Page 22 of Without Pride and Prejudice
Winnifred’s mouth fell open, and she emitted a tiny squeak before she realized she’d shown any weakness. She pressed her lips together and stood rod straight. “We had separate goals to accomplish first.”
I offered her a placating smile, knowing she was grasping at straws.
Winnifred didn’t appreciate my cheeky attitude. “If you think for one moment that he wants you, you are mistaken. The society Alastair and I associate with would never accept you. You would make him a social pariah.”
Those words stung, even though I knew they were true. Now more than ever, I remembered all the reasons I had quashed my dreams of ever moving beyond friendship with Fitz. Everyone in the room stared at me, waiting for my comeback, while my cheeks blazed. But what could I say? She spoke the truth.
Feeling proud of herself, Winnifred spun around and walked off more haughtily than ever.
“That one finks’ighlyof’erself, don’t she?” Carla commented. “Didn’t see the duke’olding hands wif her.”
Lady Catherine swept in. “Thinks, and with,” she elocuted perfectly. “We must speak properly, Lydia.” She called Carla by her character’s name.
Carla/Lydia curled her lip, none too happy about being called out. I was going to have a hard time of keeping track of all the names. Perhaps it would help to just use the character names both in my head and when speaking.
Lady Catherine gave Lydia such an icy stare, it felt ten degrees colder in the room. It appeared I wouldn’t be the only one trifling with Lady Catherine this week.
Lydia, feeling beat, retreated to her rack of costumes.
“Now, ladies, hurry.” Lady Catherine clapped her hands. “We have a schedule to keep, and you must look the part.”
As soon as Lady Catherine left, Macey, I mean Jane, patted my arm. “Are you okay?”
I nodded even though I felt sucker punched.
“I’m sure Winnifred is lying. She’s just jealous,” Jane tried to comfort me.
“She’s not lying.”
“Oh,” Jane said, stunned.
“Yeah. Oh.”
“There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well.”
FITZ
I ADJUSTED THE CRAVAT AROUND my neck before I slipped into the dark-blue coat with tails. Every eye seemed to be purposely avoiding me in the dressing room full of costumes and strangers—every eye, save one: Tony. The man’s gaze followed me wherever I went, even when one of the staff members shuttled me out for my character briefing. That had been a pointless exercise; I’d turned the tables and schooled the employee on the intricacies of Darcy’s character, who in my estimation should have equal the sympathy that Elizabeth Bennet garners. After all, he’d endured the torment of unrequited love and felt compelled by his obligations and society to conceal his feelings for the woman he loved. He was the true victim of the story, not to excuse the abominable way the world treated women in that era.
Tired of Tony’s cowardice and glowering stares, I turned toward him as he finished buttoning up his militia regiment uniform. “Do you have something to say to me?”
His face exploded in red. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Then say it already,” I dared him.
He paled, giving me immense satisfaction. I freely admit I enjoyed intimidating people; it saved me from many ridiculousconversations. But I knew I could not avoid this one. For Monroe’s sake, I needed to put her ex-fiancé in his place, to prevent him from ruining this experience for her—for us.
Making it easier for the fool, I walked his way.
Tony swallowed hard and cleared his throat, his muscular figure shrinking.
“Yes?” I waited for him.
He clenched his fists and steeled himself. “I always knew there was something between you two. Friends,” he jeered.
I stepped a pace closer. “I will not allow you to dishonor Monroe. She never deceived you. For some reason I cannot fathom, she loved you. Loved—past tense—being the key here.” I made sure to drive that point home.
Tony curled his lip. “I’m sure you were more than happy to nurse her broken heart.”
