Chapter Ten
ZANE
A text exchange between Zane and Amelia, Monday, September 16, 11:35 a.m.
Zane: Macey almost figured it out
Zane: You idiot
Amelia: How? She CANNOT find out, I can’t stress this enough
Zane: She doesn’t know, I intervened
Amelia: Have I told you that you’re the best brother ever? I can’t believe you went with her!
Zane: I am the best and you owe me BIG
I’M REGRETTING ALL MY RECENT life choices—especially now, sitting across from the man who I’m pretty sure plays the butler for this whole Pride and Prejudice experience. He’s impeccably dressed in a crisp black tailcoat, perfectly tied white cravat, and polished shoes that probably cost more than my entire outfit. His hair, mostly gray, is combed neatly into place, and he looks to be in his sixties, carrying himself with a dignity that makes me feel even more out of place.
Meanwhile, I’m in my own Regency getup: a fitted navy tailcoat, a cream-colored waistcoat, and a white cravat that may be trying to kill me, it’s so tight. I tried to protest when my valet, a man I’m to call Dunley—because apparently valets go by their last name only—insisted it had to be this snug.
There are other equally worse parts of this outfit, like these high-waisted breeches that go practically up to my nipples, and the tall black riding boots that are currently pinching my toes and digging into my calves. My feet are going to hate me later, I can already tell.
Once I’m fully dressed, I glance in the mirror to see I look less like a Jane Austen hero and more like someone auditioning for the circus. I hope Macey at least appreciates this Mr. Bingley getup.
Next, I’m escorted to the library to do my character briefing with Mr. Godfrey, a.k.a. the butler. I’m guessing the staff must play multiple roles during the week, and Mr. Godfrey’s job right now is to help me understand Bingley.
“Now then, sir, what might you know of Mr. Bingley?” he asks, his voice and disposition warm. He sits across from me, a mahogany desk between us. It’s all dark wood and soft lighting in this large room.
I smile, awkwardly, because I don’t know much about Bingley. I honestly can’t even remember his first name. Henry? James? Ebenezer?
If he asked me about Darcy, I could recite Macey’s over-the-top speech she gave me last night at the hotel. But Bingley? All I know is that he’s the guy in the movie with the goofy smile, and I never really understood how Jane fell for him. Especially when she barely knew him.
“Not much, I’m afraid,” I admit.
He chuckles softly. “Not to worry, sir. Many a gentleman has occupied that very chair and confessed as much. We’ve seen no shortage of husbands and significant others gently persuaded—or perhaps cajoled—into these sorts of endeavors.”
Right. Macey is neither my wife nor my significant other, but I was definitely cajoled—not by her, but by my sister.
I do think Macey and I are friends—or at least, I hope we’re getting there, assuming my pushing her to talk to Lady Catherine earlier hasn’t set us back. I don’t know why I did it; I just couldn’t help myself. It’s hard to watch her take a back seat in her own life. But it wasn’t my place, and I owe her an apology. Hopefully I can get us back on track.
“Charles Bingley is a fine character to embody,” Mr. Godfrey says.
Charles! Man, were my guesses off.
“He’s the epitome of amiability—a gentleman through and through.” He holds up a finger. “But not without his flaws.”
I lean forward slightly, curious. Well, I might as well learn about the man I’m about to play this week. At least I can do that for Macey. Maybe if I really get into my part, I can make up for the way I tend to bulldoze ahead without thinking—or at least give her a reason not to completely regret me being here.
“Bingley is cheerful, well mannered, and entirely too trusting,” Mr. Godfrey goes on. “His strength lies in his kindness and his genuine affection for others. However, he is always easily swayed. His closest companions—his sisters and Mr. Darcy—wield a very unhealthy amount of influence over him.”
Well, it appears Bingley and I have that in common. I also have a sister who has way too much influence over me. Case in point: I’m sitting here at a Pride and Prejudice reenactment, wearing breeches that feel like they’re giving me the wedgie of a lifetime, because Amelia guilted me into it. And also, I guess, because I couldn’t let Macey come here alone.
“It’s not that he lacks resolve,” Mr. Godfrey says. “It’s that he places too much stock in the opinions of others. For example, he allows Darcy to convince him Jane Bennet doesn’t care for him, even when his own heart tells him otherwise. A mistake, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes,” I say, mostly because he seemed to be waiting for an answer. I thought the question was rhetorical.
“So, young man, your job this week is to strike that balance. Be the affable, charming gentleman everyone wants to know, but don’t forget to keep a spine about you. Agreeable men without resolve often find themselves in sticky situations.”
“Will do,” I say. I do hope to keep my spine while I’m here.
Mr. Godfrey nods. “Now, how do you feel about your lines? Have you had a chance to memorize them?”
I shake my head. “There was a bit of a mix-up. I was supposed to be playing Darcy, so I know some of his lines,” I tell him.
He smiles. “Not to worry. We’ve had plenty of participants come through here unprepared. You’ll have time each evening to review the script and commit it to memory. The staff will be available to help as well. When you aren’t reenacting a scene, feel free to improvise as you stay in character.”
“Stay in character?” I ask, confused. I guess I didn’t really understand how this week would go. I thought in between reenacting or cosplaying or whatever, we could just be ourselves. But now I’m expected to play someone else this entire week?
“Yes, indeed,” he says.
“What am I supposed to talk about?”
“Oh, you know, the usual,” he says. “Hunting, politics, the weather.”
“Right,” I say, an uncomfortable trickle going down my spine.
“Good luck to you,” he says, signaling that our briefing is over.
I like Mr. Godfrey, and honestly, I could probably listen to him talk all day, his voice is so soothing, but I leave our meeting feeling no more prepared than when I went in, except that I have to play someone I know very little about for an entire week.
I go down the hallway toward the stairs and the dining hall where we are eating lunch—unfortunately in character—and adjust my cravat, which still feels like it’s slowly suffocating me, when I bump right into someone.
“Oh,” Macey says, stumbling backward, trying to find her footing. I reach out and grab her by the waist to steady her.
“Good evening, Jane,” I say, using the upper-class accent we practiced, as I help her regain her balance.
“Um, that’s Miss Bennet to you,” she replies, pulling out of my grasp, her hands moving to smooth her dress.
Once she’s satisfied that everything is in order, she takes me in and I strike a pose—standing a little taller, one hand brushing the lapel of my coat like I’m casually adjusting it—and wait for her to say something about my getup, but instead she presses her lips together, clearly fighting back a laugh.
“What?” I say, glancing down at myself. I give the bottom of my tailcoat a sharp tug.
“You,” she says, tucking her lips in to keep herself from laughing. But the effort is futile as she doubles over, hand flying to her chest, laughter spilling out.
“Do I look that bad?” I mean, I feel like a circus freak, but I don’t think it’s that terrible on me.
She shakes her head, taking off a glove to wipe under her eyes. “It’s just ... ridiculous ...” The laughing starts up again.
“Well, you look ridiculous too,” I say, holding a hand out toward her. I mean, we are both in Regency costumes here. Of course we look ridiculous.
But really, Macey looks kind of stunning in her outfit. Her light-green dress is soft and flowy, and her red hair is pulled up so her long and slender neck is exposed. Macey is pretty; she always has been to me. Even when we were younger, I thought she was cute.
The laughs turn into more of a chuckle, and she sniffles before she says, “Sorry. It’s just ... one thing to imagine you dressed up like a hero from a Jane Austen novel, and it’s another to see it with my own eyes.”
The sides of my lips quirk up. “You imagined me dressed up like Darcy?”
“No,” she says, a little too quickly, her cheeks instantly turning red.
I love that Macey’s cheeks are always giving her emotions away, like a sort of mood ring. They turn a soft pink for amusement or mild irritation, a deep red like ripe strawberries when she’s embarrassed, and fiery crimson when she’s angry. It used to be my favorite thing, to goad her until she got angry and her cheeks turned that dark color. Now, I think I like the soft pink the most.
She lets out a breath. “Sorry I laughed,” she says. “You look very handsome as Mr. Bingley.”
“Now you’re just patronizing me.”
“No, I mean it.”
“It’s fine,” I say, looking down at myself and then back at her. “I do look ridiculous.”
She snorts out a laugh. “I promise, you really don’t. I, on the other hand ...” She trails off and gestures at herself with both hands.
“You look beautiful,” I say, and I wonder if I’ve ever said those words to her before. I don’t think I have, especially as the redness in her cheeks moves down to her neck, like I’ve set her aglow with my words.
She pushes the compliment away with a wobble of her head, like she’s not buying what I’m selling.
I take a small step toward her. “So, I feel like I need to apologize for earlier.”
“Why?” she asks, the smile gone, her brows raised.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you to say something to Lady Catherine.” It feels so absurd referring to that crotchety woman, with her over-the-top wig and offensive amount of cleavage, as Lady .
“Oh,” she says, lifting one shoulder. “It’s okay. At least I know and wouldn’t be spending the rest of the week wondering if I should have said something.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t my place to press you like I did. I won’t do it again.”
She smiles softly. “I know you were trying to help. And anyway, it’s over now. I’m playing Jane, and it’s going to be great.” She gives me a firm nod like she’s trying to convince herself as well as me.
“Well then, Miss Bennet,” I say, in my best Regency accent, turning to the side and holding out an arm toward her. “May I escort you to lunch?”
“That would be lovely indeed,” she says, matching my tone as she tucks her fingers lightly into the crook of my elbow.
“How was your wardrobe fitting?” I ask, making conversation as we walk, dropping the accent because we only have a couple of minutes to just be Macey and Zane before we have to really lean into this whole reenactment thing.
“Great,” she says. “Except for the corset. That was as awful as I thought it would be.” She places a hand on her stomach, like the memory is triggering. “How am I supposed to eat with this thing on? It feels like it might crush my ribs at any moment.”
“That ... doesn’t sound comfortable.” I stumble over my words as a picture of Macey in a corset floats through my mind, and I reach up and tug at my cravat, suddenly feeling warm. What was that? I don’t think about Macey like that. Well, okay, I’ve noticed her body before. She has a very nice one. But that’s as far as my thoughts have ever gone. Maybe this cravat is actually cutting off circulation to my head.
“How was yours?” she asks.
I clear my throat. “I’m not a fan of the cravat,” I say.
“Why?”
“I feel like it’s trying to suffocate me,” I say, and she chuckles.
We stop at the entrance of the dining hall. The room is massive, with high ceilings and sparkling chandeliers. The walls are lined with sconces holding candles, and it smells faintly of polished wood with a dash of old money. Tables are set up in a long, straight line down the center of the room, with plates and glasses and way too much silver that I won’t have a clue how to use. Now that would have been a better use of time for my character briefing: learning which fork goes with what.
It looks like we might be the last of the group to arrive, and seeing everyone standing around chatting in their full costumes, I realize this might be the strangest thing I’ll ever do in my entire life.
“You ready for this?” Macey asks, squeezing my arm with her hand.
“Yes, very excited,” I say, sarcasm in my tone.
She snorts out a laugh. “Okay, listen, before we go in and pretend to be Jane and Bingley, I ... well ... thanks for coming with me,” she says. “I’m really glad I’m not doing this alone.”
“You sure about that?” I say, my lips pulling into a smile.
“Mostly sure,” she says, giving me a grin in return.
She fusses with her dress, swiping a hand down one more time before giving me a nod, and then we walk into the dining hall.