Attempting Elizabeth (8 page)

I had to say yes. I had to get to the point of eloping so that Darcy would come and rescue me and then maybe I could move forward. It would be an incredibly boring year and half. Not much really happens to Georgiana beyond being taken back to London and given a new companion. At some point, like in more than a year from now, she goes back to Pemberley and meets Elizabeth who is traveling in Derbyshire, and that is pretty much it. It sounded horribly long and dull but infinitely superior to the nightmare I was currently experiencing on replay.

So I sat and stitched, and gave mindless assents to Mrs. Younge’s prattling. I smiled demurely at Wickham when he came. I didn’t try to have any fun challenging him. I didn’t bat my eyelashes once. When we walked down to the shore and he asked me to marry him I said yes. When he pressed me to elope, I only hesitated long enough to seem realistic.

I completely ignored the triumphant look he and Mrs. Younge shared over my head.

I even managed a shy blush when he kissed my hand as he was leaving. It was a pity no one except Wickham and Younge witnessed my awesome performance. It was Oscar worthy. I briefly considered giving up on my masters program so I could move to Hollywood (all of thirty-two and a half miles from Anaheim) and become an actress. I, apparently, had hidden depths of acting talent that had not yet been tapped.

Mrs. Younge was all sweetness and light to me after Wickham left. We put our heads together and started planning the practical details of the elopement. My things would have to be packed. Wickham had suggested we leave two days hence, and as my new tack was complete complacence, I didn’t offer any argument. Mrs. Younge called one of the maids and instructed her to bring Georgiana’s trunk to her room to begin the packing.

I meekly followed her up to my room and sat on the bed nodding my assent to her suggestions about which dresses I should take with me. It wasn’t like I had any idea what to pack for an elopement. If I’d ever undertaken such a stupid plan in the real world I would have been heading for Vegas, which was only a five or six hour trip from Orange County. I could have just hopped into the car and gone and bought whatever I needed there. Although who I would have been eloping with I’ve no idea. It’s not like Jordan had ever asked, and I would hope that if he had I would have had the presence of mind to say an emphatic no.

After about an hour or so Mrs. Younge finally left me so that I could change for dinner. The maid came in and helped me change to a more formal gown and I went downstairs. It seemed silly to me that I should have to change, as it was just Mrs. Younge and me. Over dinner she was full of excitement and plans for my elopement. And why not? Her cut of my thirty thousand pounds was within sight.

I could only hope now that I’d bitten the bullet and made the mistake of Georgiana’s life for her that the storyline would now proceed as normal.

I stayed up again, waiting until the clock clicked down to midnight. When it actually hit twelve I was so relieved I almost passed out. I stared at it as it ticked off the minutes for another quarter of an hour or so, just to reassure myself I was finally moving forward. I collapsed, exhausted, in Georgiana’s bed.

...a fine figure of a man...

When I woke
up, sunlight streaming in through the large windows and the sounds of a fire crackling merrily in the grate, I almost wept with happiness. I’d been in
Pride and Prejudice
for days, but this was my first real morning and I was excited to explore the offerings in the breakfast room.

I had to wait for a maid to help me get dressed. This was a new experience for me. As I’d been popping into the dratted sitting room in the middle of the day I’d never had to actually get dressed. It was weird and awkward to have someone hanging around and touching me while I was in various states of undress. But I found that my trick of letting my mind wander and Georgiana’s muscle memory take over worked just as well here as it did with the sewing. In no time I was all buttoned up and ready to go.

I could barely contain my excitement as I bounded down the stairs. I had finally moved past the dreaded
Groundhog Day
replay and felt like I didn’t have any other responsibilities to perform as Georgiana. I was free! I’d done what had to be done to further the plot of the story, and now I could just hang around until Darcy got here. And I had serious hope that he would be arriving today. After all, I was eloping tomorrow, so if he wanted to catch us by surprise before the happy day he would need to get here today, or by the latest, tomorrow morning.

The thought that I was going to meet the most desirable man in all of literature made me giddy. I skipped my way to the breakfast room.

Regency breakfast was not exactly the same as The International House of Pancakes. There were quite a few dishes that I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, but I was hungry enough that I managed to pile a plate respectably high.

Mrs. Younge joined me after a few minutes. She was still acting all sweet and motherly. I wondered if when she looked at Georgiana all she saw were dollar, or in her case pound, signs. Of course her world was all unicorns and rainbows this morning, she and Wickham were just slightly over twenty-four hours away from achieving their goal of separating Georgiana from her family and her considerable fortune. I wonder if it bothered her at all that for the deal to be done her lover was going to have to sleep with me. Not that I thought Wickham was at all loyal to her, for him she was likely just convenient.

“Is there much packing left to be done?” I asked.

“No, I had Sarah pack your valise last night. You do not need much else.”

“Oh. Then why do we wait until tomorrow to leave?” I hoped my question just appeared naïve and innocent. What I really wanted to know is why Wickham, once he had gotten Georgiana to consent to the elopement, had waited at all. Was it so she wouldn’t be alarmed by the pace of events and cry off? If I were him I would have thrown in her in a carriage and set off post haste for Gretna Green. But then he could have had no idea that Darcy was going to just happen to visit his sister and foil the whole scheme. I was thinking like an outside observer. One that had access to the whole plot.

Mrs. Younge smiled, a rather sickly, condescending smile. I wonder if she thought I couldn’t wait to be alone with Wickham. “I am sure Mr. Wickham has affairs here he needs to set in order, and of course he needs to see about hiring a coach.”

“Oh, I see. So what shall we do today then if all of my things have already been packed?”

“Well, we could perhaps take a stroll, or read? Are there—” Mrs. Younge paused, and seemed to be searching for the right words. “Do you have any questions for me?”

I stared at her blankly. “Questions about what?”

She colored uncomfortably. “Questions about what occurs between a husband and wife.”

My eyes widened in shock. Was Mrs. Younge, the woman who I ranked as little higher than a sex trafficker, the woman selling a fifteen-year-old girl down the matrimonial river for cold hard cash and an occasional place in Wickham’s bed, asking Georgiana if she had questions about losing her virginity? Was she actually concerned? Or just worried that I would run, screaming in terror, from my bridal chamber and never consummate the marriage. Would Wickham still get the money if Georgiana never slept with him? Probably. Who was going to believe that a young girl like Georgiana refused to sleep with a stud like George Wickham? Nobody, that’s who.

“Um, no. I do not think—” I broke off and tried for a blush. “I do not think I wish to talk about it.”

Mrs. Younge nodded quickly and returned to her breakfast plate. I stabbed a sausage on my plate viciously and hoped that Darcy would get here soon.

After breakfast we managed to end up back in the sitting room. Seriously, Regency teenage girls must have had the most boring and unvaried lives ever. I was suddenly sorry for all of the times I’d claimed I was bored when I was fifteen. I’d had at least a hundred more options every day then it seemed Georgiana did. I was pleased to see, however, that the row of roses that I had embroidered yesterday had stayed filled in.

Mrs. Younge kept up a steady stream of chatter, mostly vaguely encouraging things about how fortunate Georgiana was to have secured the admiration of such a handsome man as George Wickham. I had to fight against a sudden urge to laugh hysterically. My shoulders shook with barely suppressed giggles. It had just occurred to me that the happy couple would have been
George and Georgiana Wickham
if the elopement had been allowed to go off. Too funny! I’d only read this book a hundred times and hadn’t ever caught it. Probably because I’d never been quite this close to the situation before.

Luckily, Mrs. Younge didn’t seem to notice my gasping for air as I silently laughed myself silly over these stupidest of things. I’m pretty sure she would have thought I was losing it. I’m not entirely sure that I wasn’t losing it. Why, out of all the bad things represented by a union between Georgiana and Wickham, did the fact that they basically shared a first name seem the worst of the lot? ‘Cause I’m obviously crazy. I took a moment to revisit the “Kelsey is insane and in an asylum” theory. It wasn’t without merit.

My self-examination was cut short by the sound of a carriage pulling up outside. I sat up straighter in excitement, looking expectantly toward the door of the sitting room.

A perplexed look, followed quickly by a look of concern, skated across Mrs. Younge’s face. I had a swift feeling of satisfaction that she was about to get it—and get it bad—before I returned to my excited anticipation. This was it! I was going to see
Fitzwilliam Darcy
! In the flesh! I could barely stand it.

The front door opened. The sound of an authoritative male voice came from the front entryway—a question, and the sound of the butler answering. Footsteps coming toward the sitting room...

And then I was face to face with Mr. Darcy.

I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting. I, of course, had a favorite on-screen Mr. Darcy. As I’d blurted to Mark a few days ago, Colin Firth from the 1995 BBC mini-series was my Mr. Darcy of choice. There are those who prefer Matthew Macfadyen, and he was admittedly hot, but his forehead always distracted me a bit. I totally respect the Macfadyen camp, but there was something about the brooding smolder that Firth had perfected that made him the Darcy of my dreams. So, I guess I had kind of expected Mr. Darcy to really look like that.

And he didn’t look
unlike
Colin Firth...or really unlike Matthew Macfadyen. They all shared enough characteristics that if I was a police detective putting together a lineup of tall, hot, dark-haired Regency dudes I would have included all of them.

If it was possible, the real Mr. Darcy was even hotter than Colin Firth’s portrayal of him. He wasn’t shooting smoldering glances about the room at the moment—why would he? As far as he knew he was just visiting his little sister, the world had yet to come down about his ears—but I bet if he did he’d leave Firth and Macfadyen in the dust.

Darcy was tall and broad shouldered and fit-looking. He filled out a pair of breeches rather decently. His hair was very dark, almost black, and a bit mussed as he had just recently taken off his hat. He had incredible cheekbones, deep set hazel eyes, a straight nose, and full, wide mouth and the most amazing dimple in his chin. It was the cleft chin that did me in. If this Mr. Darcy had walked into a room full of women in the twenty-first century, there would have been a blood bath. Cat fight
extraordinaire
. No survivors.

Mrs. Younge and I both stood up in surprise as he came into the room. I’m guessing that Mrs. Younge’s surprise was a little bit less of the pleasant variety than Georgiana’s would have been. Darcy bowed to us both and then turned a broad smile toward me. I almost died right there on the spot.

I’m his sister. His sister. His sister. I feel nothing but sisterly affection,
I lectured myself sternly as he walked toward me, hands outstretched and warmly took my hands in his.
Sister! Sister!
My brain screamed as I tried not to melt into a puddle of goo.

“Georgiana,” Darcy said, still smiling warmly down at me. His eyes were insane. They were hazel, but really they were almost a deep, olive green with a ring of velvety brown around the iris. “I hope you are well.”

I peeled my tongue off the roof of my mouth and opened my mouth to respond. What did Georgiana call him? You’d think I would have been more prepared, after all I knew he was on his way. I guess I was so excited at the prospect of seeing Mr. Darcy that I hadn’t thought through the fact that I was going to have to actually interact with him.

“Yes, I am well, Fitzwilliam. What a surprise to see you here! I did not know you were coming.”

His smile faltered, just for a second, as he looked down into my eyes.
Oh my god, he knows!

“Here, Sweet, sit down,” Darcy guided me down to the settee and then released my hands so he could sit down as well. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mrs. Younge resume her seat, except that she sat poised on the very edge of the chair, almost visibly shaking with nerves.

“Is something wrong, Georgie?” Darcy asked in a lowered voice, his amazing eyes still searching my face.

Yes,
I thought a bit desperately,
something is very wrong. I’m not Georgiana, but a girl from hundreds of years in the future trapped in her body. Oh, and you’re fictional. You don’t really exist. But I’m horribly, horribly attracted to you and cursing the crappy luck that landed me here as your sister instead of the girl you love.

Out loud I managed, “Nothing is wrong, brother, but I have some very exciting news.” I could still see Mrs. Younge out of the corner of my eye, but pretended to miss the violent shake of her head. Oh well for her...the truth was about to come out.

Darcy’s expression became even more concerned. “What news?”

“I am to be married!” I injected as much excitement as I could into my tone and pasted a bright smile on my face. This was a scene that had to be played well: Georgiana, thrilled to be engaged then heartbroken to find that Wickham was a cad. “Are you not happy for me?”

Darcy stiffened, and his expression changed from concerned to cautious, and then almost blank. It was like watching a mask come down over his face. I wondered if this is how he presented himself to Elizabeth and everyone else: slightly removed from it all, as if he didn’t care. Having watched the transformation, I could tell that he
did
care. He cared too much, but was desperately attempting to project an air of neutrality. It was defensive mechanism. He wasn’t expecting good things from Georgiana’s announcement, but he must think it was better for her to see him blank than angry.

He seemed to be choosing his words with care. “I want for you to be happy, of course.”

“I am happy, brother, even more so now that you are here. Now, of course, I see that it would be foolish to go off to Gretna Green. We should be married at home. That would be ever so much better, even if it means having to wait.”

I felt horrible. It was like sticking a knife in someone and then turning it this way and that, trying to cause the most damage. I could see the flare of shock and anger in his eyes when I mentioned Gretna Green, but his face remained impassive. And I wasn’t even done hurting him yet. This part sucked.

“I am glad I have come when I have. By all means you should be married at Pemberley. You are mistress of it after all. The chapel will be lovely for a wedding—Mother and Father were married there. But tell me, who is your betrothed?” What that even tone of voice was costing him I would probably never know. Darcy was likely seething inside, wanting to tear the head off whatever man had convinced his sister, who was really not much more than a child, to run off with him. And I was about to deliver the death blow.

Mrs. Younge was looking paler by the moment, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off of Darcy’s long enough to fully look at her. There was something mesmerizing about them. I felt really, really sorry for what I was about to do. If I was to do a character analysis on Darcy I would cite this incident as having changed him, and not for the better. My next few words were going to take a proud and shy man and close him up behind a wall of suspicion and hurt for the next several months. This incident would enhance his tendency to distrust, to find fault with those he met, resulting in him at first alienating the love of his life.

I truly think this was a defining moment for Fitzwiliiam Darcy. A hurtful and defining moment.

Well, crap. This really did suck. All I did was fall asleep with a book on my face and now I got to be the one to damage Mr. Darcy.

“You will never guess! I confess I was surprised to meet with him here as I had not seen him since I was a child—” There it was, the involuntary movement of his hand, the narrowing of his eyes. He had made the connection before I’d even gotten to the name. “George Wickham. Are you not surprised, Fitzwilliam?” I don’t know why I added that last bit. Perverseness?

Darcy clenched his teeth together. Have I mentioned his jaw? It was very strong and very...well, everything about him was just “very.”