Attempting Elizabeth (16 page)

His cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, wasn’t anywhere near as attractive as he was. In fact, Austen clearly states that he is plain. I thought that was a bit of harsh of Austen, to deliberately make him a plain character. But even though he wasn’t handsome, he was very charismatic and dashing. And very male.

Next to Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam poor Mr. Collins looked like a mouse.

Mr. Darcy paid his compliments to Charlotte, but didn’t say anything to Lizzy at first. Colonel Fitzwilliam was more than charming, however, asking me how I liked Hunsford and the surrounding area. I began to wonder if he knew that Darcy liked Elizabeth and was trying to get a rise out of his cousin. He was almost just a little too flirty.

“I trust that your family is well, Miss Bennet,” Darcy finally broke into my conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Oh, the poor sucker. He truly was jealous of his cousin. Having played the part of his sister, I had seen Darcy with his guard down and so I could recognize the jealousy even behind the mask of indifference he wore so well.

“Yes, thank you. They are well.” I paused deliberately. “My eldest sister has been in town these three months. Have you never happened to see her there?”

“I have not been so fortunate as to meet with Miss Bennet,” Darcy answered as confusion chased across his face. Poor man, he had no idea what kind of a grudge Lizzy was nursing about the treatment of Jane.

Stop worrying about Darcy!
I needed to be less in tune with Darcy’s feelings and more in tune with Lizzy’s. If I wanted to play these scenes right I needed her sassy indifference to him at my immediate command.

Soon after this uncomfortable exchange Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam rose to leave. This was disappointing because I knew that we wouldn’t be dining at Rosings for a week. This whole waiting for the best scenes was a serious time commitment.

But I was excited to get to play one of my favorite scenes with Darcy the next time we were at Rosings.

A dream is a wish your heart makes.

I found myself,
annoyingly, dreaming more and more of Mark at night. The dreams had slight variations but were mostly along the same theme. I was always running after him. Sometimes I’d try to reach him and fail. Sometimes I’d catch up with him and he’d turn around and look at me with a blank expression as if I was a total stranger and he wasn’t quite sure why I was accosting him.

It was frustrating to have finally made it into the book as Elizabeth and to be spending my nights pining for someone in the real world. I’m not sure pining was the right word. I wasn’t even sure what our status was in the real world. We’d only had three official dates. Does that count as dating? And if it does, then what would our current status post I-can-jump-into-novels reveal be? I hadn’t stuck around to find out if he was “breaking up” with me. Do people break up after three dates? Or is just like, “hmmm, maybe I don’t want a fourth date.”

‘Cause you’re a crazy person who doesn’t know who she is.

That’s what he thinks of me at least.

Honestly, all of this self-examination was kind of pointless. For right now I was Elizabeth Bennet. Insecure, un-self-realized, crazy person that might make me but I was going to take as much advantage of it as possible.

A week passed before we were invited to Rosings again. I’m sure it was killing Mr. Collins slowly and painfully, but he managed to keep a relatively stiff upper lip. He only mentioned Lady de Bourgh, Rosings, Anne, Mr. Darcy and his cousin, or some grand feature of the manor and park twenty or so times a day. For Mr. Collins this was quite a feat and I’m sure that all of the ladies at the parsonage, myself included, appreciated it. Some of his anxiety was relieved by the fact that Colonel Fitzwilliam had visited us twice, but the Colonel seemed much more interested in socializing with Charlotte, Maria, and me, than spending any quality time with Mr. Collins. Really who could blame him?

The extended break from all things de Bourgh and Rosings was easier for me than it was for poor Mr. Collins whose entire world revolved around Lady Catherine. I knew exactly how long it would be before we were invited back to Rosings. Our next big scene there was to be on Easter when would see the Rosings Park gang at church and be invited over for the evening.

It was to be a rather momentous week in my life as Lizzy. The Easter evening visit to Rosings would be followed by a visit from Darcy the next day, and shortly thereafter with the first proposal. So, I had flat-out rejecting a proposal of marriage from literature’s most eligible bachelor to look forward to. It was going to require my best acting skills, because really I just wanted to say “Yes, marry me, sweep me off to Pemberley, and make all the world’s problems disappear.” My previous experiences had taught me that if I did say yes, instead of Lizzy’s rather more than emphatic no, the scene would just reset itself. I was seriously considering it. I probably would just play the scene through, but it would be so much fun to see what would happen the rest of that day if Lizzy professed herself to be in love with Mr. Darcy.

My dreams stubbornly remained full of a certain red-headed Aussie. There was really no reason I should be thinking about Mark at all. I should be thinking about Darcy ‘cause Darcy was hot. And one of the best romantic heroes of all time. I shrugged off the little voice reminding me that since jumping as Lizzy Darcy’s hotness had been registering more as a fact and less as something that personally affected me. I had an entire week of exciting Darcy events to look forward to. Spending time thinking about Mark was pointless and counterproductive.

If only my subconscious would get the message.

Easter morning came and we all filed off to church to hear Mr. Collins’s sermon which was horribly dry, rather pointless, and not quite doctrinally sound. Lady Catherine issued her invitation to Mr. and Mrs. Collins with an expression that let us all plainly know she hadn’t really wanted to invite us, but her invitation couldn’t be refused—and wouldn’t have been by Mr. Collins in this lifetime...or the next either. The most immediate effect the invitation had was basically ruining our own Easter meal plans, as Mr. Collins spent the entire mid-day meal gushing over our Rosings invite. These exclamations of delight followed us into the sitting room, where we would usually have respite from him, and I was only able to escape his soliloquy by proclaiming Maria and myself in need of extra time to dress for the evenings festivities.

“Of course, my dear cousin,” Mr. Collins said beatifically as I rose from the settee and pulled Maria up with me. “I am sure you feel the honor of such an invitation greatly. Though you cannot have finery enough to truly grace the halls of Rosings Park as it deserves, I understand you desire to prepare as much as possible. Lady Catherine, after all—”

“Yes,” I cut him off with a quick smile. “Lady Catherine is goodness itself to invite Maria and me and I am sure she will understand our lack of finery. However, we must be as presentable as possible, so off we go. Maria, come along.” I tugged her firmly by the arm, propelling her out of the room forcefully. Charlotte shot us a longing look as we exited, but I could only rescue so many people at one time. It was like war. You only saved the ones you thought had a chance of survival or had the least likely chance of fending for themselves. Poor Maria was already so awestruck over everything having to do with Lady Catherine that another thirty minutes of Mr. Collins waxing poetic might actually do her in for good.

As much as I found Mr. Collins silly and annoying I had to admit I was kind of nervous about the evening as well. In the book it’s a pretty important scene between Lizzy and Darcy, with Colonel Fitzwilliam playing a helpful third. The conversation over the piano is likely what propels Darcy into finally deciding to pay his addresses to Lizzy. I’m pretty sure that after so many rereads I had it memorized word for word, but I was a little freaked out about getting it all right. As Caroline there had been plenty of scenes that I had fudged my way through, adding in as much as I could remember of Austen’s actual dialogue, and filling in the rest with how I thought Caro would act. It had seemed to work out okay, I had been able to get enough right to not keep getting bumped back to the place I first entered the scene as Caroline. But those scenes weren’t quite as important as this one. At least in my estimation. The nerves were getting to me and warring with a sort of weird, giddy excitement. The whole thing kind of made me want to throw up.

And Mark wouldn’t get out of my damn head.

Every time I closed my eyes I could see his easy, lazy smile. Or the sad look in his eyes when he talked to me about knowing myself. I didn’t want to think about knowing who I was as Kelsey, or about Mark at all. Why should I be wasting any thought process on him when I had the delightful Mr. Darcy to look forward to tonight? Well, okay, not quite delightful. He doesn’t get totally delightful until after I shred his heart next week.

Oh my god. I might really be sick.

I knew Mr. Darcy was well on his way to being in love with Lizzy, but I took extra special care getting ready, picking out her best dress to wear. I figured it wouldn’t hurt.

During the walk to Rosings later that night I gave myself a lecture on appearing just as carefree and content as Lizzy always did. She would have no expectations for the evening and no idea that Mr. Darcy was interested in her. When we finally entered the sitting room at Rosings I had managed to get most of my nerves under control enough to present a complacent, smiling, and disinterested front.

Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam both rose and bowed, and we all curtsied in return while Mr. Collins bowed so low I was afraid he might tip right over and land on his face. As soon as Mr. Darcy looked up and met my eye my heart skipped a beat. He really was extraordinarily handsome. I’m not saying there weren’t attractive guys during the Regency era, but the portraits that have survived don’t necessarily lead one to believe that Calvin Klein models were walking the streets in waistcoats. But Mr. Darcy could give any modern day hottie a run for his money. I suppose, because he was a made up character, he could be just as attractive as the author wanted to make him in her head.

Apparently, Jane Austen had really, really good taste.

The first hour or so was full of the mindless trivialities I’d come to expect from this kind of social event mixed in with a good measure of pedantic advice and pronouncements from Lady Catherine on every possible subject. It really was almost impossible to keep from rolling my eyes at the woman.

It was kind of entertaining to watch Darcy’s reaction to his aunt. That he found her pronouncements and interferences annoying was evident in his face and demeanor. A few of her more absurd and ill-bred comments even brought a dull flush to his high cheekbones. I watched the blushes spread with interest, wondering how, even now as he was embarrassed by his aunt that he could tell Lizzy in just a few days that her relations were what made her so inferior to him. Honestly, I couldn’t find much difference between Lady Catherine and Mrs. Bennet other than that Mrs. Bennet had to worry about money while Lady Catherine had the comfort and assurance that no matter how much of a witch she was her money and name would still demand that people treat her with respect. Of the two, I vastly preferred Mrs. Bennet’s silliness. She, at least, was harmless.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was sitting next to me. He was just as flirtatious as he had been during his visits to the parsonage and started in on a spirited conversation on music with me now. Darcy kept eyeing us, I’m sure with jealousy. Although, I suppose to Lizzy, who had no idea of his affection for her, it would have seemed as if he wanted to intimidate her. He was obviously not amused by my intimate conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam. I glanced up through my lashes at the Colonel and wondered again how much of his flirting was just him messing with Darcy’s mind.

The Colonel smiled at me before glancing, covertly, at Darcy to gauge his reaction and I knew I’d had it right. He wasn’t truly interested in Lizzy, how could he be? Even though his father was an Earl, he was a second son and would need to marry someone with a fortune that Lizzy was sorely lacking. He was trying to provoke Darcy into something. I guess it worked, because Darcy would declare himself just a few short days from now.

Unfortunately, my conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam had attracted more than just Darcy’s interest.

“What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is.'' Lady Catherine’s high, nasal voice cut through our conversation like a scythe. All other conversation in the room also ceased, because as soon as Lady Catherine opened her mouth on any topic, Mr. Collins would shush his wife and sister-in-law, Mr. Darcy hadn’t been speaking at all, and Anne de Bourgh basically never uttered a word.

Colonel Fitzwilliam grimaced slightly as he looked up at his aunt. “We are speaking of music, Madam,'' he said. His exaggerated politeness made me want to giggle, but that would really bring the wrath of Lady C down upon me.

“Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight. I must have my share in the conversation, if you are speaking of music. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed delightfully. How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?''

It was actually a blessing that Lady Catherine had ended her bizarre speech with a question about Georgiana so that Darcy at least would have something to reply. The rest of us would have had no idea how to respond to such a ridiculous and self-aggrandizing speech. Mr. Collins, likely, would have found some odious and smarmy way to agree with her ladyship, but the rest of us would have just been left with mouths slightly agape, and no proper response.

“Georgiana does quite well, Aunt. She possesses a rare natural talent for music and it is a delight to hear her play.” Mr. Darcy’s expression warmed as he talked about his sister. His affection for her was really quite endearing. I happened to know firsthand how gentle and kind he was with her. I also had the best firsthand knowledge of how well Georgiana “got on” with her music lessons. She fell basically somewhere between extremely dedicated brilliance and pure genius, but it wasn’t as if I could just go ahead and volunteer that.

Lady Catherine expressed her approval thusly: “I am very glad to hear such a good account of her, and pray tell her from me that she cannot expect to excel, if she does not practice a great deal.”

Really, it was almost as if the woman could not allow the conversation to stray from her as its central point for more than thirty seconds.

Darcy answered, with almost the same tone of exaggerated civility that Colonel Fitzwilliam had just used—I wondered if they’d perfected it while dealing with their aunt. “I assure you, Madam, that she does not need such advice. She practices very constantly.''

Lady Catherine harrumphed, probably disappointed that Georgiana could not benefit from her instruction. “So much the better. It cannot be done too much; and when I next write to her, I shall charge her not to neglect it on any account. I often tell young ladies that no excellence in music is to be acquired without constant practice. I have told Miss Bennet several times that she will never play really well unless she practices more—”

I felt, rather than heard, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s quick intake of breath at what was a pretty spectacular insult of me. I smiled, waiting for the insult to go from spectacular to nuclear in 3...2...1...

Lady Catherine turned her watery, but still piercing blue eyes on me and followed through with “And though Mrs. Collins has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told her, to come to Rosings every day, and play on the piano forte in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room. She would be in nobody's way, you know, in that part of the house.''