Page 35 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

“So, young man, your job this week is to strike that balance. Be the affable, charming gentleman everyone wants to know, but don’t forget to keep a spine about you. Agreeable men without resolve often find themselves in sticky situations.”

“Will do,” I say. I do hope to keep my spine while I’m here.

Mr. Godfrey nods. “Now, how do you feel about your lines? Have you had a chance to memorize them?”

I shake my head. “There was a bit of a mix-up. I was supposed to be playing Darcy, so I know some ofhislines,” I tell him.

He smiles. “Not to worry. We’ve had plenty of participants come through here unprepared. You’ll have time each evening to review the script and commit it to memory. The staff will be available to help as well. When you aren’t reenacting a scene, feel free to improvise as you stay in character.”

“Stay in character?” I ask, confused. I guess I didn’t really understand how this week would go. I thought in between reenacting or cosplaying or whatever, we could just be ourselves. But now I’m expected to play someone else this entire week?

“Yes, indeed,” he says.

“What am I supposed to talk about?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” he says. “Hunting, politics, the weather.”

“Right,” I say, an uncomfortable trickle going down my spine.

“Good luck to you,” he says, signaling that our briefing is over.

I like Mr. Godfrey, and honestly, I could probably listen to him talk all day, his voice is so soothing, but I leave our meetingfeeling no more prepared than when I went in, except that I have to play someone I know very little about for an entire week.

I go down the hallway toward the stairs and the dining hall where we are eating lunch—unfortunately in character—and adjust my cravat, which still feels like it’s slowly suffocating me, when I bump right into someone.

“Oh,” Macey says, stumbling backward, trying to find her footing. I reach out and grab her by the waist to steady her.

“Good evening, Jane,” I say, using the upper-class accent we practiced, as I help her regain her balance.

“Um, that’s Miss Bennet to you,” she replies, pulling out of my grasp, her hands moving to smooth her dress.

Once she’s satisfied that everything is in order, she takes me in and I strike a pose—standing a little taller, one hand brushing the lapel of my coat like I’m casually adjusting it—and wait for her to say something about my getup, but instead she presses her lips together, clearly fighting back a laugh.

“What?” I say, glancing down at myself. I give the bottom of my tailcoat a sharp tug.

“You,” she says, tucking her lips in to keep herself from laughing. But the effort is futile as she doubles over, hand flying to her chest, laughter spilling out.

“Do I look that bad?” I mean, I feel like a circus freak, but I don’t think it’s that terrible on me.

She shakes her head, taking off a glove to wipe under her eyes. “It’s just ... ridiculous ...” The laughing starts up again.

“Well, you look ridiculous too,” I say, holding a hand out toward her. I mean, we are both in Regency costumes here. Of course we look ridiculous.

But really, Macey looks kind of stunning in her outfit. Her light-green dress is soft and flowy, and her red hair is pulled up so her long and slender neck is exposed. Macey is pretty; shealways has been to me. Even when we were younger, I thought she was cute.

The laughs turn into more of a chuckle, and she sniffles before she says, “Sorry. It’s just ... one thing to imagine you dressed up like a hero from a Jane Austen novel, and it’s another to see it with my own eyes.”

The sides of my lips quirk up. “You imagined me dressed up like Darcy?”

“No,” she says, a little too quickly, her cheeks instantly turning red.

I love that Macey’s cheeks are always giving her emotions away, like a sort of mood ring. They turn a soft pink for amusement or mild irritation, a deep red like ripe strawberries when she’s embarrassed, and fiery crimson when she’s angry. It used to be my favorite thing, to goad her until she got angry and her cheeks turned that dark color. Now, I think I like the soft pink the most.

She lets out a breath. “Sorry I laughed,” she says. “You look very handsome as Mr. Bingley.”

“Now you’re just patronizing me.”

“No, I mean it.”

---