“I wonder if he’s already realized how appropriate a match she is for him?”
“Undoubtedly. Maybe we could all go after that guy Johnathan instead? He seems a lot less like he’s got a stick up his butt than Mr. Darcy.”
“He is a little formal, isn’t he? I just figured it’s his English way.”
“Oh, I think he’s got an ego so big he’s got to pay extra luggage allowance to schlep it all around with him.”
Kennedy giggles. “Can’t you take as much luggage as you like in First Class?”
“I would have no clue. I’m strictly a coach girl, and I wish I meant the handbags.”
“Well, coach or not, we both need to get in some face time with Mr. Darcy tonight.”
I watch as Camille throws her head back in laughter. After my humiliating entrance on the red carpet, I’m pretty sure Sebastian knows exactly who I am—and definitely not in a good way.
But they say being memorable is half the battle in the first few days, and I guess I’ve got that covered, even if he only wants to keep me around to see me make a fool of myself again.
I watch as he makes his way around the room, stopping to chat with a bunch of different women, many of whom openly flirt, some of whom actually fawn over him.
It sure wouldn’t be bad to be Fake Mr. Darcy right now.
Chapter 4
Kennedy disappears to talk to some of the other contestants and I lean back against the cushions and start to fantasize about escaping to some quiet corner to be on my own, preferably under my duvet at home in front of a movie with Frank.
As I think of my cat, snuggling up to Penny and her husband, I feel a pang of jealousy, followed quickly by a wave of nostalgia for my old life (and yes, I know I only left it this morning. But still.)
“Have you fallen out of anything else since I last saw you?” a deep voice says beside me.
I snap out of my Frank-induced reverie to see Sebastian looming over me as a couple of photographers hover nearby. He looks down at me with questioning eyes.
I push myself up against the cushions and try not to openly wince as my butt protests. “Nope. I’ve taken the caution of sitting here on this very safe sofa, as you can see.”
“That sounds sensible to me,” he replies in his sexy English accent which I refuse to be moved by, even if it does make me think of Henry Cavill, Jude Law, and Colin Firth, all wrapped up in one handsome package.
“You can’t be too cautious, I always think.”
“As long as you don’t try to remove any more of your clothing.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. Is he flirting with me? That sounded a little suggestive. “I’ll try to do my best.”
To my surprise, he sits down next to me, a collection of cameras around us, focusing on his every move. Don’t look at the cameras, they said. Act natural, they said.
Yeah, easy if you’re a Kardashian.
Sebastian leans his elbows on his knees. “While you’ve been sitting here and working hard at not falling off the sofa, I’ve been having an illuminating evening.”
“You mean you’re being followed around the room by a bevy of eager beauties, all wanting to flirt their skinny butts off with you?”
His lips curve into a small smile. “Something like that.”
I give him a fake concerned look. “That must be so hard for you.”
“You have no idea, Emma.”
“You remembered my name,” I say in surprise and instantly regret it. I sound like one of his sycophants, thrilled to clutch at any crumb of attention he deigns to offer me.
“You, Emma, are hard to forget.”
I think of my initial limo exit and cringe. “Yeah, I can see that.” Eager to change the subject I ask, “Tell me what’s been so illuminating about your evening so far.”
“The different ways the contestants have tried to stand out.”
“Like what?”
“There’s you, of course, with your entrance and your sweatpants.”
“Activewear,” I correct.
“Then there’s that woman over there who read me a poem she’d written about how we are destined to be together.”
“Fun.”
That’s got to be Shelby.
“Then there was the contestant who tried to give me a vial of her blood.”
I stare at him, too stunned to remember I decided not to like the guy before I even met him. “Are you serious?”
“I am serious. She tried to give it to me on the red carpet and asked me if I could furnish her with a vial of my own blood in return.”
“Which you just happened to have on you.”
“Well, naturally,” he replies with a smile that sets off a couple of misguided butterflies in my belly.
I take a mallet to them straight away.
“I’ve got a vial for every contestant,” he continues. “I thought that was part of the show.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’re right, I don’t. The production crew said it was against the rules.”
“But if it wasn’t?”
“Well, you’d all have little bottles by now. Clearly.” His delivery is totally deadpan, and I’ve got to suppress a smile.
Mr. Darcy, it turns out, has a wry wit.
“Who knew you were Billy Bob Thornton in disguise?” I say.
“I’m sorry, who?”
“Billy Bob Thornton. He was married to Angelina Jolie about a hundred years ago. They famously wore vials of each other’s blood around their necks.”
“How delightful.”
“Not the word I’d use, dude.”
He gives me a questioning look before he leans back against the cushions with a sigh and, despite everything I know about him, those darn butterflies start up again. I deal to them swiftly once more, this time using a blowtorch to make sure they’re dead and gone. I refuse to fall for this guy and his charms, even if half the women in the room here probably already have.
He’s a means to an end. Nothing more.
Anyway, I bet he thinks he’s better than everyone else, just because he’s aristocratic and rich and has a family tree that reaches back to the Romans or something. I’m sure he and Camille will make a wonderful couple, surrounded by their collection of gold bars and wads of cash and family seals.
Some of us don’t have the luxury of family money behind us. Some of us need to make it on our own. And when I say “some of us,” I mean me, of course.
“Have you met many of the contestants?” he asks me.
I take a sip of my wine. “Some.”
“So, you’d know if there was anyone I should know about?”
“Even if I do, I’m not going to tell you.” I punch my fist against my chest. “I’m all about sisterhood.”
“Does that sisterhood extend to the mildly insane?”
“Oh, yeah. Especially the mildly insane.”
“I see.” He seems to size me up for a moment before he says, “You’re not as tough as you make out, are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve got a soft side. And I don’t mean the one you landed on earlier tonight. Although that was entertaining. Well, more for me than for you, I imagine.”
“Entertaining is not the word I would have used.”
I know I’ve got to be nice to this guy so he doesn’t boot me off the show for a few rounds. But by bringing up my humiliation, he’s making it a tall order.
“So, tell me, Emma. Why are you here?”
The question throws me. I know why I’m here. Penny knows why I’m here. But I’m not about to tell him it’s got nothing to do with him.
“To fall in love,” I say as convincingly as I can.
He holds my gaze for a beat or two, and then, to my surprise, he erupts into a low, rumbling laugh.
“What?” I ask, totally nonplussed. Is it so hilarious that I could fall in love with this guy?
On second thought, don’t answer that.
“Nothing. It’s nothing
,” he replies as though it’s so got to be something.
I turn the tables on him. “Okay. Why are you here, Sebastian?”
“Same reason as you, Emma. To fall in love.”
“Well, we’re both here ‘for the right reasons,’ then, huh?” I reply, using the expression every contestant on every dating show ever uses to ensure the viewer knows they’re genuine.
“It would certainly appear so,” he replies in that terribly grave English accent of his, like he’s from Downton Abbey. Only he’s from his own, real manor house, with real servants and everything. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must circulate some more.”
“Sure. Go ahead. Circulate away. Your gaggle is waiting for you.” I gesture at a group of eager women, hovering nearby.
He gets up from his spot next to me, and the cameras follow him as he moves away.
I lean back in my seat. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that a guy with a freaking castle is doing a reality TV show for something other than what we’re all led to believe.
And I find myself wanting to know what that reason is.
Chapter 5
At some point during the evening, right about the time Sebastian has spoken to all of the contestants (not that I’m keeping an eye on him, of course, I’m only interested to see how this all unfolds), there’s a ding ding ding of silverware on glass. A hush falls across the room.
“Ladies,” Johnathan begins as Sebastian moves to stand at his side. “I trust you’ve had a wonderful evening getting to know not only Mr. Darcy, but also one another, as well. Some of you have stood out to him already, and as he leaves to deliberate, you must ask yourselves whether you are one of them.”
I spy Hayley standing near me, and she shoots me a look I can only read as pure aggression. I smile at her and shrug, the human equivalent of a dog lying prostrate on the ground to show it’s no threat. But all she does is shake her head at me and look away.
What is with that girl?
“And with that said, it’s time to leave here to assemble for the very first card ceremony. We will see you all shortly.”
The two men turn to leave the room, leaving us to wonder what’s about to happen.
“The card ceremony?” I ask Reggie beside me.
“Your guess is as good as mine, darlin’, but it looks like we’re rollin’ out, so we best follow the herd.”
I find Kennedy nearby and we walk out of the room together.
“How was your talk with Mr. Darcy?” she asks me.
I think about it before I reply. “Weird.”
“Weird how?”
“I don’t know. Weird in that I didn’t expect him to have a sense of humor, I guess.”
“Why not?”
“Because he looks all serious and stiff and James Bond-y.”
“Maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye?”
“I doubt that,” I scoff.
“Well, he talked to you longer than anyone else, and he sat next to you, which he didn’t do with anyone else either.”
“So the guy is fond of standing. So what?”
“So nothing. Hayley and Camille noticed, that’s all, and they are not happy about it.”
That explains the glare.
We enter another huge room, this one devoid of furniture other than a lone table.
“What else did you two talk about?”
“He told me I’m not as tough as I think I am. Whatever that means.”
She lets out a light laugh. “Random.”
“I know, right? What did you talk about with him?”
“The weather and where I’m from.”
“How riveting for you,” I deadpan.
A good half an hour later, we’ve been arranged and rearranged by the production staff in a bunch of different ways before they seem to be happy. I find myself stuck at the back, standing on a platform on my tippy toes so I can see over the heads of the other contestants.
I feel a twinge of regret for the heels I left behind in the limo.
“What do you think this card ceremony is?” Shelby asks. She’s the one who’s apparently destined to be with Sebastian. You know, the really balanced, sane, non-crazy one.
“I think it’s to eliminate one of us,” sweet Phoebe says on my other side.
As Mr. Darcy arrives in the room, accompanied by Stuck-By-His-Side-Johnathan, I reply, “I guess we’re about to find out.”
With the cameras trained on both us and him, we watch the men with expectation.
“Ladies. Mr. Darcy has a set of invitational cards on this table.” Johnathan gestures to a wooden table which is indeed covered in envelopes, complete with red wax seals from the olden days. “Each card represents an invitation to stay here at the ranch, which of course is an invitation to secure Mr. Darcy’s heart.”
I stifle a scoff. “Cheesy, much?” I mutter under my breath to entirely the wrong audience. Phoebe shushes me, Shelby looks at me as if I’ve just said “I am the devil’s servant,” and I receive several annoyed looks from other women around me.
Tough crowd.
“Eleven of you have named invitation cards on this table which, I’m sorry to say, means that one of you is going home tonight.”
Virtually all the contestants strain to see if their name is on one of the invitations, but it’s all in vain. Of course they won’t put them close enough to us to read. That would ruin the moment, which is designed to amp our nerves up to maximum, all in the name of good television ratings.
Not that my nerves are amped in the least. I don’t care what Mr. Pompous thinks of me.
“The contestants who are invited to stay for another week are called The Lizzies, a nod to Elizabeth Bennet from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice,” Johnathan says. “We thought it would add a touch of fun to the proceedings.”
The Lizzies? Jane Austen must be raising a deeply disapproving eyebrow in her grave right now.
“Now I ask Sebastian, our Mr. Darcy, to step forward to hand the cards out. Sebastian?”
And so the process begins. It’s a process I’ve seen enacted before on countless dating shows. I know, because Penny has made me watch them plenty of times before, always tempting me with free takeout and wine in exchange for girl time.
This time, it’s different. This time, as the names are read out and more and more girls collect their cards, thoughts run through my head, my palms getting sweaty, my heart beginning to thud: Have I done enough to stay here? Has Sebastian decided against me, thanks to that humiliating entrance of mine? Am I going home?
Could this mean the end for our new, precious activewear label?
“Emma. Please come and join The Lizzies.”
I heave a sigh of relief. There are only four of us left up here, so that was a pretty close call.
I step down from my position and collect the card with my name from the table. I glance at Sebastian as I do so, a mixture of emotions bubbling inside. He shoots me an impassive smile, one that doesn’t meet his eyes, and I pad on my bare feet to the other side of the room to join the others.
The names are read out until a woman whom I barely spoke with is sent home. She doesn’t look overly bothered by it all.
The experience has shown me I need to try a little harder to ensure I stay for at least the next round or two. Otherwise, Timothy won’t get the promotional boost it so desperately needs to stay alive—Penny’s and my dreams along with it.
Then I can be home free, back to Frank and my sofa, and put this whole weird experience behind me.
As the dismissed contestant, Sebastian, and Johnathan all leave the room, one of the production staff tells the rest of us to stay put. We look at one another questioningly. Seriously? It’s got to be about three in the morning, and after the weirdness of the day—and possibly the amount of champagne I drank tonight, but who can say?—I, for one, am in desperate need of my bed. And I don’t even know where it is yet.
The cameras are still rolling, so this has got to
be part of the show.
Penny reminded me there are all sorts of twists in reality dating shows. Maybe they’re going to announce we’re all hopping on a plane to the Bahamas? Maybe a second bachelor? One without a stick up his butt.
We don’t have to wonder for long. Mrs. Watson walks into the room and we turn and stare. There’s something about her that makes my eyes bulge. Something so out of place in a sea of plunging necklines, long flowing hair, and sky-high heels, that it makes me almost laugh out loud.
“What the—?” Kennedy mutters.
Mrs. Watson is wearing old fashioned clothes, and I don’t mean flared jeans and platforms from the ’70s. I mean old old fashioned, like from a couple of centuries back, when flashing a bit of ankle was considered risqué, skirts touched the ground, and women wouldn’t be seen dead without a pair of long gloves.
There’s a general titter among the contestants as she comes to a stop in front of us, her clipboard and pen from earlier today replaced with a scroll of yellowed paper and what looks like a quill.
Seriously. A quill.
Has this woman flipped out? Has she taken the whole Mr. Darcy thing a step too far? The answer is yes, people. Yes, she has.
“Ladies. You may have noticed my attire,” Mrs. Watson begins. “You might be wondering why I’m dressed like this.”
I glance at the women around me. Uh, yeah.
“Let me explain. I am wearing what the women of Jane Austen’s social class would have worn in the year Pride and Prejudice was published. In fact, this is how Miss Elizabeth Bennet would have been dressed once she married Mr. Darcy.”
Poor Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
I glance at Kennedy with a look that says “WTF?” and she returns it twofold.
“Who’s Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” someone says behind me.
Seriously? We’re on a show called Dating Mr. Darcy here, people, one of the most famous works of literature of all time.
“You would know who she was if you had read Pride and Prejudice,” Mrs. Watson scolds, and rightly so. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet, for those of you who are unfortunate enough not to be familiar with Jane Austen’s classic story, is the young lady who captures Mr. Darcy’s heart. She is who the winner of the show will be. She is Mr. Darcy’s love. That’s why the contestants who receive an invitation at each card ceremony will be referred to as ‘The Lizzies.’”
Dating Mr. Darcy: A romantic comedy (Love Manor Romantic Comedy Book 1) Page 4