Chapter Twenty-Two
“We all love to instruct, though we can teach only what is not worth knowing.”
MONROE
WHO WAS THE BEST ELIZABETH Bennet, you may ask? Me. That’s right, baby. I don’t know what happened, but in this place, I could finally help people. Like, really help them. Case in point—Mary was beautifully playing and singing Handel’s “Lascia ch’io pianga” for a large group at Lucas Lodge just a week after my arrival. At least I think it had been a week. I felt like time did weird things in whatever this place was. It made me worry that I’d irrevocably altered the story and timeline somehow without meaning to. So maybe I wasn’t the best Elizabeth, but to see Mary master the difficult musical piece was so gratifying, especially because her confidence had so obviously grown. We’d worked tirelessly on it every spare moment we could. You know, between me dining at Netherfield a few more times with Jane and taking walks with Mr. Darcy, Jane, and Mr. Bingley. The etiquette rules of the day really were a bummer and allowed for zero alone time.
I’d found in my life that you really get to know someone in private times. And I don’t mean that in a physical sort of way. Obviously, I knew Fitz better than anyone, or at least I thought I had, and our relationship had never been physical until that kiss. Oh, that kiss. I tried to forget about it, but I couldn’t. It was the kiss of a lifetime, one where you saw your past, present, and future all rolled up in one beautiful package. Now I wasn’t sure I even had a future. Anyway, I digress. By private times, I meant when you are most vulnerable, saying things from your heart that you don’t want shared except with the person to whom your heart is becoming attached. Because you want that person to understand you wholly, even if it scares you.
Not to say Mr. Darcy was becoming attached to me. I only knew he thought I had a keen mind, and he enjoyed discussing books and current events, which meant I was reading like crazy. So maybe he was falling for my brain, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Especially given that I could really do with a good moisturizer here. Now I think I knew what they meant by losing one’s bloom. It was just a lack of lotion. Jane had tried to get me to use alum water, but I’d had to explain that, given its chemical properties, it was going to cause premature wrinkles. She’d stared at me like I was a stranger. She had no idea how odd I was. That being said, I could possibly shrivel up here, so it would be a good thing for Mr. Darcy to love me for my mind and not my looks.
I looked to my left where Mr. Darcy sat close, but not too close, on a stiff-backed chair in the warm and inviting drawing room. The Lucas family had obviously taken great care to make their home comfortable for guests, with plentiful seating and a large fireplace to keep the room heated. Sir Lucas always seemed to smile or offer some refreshments to his guests.
Mr. Darcy must have felt my eyes on him, for he turned his head and offered me a muted smile. I had a feeling this wasn’t really his thing, not that I blamed him. Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Phillips sat across the room from us, and even above Mary’s beautiful number, you could hear them indelicately conjecturing about the prospect of Jane and me making good matches. It was cringey to say the least, going far above and beyond the dad jokes my dad loved to tell my dates. Maybe I should have said something to Mrs. Bennet to encourage her to be more discreet. After all, I was becoming one of her favorites, so perhaps she would listen to me.
I wanted so badly to pat Mr. Darcy’s leg or take his hand to let him know I wished I could ease his discomfort. Or, you know, give him a flick of my head that said, Let’s get out of here and talk or, better yet, kiss. If Cher had taught me anything, it was this—if you want to know how he feels about you, it’s in his kiss. But that dang Regency propriety was a killjoy.
What was not a killjoy was how cute Mr. Bingley and Jane were. They stood next to each other not far from the pianoforte. I swear I could see their fingers almost touch as they held their hands at their sides. I had a theory about Jane. Although her tendency was to be more on the reserved side, I believed Miss Bingley intimidated her so much in the story that she couldn’t be herself around Mr. Bingley. But with me around, not only did Jane get to spend more time with Mr. Bingley without his sister, but I made sure to keep dear Miss Bingley in check by drawing the attention away from her and back to Jane. Jane and I had even performed a few duets while dining at Netherfield. And oh, Miss Bingley detested me for it. In fact, I was worried she would plot her revenge.
As soon as Mary finished and before anyone could clap, Lydia jumped up and said, “Mary, play something we can dance to.”
Mr. Darcy groaned, and I laughed. “I hope you do not think that I wish to dance.” Not that I wouldn’t dance with him, but I was beginning to understand what a private person he was. Much like my Fitz.
Mr. Darcy looked most relieved, but there was always the hint of a question about me in his eyes. I wasn’t sure what it meant.
“We could play cards.” I suggested, not knowing if that was proper or not.
“Miss Bennet, you are most unusual,” he said above the noise of the lively tune and the excitement of couples standing up to dance.
His comment took me aback. “I do hope you mean that as a compliment, sir,” I couldn’t help but say.
“I believe so, madam,” he said, his tone bordering between seriousness and playfulness.
Huh. This was good. Right? Well ... it was, until Miss Bingley materialized in front of us, seemingly out of thin air.
“Miss Eliza, I wonder if I might have a word with you?”
“Yes.” I sat there waiting for her to speak, knowing darn well whatever she wanted to say, she didn’t wish it to be in front of Mr. Darcy.
“In private,” she said through a strained smile, doing her best to look well in front of Mr. Darcy. “Perhaps we could take a turn about the room.”
“Of course.” I stood, playing along because I’d always wanted to take a turn about a room. But before I walked off, I made sure to smile at Mr. Darcy. “Promise me you will not start the games without me.”
Miss Bingley tchted so well.
Mr. Darcy’s eyes widened. I’d caught him off guard again, yet he replied, “You have my word.”
Mostly satisfied and maybe even a little woozy from my exchange with Mr. Darcy, I followed Miss Bingley’s lead and began our turn about the merry room with some trepidation. I wasn’t as witty as Elizabeth, and I knew this woman could wreck me. I did have to give her props, though, for how gracefully she sashayed. Maybe I should try to walk more elegantly.
As soon as she felt comfortable that we were out of Mr. Darcy’s earshot, Miss Bingley strung her arm through mine and pulled me closer. She narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw so tightly, I thought it might break as she began to speak. “Miss Bennet, as a friend, I wish to offer you a word of caution,” she hissed.
Friend? How laughable. “What is that, Miss Bingley?”
“You should know that Mr. Darcy is destined to marry Miss Anne de Bourgh of Rosings Park, daughter of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
Tell me something I didn’t know. “And how did you come to learn this?” Miss Bingley never mentioned this in the novel, and I can’t imagine her keeping it to herself if she’d had knowledge of it. Which meant I’d done something to further alter the story. What had I done? Sorry, Jane Austen. Also, was Agatha going to pop up in this place as Lady Catherine? Could I put in a request for that not to happen?
“I am well connected,” Miss Bingley gloated.
“I appreciate your concern, but I wonder why you feel the need to give me such a warning.” Of course, I had an inkling, but I needed to know if Mr. Darcy was indeed starting to develop feelings for me. I had to preserve that part of the story—he was all I had of Fitz. Plus, you know, it was one of the greatest loves of all time. The world was counting on me.
She stepped closer to me, appraising me with a sneer. “As unconnected as you are, I know you are not a simpleton. The attention Mr. Darcy pays you and the way he speaks of your fine eyes might give one an inflated opinion of her worth,” she spat, although her voice trembled, unable to finish her thought.
“He thinks I have fine eyes?” I grinned. I’d hoped he had, but Elizabeth never hears that firsthand in the book.
“This is not a game, Miss Eliza. I would not trifle with Lady Catherine de Bourgh if I were you.”
Oh, but Elizabeth was meant to trifle with Lady Catherine. Only one question remained: Was I a strong enough Elizabeth to emerge the victor? I needed to write down everything I could remember of how Elizabeth had taken her down in their epic tête-à-tête.
“Are you saying that Mr. Darcy is not a man of integrity?”
Miss Bingley’s jaw dropped, appalled. “How dare you misconstrue my words.”
A rush of Elizabeth swept through me. “Did I, Miss Bingley? If Mr. Darcy,” I whispered, “is to be engaged to another woman, and if he is a man of integrity, there would be no need to warn me.” Game, set, match. Or at least I thought.
Miss Bingley gripped my arm ever tighter. “I do not doubt Mr. Darcy’s integrity. It is yours I question.”
“Mine?”
“Yes, Miss Eliza. You do not think I notice your cunning ways?”
“Cunning ways?” Was she serious?
Her severe look said she was dead serious. “It is apparent that not only do you mean to orchestrate a match above your station for yourself, but for your sister as well. Your efforts to secure a husband for your friend Miss Lucas only further expose your scheming nature.”
I craned my head to watch Charlotte dance with Mr. Rutledge, one of the men who had asked me to dance at the Meryton assembly. I’d learned that Mr. Rutledge’s father owned the most successful mercantile shop in town, and as the eldest son, he helped run it. While Charlotte smiled and danced with enthusiasm, he glanced frequently at Mary at the pianoforte. That was unfortunate. I’d been hoping that Charlotte and he might hit it off. I admit that earlier in the evening, I’d mentioned to Mr. Rutledge that Charlotte was interested in knowing more about the mercantile shop—a day-in-and-day-out take. He’d seemed most pleased about it and had started chatting her up. Had Miss Bingley noticed that? I’d thought I’d been discreet.
Regardless, I was only trying to help a friend who believed she was over the hill at twenty-seven—which was crazy, since I was two years older than that in real life. Granted, life expectancies were a lot different here, as were societal norms. And let’s not forget these women weren’t properly moisturizing. They were all bound to shrivel up early.
“My only intent, Miss Bingley, is to be a good sister and friend.” And, you know, to avoid totally ruining this story.
“Yes, I see what a dutiful sister you are, always putting dear Jane in the spotlight and even your sister, Mary. And you with your books and insights, it is almost as if you had someone spy on Mr. Darcy to learn all about him.”
She wasn’t exactly wrong; I had the manual, so to speak, and Fitz. Oh, Fitz. Where was he when I needed him?
“Spy?” I laughed nervously as we walked slowly around the room, which had suddenly become stuffy. “What an imagination you have. Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps Mr. Darcy and I have many things in common?”
It was her turn to laugh. “Miss Eliza, you lack connections and accomplishments. Those are the things that matter most.”
I knew she was only jealous and it would be best if I held my tongue. Instead of levelheadedly walking away, I stopped and directed my gaze toward Mr. Darcy, who was staring at us with interest, and added more fuel to Miss Bingley’s fire. “Or perhaps he cares more about my figure.”
“Shocking girl,” Miss Bingley scolded me. “I have never heard anything so abominable.”
No doubt Mr. Darcy hadn’t either, but I bet he was going to.
I was the worst Elizabeth ever.