Page 14 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

For the bulk of my stay I’ll be wearing the wardrobe the resort provides, so I don’t need to pack much. The packet even said they would include nightgowns, so I basically only need to bring underwear, or “unmentionables,” as they’re described in the packet.

“You could bring ... clothes?” She gives me a smirk.

“Helpful,” I say, my voice deadpan.

“It’s easy—just throw some arts-themed T-shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans into your bag, some toiletries, and you’re done.” Unable to help herself, Amelia begins folding my laundry. She is the Monica to my Rachel.

“True. And I already have one shirt ready to go,” I say, picking up the one Jordan and Kristen gave me today for my trip. It saysI’m Only Here for Mr. Darcy, and after my meeting with Verity, it was the perfect pick-me-up, a reminder of why I love my job and the people I work with. Well, most of them.

I hold it up for Amelia to see, and she snorts out a laugh.

“It’s perfect,” she says, before folding a pair of workout shorts and setting them in her neat pile.

“There, that’s one item of clothing for my trip,” I say, putting the shirt in a pile off to the side.

“Promise me you won’t fall in love with whoever plays Darcy and stay in England,” she says, now folding my socks.

“You don’t need to worry about that. After Caleb, I think I’m done with romance for a while. And also, there’s to be noromantic pursuitsamong guests,” I say, repeating one of the many rules of the resort in my practiced British accent, which is not required, but highly favored, according to the instructions. “They are very serious about reenactment.”

“You know what, screw Caleb and that rule.” She shakes her head but then lifts her eyebrows, a half-smile on her lips. “You could find yourself a dark corner like the stables or something and make sure you’re not caught.”

“Oh yes, and with my luck, I definitely would be caught.” And then I’d be “summarily dismissed”—which was also in the rules.

She sets a neatly folded shirt down on the growing pile. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay by yourself on this trip?”

“I’ll be just fine,” I say, trying not to sound irritated, because she has asked me this nearly every day this week. She also hasn’t given up trying to find someone to go with me. Yesterday, she offered up one of her coworkers I’ve never met and who didn’t even know who Jane Austen was. I was offended.

I know she means well, but her concern is starting to feel like a corset: technically supportive, yet mostly suffocating.

Amelia gives me one last look, her brows pulled together in that half-worried, half-resigned expression she’s had ever since the panic attack incident. “Okay,” she says, hands up in surrender. “But if you need anything—anything—you call me. Even if it’s just to rub in how you’re having an absolutely amazing time.”

“Will do,” I say with a smile.

“Okay, I’m going to bed,” Amelia says, setting a pair of pajama pants on top of her pile. She stops at the door, looking over her shoulder at me. “Two more sleeps.”

I smile—a real, genuine one. Two more sleeps until Pride and Prejudice Park.

ZANE

An email from the HR department to Zane, Thursday, September 12, 8:09 a.m.

To:[email protected]

From:[email protected]

Subject:Vacation Request Amended

Zane,

Your vacation request was originally for one week, but your father has had it extended to two weeks “just in case.” I’m not sure what he means, but per his request, I’ve amended your time off accordingly.

He also mentioned you should take an actual vacation—not just stay home.

Please direct any questions regarding this change to him.

Enjoy your time off.

– Carol

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