Page 42 of Without Pride and Prejudice
“Do I look awful?” I asked her, desperate for a mirror to examine myself.
“No. Just a few twigs and leaves in your hair.” Jane carefully plucked them out.
“I think I frightened Mr. Darcy.”
Jane smiled. “I think so. I am sure, though, he understands you were not yourself when you said those strange things and called him a different name. Who is Alastair Fitzroy?”
I bit my lip, trying not to cry. How did I explain who he was to me? I wasn’t sure I would ever see him again, and the thought pierced me so deeply, my chest hurt from how hard my heart pounded. The words didn’t come, so I asked Jane a question instead. “What did you think of Mr. Bingley?”
Her smooth cheeks pinked. “He is very gentlemanly and quite amiable,” she seemed embarrassed to say.
“Yes,” I agreed. “He obviously found you very pretty. And he is handsome.” Not to say this was a good foundation for a relationship, but I reflected that most women didn’t have the luxury of marrying for love in the 1800s, so I counted physical attraction as a huge win in this case.
She turned a brighter shade of red. “He is pleasing to look at.”
“He is.” I squeezed her hand, thinking of all the heartache she had ahead of her where Mr. Bingley was concerned.
I wanted to tell her it would all work out in the end, but that got me thinking. Was the heartache actually necessary? I mean, I knew how the story went. I could give her a few pointers. But was this another instance of trying to help when I shouldn’t? After all, I still hadn’t ruled outFantasy Island, and I wanted to become the best Elizabeth possible. But would Elizabeth stand by and let Jane get her heart torn to shreds, even knowing in the end it would work out? That was a perplexing question. I did have a terrible track record for helping anyone, but maybe that was part of the fantasy—no toxic trait. That seemed too good to be true.
Yet, this place didn’t seem like it could be true.
No. No. No. I had to stop thinking like this. All my helpful plans ended in disaster.
“Lizzy,” Jane interrupted my existential crisis. “Mama wishes for one of us to marry Mr. Bingley.”
“I know.” Believe me, I knew.
“What if it were me?” she whispered, hardly daring to say it, as if admitting it would prevent it from coming true.
Dang it. She was making me want to unleash my terrible power of trying to improve a situation while making it exponentially worse. I couldn’t help but ask myself: What if Charles Bingley didn’t have to leave Netherfield? Could Jane make Bingley believe her affections were strong enough that Mr. Darcy wouldn’t interfere with their relationship?
What was I even thinking? That wasn’t the story.
Yet ... I was no ordinary Elizabeth. I didn’t have any pride or prejudice against Mr. Darcy, even though he had just dropped me like a sack of potatoes on the settee. But I knew under thatprideful exterior, he would fall in love with me and save Lydia from Wickham—who I would not be befriending. Ooh ... that led me down another rabbit hole. What if I could prevent that horrible situation? I could tell everyone there when Wickham showed up with the regiment that he was a charlatan of the worst sort. Of course, this was assuming I really was in the actualPride and Prejudicestory orFantasy Island. Except this could be theWithout Pride and Prejudiceversion, I thought to myself and smiled.
“What is it, Lizzy?” Jane asked, noticing my grin.
I thought of something Lizzy might say. “I was just thinking that it should be you who marries Bingley. You who sees the best in everyone and are the kindest among us.”
“Sister, you are being too kind.”
“No, Jane, I am not.” I so badly wanted to tell her to do everything in her power to make Bingley believe she cared for him, but I held my tongue, as hard as it was, for fear of failure. And for fear of what would become of me if I didn’t play my part right.
But I had to wonder ... What part was I supposed to play, and how would this all end? Hopefully, I would be not dead.
“We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him.”
MONROE
WITH THE HELP OF A footman, I prepared to step out of the carriage behind Mrs. Bennet and Jane. Several other footmen lingered about outside the modest stone assembly hall with arched windows and double doors, waiting for carriages and carrying lanterns to illuminate the dark night. I had never thought about how truly dark it would be in this time period. The scent of burning oil and candles lingered everywhere. It felt almost claustrophobic. So much so, I forgot to be amazed that I was in the very place I’d imagined and daydreamed about for years. It also might have had something to do with Lydia using a bourdaloue in the carriage—it kind of ruined the charm of the situation. I don’t care how badly I had to relieve myself—I would never shove that gravy bowl–looking thing under my dress and use it in front of everyone. The fact I’d had to use a chamber pot earlier still haunted me and made me long for flushing toilets and running water. If this was a dream, I had to believe I could either make modern plumbing possible, or I would have woken up before I had to use that chamber pot.
However, I had more pressing thoughts on my mind now than the toilet situation. I was about to come face-to-face withMr. Darcy again. Thankfully, this time I wouldn’t be lying in a field with twigs in my hair and mud on my dress, though I still felt quite achy. The apothecary had been of no help. He’d mixed a tincture, claiming it would aid in my recovery, but he wouldn’t tell me what was in it, so I refused it, to his dismay. But no matter how much I hurt, I had to attend tonight’s assembly. I needed to set in motion my journey as Elizabeth. And even though Mr. Darcy believed me to be a lunatic and would be snubbing me tonight, I needed to see him—to be reminded of my Fitz.
The lady’s maid who had waited on Jane and me had become frustrated when I insisted on doing my own hair. I wanted to look as pretty as I could, so I styled my hair in a Grecian knot, although I did have her help me with curling the back of my hair and adding some pearls. The curling tool she used looked absolutely archaic and, frankly, scared me.
I wished I could take a picture of myself. I thought I looked quite well in the white lace-trimmed muslin dress with short puffed sleeves. At least I felt pretty. I had to remind myself that although Mr. Darcy would not find me handsome enough to tempt him, a girl had to try—especially since I already knew his heart, even if he didn’t know it himself. Since I couldn’t have Fitz, maybe I could have the next best thing in Mr. Darcy. And since Mr. Darcy looked like him, it might be like having Fitz there with me. They had similar personalities—includingspeaking Darcyoh so well. And how could I be the best Elizabeth without Darcy?
After being here for some hours, I’d narrowed my theories down to two possibilities:Fantasy Islandor the least-favorite option. They were the only ones that made sense. I’d never had a dream so elaborate or one last for so long, and, try as I might, I couldn’t wake up. That left me either to play out the fantasy or live for eternity with Mr. Darcy. Of course, I would beheartbroken to never see Fitz or my family again, but if I thought about it too much, it would crush me.
