everything I could have imagined. Gleaming black-and-white-checkered marble floors stretch out before us, reflecting the light from the crystal chandeliers above. In the corner is a gold-plated fireplace with an intricately carved mantel. Beautiful paintings adorn every wall, and the grand staircase, with its polished wooden banister and sweeping curve, looks like something straight out of a period drama.
“Gather round, everyone,” Agatha says as she walks toward the fireplace.
I look around at the other guests, easy to spot in their modern attire, as we do as our hostess instructs. Zane and I stop and stand near a couple—a beautiful woman with gorgeous dark hair, wearing a form-fitting jumpsuit and blazer, and a man standing next to her in a tweed jacket and jeans. He doesn’t look American, nor does he look like he wants to be here.
“Greetings, honored guests,” Agatha says, commanding our attention. “We look forward to making all your Pride and Prejudice dreams come true. To that end, from here on out, we invite you to leave the world behind and immerse yourself in this glorious experience. We have done our best here to recreate Jane Austen’s world, save a few modern conveniences like bathrooms and electricity. We had an unfortunate candle event several years ago, and too many complaints from guests and staff about the chamber pots and bourdaloues.”
“What’s a bourdaloue?” Zane whispers in my ear, sending little pinpricks of sensation down my spine.
“Be quiet,” I say.
“With that said, there will be no use of other technology except for the fifteen minutes you’re allowed for leisurely pursuits each night.” She overemphasizes the phrase “leisurely pursuits , ” her voice rising and falling theatrically as she says it. “Except for you, Your Grace. Of course, you are free to do as you please,” she says, with a very poignant look at the man in the tweed jacket.
Your Grace? Are we among royalty? I peer around the woman I’m standing next to, trying to get a better look at the man Agatha is speaking to. He doesn’t look pleased by the attention. I turn to Zane with questioning eyes. He looks equally curious but only gives me a shrug.
“For those of you who don’t know, His Grace the Duke of Blackthorne, Alastair Fitzroy, is joining us this week. Please, show him the proper respect he is due,” Agatha says.
“Any clue who that is?” Zane asks, whispering in my ear again. I wish he’d stop. It’s doing funny things to my stomach.
“No idea,” I say, but feel a tiny surge of excitement. We’re spending the week with a duke?
“I wish to be treated like any other guest,” the Duke of Blackthorne says. “I will tolerate nothing else.” His voice is smooth and his accent refined. It’s clear by his tone that he doesn’t enjoy being singled out.
Uncomfortable whispers and movement spread across the room. I’m glad I’m not the only one.
“Awkward,” Zane says, for only me to hear, obviously feeling the same vibe, though I doubt there’s a person in this room that didn’t catch that.
“Well, we will respect your wishes,” says Agatha, clearly taken down a notch by his words. She clears her throat, her wig bobbing around like it might fall. “As part of the experience from this moment forward, you will go by your character’s name, and you will speak in proper English accents. You should all have memorized your scripts and studied your character’s traits and demeanor.” She looks squarely at the woman next to me before saying, “Be sure you behave accordingly.”
Interesting. I’ve often thought I’m good at reading a room, and I feel like there’s some drama here that I’m not privy to. Which is disappointing. I love other people’s drama. My own? Not so much.
“So,” Agatha continues, her voice moving through the hall. “Let us introduce all our players this week. We will start with Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet.”
I let out a tiny squeal, feeling like I used to when I was about to go onstage. This is really happening. I’m about to be announced as Elizabeth.
“His Grace, I mean, you know ... um ... him.” She points to the duke. “He will play Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
Wait. What? I look at Zane, whose furrowed brow says he’s just as confused as I am.
“And Monroe Wilde”—she gestures with a limp hand toward the woman standing next to me—“will play Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Macey, what’s going on?” Zane asks me, leaning in close.
“I don’t know,” I say back to him, feeling frantic and confused. “The paperwork said I’m cast as Elizabeth. Maybe it’s a mistake?”
Monroe/Elizabeth looks at me with concerned eyes before turning to the duke and speaking in hushed tones.
“Are you going to say something?” Zane asks.
“Well . . . I . . .”
“Next we have Jane Bennet, played by Macey Bennet.”
Oh no. I feel the color drain from my face. I can’t play Jane. She rides a horse! Not to mention, I’ve only been working on Lizzy lines. Should I say something right now and cause a stir? I’ve never caused a stir before; I don’t even think I know how.
“Say something,” Zane prods.
I give him wide, irritated eyes. What can I do right now? I can’t just blurt out in front of everyone that I’m supposed to be playing Elizabeth. No, I will tell Agatha afterward, in private, and show her my paperwork. Even if she is sort of scary. It’s probably a mistake, and I’m sure she’ll fix it.
“Charles Bingley will be played by Zane Porter,” Agatha announces.
My heart sinks when I hear this. I’d hoped Agatha would name someone else, proving this was just a mix-up. But if Zane, my last-minute plus-one, has been cast as my character’s romantic counterpart, it feels deliberate.
I feel a sort of disorientation as I hear the other players announced, with all the thoughts racing around my head at once— horse being the loudest one—as I try to figure out what to do. Is there anything I can do? Obviously, I have to say something. And I will. After we’re done with the introductions, I’ll pull Agatha aside and explain it to her.
The other Bennet sisters—Mary, Kitty, and Lydia—are introduced, and I hardly pay attention. But my ears do perk up when our hostess announces who will play Caroline Bingley: a haughty-looking woman named Lady Winnifred Roberts. Does everyone in England have a title?
Agatha next introduces a smarmy-looking man named Tony as George Wickham. I’m not sure why anyone would pay to play that role? But if there was ever a person typecast for the part, it’s this guy, with his tight jeans and T-shirt and perfectly coiffed hair.
She announces Mr. and Mrs. Bennet next, and for a moment I forget all the worries plaguing me because ... wow.
“He looks like Idris Elba,” I say, mostly to myself, but Monroe, the woman mistakenly cast as Elizabeth, hears me.
The man, with his tall, athletic build and smooth, brown skin, reminds me so much of the actor.
“Oh, I see it,” she says, leaning toward me. “Should I feel guilty for being wildly attracted to the man playing our father?”
I snort out a quiet laugh. “Probably, but then I should feel guilty too.”
Monroe giggles, and I feel like we’ve just sort of bonded, and now I’m going to feel terrible when I show Agatha my paperwork, and she has to give up the part of Elizabeth.
She nudges me with her arm and we both stand a little taller when Mr. Collins is introduced.
“Oh my,” I say, for only Monroe to hear.
He’s a staff member, but whoa, why would they cast someone so pretty for that role? With his curly hair and that Greek-god aura, he even makes the clergyman costume he’s already wearing look good. The rest of the roles, like Charlotte Lucas, the Gardiners, and Sir William Lucas are played by staff members as well, but none as memorable as this guy.
“I’d boil potatoes for him,” Monroe says, and yep, she is my kind of person. Crap. That really throws a wrench into everything. It would be easier if that Lady Winnifred person was cast as Lizzy. I’d have no problems taking it away from her.
“There you have it,” Agatha says. “Now begins your Pride and Prejudice journey. Remember, you are here to emulate the qualities that our beloved Jane Austen valued, such as love and friendship, honor and integrity. With that said, this is not the time for you to be seeking romantic pursuits outside of your characters. This is not that type of experience. Do not besmirch Ms. Austen’s good name by going off script or breaking the rules. There will be severe consequences if you do, which could include being asked to leave.”
She looks around the room, giving us each a very poignant, I-mean-business stare. She doesn’t have to worry about me. Nothing is happening with Zane, Mr. Bennet is obviously married, and unless Mr. Collins is interested in a tryst of some sort, I doubt I’ll have any other temptations.
“Now let us proceed upstairs for your wardrobe fittings and character briefings,” Agatha directs.
“Go talk to her,” Zane urges.
“What do I say?” I ask, hoping he’ll just tell me the words necessary to fix all of this. Better yet, maybe he could go talk to her?
“Just show her your packet,” he says.
I look around the room as everyone else heads toward the grand staircase, holding out my hands. “I don’t have it,” I say.
“Just tell her it’s with your things,” he says.
I let out a sigh. This all feels ... hard.
“Don’t you want to play Elizabeth?”
“Of course,” I say, frustrated. That’s a silly question. Of course I do. But there are other things at play here. Like, I don’t have the proof with me to show Agatha, or I guess now Lady Catherine. And also, I don’t want to step on toes or hurt feelings.
“Come now, hurry,” Agatha/Lady Catherine says, ushering us toward the stairs.
“Now’s your chance,” Zane urges, with a small head lift toward our hostess.
Right. Okay. Do it for the horses, Macey. Well, not for the horses, for yourself.
“Lady Catherine,” I say, loud enough for her to hear, hoping that using her character name will earn me some brownie points. I need her on my side.
“Yes?” she says, stopping just in front of the stairs and fixing me with an irritated look, as though my interruption is already testing her patience. So the kissing up didn’t work. Maybe I should compliment her wig, or her purple dress, or her ample bosom?
“Um,” I say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear as I catch up to her. I abandon the flattery plan and get straight to the point. “So sorry, but I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a mix-up.”
“Oh?” she asks, tilting her head slightly, her expression sharp and assessing.
“Yes,” I say, licking my lips nervously. “My welcome packet, which is with my things, says I am to play Elizabeth, and my plus-one, should I bring one, would play Mr. Darcy.”
Her brows knit together, and her posture stiffens.
“I won it in the giveaway,” I add quickly, hoping this might jog her memory.
“The giveaway?” she repeats, her tone cold and clipped, her brows sinking even lower.
“Yes, last spring,” I say, trying to jog her memory.
“My dear, I daresay we haven’t given away a trip in years. Such gestures are entirely unnecessary when our guest list is always full and our wait list positively overflowing.”
“What?” I ask, confused. “Really?”
“It is conceivable that it was some sort of third-party arrangement. We do occasionally permit such giveaways under certain circumstances.”
“Oh, yes, that’s probably what it was.” I actually can’t remember what contest Amelia entered us into. I never asked.
“I can vouch for her,” Zane chimes in from behind me, startling me. I hadn’t realized he was standing so close. “I saw the packet myself.”
Lady Catherine lets out an exasperated sigh. “Well, I should need to see it with my own eyes to be certain, but alas, what’s done is done. I shan’t be able to remedy it now.” She casts a pointed glance toward the grand staircase. “Especially not when His Grace has so graciously agreed to play Mr. Darcy. His Grace’s presence is a most extraordinary privilege for this park— one that I do not take lightly. I would not dare to disturb his role, nor that of the lady accompanying him, much as I wouldn’t mind it.” She says the last part more as an aside, but I heard it.
My stomach sinks. I’d expected something like this, if I’m being honest, but hearing it stings all the same.
“Well, I feel like something should be done,” Zane says, and I tighten my lips and shake my head, silently begging him to stop. Pestering this woman feels like a very bad idea.
Lady Catherine arches a disdainful brow. “At best, if there has indeed been an error in the arrangements, the only course of action I can offer is for you to depart now and return at a later date to assume the role of Elizabeth. I shall have someone reach out to discuss rescheduling, though I must warn you we are fully booked through the end of next year.”
Leave now? Rescheduling? After all the drama it took to get here in the first place? This! This is why you just comply and keep your mouth shut. I can’t come back for a different week. I’d have to take more time off work, rearrange my entire schedule, and somehow find another Mr. Darcy to go with me—because it certainly wouldn’t be Zane, who’s standing here, hands on his hips, looking like he’s about to ask to speak to the manager.
“Oh, no rescheduling necessary,” I say, trying to sound as cheery as I can under the circumstances. “I’d be honored to play Jane.” Zane makes a scoffing noise, as if he can’t believe I’m just going to take this.
But I am going to take this. This is a one-and-done trip for me, the only shot I’ll ever get at Pride and Prejudice Park. It may not be starting out exactly how I was imagining, but I’m still here, and this is still a win. This trip can still be the bright spot of this crappy year. Besides, I still get to be a Bennet, and Jane suits me better anyway. Even with a horse. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe this is how I finally get over my fears.
You are strong. You are brave. You are ... full of crap.
“Are we settled here, then?” Lady Catherine asks, her tone sharp.
“Yes, sorry,” I reply quickly. Then, remembering myself, I add, “Your Ladyship.”
“Good. Then head upstairs for your costume fittings. We mustn’t dally,” she says, turning with a dramatic swirl of skirts as she ascends the staircase.
It’s mostly silent now; the only noise is the faint chatter from everyone upstairs.
“Are you really happy to be playing Jane?” he asks, his voice softer than I expect, and it sounds like genuine concern, which is making it hard to hold back the tears prickling behind my eyes right now, threatening to spill over.
I’m not sad, I’m just ... I don’t know. Overwhelmed, I guess. Too many feelings running through me at once. Happy to have that resolved, anxious because confrontation is itchy, nervous about the horse thing, disappointed because ... well, I don’t need to spell that out. It’s just ... a lot.
I blink rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay, but my throat feels tight, and I can hear the slight waver in my voice as I respond. “Yes,” I say, nodding a little too quickly, as if the motion might convince both him and myself. “It’ll be fine.”
“If you say so.”
It will be fine. This trip is not ruined. It’s not what I wanted, but it’s not ruined. I still get to play Jane Bennet. And ride a horse. But I’m going to try not to think about that.
I’ll just cross that bridge when I come to it—preferably without falling off.