Page 69 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

“Bravo,” Lady Catherine says, with a couple of claps. She gets up from her chair in the corner and walks toward me. “Now we will separate for lunch, and then we will be back to do the letter, and then it’s off to Pemberley.”

I follow her out of the parsonage and find Zane standing there waiting with a smile, our little audience clapping as we exit.

“No time to dally,” Lady Catherine says, her gaze on Zane. “Mr. Darcy, you have a letter to write.”

He nods and then gives me a slightly mischievous little grin before turning and walking toward Pemberley.

LUNCH WITH MR. COLLINS AND Charlotte is actually very fun. Mr. Collins regales us both with his tales of the grandeur of Rosings Park, giving us details of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s unparalleled wisdom in the arranging of furniture, as well as the placement of hedgerows and the proper way to fold napkins for maximum propriety. Which he demonstrates. He does it all without once breaking character, which is impressive. Especially when I keep laughing and breaking out of mine.

The staff member playing Charlotte plays her part well, chiming in with a quiet “Indeed” or “How very true” as her pretend husband goes on. They must be cast together often, because they play these complementary roles as though they have many times before.

When it’s time to reenact the scene where Darcy gives me the letter explaining everything, I go out to stroll along the garden, Lady Catherine sitting on one of the benches as she oversees the scene, and a group of onlookers not far off.

“Miss Bennet,” Zane says as he approaches. He looks a little off right now, fidgety.

“Mr. Darcy,” I say, giving him a quick curtsy, trying to hold back the concern threatening to show on my face.

Zane takes a step closer, and he’s giving me what looks like apologetic eyes now. “Forgive me for intruding on your morning walk, but I felt it imperative to speak with you—or rather, to leave you with something of importance.”

“Of importance, Mr. Darcy?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope and then gives me an imperceptible head shake, but I’m not following.

“I have taken the liberty of writing you a letter. I hope you will allow me the courtesy of reading it in your own time. It will explain much that words in the moment might fail to convey.” He reluctantly hands it to me.

I take it from him and look at the letter, my name on the front in Zane’s sloppy writing, a large inkblot next to it, and twist my lips, trying not to smile. Is this what he’s worried about?

“Very well,” I say. “Thank you.”

“I shall not keep you further. Good afternoon, Miss Bennet.” He walks away quickly, which I’m pretty sure was not part of the script.

“Good day, Mr. Darcy,” I say to his retreating backside.

I sit on a bench, opening the letter, as per Lady Catherine’s instructions. According to the script, I was to take the letter, and that was the end of the scene. But Lady Catherine, in her direction beforehand, instructed me to read it aloud in front of everyone, saying, “The audience must be privy to this most vital information, for the sake of the narrative.” Which is kind of ridiculous because everyone, save some of the men who were dragged along on this trip, knows this story backward and forward.

Zane flinched at her instructions then, and I didn’t understand. But I do now.

My dear Miss Bennet,

I have to write you this letter because Lady Catherine insisted, so this is me writing you a letter. You have been mean to me and accused me of stuff, and I can’t even remember what they are as I write this. Something to do with Wickham being a tool, and the fact that I intervened and broke up your sister and Bingley. But I think I had good reasoning with that. I don’t know.

Anyway, please forgive me, blah, blah, blah.

Yours in apologies and such,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Well, crap. All Zane had to do was copy the words Lady Catherine gave him—that was it. He had one freaking job.

I look up toward the audience, where a very red-faced Zane is now standing. He’s not heated because he’s embarrassed; he’s clearly trying hard not to laugh. I give himhow could you do this to mewide eyes, and he turns away, unable to stop himself anymore. He plays it off as a cough, but I know better.

Lady Catherine clears her throat, and I take in a steadying breath. I’m supposed to read this out loud. But I can’t read this monstrosity. I take a steadying breath and rally. I’ve read the letter in the book, and seen it played out in the movies, hundreds of times. I’m sure I can improvise. It won’t be exactly as Lady Catherine wrote it, but I can do a version of it.

All those years of theater classes, please don’t fail me now.

“My dear Miss Bennet,” I start, feeling heat come to my cheeks. “Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter ...”

I’m sweating by the end of it, but everyone claps, and Zane looks relieved. I’ve somehow made it through, making it up as I go, while pretending to read the letter.

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