Chapter Fifteen
MACEY
A letter from Zane to Macey, Tuesday, September 17, 2:35 p.m.
My dear Miss Bennet,
As I sit here at this tiny desk that was clearly not designed for a man of my stature, I find myself writing to you instead of pondering the deep feelings of Mr. Darcy. Mostly because I have no idea what those are.
I’m sure you are grateful that tonight at the assembly, I no longer get to dance with you, since we are now playing Darcy and Elizabeth, and you are therefore no longer handsome enough to tempt me to dance, and because of that your toes will be spared.
Yours in breeches,
Mr. Darcy
“NETHERFIELD IS LET AT LAST!” MRS. Bennet announces in a bright voice, with barely an accent. Her beautiful ebony skin glows under the midday sun streaming through the tall windows, which are framed by faded floral curtains that match the worn but inviting furniture. We’re currently in the sitting room at Longbourn, reenacting the first scene.
It’s finally happening, and even with the dark cloud of no update on Monroe’s condition hovering over us, I can’t help the tiny butterflies that spark to life as we actually get going. The soft hum of a grandfather clock in the corner and the faint crackle of the fireplace behind the group add to the room’s cozy but slightly stuffy atmosphere.
You are here. It’s finally happening. Don’t mess this up.
We’re all crowded into this not-so-large space—the players and the onlookers, who are mostly guests not part of this scene, a few staff members, and Lady Catherine. She’s perched on a small chair near the window with the script on her lap, her ample cleavage on full display, ready to ensure we stick to it. Naturally, she would know it best—she wrote it herself, using as much of the book as possible while finding ways to include as many guests as she could. It’s not a canon reenactment, something Lady Catherine constantly reminds us of, though honestly, only she cares.
Before each scene, she’s supposed to give us instructions, much like a director, and she did right before we started. Then she dramatically proclaimed we were free to act out our parts. I highly doubt that. I have a feeling there will be “helpful notes” for us afterward.
Zane is here too, leaning against the doorway, watching with a small smirk on his face. His gaze flickers between me and the others, and I feel my cheeks heat under his attention. Guests who are not in scenes can watch the reenactments if they so choose, or they can engage in Regency-appropriate activities that take place on the grounds—things like shooting, archery, embroidery, or even leisurely strolls through the gardens. All while staying in character, of course. Since Zane and I are main characters, we won’t have as much downtime as everyone else.
“My dear Mr. Bennet!” Mrs. Bennet goes on, her voice bright and her face animated. “And you’ve gone and met Mr. Bingley already, have you not? Tell me, what was he like? Is he agreeable? Handsome? As rich as they say?” she continues, saying the lines perfectly, and I get a tingling feeling like I used to when everything comes together during a performance—or how it felt when I wrote the program for work.
I glance at Lady Catherine, who’s mouthing the words along with Mrs. Bennet, her face lit up with enthusiasm. Then my eyes shift to Zane, who looks like he’s trying not to laugh. So help me, if he ruins this for me, I’ll ... well, I’ll pay his valet to tie his cravat even tighter tomorrow.
It’s funny how worried I was that this would be mortifying in front of him, but even with that smirk on his face, I don’t mind. Maybe it’s because, over these past couple of days, it feels like we’ve somehow gotten back to the old us—before the crush and the letter. Even if the crush still lingers. Especially after how much time I spent in his arms today. It was like he needed to touch me somehow after the runaway horse incident.
And honestly, I needed it too. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through that without him. I’d probably be on a plane flying home right now. It’s possible I still might leave tomorrow, especially if news about Monroe isn’t good. I don’t think I could continue if that were the case.
Mr. Bennet, looking very much like Idris Elba with a cravat, flips the pages of a book and doesn’t look up, just as the script instructed. “Yes, yes, I went to meet the young man earlier today,” he says, in that deep rich tone of his and a barely audible accent. “Seems a pleasant enough fellow—though I confess, I did not take out my magnifying glass to count his fortune.”
Everyone laughs lightly, and Lady Catherine shushes us. Honestly, can’t we just enjoy this now? It’s supposed to be fun.
Mrs. Bennet huffs, sounding exasperated. She turns to me, squished on the worn sofa with Mary, Kitty, Lydia, and Jane— who is now being played by a staff member. She’s a tiny thing with light-brown curly hair.
“Girls!” she says. “Mr. Bingley is a young man of large fortune! Four or five thousand a year, and he’s taken Netherfield! Mrs. Long says he was so delighted with the place he agreed with Mr. Morris on the spot. He is to take possession by Michaelmas, and his servants will be here by next week!”
I lean forward slightly on the couch, as instructed in the script, but find I’m sort of stuck, squished in my seat, and after I take too long to say my line, Lady Catherine makes a little throat-clearing sound.
Aaaand, I’m messing this up. Crap.
I give up trying to lean forward and just say my line. “And I suppose the next logical step is for him to marry one of us?”
“Is he agreeable, Father? Did you find him pleasant?” asks Jane.
“More importantly,” Lydia pipes in, “I hope he’s a good dancer! It wouldn’t do to have a rich man who can’t keep time on the dance floor!” She says the line perfectly, with not an ounce of her cockney accent. Impressive.
“I daresay, Lydia,” Mr. Bennet says, “that a good fortune will make up for poor dancing, should that be the case. But from what I could gather, the man appears quite capable of a reel.”
“Indeed, he must be! A young man of such fortune cannot fail to be charming and refined in every respect. Oh, what a fine thing this will be for you all!” Mrs. Bennet says.
I raise an eyebrow and give her a knowing smile, getting into my character. “I wonder if Mr. Bingley knows he is expected to fall in love with one of us, or is that simply a foregone conclusion?” I ask.
Mr. Bennet chuckles. “Your mother has already married him off in her mind, Lizzy. But you must be quick about it, for I hear she may fancy him for herself yet.”
Okay, this is actually so much fun. I can’t stop smiling, even though I know my character is supposed to be more poised—like a proper Regency lady, not like a kid on Christmas morning.
We finish the scene, and all the onlookers clap, like we’re in a play, and I guess we sort of are.
Zane walks over to me. “Very nicely done, Miss Bennet,” he says in his British accent, his tone teasing.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Darcy,” I say, attempting to stay in character, though the urge to giggle bubbles dangerously close to the surface.
His lips quirk into a half smile, and there’s something about the way he’s looking at me that makes my heart pick up just a little. “You look lovely,” he says, his voice dropping a fraction.
I glance down at the pale-pink dress I’ve been wearing since the letter-writing lesson. “I haven’t changed my outfit,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, I don’t recall if I mentioned it before,” he says, his gaze lingering just a moment too long.
Is he ... flirting? My cheeks heat at the thought.
“Are you just trying to find something to talk about?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“No,” he says, the corner of his mouth tugging higher. “But if you’d prefer, I could regale you with a discussion about the weather.”
I snort, louder than I mean to, and quickly cover my mouth. “That’s quite all right.”
He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “This staying-in-character thing is harder than I thought.”
“You’re doing a great job,” I say softly, surprised by how much I mean it.
“Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennet,” Lady Catherine interrupts sharply, her voice cutting through whatever moment we were just having. “Please return to your respective homes for dinner.”
Zane straightens, his smirk firmly in place. “Right. I shall see you both at the dance,” he says.
“Assembly,” Lady Catherine corrects, her tone clipped.
“Of course,” Zane says, his eyes darting to me with a mischievous glint. “How could I forget?”
Because we are now in the full reenactment, dinner is no longer together in the hall but in our respective homes. Zane will be at Netherfield with the Bingleys, and I will eat here with the Bennets.
“Miss Bennet, if I may have a word?” Lady Catherine asks me, and I take a step toward her, while Zane, instead of leaving, looks like he’s busy messing with the cuff of his shirt, clearly eavesdropping.
“Yes, Your Ladyship?” I say.
“Miss Bennet, while your enthusiasm is ... noteworthy, might I remind you Elizabeth Bennet is not a child at the confectioner’s but a lady of grace and composure. Do try to reflect that in your demeanor.”
Yes, I should have seen that coming.
“Note taken,” I say.
Without a goodbye, the haughty woman walks away, skirts swishing behind her.
I look to Zane, who’s got his lips pulled between his teeth, trying to hold in a laugh.
“Was it that bad?” I ask, cringing a little.
“Well, you looked kinda like you were going to combust with joy during that scene,” he says.
“Shut up,” I say, through a laugh.
“Why, Miss Bennet, those aren’t very ladylike words. Shall I tell my aunt?”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Ah, ah, ah,” he reprimands. “You’re not staying in character.”
“Please go away.”
He bows. “As you wish. I shall see you at the assembly.”
He winks at me before leaving, and my stomach does a flipping thing. There’s been hugging, and flirting, and winking. I’m not sure what’s happening here, but I find that I like it a lot.
“OH, MR. BENNET! IS IT not a splendid sight? The room is abuzz with conversation, and the music—how delightful! I daresay we might see some promising matches tonight,” Mrs. Bennet says, her hand clutching Mr. Bennet’s arm as we enter the Meryton assembly as a family, the staff member playing Charlotte Lucas in tow.
I can’t stop my smile when I see the room. The ballroom has been turned into an assembly hall, and it’s packed. The polished floors gleam under the chandeliers, but they’ve tried to make it look less fancy with simple tablecloths and little bunches of wildflowers on the tables.
When Lady Catherine informed us earlier today that people from the surrounding town were invited to make it look more authentic, I thought we’d have a handful of people join us. But there are townsfolk everywhere—their voices hushed like they’re extras on a movie set, as they pretend to chatter and move about in their Regency-appropriate costumes, making the whole thing feel surprisingly real. There’s a small quartet playing music in the corner, and between the gowns swishing and footmen walking around with drinks, it’s like stepping into the 1800s.
I look for Zane in the crowd but can’t find him. I’ll see him soon enough when we reenact our lines, and I can’t decide which is causing the butterflies in my stomach—the reenactment of this scene? Or seeing Zane? Maybe it’s both. It’s hard to believe that three-days-ago me was freaking out that he was coming with me, and now I’m looking for him, excited to see him.
“Indeed, my dear. There are matches enough to keep you entertained, I am sure,” Mr. Bennet says.
Mary nudges me with her elbow, and when I look at her, she’s giving me wide eyes. “Your line?” she whispers. In front of us, Lady Catherine, dressed in more subdued Regency clothing—a lavender gown that continues to display an extraordinary amount of cleavage—arches a brow in my direction, her clipboard clutched tightly in her hands. She clears her throat.
“You know, Mama, perhaps you should have a dance card of your own. You are the liveliest among us,” I say, feeling slightly flustered. It was entering the room that threw me off. It’s like a Regency dream come true. And I guess anticipating seeing Zane soon might have something to do with it.
“Oh, nonsense, Lizzy! Tonight is about you girls. Now, remember—keep your smiles bright and your manners polished,” Mrs. Bennet says as we walk farther into the room.
I fidget with the sleeve of my sapphire-blue dress, which is cinched high under my chest, with a delicate silver embroidery tracing the neckline and hem. I actually sighed when I saw it during the fitting, and Monroe insisted I take it. I feel elegant in white gloves, a light shawl draped over my shoulders, and a reticule hanging from my wrist. My hair was simply styled by my lady’s maid, who left a few loose curls framing my face and added a sparkling comb for a final touch. I think I might even be adjusting to the corset. Sort of. Okay, listen: I still hate it. But I might hate it a bit less.
“Girls! That must be Mr. Bingley—and his friend, Mr. Darcy. Such fine gentlemen!” Mrs. Bennet says, and my eyes move up to see Zane standing next to a strawberry-blond man, who must be the staff member playing Bingley, with Caroline Bingley standing behind them, a scowl on her face.
My heart does a skipping thing, and I see a quick upward turn of Zane’s lips before he schools his features quickly, trying to stay in his role as the stoic Mr. Darcy. He’s wearing a dark-navy tailcoat with a crisp, white cravat tied neatly at his throat, the sharp lines of his waistcoat emphasizing his broad shoulders. The polished boots and perfectly tailored breeches complete the look. It’s similar to what he’s worn before, but tonight, under the lighting of the chandeliers, he looks so freaking handsome. My heart picks up speed. I think I’m in danger of falling fully back into my crush on him.
“Mr. Bingley does seem very agreeable,” Jane says.
“But is he any good at dancing? That is what matters most!” Lydia says loudly, and some of the onlookers snicker.
“Agreeable or not, a steady foot and a sense of rhythm can do wonders,” Charlotte says with a small smile, glancing at Lydia. “Though I suppose enthusiasm counts for something too.”
Mr. Bingley approaches and bows politely. “Good evening. I am most delighted to meet you all. What a lovely assembly this is!”
“Oh, Mr. Bingley, you are most welcome to Meryton. Might I introduce my daughters—Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia?” Mrs. Bennet says, a huge matchmaking smile on her face.
Bingley bows to us, but Mr. Darcy stays in the background.
“Do you see how he looks at Jane? Mark my words, Lizzy—this will be a fine match,” Mrs. Bennet says to me.
“Mama, do try not to marry her off before the first dance,” I say, reciting my line.
“Miss Bennet, would you honor me with the first dance?” Bingley asks Jane.
“I would be delighted, Mr. Bingley,” she says.
They move to the dance floor, and Lydia, Mary, and Kitty follow behind them to find dance partners, as instructed by Lady Catherine before we entered the hall.
“And you, Mr. Darcy—do you not care to dance? Surely, among all the ladies here, you must see someone worth your attention,” I say to him.
“I am perfectly content to observe for now, madam,” Zane says, just like we practiced on the plane. It’s hard to hold back the smile I want to give him. He nailed it. He’s even got the above-reproach look down.
“Oh, but Mr. Darcy,” I say. “You must not let such an opportunity pass. Surely even the most seasoned observer wishes to join in the fun from time to time.”
He looks directly at me, and I swear I kind of melt a little. “I fear not every lady here is handsome enough to tempt me.”
The surrounding crowd quiets at his cut, their timing perfect. Obviously, they’ve done this before, and with Lady Catherine’s instruction, I’m sure.
“How fortunate for us, then, that your tastes are so particular,” I say, giving him a condescending grin.
Darcy bows and then walks away.
“Well, at least one of us is having a good evening,” I say, with a head nod in the direction of Jane and Bingley, who are lining up to dance.
“It’s a fine evening, Lizzy. You should dance too, my dear,” Mr. Bennet says.
“Perhaps, though, not every partner is worth the effort.”
After my line, the music begins as Lady Catherine had instructed, and everyone starts to dance.
That’s it for our lines, and now we get to enjoy the rest of the evening dancing and indulging in Regency-appropriate refreshments. Except that we have to stay in character, which means Zane and I, as Darcy and Elizabeth, are supposed to keep a healthy distance from each other. Which, honestly, stinks. I wouldn’t mind him stepping on my toes a time or two tonight.
I’m asked to dance by one of the staff before the next set begins, so I put my shawl and reticule on a chair and join him on the floor, getting in line at the end. I spy Zane at the other end, dancing with Charlotte.
We spend the next hour dancing, laughing, and chatting, all while staying in character. I dance with Mr. Collins, who’s not playing himself tonight and is looking incredibly handsome in a cravat rather than a clerical collar, and also once with Wickham, who’s also not here as himself. I think one time is enough with him. The man is a sleaze. I catch him staring at my chest more than once, and it takes everything in me not to call him out on it. It’s hard to believe Monroe was engaged to him not that long ago. Especially when I see him currently cozying up to the woman playing Caroline and the two of them laughing as he pours something from a flask into their lemonade.
Thinking of Monroe makes my heart do a sinking thing. She should be here, laughing and dancing with us. I can only hope that she’ll wake up and come back to the park. I’d give up the part of Elizabeth in a heartbeat to have her here.
When we’re not dancing, some of the locals strike up conversations with us, acting as if they know us from town, asking about our family and making other polite chitchat. Honestly, it’s probably the highlight of the night for me. The extras here are so invested, and they take their roles so seriously. At one point, I overhear Zane discussing the weather with an older gentleman, and I can’t help but snort out a laugh—loud enough, I think, for him to hear, because he gives me a comical scowl.
I’m standing by the refreshments table, sipping a glass of lemonade, when Zane approaches.
He picks up a drink and holds it in front of his mouth. “And how are we tonight, Miss Bennet?” he asks, looking away from me so it doesn’t look like we’re talking.
I snort. This is so dumb. We should be able to just talk to each other, even if, at this point in the story, we’re enemies.
But I play along, picking up my drink and doing the same. “I’m doing well, Mr. Darcy. How about yourself?”
“I’m having a most pleasant time,” he says. And I actually think he means it. I’ve watched him tonight, dancing and chatting with some of the locals, a reserved look on his face. He’s Mr. Darcy, after all—practically the star of the show—and he makes for a very dashing one. He’s gathered quite the audience a time or two, especially among the older ladies.
“I’m glad to hear it,” I say, keeping my glass in front of my mouth.
“I think an older woman in a blue dress pinched my butt a moment ago,” he says, and I practically spill my drink at the shock of it.
I’m laughing behind my glass now. “That’s scandalous,” I say.
“Very,” he agrees.
“You look stunning tonight,” he says, after a beat of silence, dropping his accent. I’m glad he’s avoiding looking directly at me, so he doesn’t see the blush creeping into my cheeks.
“Thank you. So do you,” I say, also dropping my accent. For a moment, it’s just Zane and Macey, and my heart picks up its pace.
“After this is over, want to meet up with me somewhere?” he asks.
“Like where?” I ask. Lady Catherine has spies everywhere, as was clear after Monroe and the duke’s little tryst.
“I know a place,” he says. “Just be outside your house after everyone goes to bed.”
“You mean sneaking out?” I ask, acting appalled, but really my stomach is full of butterflies, and my heart is practically galloping. It’s ridiculous. I’m getting ahead of myself. Zane probably just wants to hang out. Still, the thought of finding a dark corner where he takes me in his arms and ... no. Nope. Do not go there, Macey.
He gives me a quick double eyebrow lift before looking away. “Sounds fun, right?”
It really does.