Chapter Sixteen
“Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”
MONROE
I LAY THERE ON THE settee, feeling stunned and mostly ignored. I knew with all my heart that despite what had transpired between Fitz and me in the last twenty-four hours, he would never have left me. This understanding sent wild theories running rampant through my mind. I had four hypothetical explanations: I was in a dream, or maybe a nightmare. But as hard as I tried, I couldn’t wake up, even after telling myself several times to awake, so I didn’t take that as a good sign. Next on my list was being trapped in some weird space-time continuum. Highly unlikely, considering I didn’t watch or read much science fiction and I’d never really understood any of Einstein’s theories. I didn’t even really know what space-time continuum meant. That led me to my third conjecture that perhaps Pride and Prejudice Park really was Fantasy Island and Mr. Roarke had granted me my wish to be an Elizabeth, as in the actual Elizabeth Bennet. Except I didn’t remember hopping on a plane and flying to a tropical island, or meeting Mr. Roarke. However, Great Britain is technically an island, so maybe Lady Catherine was filling in for Mr. Roarke. I was really hoping for this option, minus the part where I learn uncomfortable lessons about myself. But it was better than my last and least favorite option, that my toxic trait had finally done me in—as in, I hadn’t survived the fall. If that were the case, was I in heaven or hell?
Could one actually consider Pride and Prejudice to be heaven? I mean, hello, Mr. Darcy. Yes, please. I’d take him for eternity, especially if he looked like my Fitz. Maybe that’s how God worked. He gave you your greatest desire. But then that would mean ... I really was dead. I touched my arms, body, and head. They all hurt. It didn’t hurt after you died, right? So maybe this was Fantasy Island or a dream I could never wake up from?
One thing I knew for sure—I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. If only I had some ruby slippers. Just for kicks and giggles, I closed my eyes and quietly said “There’s no place like home” three times. No luck. I remained in the parlor watching Mrs. Bennet fangirl all over Mr. Bingley. She prattled on about how happy she was that he’d let Netherfield as she gripped Jane, making sure she stayed front and center. Jane kept looking pensively at me as if she wanted to come to my aid, but Mr. Bingley certainly seemed taken with her as he smiled and laughed easily. The guy definitely wasn’t Zane, who hadn’t exactly embraced his character since arriving at Pride and Prejudice Park. Lydia and Kitty giggled in the corner, and Mary played a morose tune on the pianoforte, missing notes here and there. They all acted as if nothing had happened. I started to question if anyone in this peculiar place genuinely cared that I’d been injured.
To answer my question, Mr. Bennet rushed in and came straight to me, kneeling in front of the settee. He still bore a resemblance to Idris Elba, but he had a paternal air reminiscent of Davis Gray, which thankfully didn’t draw me to him in a Freudian sort of way. That would have been all sorts of disgusting and would have me needing therapy if I ever found my way out of this. Assuming I could escape this place. Whatever this place was. But on the upside, heaven had to have a few therapists. Please, don’t let me be dead.
“My dearest Lizzy.” Mr. Bennet placed his chilly hand on my warm brow. “I heard you took a nasty fall from Ladybird. I had Hill call for Mr. Jones.”
Ladybird was the horse’s name in Pride and Prejudice Park, which made this all the more confusing.
“I told her not to ride. She is no horsewoman, unlike our dear Jane,” Mrs. Bennet made sure to point out to Bingley, which only reaffirmed to me that this wasn’t the cosplay cast. Laila Gray would never have behaved in such a manner, even if we were acting out a scene. And this hadn’t been included among the scripted scenes. It honestly wasn’t even in the book, although I suppose it could have been—we don’t know much about what happened in the fortnight between the announcement of Bingley letting out Netherfield and the Meryton assembly. I’m sure Elizabeth didn’t fall off a horse, as Mrs. Bennet pointed out that she was no horsewoman. But in real life—my life—I was a better horsewoman than Jane, I mean Macey. Oh, poor Macey—I hoped she hadn’t fallen off her horse too. It all felt so confusing.
“I should be off to find Darcy,” Mr. Bingley said in a rush.
I cringed, thinking about my interaction with Mr. Darcy—he probably thought I was a mental case. I needed to figure out a way to fix that when I saw him again. Hopefully he would chalk it up to a head injury, but he had to be wondering why I’d bring up the word sexy in conversation, or where I’d even learned such a phrase. I know some scholars, including Fitz, argued that the Regency era saw some cultural shifts regarding sex, but it was still not proper for the daughter of a gentleman to speak or act in such a manner. Case in point—look at how Mr. Darcy had behaved when I touched his hand with my bare skin. Admittedly, this was a bit of a bummer. Although it obviously wasn’t included in Austen’s story, I had really hoped that Darcy and Elizabeth had some passionate make-out sessions—off page—before they wed, sans gloves.
“You must promise to return.” Mrs. Bennet sounded positively desperate.
“I shall.” Mr. Bingley smiled at Jane.
Jane blushed and bowed her head.
“Miss Bennet, may I be so bold as to ask you for the first two dances tonight?” Mr. Bingley mumbled.
“Yes!” Mrs. Bennet answered for Jane.
“Very well.” Mr. Bingley dashed off.
Jane flashed me a mortified look but said nothing. It wasn’t surprising. In the novel, Jane hadn’t been good at sticking up for herself either.
I wanted to ease her mind, but my head hurt, and I was still freaking out about this unexpected plot twist in my life, or un-life. Was that even a word? Please, please, don’t let me be unalive. Before being actively engaged in this strange place, I should probably first work out why I was there. If it was like a space-time continuum thing, I was toast. I couldn’t even wrap my mind around a reason why that would happen. It would be easier to figure out if it ended up being a Fantasy Island episode. That would be obvious. I was here to become the best Elizabeth I could be, and to learn something horrid about myself that would teach me a moral lesson—you know, more horrid than being unable to truly help anyone, or my best friend offering me his heart, if only I changed everything about myself. There was still the remote possibility it was a dream and none of this really mattered, except I couldn’t wake up, and that was exponentially bad. Finally, if I was dead and this was heaven, well, I guess I should get my man, I mean Mr. Darcy, and live happily ever after. It might be the only way I could ever have Fitz. Would Mr. Darcy kiss like Fitz? Yes, please.
Poor Fitz; what must he be thinking and doing right now? Despite the harsh things he’d said to me last night, I knew it would crush him if I died or disappeared. But in his anguish, he probably still thought this would never have happened if I’d listened to him and followed his plan for me. Was he right? Did I need to stop helping people? Is this what I was supposed to learn here?
As soon as Mr. Bingley exited, Mrs. Bennet turned toward me, her brows furrowing and nose wrinkling. “You foolish girl. How could you fall off your horse in front of Mr. Bingley and his friend, Mr. Darcy? I must find out more about that gentleman—Mr. Darcy,” she said more to herself. “His clothes and manners show he must have five thousand or more a year. Thank heavens Mr. Bingley seems taken with Jane,” she exclaimed.
“Jane, Jane, Jane,” Kitty grumbled under her breath in the background.
Mary played the pianoforte louder, as if she, too, were weary of hearing Jane’s praises sung.
I’d never given much thought to how the younger sisters felt, constantly hearing about Jane’s beauty. Not that Jane didn’t deserve the praise—she is lovely—but maybe that was part of the reason they sought attention in less healthy ways. Of course, Lydia was a favorite of Mrs. Bennet’s, as well, but her mother and father didn’t consider her the beauty they did Jane.
“Perhaps it was fortunate your mishap brought an admirer for Jane,” Mrs. Bennet snapped. “Look at you, though, covered in mud—always mud with you. I told my brother and sister not to waste their money buying you a riding habit.”
I supposed she was talking about Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.
“My dear,” Mr. Bennet said in a strained voice. “I think it best if you retire to your rooms before the assembly. Think about your nerves.”
I got the feeling she was getting on his nerves.
“The assembly.” Mrs. Bennet lit up. “I cannot wait to tell Lady Lucas that Mr. Bingley has honored Jane with the first two dances.”
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Bennet chuckled. “We love to make sport for our neighbors.”
Jane finally came to my side, sat on the settee, and took my hand. She wore a muslin dress in light blue with a satin sash just below her bustline. Her hair was fashioned in a modest updo with a few curls framing her face. “Are you all right, Lizzy?”
No, I wasn’t all right. I just wanted to go home. I wanted Fitz, the jerk. Tears pricked my eyes, but I managed to say, “I am well.”
“Why has your voice changed?” Jane sounded concerned.
Dang it. I probably sounded very American. With a Midwestern accent at that. I don’t think the Midwest even existed in this time period. “No need to worry.” I switched to mimic Jane’s tone and accent, hoping I sounded like Elizabeth. “I think it was the shock of the fall.” Boy, was I ever shocked.
“Now you sound more like yourself,” Jane said, relieved.
“Mary, please stop playing.” Mrs. Bennet rubbed her head. “I think I will rest.” She swept out of the room with no thought for me at all.
“Let us get ready for the assembly.” Lydia pulled Kitty out of the room.
Mary sighed, grabbed a book, and muttered while exiting, “I do not understand all the excitement about the assembly. I would much rather read a book. The mind is, after all, our truest companion.”
I couldn’t help but giggle.
“There go the three silliest girls in the country.” Mr. Bennet shook his head before pressing his hand to my cheek. “Are you sure you are well, my dear?”
“Yes, Papa,” I said. The words came naturally, even though I wished for my own father. Had Fitz told him yet of my accident or demise?
“Very well. I count on your intelligence and spirit around here. I am going to see when we should expect Mr. Jones. If you are in pain, I think your mother may have a store of laudanum.”
Uh ... laudanum is opium. Yikes. But it did kind of explain a lot about her character. “That will not be necessary.” I had to keep reminding myself not to use contractions and to speak in a proper British accent.
“Good girl.” Mr. Bennet kissed my brow before he stood and wandered off.
I hoped the apothecary didn’t come. I could probably heal myself better than he could, especially if he was going to prescribe laudanum for the pain.
Jane patted my hand.
“Do I look awful?” I asked her, desperate for a mirror to examine myself.
“No. Just a few twigs and leaves in your hair.” Jane carefully plucked them out.
“I think I frightened Mr. Darcy.”
Jane smiled. “I think so. I am sure, though, he understands you were not yourself when you said those strange things and called him a different name. Who is Alastair Fitzroy?”
I bit my lip, trying not to cry. How did I explain who he was to me? I wasn’t sure I would ever see him again, and the thought pierced me so deeply, my chest hurt from how hard my heart pounded. The words didn’t come, so I asked Jane a question instead. “What did you think of Mr. Bingley?”
Her smooth cheeks pinked. “He is very gentlemanly and quite amiable,” she seemed embarrassed to say.
“Yes,” I agreed. “He obviously found you very pretty. And he is handsome.” Not to say this was a good foundation for a relationship, but I reflected that most women didn’t have the luxury of marrying for love in the 1800s, so I counted physical attraction as a huge win in this case.
She turned a brighter shade of red. “He is pleasing to look at.”
“He is.” I squeezed her hand, thinking of all the heartache she had ahead of her where Mr. Bingley was concerned.
I wanted to tell her it would all work out in the end, but that got me thinking. Was the heartache actually necessary? I mean, I knew how the story went. I could give her a few pointers. But was this another instance of trying to help when I shouldn’t? After all, I still hadn’t ruled out Fantasy Island , and I wanted to become the best Elizabeth possible. But would Elizabeth stand by and let Jane get her heart torn to shreds, even knowing in the end it would work out? That was a perplexing question. I did have a terrible track record for helping anyone, but maybe that was part of the fantasy—no toxic trait. That seemed too good to be true.
Yet, this place didn’t seem like it could be true.
No. No. No. I had to stop thinking like this. All my helpful plans ended in disaster.
“Lizzy,” Jane interrupted my existential crisis. “Mama wishes for one of us to marry Mr. Bingley.”
“I know.” Believe me, I knew.
“What if it were me?” she whispered, hardly daring to say it, as if admitting it would prevent it from coming true.
Dang it. She was making me want to unleash my terrible power of trying to improve a situation while making it exponentially worse. I couldn’t help but ask myself: What if Charles Bingley didn’t have to leave Netherfield? Could Jane make Bingley believe her affections were strong enough that Mr. Darcy wouldn’t interfere with their relationship?
What was I even thinking? That wasn’t the story.
Yet ... I was no ordinary Elizabeth. I didn’t have any pride or prejudice against Mr. Darcy, even though he had just dropped me like a sack of potatoes on the settee. But I knew under that prideful exterior, he would fall in love with me and save Lydia from Wickham—who I would not be befriending. Ooh ... that led me down another rabbit hole. What if I could prevent that horrible situation? I could tell everyone there when Wickham showed up with the regiment that he was a charlatan of the worst sort. Of course, this was assuming I really was in the actual Pride and Prejudice story or Fantasy Island . Except this could be the Without Pride and Prejudice version, I thought to myself and smiled.
“What is it, Lizzy?” Jane asked, noticing my grin.
I thought of something Lizzy might say. “I was just thinking that it should be you who marries Bingley. You who sees the best in everyone and are the kindest among us.”
“Sister, you are being too kind.”
“No, Jane, I am not.” I so badly wanted to tell her to do everything in her power to make Bingley believe she cared for him, but I held my tongue, as hard as it was, for fear of failure. And for fear of what would become of me if I didn’t play my part right.
But I had to wonder ... What part was I supposed to play, and how would this all end? Hopefully, I would be not dead.