The Heir and Spare (Jane Austen Adaptations)

5. Elizabeth

Chapter 5

Elizabeth

E lizabeth watched Mary with astonishment as she blushed and giggled and warmed under the flamboyant energy that poured out of Lord Perceval. Mary might not be enamored, but she was indeed enjoying herself. And Mary enjoying herself was not something Elizabeth could remember happening. Ever. She had supposed that Mary’s version of enjoyment was limited to the more serious pursuits of thought and action and that she was very much above anything frivolous. But Lord Perceval was able to find the part of Mary that did indeed enjoy attention and a social conversation.

Elizabeth felt like one of those tittering marms who watched from the side and matchmade every couple that came together. Nothing slipped by those women. But she could not help her riveted attention.

Lord Shackley approached them. “I do have another copy of the green volume.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Lord Perceval and Mary moved with the book to sit by the fire, and Elizabeth didn’t think that conversation was ending any time soon.

* * *

Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy found their own corner of the room. He stood behind a chair for Elizabeth and when she was seated, sat as close as was possible to her. “I would like to at least see who is the author of such an intriguing tome? And how will we adapt the stories in some theatrical way?”

He rubbed his hands together in such an outward show of glee that Elizabeth could only laugh.

Mr. Darcy watched her, and as she glanced again in his direction was stunned by the appreciative smile and sparkle in his eyes.

Could this be the same man who couldn’t be bothered to dance with her? Was this the one who deemed her not handsome enough? What had caused such a transformation? Was it simply because she was the only woman of interest present? Would his attention drift once the others arrived? She couldn’t know, but decided there was no reason to continue with antagonism. She would simply keep her distance emotionally and certainly guard her heart against such a handsome face, one who was showing an extra amount of attention. Being noticed, she decided, was heady. A man’s attention to her every intake of breath, his eyes studying the curls of her hair, the curve of her lips, was sending waves of anticipation through her in such a way that she wanted more and felt herself drawn to him simply because he saw her. Never before had she known you could sense a man’s eyes on you, feel where he looked, respond to his gaze. She warmed and knew her face was turning pink. It was heady indeed.

Lord Shackley brought them another book, a copy of the same in Mary’s hands. Elizabeth opened it up and smiled. “ Shakespeare’s Sonnets ?”

“Exactly. Think of all you can do with that! Think of the possibilities.”

Mr. Darcy rubbed his chin. “Could we also glean from the actual stories? They might be easier to portray?”

“You may, certainly, as long as the sonnets play a part. They must be central.”

Elizabeth turned page after page and then laughed to herself. “They are some of the most romantic…” She cleared her throat. “ That God forbid who made me first your slave ?” She ran her finger down the page. “ Sweet love renew thy force…thus can my love excuse the slow offense…shall I compare thee to a summer’s day… ” She paused and glanced up at Lord Shackley. “Are you perchance hoping to enliven the romantic tendencies of this group?”

“Naturally.” He winked. “But with poetry, it is surely a stout way to douse love rather than enliven it, don’t you agree?”

She tipped her head. “I do indeed. Though it is a rare person who agrees with me.”

Mr. Darcy frowned. “Isn’t poetry the stuff of which love is fanned and flamed?”

“Of a stout love, perhaps. But any paltry beginning love will surely be stifled and find it too disagreeable a diversion as to alienate both parties.”

His brow furrowed. “So, we should halt before we begin?”

“That depends, Mr. Darcy. How sturdy is our love?”

His mouth dropped and his face drained of color. “Pardon me?”

But Elizabeth laughed until she coughed. “Oh, Mr. Darcy. I am merely teasing. I have no inclination of a love between us. I am merely attempting to make this seem less awkward. Am I failing terribly?”

His face was a charming rosy color which she never imagined to ever see on Mr. Darcy, but he nodded as if attempting to gain control again of his emotions. “We shall persevere, Miss Elizabeth, and find that perhaps I am handsome enough to overcome whatever weakness the Bard might bring to our young and fragile friendship?”

She felt herself bristle and before she could stop herself from responding said, “Handsome enough? You may well be. But what is handsome enough to tempt you, Mr. Darcy?”

His brow lowered. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Perhaps my wit is not as worthy to follow?” His confusion was a puzzle to her. Had he no memory of her really? They’d not mentioned yet their previous knowledge of one another. Was she so inconsequential that he’d forgotten her altogether?

“Handsome enough to tempt me?” He searched her face for some elusive answer to the questions he obviously had. “I suppose there might be many things…” He stumbled over the words. “What about you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I find the whole concept to be entirely too prideful in nature. Who deems people worthy of dancing, or handsome enough for attention.” She frowned and looked away. Suddenly all the previous ease they’d had, all the fun in smiles and flirtatious ground they’d gained fizzled away in the memory of his insult. And to think she’d not been handsome enough to even be remembered. She turned away. “Perhaps we should take turns reading it? You can go first and choose one for us to do?”

“Oh, well, certainly I can do whatever you wish. Might it be more enjoyable to read together…” His voice trailed off as she looked away, her frown deepening.

“Very well.” He lifted the book and sat back in his chair. He was silent for many moments and the uncomfortable feeling in the room grew. How could he have forgotten her? How could they openly use the same words and he not remember? What had not been handsome enough for him? She clasped her hands together in supreme annoyance. Then she stood and walked about the room. Mary was reading closely with her partner. They seemed perfectly in sync and happy with their pairing. They’d been able to function, to keep a friendly rapport. Why could she not do the same? Why must she overcomplicate everything?

When she turned back over her shoulder to see what he was doing, he was still engrossed in the book, with not a care for their situation or for her.

She told herself that he was only doing as she so clearly indicated. That who would want to read close with a woman who was angry at him, who openly frowned in his direction? But all the same, he could at least attempt to look in her direction again?

She knew he would not. A man could only put up with her supreme prejudice before his pride prevented him from pursuing further.

But had she not a right to be irritated, to not trust him, to already know that she was not handsome enough? Why should she allow herself to be vulnerable again when up against even the other women in her home city of Meryton, she’d been found wanting.

She had to get out of her head. This was most ridiculous.

“Come, Miss Elizabeth, your ghouls are disturbing even my peace of mind.” Mr. Darcy held up the book and patted the chair at his side. “Whatever your demons, let Shakespeare work his magic. This sonnet is a good one…” He wiggled his eyebrows and Elizabeth relaxed. No matter her opinion of the man, she could enjoy his company. She did not have to accept his suit. She could simply sit at his side and read Shakespeare. Perform Shakespeare for the party. Who knew the others who would attend. There would be more friendships available to her, presumably.

She eyed Mary again. And Elizabeth felt it worth the effort to stay and to participate if only for dear Mary who might not have another chance such as this again.

Her head dipped in acceptance. “I am being a bit of a torrent, am I not?”

“A cyclone of the smallest, most docile kind.” He grinned. “But are we not all that way sometimes?”

“I don’t know. It is a new sensation for me. I do think this will help.” She sat close. They placed the book between them. And Mr. Darcy grinned. “I think you will see what I see in this sonnet? It lends itself to a most diverting read, indeed.”

Elizabeth could be polite, but she determined then and there she would not be allowing the charming side to the double personality of Mr. Darcy to break down her defenses because who knew when the rude and prideful version would make an appearance and she fall short in his eyes once again.