Page 48 of Without Pride and Prejudice

Caroline Bingley’s eyes caught mine next. Oh, she loathed me just as Winnifred did—no surprise there. I almost laughed at her wrinkled nose and the way she spiritedly whispered to her sister. No doubt they were abusing me spectacularly. I didn’t expect to get an invitation to dine with them at Netherfield.

As we were dancing the quadrille, we stood in a square with a gentleman I didn’t know and Jane, both of whom appeared bashful around each other. Poor Mr. Bingley couldn’t ask Jane to dance again. It would go against the rules of propriety. But I noticed Bingley couldn’t keep his eyes off Jane even though he was dancing with another young lady. It was kind of cute, but I worried for Jane. Though the night was turning out much better than I could have hoped, I still felt a need to be careful not to fix things and alter the outcome.

However, I had other worries at the moment—like what to talk to Mr. Darcy about. Did I remark on the number of couples or the size of the room? That was in the novel, but not until the Netherfield ball. Mr. Darcy wasn’t all that chatty in the book. Oh, the book! I could talk about books or poetry. I remembered a conversation I’d had with Fitz several years ago about the types of books Mr. Darcy would have read. He’d made fun of me because I was ever curious about my fictional idol, but within a few days’ time, I had a box full of books delivered to me, courtesy of my infuriating best friend. Fitz had filled the box with writings from Homer, Plato, Aristotle, Milton, Shakespeare, and Byron. Together, we’d read every work and discussed them in detail. Best book club ever. Ugh. Why did he have to ruin it all? Wecould have just stayed friends. But could we really? I touched my lips, thinking about the soul-stirring kiss we’d shared—the one I claimed was the most right thing I’d ever done.

Not thinking about it.

Focus, Monroe. You are Elizabeth.

I smiled at Mr. Darcy as he reached for my hands, and we moved four steps. I took this as my opportunity to speak to him, hoping I didn’t sound like an imbecile. “Mr. Darcy, what intrigues you most about Odysseus’s journey?”

He stared blankly at me as we passed between Jane and the other gentleman. Oh no, I’d said the wrong thing. Had Fitz been wrong about Mr. Darcy’s reading habits? Of course my mouth couldn’t leave well enough alone—I seriously had a problem. The next time we faced each other and Mr. Darcy took my hands, which by the way was super flutter inducing, I said, “I, for one, am most intrigued with the theme of reunion and restoration.” I didn’t mention I most enjoyed Odysseus’s reunion with his wife, Penelope. That seemed a little too forward, especially given our awkward first meeting.

Mr. Darcy narrowed his eyes at me, and I wondered if he just preferred I not speak. Jane and the other gentleman both looked at me as if I were an alien. At this point, for all I knew, I was an alien. I began to feel queasy, but at the next opportunity, Mr. Darcy replied, “I am more drawn to the elements of loyalty and perseverance.” They were the exact themes Fitz admired most.

“I enjoy those also. Odysseus’s perseverance was quite admirable, as was Penelope’s loyalty.”

“Quite,” Mr. Darcy responded, seemingly astounded by me.

We said no more, but Mr. Darcy studied me for the remainder of the dance. Every glance and touch was electrifying. As weird as it sounded, it felt as if we connected on some deeper plane, that we didn’t need to speak. It felt an awful lot like my relationship with Fitz. Why did it always come back to him?

When the dance ended, Mr. Darcy bowed to me. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said my name with admiration.

I curtsied. “Mr. Darcy.” I wanted to thank him a million times over and tell him I’d fantasized about a moment like this for years, but I maintained my Elizabeth-like composure. He escorted me back to Charlotte, and I watched him walk away, feeling a lot like Cinderella after dancing with Prince Charming—euphorically happy, but with a lingering feeling that maybe it was just make-believe. Surely the carriage would turn into a pumpkin and the footmen would transform back into mice. But none of those things happened.

The assembly ended, and Jane and I found ourselves seated next to each other in the frigid carriage, both wearing knowing smiles. We would talk later in the privacy of our room, away from our sisters and Mrs. Bennet, who was beside herself.

“He has ten thousand a year,” Mrs. Bennet kept exclaiming. “Mr. Darcy was so charming and handsome. And his manners.” She sighed. “I do hope he will take a house in the neighborhood. But I hear he owns a large estate in Derbyshire. Did you see how vexed Lady Lucas was that Mr. Darcy did not ask Charlotte to dance?” Mrs. Bennet could hardly contain her satisfaction.

I wondered, though, what this meant for the story. Mrs. Bennet should have been properly abusing him by now for snubbing me, but that hadn’t happened. Hmm. I watched Mary sitting across from me as well. She gazed contentedly out the window as if she had a wonderful secret to hide. She’d danced every dance. There had been no hair or wardrobe malfunction. Had I actually helped someone? The thought gave me hope.

When we arrived at Longbourn, Lydia and Kitty ran into the house, tittering about all the men they had danced with, Mary sort of floated in and disappeared upstairs, and Mrs. Bennet rushed in, searching for Mr. Bennet. Her gown swished, and she seemed a little tipsy, swaying back and forth.

“Oh! My dear Mr. Bennet,” she cried as she entered the drawing room to find Mr. Bennet reading a book near the fireplace. These events happened just as in the novel. Perhaps I hadn’t changed much of anything.

“We have had the most delightful evening, a most excellent ball,” she exclaimed. “I wish you could have been there. Jane and Elizabeth were so admired.”

Whoa. That was not in the story. At least not the part about me.

Mr. Bennet looked up from his book, still dressed in his day clothes, and instead of being annoyed, as I’d assumed he would be, he tilted his head and gave me a questioning glance.

Jane and I stood at the door, anxious to speak alone, but I eagerly awaited Mr. and Mrs. Bennet’s comments. Could I win over the heart of Mrs. Bennet?

“Not only did Mr. Bingley ask Jane to dance twice, but the man who assisted Elizabeth after her unfortunate fall, Mr. Darcy, asked Elizabeth to dance. And he has ten thousand a year. Ten thousand!” she said more forcefully, as if Mr. Bennet had not heard.

Mr. Bennet continued to study me as Mrs. Bennet prattled on.

“Mr. Darcy did not ask one other young lady to dance besides our Elizabeth, though Mr. Bingley’s party comprised his sisters, both of whom were quite elegant and doted on Jane. But you should have seen the way Mr. Darcy admired Elizabeth.” Mrs. Bennet seemed so overcome by all the excitement that she fell into the chair across from Mr. Bennet.

“Lizzy, what did you think of this Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Bennet paid no attention to his wife.

What should I say? I wasn’t sure there were enough words to describe the larger-than-life character, a character who had impossibly come to life for me. All I could think to say was, “Heis everything a gentleman ought to be.” I sort of stole Jane’s line about Bingley. Oops.

“And he has ten thousand a year,” Mrs. Bennet added in again for good measure.

I swore I saw Mr. Bennet roll his eyes.

“Good night, Mama and Papa,” I said, hoping to escape without seeming rude.

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