Chapter Seventeen
“We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him.”
MONROE
WITH THE HELP OF A footman, I prepared to step out of the carriage behind Mrs. Bennet and Jane. Several other footmen lingered about outside the modest stone assembly hall with arched windows and double doors, waiting for carriages and carrying lanterns to illuminate the dark night. I had never thought about how truly dark it would be in this time period. The scent of burning oil and candles lingered everywhere. It felt almost claustrophobic. So much so, I forgot to be amazed that I was in the very place I’d imagined and daydreamed about for years. It also might have had something to do with Lydia using a bourdaloue in the carriage—it kind of ruined the charm of the situation. I don’t care how badly I had to relieve myself—I would never shove that gravy bowl–looking thing under my dress and use it in front of everyone. The fact I’d had to use a chamber pot earlier still haunted me and made me long for flushing toilets and running water. If this was a dream, I had to believe I could either make modern plumbing possible, or I would have woken up before I had to use that chamber pot.
However, I had more pressing thoughts on my mind now than the toilet situation. I was about to come face-to-face with Mr. Darcy again. Thankfully, this time I wouldn’t be lying in a field with twigs in my hair and mud on my dress, though I still felt quite achy. The apothecary had been of no help. He’d mixed a tincture, claiming it would aid in my recovery, but he wouldn’t tell me what was in it, so I refused it, to his dismay. But no matter how much I hurt, I had to attend tonight’s assembly. I needed to set in motion my journey as Elizabeth. And even though Mr. Darcy believed me to be a lunatic and would be snubbing me tonight, I needed to see him—to be reminded of my Fitz.
The lady’s maid who had waited on Jane and me had become frustrated when I insisted on doing my own hair. I wanted to look as pretty as I could, so I styled my hair in a Grecian knot, although I did have her help me with curling the back of my hair and adding some pearls. The curling tool she used looked absolutely archaic and, frankly, scared me.
I wished I could take a picture of myself. I thought I looked quite well in the white lace-trimmed muslin dress with short puffed sleeves. At least I felt pretty. I had to remind myself that although Mr. Darcy would not find me handsome enough to tempt him, a girl had to try—especially since I already knew his heart, even if he didn’t know it himself. Since I couldn’t have Fitz, maybe I could have the next best thing in Mr. Darcy. And since Mr. Darcy looked like him, it might be like having Fitz there with me. They had similar personalities—including speaking Darcy oh so well. And how could I be the best Elizabeth without Darcy?
After being here for some hours, I’d narrowed my theories down to two possibilities: Fantasy Island or the least-favorite option. They were the only ones that made sense. I’d never had a dream so elaborate or one last for so long, and, try as I might, I couldn’t wake up. That left me either to play out the fantasy or live for eternity with Mr. Darcy. Of course, I would be heartbroken to never see Fitz or my family again, but if I thought about it too much, it would crush me.
“Come, Lizzy, make haste,” Mrs. Bennet shrieked, rousing me out of my thoughts. I stepped out of the carriage, and immediately, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia exited after me. Kitty and Lydia laughed obnoxiously and ran for the doors, while Mary looked pensive. It was then I noticed that her dress was shabbier than everyone else’s and whoever had helped with her hair had been careless. That wouldn’t do.
I strung my arm through Mary’s as we walked in the night’s chill, hoping I wasn’t doing anything I shouldn’t. In the book, the Meryton assembly was basically described quickly and almost after the fact. Jane Austen left out many details. So maybe Elizabeth had helped Mary fix her hair. Regardless, it didn’t seem right that Mary should look so dowdy compared to the rest of us. Unless she wanted to be that way, but I had a feeling it bothered her.
Mary narrowed her eyes at me incredulously. “What is this?”
So maybe they weren’t the closest of sisters. “I was just thinking that perhaps I could help you with your hair. Some of it seems to have fallen out.”
Mary’s cheeks flushed, and she went on the defensive. “Well, no one had time to help me.”
“That is terrible,” I commiserated with her. “I would like to help you now.” Assuming I could. Should I even try?
“Why?” she asked suspiciously.
“Because we are sisters, and it is only right.”
Her features softened, but she didn’t say anything. She only gave me a slight nod.
As soon as we entered the assembly hall, the sounds of lively chatter and laughter filled the air. I breathed in the scent of beeswax and mulled wine with hints of the floral-scented perfumes everyone seemed to be wearing. At least it didn’t smell like body odor, or worse, like I’d been afraid it might. Perhaps I shouldn’t have worried. I recalled a conversation that Fitz and I once had about the Regency era. I was ever curious about it, given my obsession with Jane Austen novels. He said it was probably a lot less smelly than most people thought, especially among gentlefolk. My heart ached for him to be there, to help calm my fears like he always had. To kiss me again—no, no, no. We could have no more of that; I embarrassed him.
I focused back on the sights before me and what a vision it was. The ballroom, with its gleaming polished-wood floors, seemed to invite every step to be taken with grace. Elegant candle chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a warm and gentle light that bathed the room in a delicate glow. Several people gathered in groups, chatting animatedly, anticipating the merriment ahead. This was really happening. Who needed Pride and Prejudice Park when you could have the real thing? You know, unless I was D-E-A-D.
Mrs. Bennet had begun gossiping already with Lady Lucas and Elizabeth’s aunt—Mrs. Phillips, I believed. They looked like the staff members who I swore played them in Pride and Prejudice Park. My mind was doing some trippy things here. No doubt she couldn’t wait to tell them that Mr. Bingley had already asked Jane for the first two dances, and that we’d all met Mr. Darcy.
Charlotte appeared. Yep, she looked like the Charlotte from Pride and Prejudice Park, except she didn’t seem so stupid as to want to hook up with my ex-fiancé. I still wished I knew why Tony had shown up on our would-be honeymoon, but I had more important mysteries to solve, like why I was living the actual Pride and Prejudice story .
“Lizzy.” Charlotte approached Mary and me and kissed me lightly on each cheek. “You are looking exceptionally pretty tonight.” She sounded all astonishment.
“Charlotte,” I said affectionately, praying I was right and wondering if I looked so different from the real Elizabeth. “Thank you. I hope you are well?”
“Are you well?” she asked, concerned. “It is rumored you fell off your horse and were rescued by none other than Mr. Bingley and his friend.”
Wow. That got around quickly.
“Well. Yes.”
Charlotte’s brow quirked, intrigued. “You must tell me about Mr. Darcy,” she whispered. “Some say he has ten thousand a year.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I refrained, reminding myself Elizabeth would have found that noteworthy as well. “I need to help Mary with her hair,” I responded, not knowing what to say about Mr. Darcy. The real Elizabeth would have probably felt slighted by his behavior and most definitely embarrassed about how I had acted in her stead. I hoped no one but Mr. Bingley knew about the basket-weaving thing, or our awkward conversation where I’d informed Mr. Darcy that we’d kissed and that he loved me.
Charlotte looked surprised that I wished to help Mary. Ugh. Was I doing Elizabeth all wrong?
“Go on without me,” Mary said miserably.
“Let us all go into the cloakroom,” I suggested, pointing at the small room off to the side, filled with benches and the walls lined with pegs. “I can fix your hair there while we talk.”
Both women seemed to find it odd but followed me anyway.
Once in the room that was thankfully void of anyone else at the moment, I had Mary sit on one of the benches. Charlotte stood near, eyeing me as if she wondered if I were truly okay.
I went to work on Mary’s hair, removing the poorly placed pins, trying not to be grossed out by the excess styling lotion she’d used. I hoped this wasn’t inappropriate behavior and nothing horrible happened to Mary because I fixed her hair. Oh gosh, I probably shouldn’t have been doing this. But she seemed so sad.
“Is Mr. Darcy as handsome as the rumors say he is?” Charlotte whispered.
“Yes,” I responded, while Mary said, “I would not say there was anything extraordinary about him.”
I wanted to ask her if she was blind, but then I remembered that in the book she fancied Mr. Collins. A little too late, but all the same, she wanted him. Oh gosh, another crazy thought hit me. What if I helped Mary get Mr. Collins and found someone more suitable for Charlotte so she didn’t have to encourage her husband to always spend time tending his gardens? This was assuming I even got that far into the story. But what was I even thinking? Did I think I knew better than the queen of literature, Jane Austen? Of course not. I was the person who made pregnant mothers miss their flights and broke up couples at the airport. And let’s not forget that my picture was in the Daily Mail , along with a scathing article about how ridiculous I was. Once again, I was going to scrub my mind of these insane thoughts. I would be a proper Elizabeth.
“Hmm. Well, I will judge for myself tonight.” Charlotte sat down on the bench. “I hope he likes to dance. There are always more ladies than men.”
“He does not,” I said before I could stop myself.
Charlotte and Mary both gave me sideways glances.
“What I meant to say,” I laughed, “is that he is not acquainted with anyone here, so I imagine he will not wish to dance except with those in his company.” I blathered on like an idiot while trying to get Mary’s hair into a chignon.
Charlotte tilted her pretty head. I don’t care what Mrs. Bennet thought—Charlotte wasn’t plain. She had sparkling green eyes and neatly styled sandy-brown hair. When she smiled, it was genuine and warm, much different from the version I knew in real life. Wait. Was this my real life now? I was so confused. Regardless, this version of Charlotte looked at me like I was a nutjob. Maybe I was.
“I hear Mr. Bingley already asked Jane for the first two dances. I do not see why Mr. Darcy would be any different,” Charlotte noted.
Oh, he was different, all right. I offered Charlotte a placating smile, knowing it would seem odd for me to continue to disagree.
It didn’t take me long to fix Mary’s hair. It wasn’t perfect, but at least it worked better with her delicate facial features, and it looked tidier. Please, please, let it stay and not embarrass her. Knowing my track record, I probably shouldn’t have helped her.
When we left the cloakroom, a small ensemble started to play a lively tune I believe modern-day Lady Catherine had called “Mr. Beveridge’s Maggot.” I only remembered it because of the odd title. But it meant this would be a country dance. Sadly, I didn’t really feel like dancing. My body ached, and I wasn’t sure jumping around was going to make it feel any better.
However, watching Jane stand up with Bingley lifted my spirits. Mrs. Bennet stood to the side in a dither, talking too loudly to Lady Lucas and Mrs. Phillips and saying things she probably shouldn’t, like, “Mr. Bingley is rich, you know. Five thousand a year. Jane and Mr. Bingley look well together, do they not?”
Mary and Charlotte, who hadn’t left my side, obviously heard her and giggled. I didn’t find it funny at all because I knew the problems it was going to cause for Jane and even Elizabeth—the real one, and maybe me too.
Watching Jane and Mr. Bingley reminded me that if Bingley was here, it meant Mr. Darcy had to be as well. My heart skipped several beats as I scanned the crowd for him, needing to see him. He was a link to Fitz in some cosmically weird way.
It didn’t take long to spot him across the ballroom, standing tall and aloof, making a cravat look oh so sexy and trying not to make eye contact with anyone. It was very much how Fitz used to behave in school. He didn’t want to accidentally give anyone an inkling he might be interested in speaking to them, even our professors. It took everything in me not to run to Mr. Darcy and beg him to help me out of this situation, but then I remembered he wasn’t my best friend. And who could forget our disastrous meeting earlier in the day? How could I recover from that?
But as if he knew I was peering at him, his eyes met mine. Instead of turning away in disgust like I assumed he would, his gaze penetrated me so deeply, I froze and held my breath. The moment didn’t last long. He shook his head as if bothered and then forced himself to look away.
I didn’t have time to process what had just happened because a man I didn’t know approached me as Mary, Charlotte, and I skirted the edges of the dance floor. He gave me a slight bow. “May I have the honor of this dance?”
“Oh, uh. I do not mean to dance tonight. I am not feeling well. Perhaps you could dance with my friend or sister.” I pointed to Mary and Charlotte, feeling so out of place. I wanted the script I’d memorized for Pride and Prejudice Park. Was I supposed to know this man? Was it rude to decline? I knew Elizabeth danced at the assembly in the book. Not every dance, but she did stand up a few times.
The man blinked as if I’d stunned him. “Er, all right.” He turned to Mary, who looked ever so pleased about the attention, even though it was secondhand. “May I have the honor of this dance?”
Mary paused pensively as if she were having an internal debate, like it would go against all she stood for if she danced. So, I did what big sisters do—I replied on her behalf, “She would be honored.”
Mary threw me a scathing glance, but it quickly softened into a smile.
“How odd,” Charlotte said as soon as the couple left. “Mary hates to dance. She would rather play the pianoforte or reflect on her moral inclination.”
Reflect on moral inclination? Well, that sounded like loads of fun. I wanted to say that it was probably a defense mechanism because Mary wasn’t sure of herself and probably had middle child syndrome, but I didn’t think those terms would mean a thing here. But, crap, did Mary’s change mean I was already ruining the story and my chances of leaving this place? Or was I going to have to live for eternity knowing I’d ruined one of the greatest novels of all time? That sounded like something that would happen to me. Look what I’d done in my real life—I could have been part of the UK peerage. Not that I ever really wanted to be, but that’s not the point.
“And you surprise me, Lizzy.” Charlotte and I weaved in and out among the spectators. “Declining Mr. Rutledge. His father is one of the wealthiest men in the county, and he is set to inherit. And I dare say Mr. Rutledge is most handsome too.”
I supposed he was handsome, but I only cared about one man tonight—the man I could feel staring at me. Don’t ask me how, but I knew it. It was like feeling Fitz’s eyes on me.
Charlotte and I found seats not far from Mr. Darcy and none other than Caroline Bingley, who had planted herself as closely as she could to him. I assumed the other woman was Mrs. Hurst. There was no Mrs. Hurst at Pride and Prejudice Park, since it was such an insignificant part, but they looked like sisters, both with auburn hair and haughty attitudes. Also, their velvet dresses spoke of which character they were in the story. And dang it if Caroline didn’t look like Winnifred. Ugh. Why?
I could only imagine what the real Lady Winnifred was doing right now. In the event that I was, in fact, dead, she would probably be throwing a party and trying to comfort Fitz. No doubt she and Fitz’s mum would be downright gleeful and probably picking out a wedding dress for Winnifred. In the event that I was still alive, I didn’t know what would currently be happening to my body. Maybe it was still lying in the field? If that was the case, Winnifred would probably try to stomp on my head and call it an accident.
While we sat there, a few more men asked me to dance. I declined each time, to Charlotte’s dismay and shock.
“You seem to be a favorite tonight,” she said, surprised. “Even more so than Jane.”
I wrung my gloved hands. “I cannot imagine why.”
Charlotte surveyed me carefully. “There is something different about you, Lizzy.” She seemed as perplexed as I felt.
I was grateful when the next man who asked me to dance extended his invitation to Charlotte, once I again declined. It gave me more time to observe Mr. Darcy. I wanted to apologize to him but knew I couldn’t approach him without a proper introduction, and I kept thinking about what Lady Catherine had said at Pride and Prejudice Park— “A lady must never force a man to pay attention to her.” However, I believed Mr. Darcy was paying attention to me. Each time I stole a glance his way, I found him staring at me. Of course, he would divert his gaze every time I caught him. It was kind of fun, except for the possibility that I wasn’t handsome enough to tempt him.
After the next set of dances was over, the ballroom became a flurry of activity as partners were exchanged and people headed for the refreshments. I noticed that all my sisters and Charlotte had found new dance partners. Mary beamed with pride at being asked once again. I was more than happy her hair was holding up beautifully. Maybe this once, I could help someone, even if it was just a small thing. More interesting to me was Mr. Bingley coming to talk to Mr. Darcy.
Was this the moment of the slight? Should I move closer so I could hear it? It was my job in the story to relay it to my friends and Mrs. Bennet so she could tell Mr. Bennet and anyone else who would listen to her about her distaste for Mr. Darcy. That way, everyone would start to abhor him. At least, that’s how the story is supposed to go. Jane Austen intended it that way. This wasn’t Without Pride and Prejudice , although I didn’t feel very proud of myself at the moment, and I held no prejudices against Mr. Darcy. He’d only behaved earlier like a man of his time would if a woman said the things I had—things that now mortified me.
Who was I to trample on greatness? Maybe Fitz was right. I had to stop trying to fix everything. The thought hurt so deeply, I felt it in my toes. I replayed every failed attempt to help someone in my head like a horror film, starting with my beautiful mom, whose life had been tragically cut short, to Macey, terrified on her horse. For once in my life, I was going to do the right thing. I would not go off script. I would finally be an Elizabeth. The Elizabeth, even.
I stood to move closer to Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, who were talking quietly between themselves. I imagined Mr. Bingley scolding his friend for not dancing, especially when there were so many ladies without partners. Mr. Darcy was probably lamenting that Mr. Bingley was dancing with the only handsome woman in the room. Mr. Bingley would reply she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever beheld, and he would say I was very pretty. Of course, Mr. Darcy wouldn’t agree. He wouldn’t want to stand up with a woman whom other men had slighted. Except ... no one had slighted me. I’d done the slighting. But he probably didn’t know that.
Anyway, I was already feeling the sting of rejection before it even happened, even though I knew he would change his mind. Maybe it was because Fitz had just recently broken my heart.
I steeled myself and moved closer to hear the awful words, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me.” I stood and waited and waited, but I couldn’t overhear them.
Mr. Bingley turned toward me, smiling. “Miss Bennet, it is good to see you up and well.”
Wait ... that wasn’t in the story. He was supposed to leave Mr. Darcy and dance with Jane again.
I curtsied, not knowing what else to do. “Thank you, Mr. Bingley. And may I also give thanks for rescuing me? I fear I may have said some foolish words and acted in a manner unbefitting a young lady.” That was putting it mildly, but I needed Mr. Darcy to know I wasn’t a lunatic. I mean, some might disagree on that point—you could ask the Daily Mail , but the Daily Mail didn’t exist yet.
Mr. Bingley laughed good-naturedly, but Mr. Darcy’s face was impassive and didn’t reveal a thing.
“We certainly do not fault you, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Bingley said cheerfully.
I wasn’t sure Mr. Darcy agreed. His careful study of me was unnerving, but at least he hadn’t run off.
“Please allow me to properly introduce you to Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bingley offered.
Uh ... okay. I didn’t see this coming. I was trying to do things by the book here. Literally by the book. But how could I refuse? It would only make me look like a bigger nutjob. I was sure he would slight me after, right?
“Miss Bennet,” Mr. Bingley continued, “may I introduce you to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire.” He said nothing of his estate, Pemberley.
Mr. Darcy gave a proper bow. When he raised his head, he made sure to make eye contact. Oh, what contact it was. His broody gray eyes went straight through me. It was as if Fitz inhabited his body, and I wanted Mr. Darcy now more than ever.
“Mr. Darcy, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
I curtsied perfectly. “It is an honor to meet you properly.” Truer words I had never spoken.
“The honor is mine, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy replied.
Oh, baby, a shiver went through me. I don’t know what was happening, but I was here for it. Sorry, Jane Austen. I did try to stick to the book.
The ensemble started to play “La Belle Catherine,” making Mr. Bingley startle. “I must be off.” He left Mr. Darcy and me to stare awkwardly at each other.
I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, but I felt as if every eye in the ballroom was on us. Was it improper for us to be so close? We weren’t touching, but I was drawing his attention toward me. I turned to leave, feeling flushed and foolish.
“Miss Bennet, would you honor me with this dance?” Mr. Darcy asked.
Say what? Maybe I was dreaming.