Page 65 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

He takes a step closer to me. “Your refusal, though unlikely, would not deter me, for I am certain your natural modesty would incline you to decline at first. I assure you, however, that your acceptance is the only reasonable course of action.”

“Mr. Collins, I am grateful for the honor of your proposal, but I must decline. I am certain we could never make one another happy,” I tell him.

He blinks rapidly, confusion etched on his face. I have no idea how Lady Catherine convinced this man to work for Pride and Prejudice Park, but his acting skills are phenomenal. I feel like I’m sharing the stage with someone way more experienced than me, like I’m in a real play instead of a reenactment. It’s thrilling and slightly intimidating.

“Decline? Oh, no, no, Miss Bennet. I know young ladies often refuse a gentleman on first proposal out of mere propriety. I am not discouraged.”

“This is not modesty, sir. My refusal is absolute,” I tell him.

“Lizzy! How can you be so cruel? Mr. Collins is a respectable gentleman, and you must accept him,” Mrs. Bennet says, re-entering the room, Mr. Bennet and the girls following behind.

I cross my arms in front of me. “I will not, Mama. I will never marry Mr. Collins.”

Saying no to Mr. Collins so brazenly feels oddly satisfying. Macey Bennet could never—but Elizabeth Bennet can. And maybe that’s the point. Being here this week, I’ve started to feel like a version of myself I haven’t been in so long that I almost forgot she existed. Maybe I’m channeling Lizzy, or maybe it’s all this time with Zane.

“Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists upon your accepting me. Is it not so, Mrs. Bennet?” Mr. Collins says.

“Yes, or I will never see her again,” Mrs. Bennet says, practically in tears, although her acting job pales in comparison to that of Mr. Collins.

“An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth,” Mr. Bennet says. “From this day, you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.”

I nod my head toward Mr. Bennet, giving him a thankful smile, and Mr. Collins—again, doing an award-winning performance here—looks totally bewildered.

“Do not worry,” he says. “She will change her mind by morning.” Then he bows stiffly and leaves out the front door.

I HAVEN’T SEEN ZANE ALL day, since all the scenes I’ve done so far haven’t included him.

After the proposal, I sat through the reenactment where Charlotte tells me she will be marrying Mr. Collins and then moved myself to the parsonage. I was sad to leave the rest of the Bennets; I’ve enjoyed our breakfasts together. But I wasn’t all that sad to leave my lonely room. Every time I’m there, I find myself wishing Monroe was with me. I wonder how she’s doing; we’ve had no further updates.

The parsonage is quaint in the best way—whitewashed stone walls, ivy climbing up the sides, and a thatched roof that looks straight out of a storybook. Inside, it’s all low ceilings and cozy furniture, and honestly, I could totally live in a place like this.

Now, wearing a high-waisted, pale-green evening gown, a shawl over my shoulders, I can’t help the bubbling anticipation that I finally get to see Zane, as I walk with Charlotte and Mr. Collins toward the main house for dinner. Today, it’s doubling as Rosings Park, Lady Catherine’s domain, but tomorrow it’ll magically turn into Pemberley.

The dining room, a space I haven’t seen before, is lavishly decorated, with expensive-looking oil paintings on the walls and an oval-shaped table in the center, set with fine china, crystal, and silver. The table is covered with an extravagant spread of roast pheasant, glazed vegetables, and tiered platters of delicate pastries that look too pretty to eat—though that won’t stop me. My stomach rumbles at the sight.

I take it in only for a moment before my eyes find Zane, standing in the corner, talking to a staff member I’ve never seen before dressed to play who I can only assume is Colonel Fitzwilliam, a tall man with messy blond hair and a mustache.

Zane turns toward me, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he attempts to stay in character. I have to admit, Mr. Collins might be a fantastic actor, but Zane’s not half badhimself. He’s really putting in the effort, and it’s making me like him even more—not to mention he looks incredible in that black tailcoat. I’m going to miss seeing him in these costumes when this week is over. I don’t even have any good pictures to capture these memories, aside from a few I’ve sneakily snapped of him when we’ve been in the library together during our “leisurely pursuits.” None of them turned out great, though; the lighting in the library is awful.

Lady Catherine arrives with her daughter, played by a staff member, looking over-the-top in a royal-purple gown and a wig that sits an entire foot above her head, adorned with feathers, silk flowers, and what looks suspiciously like a small bird perched near the top. Her cleavage, which I think we are all used to by now, is in full view.

“Welcome, esteemed guests, to Rosings Park,” she says, standing at the head of the table. “It is, of course, a privilege for you to dine in such distinguished surroundings, and I trust you will comport yourselves accordingly. Please take note that the glasses are real crystal, and I ask that you take the utmost care when using them.”

She looks pointedly around the table. “Now, before we begin, let me remind you that this evening’s conversation should reflect the refinement and decorum expected in such elevated company. Speak of accomplishments, propriety, and matters of substance. Idle chatter is not encouraged, and I shan’t hesitate to intervene if I find the tone wanting.”

She gives us some direction for the reenactment before we all take our assigned seats. Unfortunately for me, I’m not next to Zane, but he’s sitting directly across from me, so at least I have a great view for the duration of dinner. Of all his coats, the black suits him best, making his blue eyes look like the color of the ocean.

“Miss Bennet, I trust you are finding Rosings Park to your liking? Few young ladies of your modest means ever have the opportunity to dine in such surroundings,” Lady Catherine begins the scene, placing a napkin in her lap while glancing at me.

It’s as I suspected—there’s no difference between the Lady Catherine who runs Pride and Prejudice Park and the woman sitting at the table with me.

“Rosings Park is indeed most impressive, Lady Catherine. Your hospitality is unmatched.” I give her a polite smile.

“Yes, I thought as much,” she says. “I trust you have been admiring the windows in the east wing? They are the largest of their kind in Kent. No expense was spared, of course.”

“Indeed, Lady Catherine,” says Mr. Collins. “The craftsmanship is unparalleled. Miss Bennet, did I not tell you that Lady Catherine’s taste is beyond reproach?”

“You did, Mr. Collins,” I say. “And I must admit, you were entirely correct.” I gesture toward the table, my hand sweeping a little farther than I intended, and watch in horror as the crystal wineglass in front of me tips over. It shatters, wine spilling like a crimson tide across the pristine tablecloth.

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