Chapter Eleven
MACEY
An email from Macey to her mom, Monday, September 16, 7:30 p.m.
From: [email protected]
Subject: I’m here!
Hi Mom,
I made it to Pride and Prejudice Park, and it’s been amazing so far. There was a little mix-up with the casting and instead of Elizabeth I’m playing Jane. Which was disappointing especially since I spent all those months learning her lines and it’s been my dream to play Lizzy and now I have to ride a freaking horse , but I’ve chosen to make the best of it.
I only have a minute because we get our phones for fifteen minutes a day during what the hostess of the park calls “leisurely pursuits.” Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I’m here and I’m having a great time.
Love you,
Macey
“I’M NOT SURE ELIZABETH EVER snuck out for a midnight tryst,” I say as I sit beside Monroe on the bed in the room we’re sharing. I’ve been calling her Elizabeth, even when we’re alone, because I’m terrified that if I don’t, I’ll slip up and earn yet another tongue lashing from Lady Catherine—which, honestly, I’ve already had more than enough of today.
Miss Bennet, your posture is atrocious; do sit up straight before you embarrass yourself further.
A lady of any refinement would never speak so loudly; do lower your voice.
It is most unbecoming for a young lady to fidget so; do compose yourself.
And my favorite: Miss Bennet, you are not the star of a stage play; restrain your expressions.
I had no idea I was making any expressions. Too bad I didn’t bring my Not the Star of a Stage Play (But Definitely Stealing the Show) T-shirt that I made at Horizons. I could have worn it over my costume at some point just to spite her.
To be fair, she’s been like this with everyone. Lady Catherine has been tsking and harrumphing and correcting anytime she can. But the women playing Kitty and Lydia, real-life sisters with thick cockney accents, are probably getting the most verbal scoldings. They are absolutely hilarious and have kept us laughing all day, and Lady Catherine has been on them like a hawk, swooping in to correct every mispronunciation and improper curtsy.
The etiquette lesson in the ballroom was probably the worst part of the day, with Lady Catherine pacing up and down between our neatly arranged chairs like a drill sergeant delivering a lecture. She went on and on, listing rules that were blatantly skewed against the women, such as, “A lady must always speak with elegance and propriety,”—punctuated by a pointed look at Kitty and Lydia—while the men were given gentler instructions like, “It is a gentleman’s duty to ensure no lady is left without a partner at a ball or assembly.”
When she said something about how a lady must never mock a gentleman’s appearance, Zane, who was seated two rows away with the other men, gave me a very pointed look, which made my cheeks heat. Freaking cheeks.
I wasn’t laughing at him; I was just caught off guard when I first saw him. Okay, fine, I did laugh at him, but it wasn’t because he looked ridiculous in his costume. On the contrary, he looked incredible—Mr. Darcy come to life. Or, I guess in this case, Mr. Bingley. The reason I laughed was because it was all so surreal—Zane here with me, dressed up in a cravat, for crap’s sake. I think my mind still hasn’t fully processed that he’s actually here, and that it hasn’t been that bad. I haven’t felt overwhelming embarrassment, at least, but there’s still time.
And he’s even being a good sport about everything. Sitting through the eternal etiquette lesson, taking all of Lady Catherine’s put-downs about his dancing skills, and still having fun learning the dances. At least, he seemed like he was. Even at dinner, he tried to stay in character as Bingley, but he mostly just made outlandish comments about the weather—like how he suspected the rain might be a plot by rival estates to ruin Netherfield’s gardens. It became a running joke at our section of the table. And when we played whist tonight, it seemed like he was really enjoying himself.
Even so, I can’t help but wonder if he regrets being here. I feel like maybe he’s just faking it for me. Every time we do something ludicrous, (although, let’s face it, this whole trip is kind of ludicrous) I keep wondering when he’s finally going to have enough, when it might be too much for him. Because how could he actually be enjoying himself?
Now I’m at the Longbourn house, a building on the property made to look like the type of house the Bennets would have lived in, with a drawing room, library, dining room, study, and more. There are even servants’ quarters, where the staff stay. The room I’ll share with Elizabeth for the first two nights, while we reenact scenes here, is adorable, with a fireplace, handcrafted furniture, and gorgeous pink-flowered wallpaper.
When we saw the room for the first time, we were both giddy with excitement. It has two twin beds, one on each side of the room—probably because the resort couldn’t expect perfect strangers to share a bed—but Elizabeth and I were having none of that. We wanted the full Longbourn experience, so we pushed our beds together.
We’re both now in ankle-length nightgowns, with caps on our heads, after the staff member that’s to play our lady’s maid brushed out our hair. But I’m feeling most happy to be out of that corset.
“Tryst?” Elizabeth laughs. “Could you imagine how amazing it would have been for Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth to have a few sexy stolen moments in the book?”
“That’s not canon,” I say, using my best Lady Catherine voice. She’s been using the phrase all day when we do things that are not Pride and Prejudice appropriate. Sometimes she apologizes for the noncanonical things we can’t avoid, like the fact that there’s electricity and plumbing, but to be honest, it’s not something I want to go without, canon or not.
“I’m going totally off script tonight,” she says, jumping off the bed and heading toward the wardrobe.
She really is going off script. In real life, Monroe and the duke playing Darcy have been friends since they were teenagers. But it turns out His Grace admitted his feelings to her today in a letter. A freaking letter! It’s all so Darcy coded, I could melt into a puddle.
…If these feelings are unwelcome, I will say no more on the subject, for I cannot imagine my life without you in it, and though it would be difficult, I will ever remain your friend…
I think I would faint if someone wrote those words to me.
So now they’re meeting outside to go on a walk, which I’m pretty sure Lady Catherine would call a “romantic pursuit,” but no one in this house is going to tell on them.
I only met Monroe today, but it feels like I’ve known her much longer. I love her take-charge attitude and her willingness to skirt the rules. Like earlier, when we were picking out our wardrobe, she insisted the woman playing Mary take a dress from her rack and vowed to take the blame if Lady Catherine found out. I’d love to have even a little bit of her gumption.
And like right now as she puts on an outfit I don’t think is part of the clothing we were given today. Wonder how she snuck that in? When she slips on the lovely tweed jacket that flares slightly at the waist, it reminds me of a riding jacket, and just like that, my happy bubble pops as the looming horse debacle rushes to the front of my mind. How am I going to endure the riding lessons tomorrow morning?
“That’s a beautiful jacket,” I tell her, feeling a bit sickly.
I’ve been trying not to think about it, because every time I do, I feel like I might throw up. My strategy for the day was simple: shove it out of my mind whenever it popped up. And it worked ... until now. Now I’m wishing I’d thought to bring the panic attack medication my doctor prescribed. But I didn’t, because it was just that one time. It might come in handy tomorrow, though—except you’re not supposed to operate heavy machinery while taking it. And isn’t a horse basically heavy machinery? No, it’s probably for the best that I left it behind.
You are strong. You are brave. You can ride a horse, you big freaking baby.
“Are you all right?” she asks me, her brows pulling down with concern.
I nibble on my lip. “It’s silly, but your jacket sort of looks like a riding jacket, and it reminded me that we have riding lessons tomorrow. I’ve got this stupid fear of horses, from an incident when I was younger. It’s kind of the reason I didn’t want to be Jane. Elizabeth isn’t a horsewoman.”
She tilts her head to the side, empathy on her face. “Well,” she says. “This Elizabeth is a horsewoman.” She points to herself. She tells me the duke has a stable full of horses and he taught her how to ride them.
“Granted, I’ve never ridden sidesaddle, but I’ll help you. Wait, that probably isn’t a very comforting thought,” she says, with a nervous laugh. Elizabeth, or really Monroe in this case, wants to help everyone but claims she has a knack for making things worse. I’ve yet to see it for myself. She’s been helpful to me. She even heard about the mix-up with our characters and tried to get Lady Catherine to let there be two Elizabeths this week, but that “was not canon.” Heaven forbid.
“You’re so sweet to offer,” I say. “I’m sure it will be fine.” My voice does a little cracking thing on that last word, most likely assuring her I will not be fine.
Anyway, she’s got enough on her plate without having to worry about me. She filled me in on the saga while we were picking out our wardrobes. Apparently, this trip to Pride and Prejudice Park was supposed to be her honeymoon, but her fiancé called off the wedding so she made the duke come with her instead. But, in a very odd turn of events, her ex showed up and is the smarmy guy playing Wickham, and she also told me the woman playing Caroline Bingley is here because she’s after the duke. Oh, the drama. It’s much more fun to hear about other people’s drama than to live it yourself. Like when your boyfriend cheats on you with your roommate and leaves you homeless. What a great time that was.
“Okay, let’s get you ready for your date with Mr. Darcy.”
Once she’s ready and out the door—with Mr. and Mrs. Bennet helping her sneak out—I pull out my script and flip it open. I’ve got Jane’s lines to learn and a horse to ride tomorrow. So, I’ll focus on memorizing lines and pretend the horse doesn’t exist. Delusion at its best.