Chapter Nineteen
“He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman’s daughter.”
MONROE
MR. DARCY STARED AT ME, waiting for my reply. His commanding presence held me captive, along with the allure of his broody eyes and tight jawline. Yes, it was all Fitz, but this man in front of me recognized me as a woman, and his intense gaze confirmed it. He wasn’t hiding from me like Fitz had, even though I’d said foolish things to him earlier.
Please don’t hate me, Jane Austen. I had to dance with him. To say no to him now might completely ruin your story—my story. “It would be an honor to dance with you.” I had to stop myself from giggling. The teen girl inside of me was dying. Or maybe we were both dead. Who cared? Well, I did care, but I would think about it after I danced with Mr. Darcy. It would be like dying and going to heaven, every pun intended.
Relieved, Mr. Darcy offered his arm.
Oh. My. Gosh. I was going to touch him again—albeit with gloves on, but still. This was huge.
I was so glad we’d taken dancing lessons at the park. Hopefully now I wouldn’t look ridiculous. Knowing my luck, I was bound to mess things up, but so far, so good tonight. Even Mary’s hair had stayed in place, and she was dancing yet again.
When I took his arm, every goose bump I owned came to life. They all said, Hello, Mr. Darcy.
I swear, every eye zeroed in on us as we made our way to the middle of the dance floor. Mrs. Bennet pointed and seemed almost faint with happiness. To have two daughters dance with the handsome, rich newcomers had to be more than her nerves could handle. No doubt she’d heard about the ten thousand a year.
Caroline Bingley’s eyes caught mine next. Oh, she loathed me just as Winnifred did—no surprise there. I almost laughed at her wrinkled nose and the way she spiritedly whispered to her sister. No doubt they were abusing me spectacularly. I didn’t expect to get an invitation to dine with them at Netherfield.
As we were dancing the quadrille, we stood in a square with a gentleman I didn’t know and Jane, both of whom appeared bashful around each other. Poor Mr. Bingley couldn’t ask Jane to dance again. It would go against the rules of propriety. But I noticed Bingley couldn’t keep his eyes off Jane even though he was dancing with another young lady. It was kind of cute, but I worried for Jane. Though the night was turning out much better than I could have hoped, I still felt a need to be careful not to fix things and alter the outcome.
However, I had other worries at the moment—like what to talk to Mr. Darcy about. Did I remark on the number of couples or the size of the room? That was in the novel, but not until the Netherfield ball. Mr. Darcy wasn’t all that chatty in the book. Oh, the book! I could talk about books or poetry. I remembered a conversation I’d had with Fitz several years ago about the types of books Mr. Darcy would have read. He’d made fun of me because I was ever curious about my fictional idol, but within a few days’ time, I had a box full of books delivered to me, courtesy of my infuriating best friend. Fitz had filled the box with writings from Homer, Plato, Aristotle, Milton, Shakespeare, and Byron. Together, we’d read every work and discussed them in detail. Best book club ever. Ugh. Why did he have to ruin it all? We could have just stayed friends. But could we really? I touched my lips, thinking about the soul-stirring kiss we’d shared—the one I claimed was the most right thing I’d ever done.
Not thinking about it.
Focus, Monroe. You are Elizabeth.
I smiled at Mr. Darcy as he reached for my hands, and we moved four steps. I took this as my opportunity to speak to him, hoping I didn’t sound like an imbecile. “Mr. Darcy, what intrigues you most about Odysseus’s journey?”
He stared blankly at me as we passed between Jane and the other gentleman. Oh no, I’d said the wrong thing. Had Fitz been wrong about Mr. Darcy’s reading habits? Of course my mouth couldn’t leave well enough alone—I seriously had a problem. The next time we faced each other and Mr. Darcy took my hands, which by the way was super flutter inducing, I said, “I, for one, am most intrigued with the theme of reunion and restoration.” I didn’t mention I most enjoyed Odysseus’s reunion with his wife, Penelope. That seemed a little too forward, especially given our awkward first meeting.
Mr. Darcy narrowed his eyes at me, and I wondered if he just preferred I not speak. Jane and the other gentleman both looked at me as if I were an alien. At this point, for all I knew, I was an alien. I began to feel queasy, but at the next opportunity, Mr. Darcy replied, “I am more drawn to the elements of loyalty and perseverance.” They were the exact themes Fitz admired most.
“I enjoy those also. Odysseus’s perseverance was quite admirable, as was Penelope’s loyalty.”
“Quite,” Mr. Darcy responded, seemingly astounded by me.
We said no more, but Mr. Darcy studied me for the remainder of the dance. Every glance and touch was electrifying. As weird as it sounded, it felt as if we connected on some deeper plane, that we didn’t need to speak. It felt an awful lot like my relationship with Fitz. Why did it always come back to him?
When the dance ended, Mr. Darcy bowed to me. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said my name with admiration.
I curtsied. “Mr. Darcy.” I wanted to thank him a million times over and tell him I’d fantasized about a moment like this for years, but I maintained my Elizabeth-like composure. He escorted me back to Charlotte, and I watched him walk away, feeling a lot like Cinderella after dancing with Prince Charming—euphorically happy, but with a lingering feeling that maybe it was just make-believe. Surely the carriage would turn into a pumpkin and the footmen would transform back into mice. But none of those things happened.
The assembly ended, and Jane and I found ourselves seated next to each other in the frigid carriage, both wearing knowing smiles. We would talk later in the privacy of our room, away from our sisters and Mrs. Bennet, who was beside herself.
“He has ten thousand a year,” Mrs. Bennet kept exclaiming. “Mr. Darcy was so charming and handsome. And his manners.” She sighed. “I do hope he will take a house in the neighborhood. But I hear he owns a large estate in Derbyshire. Did you see how vexed Lady Lucas was that Mr. Darcy did not ask Charlotte to dance?” Mrs. Bennet could hardly contain her satisfaction.
I wondered, though, what this meant for the story. Mrs. Bennet should have been properly abusing him by now for snubbing me, but that hadn’t happened. Hmm. I watched Mary sitting across from me as well. She gazed contentedly out the window as if she had a wonderful secret to hide. She’d danced every dance. There had been no hair or wardrobe malfunction. Had I actually helped someone? The thought gave me hope.
When we arrived at Longbourn, Lydia and Kitty ran into the house, tittering about all the men they had danced with, Mary sort of floated in and disappeared upstairs, and Mrs. Bennet rushed in, searching for Mr. Bennet. Her gown swished, and she seemed a little tipsy, swaying back and forth.
“Oh! My dear Mr. Bennet,” she cried as she entered the drawing room to find Mr. Bennet reading a book near the fireplace. These events happened just as in the novel. Perhaps I hadn’t changed much of anything.
“We have had the most delightful evening, a most excellent ball,” she exclaimed. “I wish you could have been there. Jane and Elizabeth were so admired.”
Whoa. That was not in the story. At least not the part about me.
Mr. Bennet looked up from his book, still dressed in his day clothes, and instead of being annoyed, as I’d assumed he would be, he tilted his head and gave me a questioning glance.
Jane and I stood at the door, anxious to speak alone, but I eagerly awaited Mr. and Mrs. Bennet’s comments. Could I win over the heart of Mrs. Bennet?
“Not only did Mr. Bingley ask Jane to dance twice, but the man who assisted Elizabeth after her unfortunate fall, Mr. Darcy, asked Elizabeth to dance. And he has ten thousand a year. Ten thousand!” she said more forcefully, as if Mr. Bennet had not heard.
Mr. Bennet continued to study me as Mrs. Bennet prattled on.
“Mr. Darcy did not ask one other young lady to dance besides our Elizabeth, though Mr. Bingley’s party comprised his sisters, both of whom were quite elegant and doted on Jane. But you should have seen the way Mr. Darcy admired Elizabeth.” Mrs. Bennet seemed so overcome by all the excitement that she fell into the chair across from Mr. Bennet.
“Lizzy, what did you think of this Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Bennet paid no attention to his wife.
What should I say? I wasn’t sure there were enough words to describe the larger-than-life character, a character who had impossibly come to life for me. All I could think to say was, “He is everything a gentleman ought to be.” I sort of stole Jane’s line about Bingley. Oops.
“And he has ten thousand a year,” Mrs. Bennet added in again for good measure.
I swore I saw Mr. Bennet roll his eyes.
“Good night, Mama and Papa,” I said, hoping to escape without seeming rude.
“Good night, dear Elizabeth and Jane,” Mrs. Bennet called out.
Mr. Bennet seemed too shocked at the affection Mrs. Bennet had shown me to say anything.
Jane and I hurried upstairs to our room, and I was happy to discover that women’s friendships were important no matter the time period. We giggled as we helped each other undress as close to the fire as we could. I had to say, I really missed central heating and air-conditioning. And flushing toilets. I eyed the chamber pot in the room’s corner. If this was a dream, please let the pot turn into a proper bathroom.
The bedroom looked just as it had at Pride and Prejudice Park, right down to the beautiful wallpaper, minus the modern conveniences of electricity and plumbing.
As soon as Jane and I snuggled up in bed, we faced each other, our cheeks hurting from smiling so much. It had been a good night for the Bennet sisters.
“Lizzy,” Jane sighed. “Mr. Bingley is just what a young man ought to be—sensible, good humored, lively. And I never saw such happy manners! So much ease, with such perfect good breeding.”
I wanted to hug her for letting me hear this line in the flesh, just as Ms. Austen had written it. I had to give my mind huge props for recalling it all so perfectly. You know, unless I was lying somewhere without a pulse and none of this experience was my own doing. Or maybe Fantasy Island was just this good. Regardless, I played my part. “He is also handsome.” I smiled.
Jane blushed. “But what about Mr. Darcy? Do you find him handsome?”
Oh yeah. I bit my lip. If there were a hottest eligible bachelor in Regency times, he would win hands down. “Very much so.”
“He seemed quite taken with you. I think it surprised him to see how well read you are. If truth be told, I do not remember you reading Homer.”
I curled more into myself. “Really? I love Homer, Milton, Shakespeare, Byron,” I babbled on.
“I thought you fancied Ann Radcliffe.”
“Oh, I do. I love a good gothic novel.” Thank you, Fitz, for being a history and literature professor. I’m not sure I would have known of Ann Radcliffe otherwise. “Do you think Mr. Darcy has read Radcliffe’s The Romance of the Forest ?” I laughed.
Jane gasped. “Oh, Lizzy, I do not think it is the kind of book Mr. Darcy would read.”
“Right, of course.” Apparently humor was a bit different here. It made me wish for Macey. I wondered how Macey was doing.
Jane recovered quickly from my misstep. “Do you think Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy will come to wait on us again?”
I took Jane’s delicate hands. “Dear Jane, Mr. Bingley most certainly will come again.” Do not try to fix it. Do not try to fix it. I so badly wanted to give her advice about how she should behave around Mr. Bingley. She was obviously smitten with him, but they hardly knew each other. Granted, this was a different day and age, and I knew they were meant to be. Resist, resist, resist.
“What about Mr. Darcy?” Jane asked, saving me from myself.
I didn’t dare hope that he would come to Longbourn to wait on me. Surely he’d heard Mrs. Bennet going on about his wealth, gloating that I was the only young woman Mr. Darcy danced with. Besides, it wasn’t part of the story. At least not yet. Jane hadn’t even tried to help me see the good in Mr. Bingley’s sisters yet. “I do not know,” I answered truthfully.
Jane gave me a mischievous smile. “Lizzy, do you believe you are in danger of falling in love?”
I was in love. There was no denying it. And it was more dangerous to my heart than I ever imagined. I thought of Fitz, of course. It was no wonder I’d kept my feelings so hidden, not even realizing they existed. Deep down, I knew it would spell the end for our friendship, so I protected myself and us. But despite my best efforts, we were over, and I could hardly stand the thought. It left me feeling completely empty.
Maybe that’s why I’d come to this place, wherever this place was. Maybe it was the only place I could safely open my heart and be with Fitz, a.k.a. Mr. Darcy. The question was, could Mr. Darcy fall in love with me?