Page 60 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

“Why don’t you tell her your real name, young man?” says a woman in a pale-pink dress that’s seen better days.

“But I did tell her,” I reply. “I’m Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

“Oh no you’re not,” Edith says, giving me what I think is a coy smile, though it mostly looks like she’s got constipation issues.

I glance over to where Lady Catherine was sitting, hoping she might step in—because honestly, what kind of establishment is this where the extras can’t even stay in character? I can’t imagine she’d appreciate this level of chaos. Or the formal complaint I’ll consider filing if my butt gets violated again. But when I look at the chair she was occupying earlier, it’s empty. She’s gone.

My eyes drift back to Macey, now doubled over, laughing into her hands. A hint of pink colors her cheeks, peeking out between her fingers. She’s not going to help me either—she’s just going to stand there and enjoy the show. I guess I’m on my own.

“If you will excuse—”

“Fine then,” Edith says, cutting me off. “I think we should dance.”

And because I don’t know what to say, I let the woman grab me by the hand and drag me into the ballroom, where everyone is lining up for a country dance. I guess the joke’s on Edith—she’s about to get her toes stepped on.

Edith is spry for her age, which I’m guessing is mid-seventies, or somewhere around there. She keeps up with me and even corrects my steps when I fumble. By the time the dance ends, I’ve managed to only graze the heel of her slippers once. I bow to her and then walk away quickly, relieved to escape, but not before I feel a tiny swat on my backside. And there it is.

As I turn to find Macey, planning to be fully out of character when I chastise her for leaving me on my own, I hear Lady Catherine’s unmistakable voice behind me.

“Mr. Darcy,” she says sharply, and I swear my spine straightens. I turn around, and she takes a step toward me. “I believe you are well aware that you were not supposed to dance until you had the honor of dancing with Elizabeth Bennet.”

“But ... she,” I stammer, pointing in the direction of Edith and her gang, now headed toward Mr. Collins. I wonder if he, too, has been the recipient of her harassment.

She holds up a hand, obviously not giving a crap about whatever excuse I might have. “We have rules for a reason, young man. They exist to maintain the integrity of Miss Austen’s work, which I trust you appreciate, given the role you are playing.”

“Of course,” I say, giving her a small bow.

“See that it doesn’t happen again. Mr. Darcy’s reputation depends on it.” Then she turns on her heel and walks back to her chair, leaving me standing there, wondering if she knows this is all fake and Mr. Darcy doesn’t, and never did, exist. She’d probably have me escorted off the premises, and possibly hung, if I told her that.

She clears her throat and looks down at her script. I guess it’s showtime.

I look over at the refreshment table to see Macey standing there, ready to do our lines, her eyes glossy, most likely because she laughed so hard at me, she teared up. I’ll have to find a way to get even with her.

I walk over to her and bow. “Miss Elizabeth, might I request the honor of this dance?”

She curtsies, letting out a strangled, half-choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a cough, as she tries to compose herself. “Certainly ... Mr. Darcy,” she says, her voice pitching higher as she tries to get out the words without laughing.

As we line up across from each other, I give her a bow—trying not to make it look as awkward as it feels—and she curtsies back, now graceful and perfectly in character. The music starts, and we step toward each other, meeting in the middle.

“Do you always approach a dance with such solemnity, Mr. Darcy?” She says her line, her tone light but teasing, as I take herhand, and we turn in a circle. “One might think it a punishment rather than a pleasure.”

I nod, which is about all I can manage, because I’ve completely blanked on my line.

Macey arches a brow, her lips twitching like she’s trying not to laugh again. “Perhaps the—”

“Company determines the degree of pleasure, Miss Elizabeth,” I blurt out, finally remembering what I’m supposed to say. I don’t think it matters; I’m pretty sure Lady Catherine’s not paying attention right now.

We weave around each other in a figure eight pattern. “Ah, so I must consider it a compliment that you chose to approach me tonight,” she says, her lips pulled up into a smug-looking grin.

“You may consider it what you will, though I find your interpretation quite fascinating,” I say, feeling proud of myself for not only performing the dance without stepping on Macey’s toes, but I’m able to say my lines as well. I’ve never been a multitasking kind of guy.

“You are full of surprises tonight, Mr. Darcy,” she says and then lets out a little yelp when I step on her toe. I guess I spoke too soon.

With our lines delivered, we finish the dance, and after a quick bow, I go back to the refreshment table to do my final part, walking by Mary, who’s playing the piano and singing pretty loudly and sounding sort of like a wailing cat, and Kitty and Lydia, who are laughing loudly and look to be flirting with Mr. Collins, which I’m pretty sure is not in the book.

When I get to the table, I look around for the woman playing Caroline Bingley, but she’s nowhere in sight. I give wide eyes to Macey, who returns my unspoken words with a quick shrug of her shoulders.

Then I look over to Lady Catherine for some direction because I’m not sure what to do now that Caroline hasn’t shownup for her part. She gives me a scowl from her perch in the corner, like it’s my fault Caroline’s not here.

---