by Ari Rhoge
“I can't say I'm surprised. The first time we met, I think you threatened to kick my ass in three different ways,” Darcy said, dryly, finishing his coffee.
Elizabeth shrugged, unapologetic. “Yeah, well… we didn't exactly hit it off.”
“No, I think it was me you were trying to hit.”
“Probably.”
Darcy said nothing. He was looking down into his coffee cup, absently tracing the rim with his finger. Lizzy decided that she liked how he looked then. It had been a long drive (or maybe even a long day for him) — he hadn't taken too much care with his appearance. His sleeves were rolled up, the top button of his shirt undone. No suit and tie. His dark hair was messier than usual, not neatly combed, and he had slight stubble covering his chin. Lizzy thought that he looked more handsome this way, and she couldn't think why, until she realized it was because he looked more approachable. Less uptight.
“How's your family?” he suddenly asked, and Elizabeth blanched.
“Um… good. Thanks.”
“Good,” Darcy nodded.
Jane was the unspoken name that hung in the air, though she had said it a minute before and the issue hadn't been addressed. Will looked directly at her, and Lizzy glanced away, feeling her cheeks grow warm. She didn't want him to bring up Jane and Charlie. Nothing good could come of that.
Richard was heard before they could see him turning down the aisle — he was whistling the Colonel Bogey March from The Breakfast Club, stomping his feet in time. “Did you miss me?” he asked, scooting back into the booth. He unfolded a napkin at the center of the table. “So, Nancy and Kendra gave me a shortcut. We have to—”
“You should ask for the check,” interrupted Darcy.
“We pay up front,” he said, sighing impatiently. He tapped the map scratched onto the napkin. “I'm going to take this exit instead, once we're back on the 192. What do you think?”
“I don't live here,” Darcy muttered. He rubbed his eyes, and rested his head in his hand. “Quit dicking around.”
“What do you think, Elizabeth?” Richard looked up at her.
“I think it sounds fine,” Elizabeth said, shrugging. “Seriously, just get me someplace warm that has a bed and a shower. I feel so grimy. I'm officially wearing yesterday's eye makeup.”
“We can't have that,” Richard said, standing up, and shrugging his jacket back on. “Tomorrow's a full day.”
“It is?” Lizzy winced, looking up at him. She was still sitting down. In that moment, she was too tired to stand. The six-hour flight had finally caught up with her.
“Yes, it's quite brutal. What's the itinerary, Will?” Richard asked, fixing his collar. Darcy looked over his shoulder at him, in the process of unfolding a few bills from his wallet for the tip. He shrugged, noncommittal. “Oh, you're useless. —— Lizzy, call Charlotte in the morning. She'll get you up to speed with everything.”
“Okay,” Elizabeth said, yawning, and giving him two thumbs up. “Sounds like a plan.”
• • •
It was a good plan, too, until Lizzy overslept the next morning.
She didn't remember much that happened after the diner. Just Richard losing horribly at a game of Padiddle (“this is a bullshit American driving game!”) and Darcy heckling him for it (“how embarrassing, Rich. You're the driver — how on earth are you losing?”). She remembered shitty pop tunes on the radio, and her saying hasty goodbyes to the Darcy–Fitzwilliam cousins, who were staying in the hotel, somewhere — she couldn't recall which floor. Lizzy did remember pulling off her jeans, and falling face-first into her mattress. It was quite possible that she fell asleep in that position for the entire night.
It wasn't until someone savagely beat their fists against her door that Lizzy gasped, and jolted upright in bed. Sunshine was streaming in through the translucent curtains — she winced, and covered her eyes. She wiped a line of drool from her chin a second later. “Oh, that's sexy.” The knocking continued, and Lizzy scrambled up, twisting the sheets around her body so she wouldn't answer the door in a tank top and panties. “I'm coming! Jesus.”
Charlotte was on the other side of the threshold. She was tapping her foot angrily. “Well, at least you answer your door!”
“It's nice to see you too,” Elizabeth mumbled, groggily. The shorter girl sighed, and pushed past her, and Lizzy nearly stumbled from the intrusion. “Yes, of course you can come in!” she said, sarcastically, swinging the door shut behind her. “Make yourself comfortable. —— I know I have.”
“Elizabeth, I've been calling you all morning,” said Charlotte, sitting on the edge of her mattress. “We're meeting with the photographer at the Rosings vineyard in three hours, for the wedding shots. I still need to finalize the band — we had a last-minute switcheroo. Then to Bentley Hall for the reception. I leave for hair and makeup in 30 minutes. Do you need an appointment? I'm sure Shandra could fit you in — she's an expensive stylist friend of Mrs. de Bourgh. I mentioned Catherine before, I think — she's Bill's godmother.”
Lizzy's brows knitted together, and she opened her mouth, staring at her friend for many seconds. “I'm sorry. You just said so many words, and I understood only like five of them, and not even in the right order.”
“Why don't you go wash up, and talk to me in a couple minutes?” Charlotte said, slowly and patiently, as if she were speaking to a child. Lizzy obediently trudged into the bathroom. Her best friend answered texts while the faucet ran, and Lizzy walked out a few minutes later, fresh-faced and running her fingers through her hair.
“Whoa.” She froze, squinting at Charlotte. “You look pretty. I didn't have my contacts in earlier.”
“Oh, thanks,” Charlotte said, smiling sheepishly. She had blond highlights now, and blunt bangs that stopped right before her eyes. Somebody had also wrestled her out of her favorite paisley hippie dresses and T-shirts — she wore a smart black pantsuit now, with a pinstriped scarf.
“I feel like you just walked out of a J.Crew catalog,” Lizzy said, smirking, and lifting her suitcase to prop it up on the bed. She carefully unhooked the garment bag that had her dress inside. “You look nice!” she said, quickly, when she saw Charlotte smoothing her suit jacket self-consciously. “I mean —— I've known you since college, Char. We lived in sweatpants together.”
“True.” Charlotte sighed heavily, and rounded her shoulders. She watched Lizzy unpack in silence, unwind her phone charger, and plug this into the wall. Lizzy apologized for the missed phone calls — her cell phone's battery had died overnight. “Listen, it's not important. Guess what? I'm getting married today.”
“You're getting married today,” Lizzy echoed, smiling. “Are you okay?” she asked, gently, touching her friend's shoulder.
“Yeah. Yes. Definitely, yeah,” Charlotte said, nodding enthusiastically. She breathed in deeply, and laughed. “I think I have butterflies in my stomach.”
“I'm no expert, but I hear that's what usually happens.”
“Mm.” She nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “You're not mad at me, are you? I meant to pick you up at the airport last night, cross my heart. But Bill called me, panicking because of that band situation. My hands were tied.”
“I understand,” said Lizzy. She sat back on the bed now, and crossed her legs. “Okay, I was massively pissed off when I thought I would be stuck with Will Darcy for who knew how many hours. But Richard was a pleasant surprise. Loud, British, charming, ridiculous guy. I think we're best friends now.”
“I had a hunch that you would like him!” Charlotte laughed, brushing her hair behind her ears.
“Well, how could you not?” Lizzy grinned. She shook her head and chuckled.
“You know, you should go easy on Darcy. He's been here all week, and he's been pretty supportive about all this wedding business,” said Charlotte. “He's always on hand for a last-minute errand, and he's like… surprisingly docile about it all. He offered to pick you up from the airport!” Her mouth curled up into a grin. “Richard d
id, too — but I suggested that Will go, because he knows what you look like.”
Elizabeth raised both eyebrows. “I don't know, Charlotte. The man looked pained last night.”
“Well, he might have volunteered so he could get away from his aunt. You'll meet her at the wedding. Aunt Catherine's kind of difficult to deal with.”
“Oh, now she's your aunt, too?” Lizzy teased, nudging her.
“Nearly everybody calls her Aunt Catherine. Collins does. It's what you call women who are terrified of aging,” Charlotte said, dryly. “They become everybody's frigid aunt.”
“Shit, the things I hear about this woman. I would be worried, but I don't think I care enough.”
“Well, you wouldn't be Lizzy if you did,” Charlotte pointed out, with a dreary sigh. She swung her legs to the side of the bed, and got up, pausing to plant a kiss onto her best friend's forehead. “I'm so happy you're here,” she said, her smile wavering tearfully.
“Don't cry. You're gonna make me cry,” Lizzy begged her. “Pinky promise.”
Charlotte laughed, and pinky-promised her. She brushed away a couple of tears from her lashline, and Lizzy looked down at her hands, trying to be unemotional. “How's Jane?” Charlotte asked. “I should have asked sooner.”
“No, it's fine,” Elizabeth told her, half-shrugging. “She's in Newark for the conference. She sends her deepest apologies.”
“Oh, I got all seven of those apologies on my voicemail.” Charlotte chuckled, and patted her pocket, where Lizzy assumed her cell phone was. “I love Jane, but, even if she had, I don't think it would have been good for her emotional well-being to come.”
Lizzy grudgingly agreed, though she didn't know if Jane would have been that affected at a wedding as stiff and romance-starved as the one that would play out that day. She smiled a supportive smile anyway, and wrapped her arms around Charlotte's shoulders, hugging her tightly. “Knock 'em dead today.”
“Will do.”
• • •
The wedding was beautiful. Elizabeth didn't feel much of an emotional tug from it, at least not from the groom's end. But she took comfort from the little things. The plush, rolling green landscape framed against the late afternoon sunshine. The lines and lines of curling green vines and purple grapes. The cool scent of the breeze. The way the air smelled right before a rainstorm. The light picking out the red highlights in Charlotte's pinned-up curls. Her father's tear-stricken face as he gave her away. Her best friend's pretty, worried face beneath a sheer white veil.
Lizzy's heart twisted for her, and she couldn't ignore what she didn't like. Bill Collins' tuxedo, for instance, which wasn't shiny like Richard described it, but was, as he had hinted at, a bizarre shade of royal purple — she didn't like it. She didn't like that Mariah Lucas could not make it to her own little sister's wedding (despite the fact that said wedding came with the guarantee of a prenup). She didn't like that Jane wasn't there to be her emotional buffer. She didn't like the inappropriate whispering during the ceremony, and the priest's nasal-pitched voice. She didn't like the icy stare of an older woman across the path, who wore a large brimmed hat piled high with fake, dark flowers.
It was Catherine de Bourgh, and she would have the absolute pleasure of meeting her at the reception that evening.
Lizzy was Charlotte's one and only bridesmaid, and she held her bouquet for her dutifully while the vows were read. Will Darcy stood a few feet across from her — she looked at him when she didn't feel like staring at the bride and groom any longer. There he was, long-limbed and handsome in a black suit, his hair windblown as he stared across the vineyard. Darcy had a pensive, vacant expression on his face — Lizzy smirked, suspecting that he wasn't even paying attention. Then again, neither was she.
The ceremony ended on a somber note that Lizzy couldn't shake. Secretly, she had a small hope that Charlotte would come to her senses and sprint down the aisle in the other direction, clutching her white skirts in her hands like in Runaway Bride. She would have vouched for her. She would have made every excuse in the book.
But it never happened, and Lizzy decided to forget about it and have as much champagne as possible at the reception.
“Attagirl!” Richard clinked his glass with hers. They sat at their table in Bentley Hall, a small ritzy estate an hour away from the hotel. Lizzy spotted Charlotte across the room. Her veil was gone, and Lizzy could see the design on the strapless ivory bodice of her gown now. Her arm was threaded through that of Collins, her face patient and happy as they chatted with one of his work colleagues.
Lizzy sighed gravely, and sipped her champagne. “I hope he makes her happy. Is that so much to ask for?”
“Surprisingly, yes.” Richard half-smiled. “It's something we aspire for, not something that is guaranteed. All in the chase, love.”
“Mm,” Elizabeth murmured, in agreement, tilting her head. “Speaking of chasing, that girl in the red dress has been eyeballing you since you sat down next to me. Are you gonna get on that, or should I pull some introductions?”
“Oh, she'll come to me,” Richard said, grinning. “Though it's funny that you mention introductions. Aunt Catherine bothered me around an hour ago about meeting you. Charlotte's infamous best friend — up you go!”
“Do I have to?” Lizzy sneered.
“Yes.”
“I'm not dressed to impress.” She laughed at her own joke.
“You look very pretty, my friend.”
Lizzy smiled in thanks. She was wearing a simple black, sleeveless cocktail dress, but it was very fitted and feminine. Her hair was twisted delicately into a chignon, with loose curls framing her face.
Richard led her grudgingly to the intimate little inner circle by the staircase. Charlotte beamed immediately, thrilled to see her, and Bill nodded tersely. “Aunt Cathy,” said Richard, slowly. “I'd like you to meet Elizabeth Bennet, Charlotte's best friend from Philadelphia.”
“Ah,” said Catherine, with dawning comprehension. Lizzy picked up on the crisp British accent. Catherine de Bourgh was a polished woman in her mid-60s, with bright blue eyes and crow's feet, in a crotchety black-and-white tweed suit — Lizzy guessed Chanel. “I hear interesting things about you, Eliza,” she told her. “You teach at a public school, yes?”
“Call me Lizzy,” she said, politely, lacing her hands in front of her. “And yeah, I do. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. de Bourgh.”
“Yes,” she said, coolly. “It's a shame that you can't find a private institution. I have a friend in Massachusetts who teaches at a new charter school — lovely, lovely facility.”
Darcy cleared his throat, quietly, not to seek attention. But Lizzy picked up on his presence anyway — still and quiet, staring into his glass of champagne. He met her eye briefly, glancing down at her dress — then he looked away.
“This is my daughter, Anne,” Catherine announced. She turned to the small, timid, dark-haired girl at her side. Lizzy hadn't even noticed her before. Anne de Bourgh was painfully shy and pale, and looked all of 16, though she was probably a whole decade older. She reminded her a little of Mary. She wore a long-sleeved dress, and avoided eye contact.
Bill laughed nervously, and plucked at his bow tie. “Aunt Catherine —— Charlotte and I took your suggestion for the new florist. We went with the freesia motif. What do you think? I think it has a wistful, old romantic style to—”
“I hate freesias,” said Catherine, stiffly. Lizzy snorted, and she turned a sharp, withering eye to her. “How old are you?” she asked Lizzy, who balked at the sheer bluntness of the question.
Richard was laughing silently, and Lizzy only knew so because his shoulders were shaking. He covered his mouth with his hand.
“Old enough to teach public school kindergarten, apparently,” Elizabeth replied, draining the last of her champagne. “Old enough to ditch you guys to go dance. Richard, wanna go for a spin?”
“Surely!” he said, grinning.
“Charlotte, Bill,” Lizzy said, giggling a bit, nodd
ing in time. “Catherine, Mr. Lucas… Darcy. —— Have a good evening!”
Catherine, her eyebrows delicately arched, watched her go. She turned to her nephew. “William, you know that girl?”
“I do,” Darcy said.
And a smile crept up his mouth.
• • •
Two hours later and Elizabeth felt sufficiently tipsy enough to not care about much anymore. Richard had temporarily ditched her for good ol' Red Dress, to dance to a Billy Idol song. Lizzy couldn't dance anymore. Her feet hurt, and her heels were… well, they were somewhere. She turned on her perch on the staircase, searching for them, and promptly gave up.
She spotted Will Darcy across the room, dancing with his cousin, Anne. It wasn't working out too well — Anne kept stepping on his left foot. Elizabeth wanted to snap a photo of his frustrated, agonizingly patient face.
“Lizzy?” Richard returned, arm-in-arm with Red Dress, who turned out to be somebody else's date. “This is Nadine. She's an actress. She's Jack Maynard's date.”
“Jack Maynard?”
“Bill's accountant,” cooed Nadine, tugging at one of her blond ringlets.
“How wonderful for you!” Lizzy grinned, leaning forward to aggressively shake her hand. “You're really, really pretty. Are those real?”
“She's a little drunk,” Richard said, chuckling nervously, and rubbing his neck. Nadine made a disgruntled noise and turned back to the dance floor, her heels clicking on the tile. Richard groaned, and sank down to sit beside her. “Thanks a lot.”
“Cockblocked,” Lizzy said, sniggering, and covering her mouth with both hands. She giggled some more.
Richard stared at her, and his eyebrows rose. He began to laugh. “Jesus, Lizzy… how much did you have to drink?”
“Quite a bit. I'm feeling emotionally unstable tonight.”
