Without Pride and Prejudice

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, do divert me.”

MONROE

THE NEXT MORNING SAW A lot of excitement at the breakfast table, which seemed to be a common occurrence here. Not only had Mr. Bingley promised the night before to throw a ball at Netherfield, but the regiment was arriving in Meryton, and last but certainly not least, a letter arrived from Hunsford. A letter from Hunsford could only mean one thing: Mr. Collins was soon to appear. The timing of this seemed suspicious to me, in light of my conversation with Miss Bingley last night. But the timing of everything had been thrown off since my arrival. Maybe I really had gotten sucked into some space-time continuum thing and we were doing the Without Pride and Prejudice version. Except, I had let my pride get the better of me last night, and I might have been prejudiced against elegant and accomplished women.

I wasn’t sure if I’d ruined my chances with Mr. Darcy last night. He wasn’t a very talkative guy, and I didn’t know how much pull Miss Bingley had with him. All I knew for sure was that he was an excellent whist player. Honestly, I was waiting for a letter any moment now to inform me that Mr. Darcy was returning to London, or something of the sort.

Breaking into my thoughts, Mr. Bennet announced to the room at large, “This letter from Hunsford is from the man who can turn you all out once I am dead.”

Mrs. Bennet choked on the tea she was sipping, making her splutter. She dabbed her dress with a napkin, trying to remove any liquid. “Mr. Bennet, what a thing to say. Although”—she smiled at Jane and me, who sat across the table from her—“we might not be in such poor circumstances even if you died.”

And who said love is dead?

Mr. Bennet didn’t skip a beat. “Well, my dear, since you do not care whether I live or die, I dare say you shall not care if the heir to Longbourn, Mr. William Collins, arrives tomorrow and trespasses for a fortnight upon our hospitality.”

Mrs. Bennet sat up in a dignified manner. “I most certainly do care. What is the meaning of this? Does he wish to lord it over us? I hate false friends.”

“False friends indeed.” Mr. Bennet held up the letter and prepared to read it.

As he began, however, something stirred uneasily in my belly. Miss Bingley knowing about the supposed attachment between Anne de Bourgh and Mr. Darcy wasn’t kosher if you asked me.

Dear sir,

I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, whose bounty and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory of this parish, where it shall be my earnest endeavor to demean myself with grateful respect towards her Ladyship, and be ever ready to perform those rites and ceremonies which are instituted by the Church of England. To this end, dear sir, it is Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s wish that I wait upon you and your family.

I hardly heard anything that followed that telling last line. My belly swirled even more. I had no doubt that Lady Catherine was sending him to check out the situation. Seriously, what had I done? I had to try to fix it somehow—but how?

As soon as Mr. Bennet concluded, he looked over the letter at me. “What do you make of this, Lizzy?”

Why was he asking me? I tried to construe an answer based on what I knew from the book, as I hadn’t exactly paid attention to the entire letter. “Well ... it appears that this Lady Catherine de Bourgh knows of the rift between Mr. Collins’s father and you, and she believes Mr. Collins should extend an olive branch, considering the entail. But because of the potential inheritance, perhaps she seems to think, in the name of family unity, that it is best that he pick a bride from among us.” I sounded much smarter than I felt.

“Right you are, Lizzy.” Mr. Bennet beamed.

While I appreciated the compliment, I was undeserving of it, considering it was just a good guess on my part, and I had a sneaking suspicion that there was much more to the story. In the novel, Mr. Collins came of his own volition, not at the urging of Lady Catherine.

“A clergyman?” Lydia wrinkled her nose. “I would never marry a clergyman. How boring.” The girl could do with some boredom in her life—or a puppy. I would look into getting her a pet. Maybe if she had something cute and cuddly to play with, she would forget about the regiment coming into town and would never cross paths with Mr. Wickham. I had to worry about that now too. Please, please, don’t let him look like Tony.

I glanced at Mary, who had a dreamy look in her eye. Apparently, her thoughts about clergymen mirrored mine about Theo James. I’d always thought that Mary and Mr. Collins should end up together. But was I just ruining everything further? Or was I making it better? If only I could find someone worthy of Charlotte. Ugh, look at me—I couldn’t go an hour without trying to fix something. But I was in so deep now, I wasn’t sure there was any turning back.

“No matter his reasoning, you had better order a good dinner tomorrow night, Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Bennet directed.

Mrs. Bennet’s eyes lit up. “I will order at least three courses and invite the gentlemen at Netherfield to join us.”

Oh, no, no, no, this was the worst idea ever. Mr. Collins and Mr. Darcy at dinner together was a disaster in the making. My disaster. My making.

“Mama,” Jane sounded as alarmed as I felt about that idea. “I do not know if that is wise. We do not know this Mr. Collins.” Jane, you smart, smart, woman.

“Or his benefactress,” I added. “Should we not wait until we know their designs?”

“Designs?” Mrs. Bennet laughed. “What does this Lady Catherine have to do with us? We will show this Mr. Collins what good company we keep here at Longbourn.”

My eyes pleaded with Mr. Bennet to put a stop to this nonsense, but he just shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he liked the idea or if he just didn’t wish to argue with Mrs. Bennet. Maybe some of both.

“The gentlemen may have other plans,” I whispered to Jane. Plans like Mr. Darcy never speaking to me again. If that were the case, did this place I was in cease to exist? What happened to me in that scenario? Did all rejected Elizabeths go to hell or get booted off Fantasy Island ?

“We can hope,” she whispered back.

That was wishful thinking. To add to the excitement, the bell rang, signaling someone was at the door.

It only took a few moments before Mrs. Hill came in and curtsied. “Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley have come to call on the elder Miss Bennets. They are waiting in the drawing room.”

Before either Jane or I could say a word, Mrs. Bennet was off to the races, likely to make a fool of herself. I really needed to ask Mr. Bennet how they met and fell in love, assuming they’d been in love. Right now, I had another love story to worry about. I hoped Mr. Darcy’s appearance this morning was a good sign—he’d said nothing the night before about calling on me. I really missed my phone and texting. It would have been nice to have a heads-up. Like, Hey, babe, I’ll pick you up in my carriage at ten sharp tomorrow morning. I’ll bring the chaperone this time. PS: Don’t forget your gloves.

With as much decorum as we could muster, Jane and I stood and hustled toward the drawing room, following Lydia and Kitty, who were madly giggling.

“I am going to ask Mr. Bingley if he has decided on a date for the ball,” Lydia bragged to Kitty.

“Please, do not,” I begged.

They paid me zero attention.

I smoothed out my baby-blue dress, praying there was nothing in my teeth, before I entered the drawing room to find Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley standing by the fireplace, being accosted by dear Mama.

“You must dine with us tomorrow night. You will be our special guests.” She failed to mention they wouldn’t be the only guests.

Mr. Darcy stood sexily stoic, not saying a word. The breeches were really starting to grow on me. And that cravat was such a turn-on. But they had nothing on his gray eyes, which darted my way. In them I saw the same question from last night. I wasn’t sure what he was asking or what answer he wanted to receive, but one thing I knew: he didn’t appreciate Mrs. Bennet. I really needed to talk to her.

Mr. Bingley was as amiable as ever, smiling and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “We would be delighted to dine with you.” He gave Jane googly eyes. The man was smitten.

Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, did not look delighted. I think what he wished for was an escape route.

I would be happy to provide one. You know me; I love to fix things. “I need to walk to town for some ribbon for my hat.” Never thought I would say those words. Did I even have any pocket money?

“May I accompany you, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Darcy asked stiffly.

“It would be a pleasure.”

“We want to go to town too,” Kitty proclaimed.

Then Lydia, being Lydia, rounded on Mr. Bingley. “You promised us a ball last night. I think you should have it next week and invite all the officers.”

I gave Mr. Darcy an apologetic smile. Being an only child, I’d never experienced younger siblings’ antics, as my mother died when I was five and my father never remarried. I’d always felt like I’d missed out on something, but Dad loved my mother so much that he would never consider remarrying. I needed to find a man like that. Was Mr. Darcy such a man?

“What a splendid idea,” Mrs. Bennet heartily agreed with Lydia.

Mr. Bingley was obviously a people pleaser, or maybe he thought he was being a Jane pleaser. Wait—that sounded a little kinky, and let me just say there was nothing of that sort going on in this story. I was still waiting for Mr. Darcy to let me touch him without my gloves. Anyway, Mr. Bingley agreed to having the ball the next week, which was way too soon. I didn’t even know how it was possible to plan a ball so quickly. It was apparent I’d totally wrecked the timeline of the story. It was almost going as fast as the timeline at Pride and Prejudice Park, but I had gone way off script here.

I had this sinking feeling that I was running out of time to prove I was a good Elizabeth.

I did my best to get us out of the house as quickly as I could, with my reticule in hand. Thankfully, there was money in the satin bag embroidered with my initials—I mean Elizabeth’s initials. In all honesty, I missed people calling me Monroe. Where was Monroe? I mean me. The thought hurt my head and heart.

Purposely, I let my sisters and Mr. Bingley walk ahead of us in the cool morning. I needed to speak privately with Mr. Darcy. To the sounds of the rocks crunching beneath our feet and the tittering of Lydia and Kitty, I did something daring. I felt like desperate times called for desperate measures. Without being invited, I strung my arm through Mr. Darcy’s, hoping to feel connected to him and praying he would, in turn, feel the same connection. He had no idea what was on the line. Believe me, I knew it was too early to define the relationship, but something needed to be defined. It was imperative I at least know I had a shot to fulfill my role as Elizabeth. And there was no Elizabeth in the story without him.

Shocked, Mr. Darcy immediately stiffened.

Who knew something so innocent would make me feel like such a vixen? “Mr. Darcy, I apologize for being so forward.” And such an idiot. Read the room, Monroe. I loosened my hold on him, feeling like an idiot. But something wonderful happened. He reached over and placed his hand over mine on his bicep, holding it steady. The warmth of his hand seeped through my glove, sending a zing through me.

“Miss Bennet, you . . .”

“Yes?” I said, anticipating something beautiful and reaffirming coming out of his mouth.

“You have bewitched me.” He didn’t sound like it was necessarily a good thing. He should have said I bewitched him, body and soul, which was much more romantic.

I made it more awkward when I said, “I am trying my best.” What was wrong with me? I laughed when he didn’t respond other than to appear alarmed, judging by how deeply he cleared his throat.

“What I mean to say is, I do not like the silly games that men and women sometimes play. I feel it best to be honest.” You know, unless you are in love with your best friend and too afraid to confront it. That is a totally different situation. “And in the name of honesty, I must know if you are engaged to Miss Anne de Bourgh.” Yep, I said it. Caroline Bingley had me rattled, as did Mr. Collins’s impending arrival. For all I knew, I’d messed things up so much that Mr. Darcy was indeed engaged.

Mr. Darcy halted, his brows knitted just like Fitz’s when he was angry. “How do you know of Anne?”

Uh, Anne? Did that mean he was engaged to her?

“Miss Bingley informed me of the situation last night as we took a turn around the room.” Yes, I threw that dear under the bus. “She said you were to be engaged to Anne.”

“She is mistaken,” he said succinctly.

I smiled, though he still looked quite cross. “Then you should know that my cousin, Mr. Collins, arrives tomorrow. His benefactress is Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and, per his letter, he comes here on her errand.”

Mr. Darcy’s face turned a deep shade of red. “I wonder with whom my aunt corresponds here?”

I wanted to raise my hand and say, “Pick me, I know,” but I was pretty sure it was a rhetorical question. He had to know it was Miss Bingley or someone in their party. “I did not mean to upset you.”

“It is not you who upsets me.”

Ooh, this could be good. Was he going to let Miss Bingley have it? Maybe get her kicked out of Netherfield? Could I be that good of an Elizabeth? “I am glad to know.” I squeezed his arm, and we walked on.

Mr. Darcy seemed lost in his thoughts as I admired my handiwork. Jane and Mr. Bingley walked ahead of us, chatting animatedly. He’d even offered her his arm. If he didn’t make an offer of marriage soon, it would shock me.

I tried to think of something amusing to say to Mr. Darcy. Most of our conversations usually delved into deeper subjects. The only thing I could think of was, “Do you prefer cats or dogs?”

Mr. Darcy actually chuckled. “You always surprise me, Miss Bennet.”

I hoped that was a good thing, but I was too nervous to ask, seeing as I’d already pushed the envelope. “You did not answer my question.”

“I keep hunting dogs, but my sister Georgiana has a pet cat.”

“I like her already. I have a cat. Or I used to.” My voice hitched. I missed my little Mr. Darcy. He was the best kitty in the world.

“What happened to your cat?”

What could I say? I’d left him behind on earth or in another dimension? “Sadly, I do not know.”

Mr. Darcy patted my hand. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” This was getting weird, especially considering I’d named my cat after him.

“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy said in a rush. “May I have the honor of introducing you to my sister?”

Yes! Yes! Yes! I’d struck gold. “I would be delighted to meet her.”

Mr. Darcy flashed me a rare smile—a Fitz smile, the smile he reserved just for me.

I had to suppress my ache for Fitz. Someday I was going to need therapy over this—my book boyfriend come to life, looking like my best friend and the man I loved. It was really trippy.

“You have much in common with her. She plays and sings almost as well as you.”

“You think I play and sing well?”

“I have never met your equal.”

That was romantic, right?

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy.” I blushed.

“You are most welcome, Miss Bennet.”

Just when I was feeling confident, we rounded the last bend and saw Meryton ahead. The market square was bustling with people entering and exiting shops, carrying packages. Groups of people gathered, sharing the news of the day. There was a certain charm and quaintness to it. I loved the well-worn cobblestone streets and the symmetrical facades of the shops with large windows to display goods.

“Oh, look! Some of the officers from the regiment have arrived,” Lydia called.

I cringed and prayed Mr. Wickham wasn’t among them. “She really needs a puppy,” I lamented.

Mr. Darcy didn’t laugh like I’d hoped he would. He was probably thinking she wouldn’t make a good sister-in-law. He wasn’t wrong.

“Lydia, Kitty, do not run off,” Jane called after them in vain. She turned and gave me a pained expression.

“Headstrong girls,” I said, for my pleasure. No one else found it as comical as I did in my mind. “Shall we head to the milliner’s shop?” I suggested. I hoped someone knew where that was, because I had no idea.

Thankfully, Jane pointed us in the right direction. Unfortunately, it put us in the path of Mr. Wickham. And dang it, he totally looked like Tony. There he was among several officers, decked out in his bright-red regiment coat, complete with gold buttons. Even in this time period, he was handsome. Not that I was attracted to him, but it was no wonder he’d caught Elizabeth’s eye, especially considering the ease with which he conversed with his fellow officers. It was all very mind-bending. Seriously, I needed a therapist to sort all this out.

“Wickham,” Darcy seethed under his breath while Mr. Bingley gave his friend a knowing look.

“Who is Wickham?” I asked, as if I didn’t know.

“You need not worry about him,” Mr. Darcy said, which was disappointing. I’d hoped he would confide in me—not only because it meant he trusted me, but because it would make it a lot easier to explain to my family why we all needed to stay away from the rogue.

Because Mr. Darcy was wrong about one thing: I needed to worry about Wickham.