Page 54 of Without Pride and Prejudice

“You have excellent taste, Miss Bingley,” I complimented her, knowing she probably wouldn’t love it.

And she didn’t, judging by her pinched expression, although she replied, “You are all kindness.”

“Shall we proceed to the dining room?” Mr. Bingley asked while offering his arm to Jane.

Miss Bingley immediately seized upon Mr. Darcy’s arm. Mr. Hurst escorted Mrs. Hurst. I’d always imagined Mr. Hurst as being quite a bit older than his wife, but in this place, they seemed to be only a few years apart if that. The book never states their ages. Maybe the movies had steered us wrong.

Mr. Darcy stiffened when Miss Bingley took hold of him, but he lingered back, waiting for me. “I do hope your journey was comfortable this evening,” he asked.

The carriage could do with some shocks, but I didn’t mention it. “It was. Thank you.”

“The roads here leave much to be desired,” Miss Bingley complained. She wasn’t wrong, but it was rude of her to say.

“I love the country,” Mr. Bingley said as he gazed at Jane. I liked him.

Jane blushed and smiled. They were adorbs.

Netherfield’s dining room was more like a hall and much grander than the Bennets’. It had high ceilings and velvet curtains, with a long table of fine mahogany in the middle of the room that could seat probably twenty people. Fine china dishes and silver cutlery adorned one end of the table and gleamed in the candlelight. The aroma of consommé lingered in the air—I assumed it would be the first course.

As a myriad of servants pulled out the elegant high-backed chairs with upholstered seats, Mr. Darcy shook off Miss Bingley and directed me to take the seat next to him. He sat closest to Mr. Bingley, who was at the head of the table. Jane sat on the other side of him. She cast me a furtive smile.

Miss Bingley took my other side, and her icy stare made the room feel like a walk-in freezer.

But I did as I probably should have done in real life—I ignored her. I knew I couldn’t outwit her, and in the end, ifeverything went according to the story, I would end up with Mr. Darcy. Her opinion didn’t matter. I should have remembered that in my real life.

“Mr. Darcy, thank you for the book. It gave me many hours of pleasure today.”

“I am glad. I feared you might have read it before.”

“I had not.” At least I didn’t think I had.

The servants glided between us, dishing up the first course. It surprised me how quietly they served, moving as if choreographed.

“What did you think of the tale, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Darcy was eager to know.

I watched to see which spoon I should use before I answered. I’d never been good with etiquette, and there was no Fitz to whisper in my ear to guide me. However, I did feel in some part as if he were helping me in this strange situation. He was the one who had taught me how to truly love literature and to look for the deeper meaning behind the words. All I’d given him in return was a love for Olivia Newton-John inGrease. I guess that made us even.

“I found Tom’s struggle with his natural impulses, and his desire to lead a more virtuous life, fascinating. As humans, I believe we must all conquer certain natural tendencies.”

“And what are some of your natural tendencies?” Mr. Darcy asked.

I felt as if this were one of those questions that was fraught with peril—there was nothing casual about it. Mr. Darcy wanted to understand me, and I knew if my answer wasn’t to his liking, he would probably move on.

I clung to the napkin on my lap and thought,WWED?What would Elizabeth do? She would tell the truth because she wouldn’t want to be with anyone who didn’t love her for herself. I found myself in a precarious situation because I, too, wantedto be loved for myself. So whose truth did I tell? It had to be the only one I could—my own.

I swallowed hard before I said, “I have a tendency to try to fix situations I think are broken, even if my efforts cannot really help, or even knowing my interference might make the problem worse.” I twisted the napkin even more, waiting for his response.

Mr. Darcy took his good, sweet time responding, while his gray eyes bored a hole in me. What did he see?

“Miss Bennet,” he crooned ever so sexily, sounding almost as alluring as Fitz. “If we all had such natural tendencies, I believe the world would be a better place.”

That was it. With those words, Mr. Darcy captured a little piece of my heart that belonged to Fitz.

“We all love to instruct, though we can teach only what is not worth knowing.”

MONROE

WHO WAS THE BEST ELIZABETH Bennet, you may ask? Me. That’s right, baby. I don’t know what happened, but in this place, I could finally help people. Like, really help them. Case in point—Mary was beautifully playing and singing Handel’s “Lascia ch’io pianga” for a large group at Lucas Lodge just a week after my arrival. At least I think it had been a week. I felt like time did weird things in whatever this place was. It made me worry that I’d irrevocably altered the story and timeline somehow without meaning to. So maybe I wasn’t the best Elizabeth, but to see Mary master the difficult musical piece was so gratifying, especially because her confidence had so obviously grown. We’d worked tirelessly on it every spare moment we could. You know, between me dining at Netherfield a few more times with Jane and taking walks with Mr. Darcy, Jane, and Mr. Bingley. The etiquette rules of the day really were a bummer and allowed for zero alone time.

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