Chapter Six
“I am excessively diverted.”
MONROE
I EAGERLY LOOKED THROUGH THE dresses on the “Elizabeth” rack, even though I was a little miffed Lady Catherine had nixed me wearing the costumes I’d made with Grams. She’d also told me there couldn’t be two Elizabeths, and since there was no way she would allow the duke to play Bingley, I had to be Elizabeth. Under her breath I heard her say, “I can’t believe the park’s committee picked you to be Elizabeth.” That made two of us. She also berated me for not speaking with the proper accent. In my defense, I’d been acting as Monroe, not Elizabeth, when I made my request.
Regardless, I couldn’t help but smile at the array of empire-waist gowns before my eyes, made of cotton, silk, gauze, crepe, and sarcenet in varying soft shades of white, blue, and pink, many with wide, square necklines. To add to my enjoyment, the large, light, and airy dressing room smelled of roses and freshly pressed linens.
I smiled over at Macey, or should I say Jane , perusing her rack. “Hello,” I said as properly as I could. If you asked me, I thought I articulated a pretty good British accent. After all, I’d lived in the UK for two years while in high school. “We haven’t had a proper introduction,” I said, moving closer to her. “I’m Monroe,” I whispered, so no one could hear me stepping out of character.
“I’m Macey,” she said, just as quietly and in a great British accent.
“I’m so sorry about the mix-up. I tried to get Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” I exaggerated her name using the haughtiest tone I could muster, making Macey giggle, “to agree to let us both be Elizabeth or to let me be Jane, but she won’t hear of the duke being Bingley.”
“That’s so sweet of you. It will be fine.” She couldn’t quite hide the quiver in her voice, revealing how disappointed she was, which made me feel even worse. If only there were a way to fix it.
“I really am sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. Besides, I won the trip. So it’s not like I paid for it.”
“Still, I’m sure you’re disappointed. And in all sincerity, you’d probably be a better Elizabeth than me.”
“The fact that you tried to help me shows you’ll be a great Elizabeth.”
I wanted to hug her. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”
“Sooo, is the man you’re with really a duke?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Wow. How is it dating a duke?”
“I wouldn’t know. We’re just ... well ... I think we’re just friends. Well, maybe. I’m not really sure right now.” I said, flustered. Fitz was throwing me for a loop, and my mind was racing with the possibility of being quite friendly with him. But then I remembered I didn’t exactly fit into his noble world. It was all confusing, mostly because I loved no one more than Fitz. It was the purest kind of love, like I would throw myself in front of a moving train for him if I had to. And I know he would do the same for me. Did we risk our safe friendship for that kind of love? Or would it be a shame not to build upon something so profound? Do friends really make the best lovers?
“Oh. I’m sorry, I just assumed. You looked like ... well ...”
“I know. It’s a recent development. Like as of today, recent.”
“That’s pretty new,” she laughed.
“Yeah. To make it weirder, this was supposed to be my honeymoon, and my ex-fiancé, who I haven’t seen in months, showed up and is playing Mr. Wickham. And ...” I pointed covertly at Winnifred, who was perusing her rack, complaining that she wanted to bring her own seamstress since the material and colors weren’t to her liking. “That’s Lady Winnifred Roberts. She’s totally in love with Fitz.”
“Zane and I wondered what was going on when Mr. Wickham called you baby .”
“Ugh,” I said, disgusted, hating myself for ever thinking that was a cute term of endearment. “It’s a total mess.”
“I know what you mean.” She sighed. “Zane, the guy I’m with, is my best friend’s brother and he totally surprised me by joining me on the flight here. I thought I was coming alone.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I asked.
“It’s a long story, but let’s just say I’ve been in love with him for more than half of my life, and it’s not reciprocated.”
“Hmm. Well, what should we do to change that?” I smiled conspiratorially. “Oh, you should probably know I try to fix all problems, but I’m awful at it, like catastrophically terrible. But I’ll try anyway.”
She giggled. “I like you. I think we are going to make great sisters.”
“Me too. So, should we pick out some dresses?”
“Definitely.” Macey pulled out an elegant ivory dress. “What do you think?”
“You should totally wear that to the Netherfield ball. You know, I think I’ve wanted to go to that ball my entire life.” I sounded like an obsessed schoolgirl, but I didn’t care. This was my dream. I was going to dance with Mr. Darcy at the ball and pretend to be annoyed with him. Could I do that now? I had a feeling I might just gaze into Fitz’s eyes and wait for every touch to see how it made me feel. Oy vey, this was going to be interesting. I would just have to see how our talk went before I got my hopes up.
Mrs. Bennet, our mother for the week, walked over. She was a beautiful Black woman with a lively, kind face. If I recalled correctly, her real name was Laila Gray. I definitely remembered she was married to the Idris Elba look-alike. His name was Davis Gray. “My lovely Jane and dearest Lizzy,” Laila said, ever so sweetly but in a terrible British accent. It sounded more like a mix of Australian and Bostonian dialect, but I liked it.
“Hello, ma’am,” I tried to phrase it the way Elizabeth would have.
“Oh, don’t be so formal. You can call me Mama.” She did her best to make Mama sound like she was in a Pride and Prejudice movie, but it sounded more like a Southern mama.
“Don’t let Lady Catherine hear you being so nice to me. I am your least favorite daughter,” I teased her. And obviously Agatha’s least favorite person.
“She’s full of herself, now isn’t she?” Laila’s Boston accent became even more pronounced. “Listen, my husband and I came here for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. We are here to have some fun, and we’re going to be nice to anyone we want to.”
“Happy anniversary,” Macey and I said at the same time.
Laila wrapped her arms around us for a quick squeeze. “My dearest daughters.” She let go of us and grinned. “I’m off to get fitted. They are having a hard time squeezing my chest into the dresses. The old ‘girls’”—she pointed to her ample chest—“aren’t being very cooperative.”
Macey and I giggled as we watched her walk away.
“She’s fun,” I commented.
“Very,” Macey agreed.
However, the woman playing Mary—real name Calliope—did not seem to be having fun. She stared pensively at the plain dresses on her rack. They were quite dowdy. How unfair was that? That, I couldn’t have. “Come here.” I gestured for her to join Macey and me.
“Hi there. I’m Monroe.”
“And I’m Macey.”
“You’re Calliope, right?” I confirmed.
Calliope nodded, but she looked unsure about us—maybe because we were breaking the rules and using our real names.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“Idaho. I run wellness retreats there,” she replied in a shaky British accent. She was doing a pretty good job of it. She just needed more confidence.
“That’s great,” said Macey.
“I’ve always wanted to go on a wellness retreat,” I said. “One of my students’ moms swears by them.”
“What do you teach?” Macey asked.
“Piano and voice. I own a little studio in Overland Park.”
“Nice.” Macey grinned. “I’m an admin assistant for a creative art center, and I live in California.”
“A Cali girl. I like it.”
“Um ...” Calliope seemed reluctant to join in the conversation. “I play the piano too. Not very well,” she added.
“I’d be happy to help you during those scenes. We could practice on one of the pianofortes in the house—you know, like the one in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room, since we would be in nobody’s way in that part of the house.” I winked at her.
She smiled at the P&P reference and then bit her lip. “You’d really help me?”
“Of course. We are sisters, after all.” I grinned. “Which also means you should pick a dress off my rack.”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head warily. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“Don’t worry.” I waved my hand around. “I’ll take all the blame. Lady Catherine would be so happy to have something else she could berate me for.”
“I think she’s just jealous of you,” Macey surmised. “She has a crush on the duke.”
“Who doesn’t?” I quipped.
Calliope raised her hand, surprising me and, I think, surprising herself too. “I kind of think Mr. Collins is cute.”
“Uh, yeah he is,” Macey agreed. “It seems so wrong that he’s playing Mr. Collins.”
“And that he ends up with Charlotte,” Calliope whispered.
“I’ve always thought that too. He and Mary totally belong together.”
“Yes,” Calliope said emphatically, letting down her guard. “She would have appreciated him more. I know I would, now.”
We all giggled.
“Too bad romantic pursuits are against the rules this week,” Macey lamented.
I pursed my lips together, an evil glint in my eye. “What Lady Catherine doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“’ello, ladies,” the woman playing Lydia interrupted us with her cockney accent—definitely a native Brit. “I’m Carla, and this is my sister, Ava.” She sounded like she was introducing her girl gang.
Ava waved, looking us over and sizing us up.
“Hello,” Macey, Calliope, and I said politely.
“You’re the one ’ ooking up wif the Duke of Blackthorne, aren’t ya?” Carla asked with blunt force.
“Uh ... no.” Not that it was any of her business, but I worried she would hurt me if I didn’t answer.
“So, is he still up for grabs?”
“He most certainly is not.” Winnifred crashed the party, holding a royal-blue velvet gown, her nose up so high in the air, it had to hurt her neck. “Alastair and I are meant to be together.”
I had a feeling Fitz didn’t share her sentiment. “Then why aren’t you already?” I sported a smug look. The more I thought about it, the more I realized there was nothing holding Fitz back from pursuing a relationship with Winnifred, so why hadn’t he yet?
Winnifred’s mouth fell open, and she emitted a tiny squeak before she realized she’d shown any weakness. She pressed her lips together and stood rod straight. “We had separate goals to accomplish first.”
I offered her a placating smile, knowing she was grasping at straws.
Winnifred didn’t appreciate my cheeky attitude. “If you think for one moment that he wants you, you are mistaken. The society Alastair and I associate with would never accept you. You would make him a social pariah.”
Those words stung, even though I knew they were true. Now more than ever, I remembered all the reasons I had quashed my dreams of ever moving beyond friendship with Fitz. Everyone in the room stared at me, waiting for my comeback, while my cheeks blazed. But what could I say? She spoke the truth.
Feeling proud of herself, Winnifred spun around and walked off more haughtily than ever.
“That one finks ’ighly of ’erself , don’t she?” Carla commented. “Didn’t see the duke ’ olding hands wif her.”
Lady Catherine swept in. “Thinks, and with,” she elocuted perfectly. “We must speak properly, Lydia.” She called Carla by her character’s name.
Carla/Lydia curled her lip, none too happy about being called out. I was going to have a hard time of keeping track of all the names. Perhaps it would help to just use the character names both in my head and when speaking.
Lady Catherine gave Lydia such an icy stare, it felt ten degrees colder in the room. It appeared I wouldn’t be the only one trifling with Lady Catherine this week.
Lydia, feeling beat, retreated to her rack of costumes.
“Now, ladies, hurry.” Lady Catherine clapped her hands. “We have a schedule to keep, and you must look the part.”
As soon as Lady Catherine left, Macey, I mean Jane, patted my arm. “Are you okay?”
I nodded even though I felt sucker punched.
“I’m sure Winnifred is lying. She’s just jealous,” Jane tried to comfort me.
“She’s not lying.”
“Oh,” Jane said, stunned.
“Yeah. Oh.”