Real: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Iris Lim

  "Lizzy, again, please, believe me that I shall never leave —"

  "But it was me," I lament. He looks at me. "I was the one being taken away — like I don't belong here or something. It's like I belong to another universe and I have to go back sooner or later and I'll lose you forever and I'll —"

  He hugs me tightly when I choke up. I finally realize what it means to be a complete wreck.

  "Lizzy."

  "Fitzwilliam," I whisper, and snake my arms firmly around his torso.

  He holds me like that — legs awkwardly straight beside each other's while our arms pull our upper bodies closely together — for a long, long while. I'm beyond thankful. Because, no matter how the ethics work in this situation, I sure as hell don't want to be pried away from him — not when I finally want him.

  "Elizabeth," he whispers above me.

  I pull back a little. "Yeah?"

  "I promise." He takes my hands and kisses them. His eyes are chasms into the cave of wonders. "I promise that regardless of whatsoever universe we may find ourselves to be in the future — that I shall always find you."

  I catch my breath.

  "Darcy, I —"

  "I would not have you worry that there could possibly be a reality, however alternate, where I do not wish to be your husband." His voice rings clear in the otherwise empty room. "No matter where you go — whatever land, whatever place — be it heaven itself, I shall follow."

  I'm palpitating through every pulse point, or non-pulse point. Every nerve burns alive.

  "And if I were difficult to find?" My voice feels small and insignificant.

  He smiles warmly, and kisses me. "Then you must exercise patience — until I do."

  Ten

  Sometime, somewhere — between kisses and recoveries and hugs and more broken china, winter's set in and Christmas is on its way. Windows are frosted, fireplaces stoked, and more and more time spent indoors. People complain — but, hey, for a thoroughbred California girl, this is the Christmas dream.

  "Must you muse in solitude, love? Your complete lack of complaints bodes well for feminine reputation. I am quite the lucky man." Darcy's cheerfulness shows even in his step. The guy's practically skipping.

  I lean up from the chair to get my well-deserved kiss. "I've planned very well for the ball. Everything will be perfect."

  "As are you." He smiles, and I smile back.

  I'm the lucky one. I mean — just look at him.

  "Georgiana shall be thrilled tonight," he says, sitting down on the chair across from me — too far, if you ask me. His dark hair looks nice against the red throws I've put everywhere. "Her first ball at home is no simple fact."

  "It'll all be great," I assure him. I try to remember if I've prepared anything for the supposed ball at all, and come up with nothing — but, even then, I feel sure it'll work out fine.

  Elizabeth Darcy is a lot more nonchalant than Lizzie Bennet, it seems.

  "You shall wear your green gown?" Darcy asks, unexpectedly hopeful. What do you know? Men do care about what you wear.

  "Yup. The new one." I smile. The book in my hand has been thoroughly neglected due to my random thoughts the past hour — but with Darcy here, any sort of entertainment feels bland. "You like it, huh?"

  He smiles, having been thoroughly trained to understand expressions like 'huh' by now. I feel like a proud momma.

  "You have always looked exceptional in green."

  His words sound so similar to Jane's usual declaration that I feel a sudden rush of homesickness, harsher than anything I've experienced for a while. I mean, to be honest, life's pretty good here. Why should I bother missing a life I might never ever go back to?

  Besides, I smile, Darcy's promised to find me even if I did. For a moment, the irony that the other Darcy used to be my basis for knowing this one escapes me.

  "At least the sleeves should shield me from the cold," I change the topic. Never did like uncomfortable emotions. "It's so chilly in England."

  He takes my observations in stride with his devilishly handsome smile. "All the more reason to snuggle."

  I can totally feel myself blushing. Because, you know, months' worth of awesomeness in bed still hasn't jaded me enough. There's something about married life.

  "You have done wonders on our home, Lizzy." He gazes at me like we're soulmates on our first date. "The world shall see tomorrow how I have married the best of them all."

  I sometimes wonder if it's just my sub-consciousness playing tricks on me. I mean, no one can be that smitten, right?

  "So you're gonna parade me around like your little trophy wife?" I switch to light sarcasm.

  "Only every moment of the entire evening." He grins at me. "What are wives for?"

  The feminist screams inside me.

  "But to love and cherish and partner with," he adds before I can say anything. "Pemberley is what it is only for you."

  The thought appeases me a little (just a little), and I settle back against the comfy chair. Say what you will of antique furniture, these things were built to stay.

  "You, uhm — like the little changes around here?" I can't help asking.

  When I peek at him, Darcy's gesturing towards the milk on the table, the blankets on the couches, and the cookies we've started baking in preparation for Santa. "You've breathed life into an old soul."

  "The old soul being you?" I tease.

  "I meant — Pemberley, of course." He looks genuinely taken aback. I love him all the more for it.

  I giggle like a silly schoolgirl. "It's a pity we're not having the ball tonight. I mean to breathe more than new life into you."

  "And whatsoever could that mean?" He's lifting that darn eyebrow again, and it's getting hard to focus. I regret not starting this conversation in our own sitting room. The drawing room is way too public. Then again, he's the one who showed up.

  I'm off the hook.

  Or not.

  There's something about that killer gaze that wets my non-existent panties each and every time.

  "We can practice, of course," Darcy says. His voice is low and gravelly and off-the-charts sexy. "The full moon may guide our guests' path tomorrow — but we need it not within our home."

  It's my turn to raise an inquisitive brow.

  "The bedroom is easy enough to find." He smirks. I want to slap him and bang him right up against the wall — antique wallpaper be damned. I want to bed him without the bed.

  "Great," I faux cheer. "You can help me review those dance steps."

  "Dance steps?"

  "Yes — for tomorrow? Your bedroom seems quite big enough to practice. You've mentioned how complicated they are, I think." It's my turn to play.

  He chuckles a little. "I would be happy to oblige in any dance you propose, darling."

  Again, the blush.

  "Nothing inappropriate, of course," I stay coy. I slip my book between my chair's cushion and side. "It's not exactly good to practice that for our guests."

  "Some dances take longer to learn, of course." He won't let me get away with it. "Thus the need for continuous practice."

  "And what dance do you suggest we practice?"

  He gives up, scoffs, stands up, marches over to me — and yanks me out from my chair into his arms. He kisses my lips. "This, I believe, is the opening line. Perhaps you can assist me in recalling the rest?"

  "I do not recall seeing mistletoe here, sir," I say dreamily.

  "Ah — then perhaps you ought to see the field I've installed in our room."

  "Not in the ballroom?"

  "Not in a ballroom where my sister shall wander about."

  I laugh. "You are quite the hypocrite, Fitzwilliam."

  "And yet you find yourself loving me."

  I laugh again, heart brimming. "Yes, I do, sir. Yes, I do."

  "Right, as I do." He smiles at me. "Now — let us see to that dance practice, shall we?"

  He drags me down the hall as gleefully as a young puppy running towards his master. I guess
, in a way, it is where we belong.

  • • •

  Regency balls are the best thing ever.

  It's not hot or cramped, even if it's equally sweaty as any modern club. The women dress up, the men layer up, and the servants make sure everyone is thoroughly drunk on spiked punch. It's literally high school all over again — with everyone impeccably dressed up.

  I've never been as much of a night owl as Lydia, so 9 p.m. is kinda pushing the times-at-which-overly-formal-social-events-can-start list. But hey, at least the cool air means my make-up won't melt.

  Yes, I've started with make-up. I use the white powdery stuff sparsely — don't want my tan ruined. The crepe paper stuff is a modern marvel. I wonder when Target dropped them.

  Guess vanity is timeless.

  "Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy," the latest set of guests greet. They all look similar — same necklines, same hair, same perfumey scents. We bow and curtsy in response, as expected (Do sclerosis patients get doctors' notes or something here?).

  "Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, Miss Darcy," the next one comes in.

  We're all a giant music box. Enter, greet, bow, stand straight — enter, greet, bow, stand straight — enter, greet, bow, stand —

  "You have done well, my love," Darcy whispers behind my ear, right at the goose bumps trail, when there's a temporary lull between guests.

  I suddenly wish everyone who's not here yet goes beyond fashionably late so we have time for another session. Man, he's turned me into a total sex kitten.

  Who am I — Lydia?

  "Thank you," I whisper back without turning.

  "You bring me endless delight, Elizabeth. It is I who ought to thank you." His hand is on the back of my waist, and I can't help wanting it to wander lower.

  King of smooth, indeed.

  "Elizabeth!" An extremely familiar voice exclaims. I quickly refocus on the ballroom entrance.

  I gasp.

  I gasp again.

  "Elizabeth!" She rushes forward and pulls me into a hug. I'm almost too shocked to reciprocate. "Oh, Elizabeth, I have missed you so dearly."

  My lips shake, my throat takes ten whole seconds to re-lubricate. I hug her back. "Jane?"

  "We have been parted for far too long, Lizzy." She pulls back and beams at me. I smile back, bewildered and happy. Her hands on my arms feel completely unreal. "What a happy Christmas we shall have!"

  "Yes," I mutter, brain still miles behind my eyes and mouth. I grip her forearms back. "Jane — you are here — with me. You're real — you're —"

  "Real? Why ever would you say that, Lizzy?" She frowns-slash-smiles in the way only Jane can. Her blond hair glistens even without product — it's all super weird. But it's her, undeniably her. "We are here to visit and celebrate with you."

  "Thank you," I say instinctively. My lips are alternating between disbelief and a bright, genuine grin.

  "Your husband has been so very kind to invite us, even sending his men to assist us when the carriage broke," Jane gushes blithely. She's more hyper in this universe. "Thank you, Darcy, Charles and I are always indebted to your kindness."

  Bingley is here — too?

  The entire situation is too good to be true.

  "He's here with you?" I ask all of a sudden. Jane looks back at me. I start analyzing her face — the brow curve, the smile. It's really is her. "Did you come — how did you —"

  "Right, there you are!" Chuck Bingley, cheerful and rotund, appears behind Jane. Jane giggles and looks up at him before kissing his cheek. Bingley briefly kisses her back before extending his hand to Darcy. "It has been a long journey, my friend."

  "We hope to make your stay worth every inconvenience," Darcy said, bowing and smiling. I guess they're still friends in this universe.

  "My wife has been entirely jubilant the past week at the thought of her reunion with your wife." Bingley grabs Darcy's hands heartily. "We two shall be reduced to lonely bachelors again by the end of the night!"

  All three of them — Darcy, Bingley, and Jane — laugh merrily. I put on a distracted smile, still reeling from information overload the way I did my first two days here. Bingley and Jane are here and married to each other. Darcy and Bingley are friends. Bingley is well-fed — definitely not the athlete he used to be over there. Fitz, I mean, that was a surprise. No beachwear in the office for you, dude. Bingley and Jane have had to travel here, so they probably live somewhere else. Darcy invited them. Darcy assisted them. Darcy knew that I would want to see them.

  I turn quickly towards my husband. He's chuckling at something Bingley said, but then he looks at me and quirks a brow questioningly.

  "Darcy." I walk towards him, grip his hands. He holds them securely and stoops to meet my eye. "Darcy, you — you made this all happen."

  He nods hesitantly, almost shyly. "Do you like your surprise?"

  Are you kidding me?

  "With all my heart!" I exclaim, period-appropriate, and launch myself into his arms.

  He holds me closely, despite what was probably an unusual level of displayed public affection. He's smiling by my ear, and I'm tearing up by his jaw.

  "Elizabeth Bennet!" An unfortunately familiar shriek calls out behind me.

  I reluctantly let Darcy go. He nods encouragingly at me before I turn around.

  "M—Mom?" I blurt out. The others look at me weird.

  "Your own perfect Mama is here!" She opens her arms and pulls me right into them. I land with an 'oomph' against her, well, crowded chest. "I have missed you so dearly!"

  Apparently, she sounds just as ridiculous in a British accent.

  "Lizzy," says a man behind her. I look up to see my dad behind my mom's shoulder. I tear up more as he smiles at me. "I am happy to see you, child."

  "As I am you." I pant — before I give way to my sniffles.

  • • •

  "Hey."

  He looks up at me just when the dance makes us turn towards each other. His face is an open question. I mean — yeah, it is my third time saying that in as many minutes.

  So I smile sheepishly instead. "Thank you."

  He nods his head, ever gallant. I don't know to curse or revel in the dance's romantic twists and turns. Nothing like limited, charged touches to fuel the sexual tension. Ask any Tumblr-generation teleplay writer. They'll tell you as much.

  Why didn't I ask for modern, clubby, gyrating dances again?

  Get booted out — fine, I know.

  It's not like the rector knows me that well.

  "Lizzy?" Darcy's call comes out of nowhere to remind me of what a horrible scowl I must be sporting, like, right now.

  So — I grin again. "I'm alright."

  He nods, and keeps on dancing. It's almost the end of the number now. With us supposedly 'opening the ball,' everyone seems to have suffered dance repression until we hit the floor. At least, after this, everyone can dance all they want whether we join or not.

  "I have, of course, requested for my sister, your sister, and your mother to share my subsequent dances," he states it matter-of-factly. "Has your father requested for yours?"

  I'm honestly a little caught off-guard.

  "Oh." I finish the last few steps. It takes a lot of focus to pretend I seamlessly know something I literally just learned hours ago. "I, uhm — yes?"

  "I am happy to hear that." He smiles when we bow and curtsy at each other.

  I smile for real as he leads be back to the safety of the punch bowl. I did especially request for this recipe.

  "You and Darcy make a splendid match, my dear. Oh! I could never have thought you to be my favorite daughter!" My mother from this universe fans herself comically (okay, fine, she does that in Earth-1 too).

  I smile politely, still hanging safely on to Darcy's arm.

  "Fitzwilliam," I side-whisper. He leans down to hear me. "Perhaps you can help me with the tear in my dress?"

  "Your dress? I had not noticed —"

  He trails off at my glare.

  "Your dress, yes, of course. Please
pardon us, madame, for our inhospitable absence."

  "Oh, but surely Elizabeth's many handmaidens can help her? You can stay right here to keep me company, child!" The matron laughs at Darcy. I want to sock her. Thank God my real mother isn't this bad — well, most of the time.

  "I prefer for Darcy to help me," I quickly claim. "I — he — he is so attentive."

  The implication is not lost on this Mrs. Bennet, thankfully, and she blushingly shoos us away. Darcy laughs when we reach the foot of the private staircase. He turns to me, lifts me, whirls me into a blur — before setting me back down. I'm breathless for real.

  "You, my love, shall have me be the world's most attentive husband — and most negligent host." He leans close, tilting already.

  I kiss him willingly, happy to have him for myself after the past torturous hour. "Thank you for bringing my family."

  "Of course." He smiles brightly, forehead to mine. "I would go to the ends of the world to have you happy, Elizabeth."

  "But you don't have to."

  He meets my eye, probably surprised. I should be too, actually.

  But I'm not.

  "Fitzwilliam Darcy." I pull tightly around his neck. His lips hover inches from mine. "Thank you — for being the best husband in the whole entire world."

  "I am not —"

  "You are." I kiss him. He kisses me back. I feel relieved for not having put on too much lip color. My fingers play with his cravat when we part. My voice comes out breathy and tight. "I'm happy Jane and Bingley and Dad and Mom are here; but none of them — none of them — can hold a candle to how happy I am when I'm with you."

  For the first time in a long while, I see his eyes watering.

  "I love you," I go on, my own eyes tearing. "And I'll gladly stay with you forever."

  "As I you." He smiles. The emotions are thick on his voice. We're having the most cliché of romantic exchanges — but, somehow, I don't care. "From my very first proposal, Lizzy, I have never ceased to love you."

  My smile tightens just a little.

  It's kinda hard to recall a proposal I don't even know existed.

  So I ask instead, "What if I forget?"

  "Hm?"

  "If I love you with my entire heart — but one day grow old and forget everything we've ever shared. What if —" I choke up a little.