Page 15 of Without Pride and Prejudice
I glanced her way before turning into Pride and Prejudice Park. “Is something amiss?”
“No,” she said breathily while her eyes blinked erratically. “Um ... I was just thinking that you have really great cheeks. Very taut, and your stubble is perfectly stubbly.” Her face turned a lovely shade of red.
“Perfectly stubbly?” I questioned.
She sat back in her seat, laughing nervously. “Yep, perfectly stubbly.”
“All right.” If it were anyone else, I would question her odd behavior, but this was Monroe, and odd behavior was her MO. Our country’s history was rife with quirky nobility, I reminded myself, not wishing to think of the scrutiny and complications a relationship between us would create. Not now when she looked so adorably sexy, teeming with excitement as two men dressed like Regency footmen swung open the wrought iron gates for us.
“Oh, Fitz, this is happening. MyPride and Prejudicedreams are about to become reality,” she whispered. “Look at those cute men, all dressed up.” She rolled down her window, letting in the cool September air that smelled of damp earth and leaves. “Hello,” she called to the men.
The footmen looked confused at how they should respond. They probably didn’t want to break character, but Monroe had a way about her that made people, men in particular, want to act uncharacteristically unlike themselves. Case in point: I was at a blasted Jane Austen fan’s Disneyland.
The footmen gave in, smiled, and waved at Monroe.
If I thought the footmen made her happy, it had nothing on our arrival at the house, where she noticed several other Regency period–dressed individuals lining the gravel drive that crunched underneath the tires of my car, waiting to greet us.
“Look at them!” she shouted. “See? I should have worn one of my dresses. I feel like I’ve died and gone to Jane Austen heaven. This is the best day of my life. Hello, hello, hello!” She waved out of the window.
The staff looked taken aback by Monroe’s enthusiasm. I hoped my presence didn’t play into their behavior. Agatha, the park director, had personally reached out to say how thrilled she was that I would be attending and asked if there were any special accommodations they could make for me. I’d told her it wouldn’tbe necessary. I wanted to make sure Monroe had the experience she’d been hoping for, and the last thing I wanted was for my title to impede that. Even if it meant me pretending to be Mr. Darcy all week.
When the staff didn’t reciprocate, Monroe bit her lip. “I suppose that wasn’t very Elizabeth of me.”
I placed my hand on her thigh and squeezed, not knowing what to say. Part of me wished to hint it might behoove her to behave in a more reserved manner, but that made me feel like a bastard, knowing I was doing it for selfish reasons. I knew asking her to change made me the worst sort of person, so I said nothing. Even worse, I didn’t encourage her excitement.
Monroe patted my hand in a mollifying fashion, as if she knew what I was refusing to say. Blast. I was a prick. Only she could make me feel that way. But I said nothing to ease the tension that pervaded the car. Instead, I pulled up and stopped the car in front of the grand house as two of the cast members opened our doors. A severe-looking older woman wearing what I assumed was a gray wig appeared before I could exit the car. Her dress consisted of an obscene amount of purple silk velvet showcasing more of her chest than I cared to see. It appeared she was pretending to be a part of King George III’s court. That poor chap had gone as mad as a hatter.
“Welcome, Your Grace. I am Lady Catherine de Bourgh.” The silly woman, whom I knew to be Agatha, the director, curtsied. If she’d wanted to stay in character, she should never have done such a thing or called me by my title. I was to play her nephew, after all.
Monroe giggled, which earned her a scathing glance from Agatha. She certainly had the haughtiness of Lady Catherine de Bourgh down.
Monroe shrugged, not letting it get to her as she hopped out of the car. In this way, she was every bit an Elizabeth Bennet, and I silently applauded her for it.
I stepped out of the car as well. “Please, there is no need to be so formal. I wish to be treated like any other guest.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Agatha curtsied again.
My crinkled brow did nothing to disguise my displeasure.
Apparently my disdain for her didn’t temper her admiration. “You honor us with your presence, Your Grace.” Agatha swept around the car, her enormous dress swishing. She stopped and waved her arm toward the house. “Please wait in the marble hall and enjoy the refreshments and tea until all the guests have arrived. We will take care of your car and have your luggage delivered to your rooms.”
“Be sure to take extra care of the costumes in the back seat that belong to Ms. Wilde,” I directed before offering an arm to Monroe, who was gazing in awe at the stately mansion made of brick and Ancaster stone, which gave it a golden hue.
“I can’t believe I’m actually here,” she whispered.
“Shall we go in?”
She nodded and strung her arm through mine. “How courteous of you.”
It wasn’t courtesy; it was love and a need to have her close, not only so I could feel her body next to mine, but so I could protect her from the Lady Catherine de Bourghs of my world. I placed my hand over hers, which delicately held my bicep.
“I like it when you touch me. Wait. That sounded salacious.” She laughed. “I just meant that I like this.”
“I do too.” I gave her a meaningful look, hoping to convey that I wouldn’t mind some salacious touches between us.
The way she tilted her head spoke to her attempt to grasp this change in my behavior. The rosy tint in her creamy cheeks revealed she was flirting with the idea I might wish to be morethan friends, but then she shook her head as if she couldn’t believe such a thought. Or perhaps she didn’t wish for a change in our relationship, or for an association with my title and all that it would entail. Monroe had never shown any fascination with my title or even my money—to her, they were of no consequence, and I loved her all the more for it. But perhaps it was her way of telling me she didn’t want to live in my world. I wouldn’t blame her if that’s how she felt. It would, without a doubt, be a daunting endeavor for her.
I brushed a thumb across her smooth skin as I ushered us forward up the large stone steps leading to the slender double doors of the house, testing the waters and unwilling to let go of the thought of us. She gripped my arm tighter, giving me hope.
