2. Chapter 2 #2
His face reddened. “Yes, well, that was a terrible mistake made by my former assistant shopkeeper. Miss Bingley, please forgive me but I have to ask you to return the mirror at once.”
“I’m sorry, Reggie, but I’m currently using it. I will consider your offer to purchase it back.”
“Consider—” He cleared his throat. “I believe you underestimate the gravity of the situation.”
He continued speaking, but I tuned him out, glancing out the window as Elizabeth Bennet ambled up the drive wearing a purple dress with a boat collar and slit on the left side.
Just like mine. It was like looking at myself in a mirror—a mirror that reflected what might have been if I bought imitation versions of designer dresses.
Though her dress was slightly different from mine, it was still too similar to tolerate.
I pulled out my phone and quickly texted Sydney.
Emergency. Meet me in the breakfast room.
I turned to Mr. McFarland. “I’m sorry, but I have an urgent matter to attend to.” He followed closely on my heels, but I ignored his sounds of protest behind me. He gasped as I opened the door. “That’s my mirror!”
Netherfield conscientiously made it soundproof as I shut it behind me so I wouldn’t have to listen to him sputtering on the other side of it. A moment later, Sydney joined me inside. Luckily, I saw no signs of Mr. McFarland lurking outside when she slipped in.
Her navy cocktail dress flattered her figure and made her look both elegant and capable. “What’s the emergency?” she asked, breathless.
“I need you to change dresses with me.”
She gave me a flat look. “And why, exactly, do you need me to do that?”
“Because Elizabeth Bennet just showed up in a dress that, to the untrained eye, is quite similar to mine. I can’t have someone looking like me, especially not tonight when I need to stand out and impress everyone.”
Sydney looked me over. “Your dress won’t fit me.”
She was shorter than me and curvier through the hips and chest. The extra room in the bust would make the fabric drape over my cleavage. I could make it look intentional. Sydney would look terrible in my dress, though.
“Okay, fine. How about you go tell that imposter she is uninvited to the party?”
“Absolutely not.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Why are we even having this argument—you literally live here. Just go change.”
I bristled at her tone, but I respected it when Sydney stood up to me. Especially when she was right.
“Fine. You go mingle some more. And make sure your hot brother doesn’t flirt with anyone while I’m gone.”
She rolled her eyes but they twinkled with mirth.
Netherfield opened up a passage for me to my bedroom so I could avoid all the party guests. I was changing into a cream Balmain dress when I got a text from Sydney.
Hurry up, Elizabeth Bennet is talking to Jack
Ugh, no. I’ll be right down
Kidding. But Lady Catherine just arrived so hurry
I tossed my phone on my bed and zipped up my cream dress.
The Balmain radiated glamor and—on me— it was edgy, as its satin fabric was exactly the color of my skin tone.
Jack would—no. I shouldn’t be dressing for Jack.
I should be dressing for Lady Catherine.
I went back to my closet and selected a black Suhair Murad.
It had intricate detailing and was eye-catching but wasn’t going to distract from the real star of the show—the breakfast room.
Suitably unique again, I hurried back downstairs to a lounge full of people. Charles really had invited half the town. I plucked a glass of champagne from a tray, took a long drink, and stepped into a group of stately, older women. A group that included Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
She wore a pale lavender pantsuit and an overstated pearl necklace that highlighted her naturally white hair.
She was in the middle of a story about the “amiable and compliant Pastor Collins.” I listened attentively, even though the story dragged on for almost ten minutes, giving a quick laugh or empathetic smile as the story progressed, hoping she’d feel a moment of connection.
“Where’s Anne this evening?” I asked her.
“I’m afraid she wasn’t feeling well, so she stayed home to rest.” She launched into another story before I could say another word.
Elizabeth walked by, chatting with Charles. I hated that she looked so good in an imitation of that purple dress that was supposed to make me stand out. My glare must have drawn her gaze because her eyes met mine. I changed my expression to bored and unimpressed and she turned quickly away.
A lovely older gnome lady joined the group and stood next to me.
Her large eyes were bright and she wore a knitted skirt that somehow made her look classic rather than silly.
When there was a break in the story, she extended her small hand to me.
“Hello. I’m Gladys Ponvale.” Wizened silver hair peeked out from under a simple hat and opals dripped from her ears and at her throat.
“I’m very pleased to meet you. I’m Caroline Bingley. I hope you’re enjoying the party.”
“I feel better than I have in weeks. Am I to assume that you designed the rest of these rooms as well as the one you’re showcasing?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. McFarland skulking off toward the exit.
Good. I didn’t need to worry about him disrupting my party.
I turned my attention back to Gladys. “Charles has many skills, but creating a comfortably elegant home isn’t one of them so I was happy to step in.
I’ve always had a knack for interior design, but now that we’ve moved to Austen Heights, I’ve decided I’m ready to share my talents with others. ”
“You’ve done a beautiful job with this house. I’m actually in the middle of a renovation, but I haven’t been seeing eye to eye with my designer. Would you be willing to finish the project for me?”
While I didn’t love the idea of working on something that had already been started by another designer, I was eager to prove myself.
“I’d be happy to help. May I come over tomorrow afternoon?”
“That would be wonderful, thank you.”
Lady Catherine caught my eye, apparently having listened in on the conversation. “If I like what I see at Gladys’s house, I may also consider hiring you.”
I kept my expression demure but internally I was squealing with excitement.
Before I could speak, a scream rang through the room. The crowd hushed and the string quartet stopped playing.
A short, lesser-fae female with severe, straight hair stood in front of the open door to the breakfast room. “Someone has been murdered!” she cried, backing away from the door to reveal the body of a young woman lying prone on the floor.