The Darcy Monologues: A romance anthology of Pride and Prejudice short stories in Mr. Darcy's own words

by Joana Starnes

  My first meeting with her, earlier that day at the station, had not gone well. It was a bit of a surprise to learn my aunt had hired a woman as on-air talent. Despite her own position, Catherine could be old-fashioned and I said as much—maybe not in those exact words—to Eliza Bennet. Her eyes, remarkable eyes really, so dark and expressive, turned diamond hard.

  “I was recommended for the job,” she said, somehow smiling through a clenched jaw. “Mrs. De Bourgh didn’t hire me personally. There’s an entire department that handles that. As heir apparent, I’d think you’d already know that.”

  I felt my face grow hot like I was a grade-schooler that had just been scolded by my teacher in front of the class. “I see.”

  Her thin smile could have cut glass. “Unless, of course, you’re not at all serious about the career that’s been handed to you on a silver platter.”

  I felt like a bowling pin that had just been hit with a fourteen-pound ball, only instead of a ball it was a lanky woman with a sneer that could kill a lesser man. I took an instant and fervent dislike to her, and I’d wager my trust fund she felt the same way.

  “Even you have to admit,” Charlie said, reminding me where we were. He sighed dreamily, his eyes fastened on Jane. “Pretty as a picture.”

  “Yeah, I heard you the first time,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Jane is very pretty, I’ll admit. But the other one? An absolute shrew.”

  “Oh, come on!” Charlie scoffed. “You’re not blind, are you? She’s like a dark Brigitte Bardot!”

  “Ha! Think that all you like. I think it’s a good thing she’s in radio.”

  “Well it’s almost midnight, and I aim to get a kiss from someone tonight. Don’t feel too badly if I’d rather it wasn’t you,” Charlie said with a laugh before getting up to join the ladies at the other end of the table.

  I looked around, uncomfortably realizing I was sitting alone just as everyone in the bar started an enthusiastic countdown to the new year.

  February

  “Thank you for joining our continuing coverage of Astronaut John Glenn’s mission to be the first man to orbit the Earth.” The voice of Jack Fletcher, the station’s morning newsman, piped through every speaker in the office.

  Everyone but Jack and his producer were crowded into the reception area of the station, listening to the broadcast as John Glenn made his third orbit of the Earth. I’d been listening in my office, but the occasion felt too momentous—too important—to experience alone. So, I ventured out to join the others. Jane and Bingley seemed happy to see me; the person sitting to Jane’s left was not. Eliza had come in early, no doubt to listen to the broadcast with everyone else. My eyes caught the way she perched on the edge of her seat, shoulders tight, hands in fists on her knees. I’d seen her in enough meetings to know that this was not her usual languorous posture; she always seemed to drape herself across her chair like a cast-off quilt.

  I watched as her teeth began to worry at her full, lower lip, and I understood she was as nervous as any of us. Jack’s newscaster voice piped through the speaker on the wall, reminding us all that Glenn was now operating the module manually, after a malfunction with one of the jets. If the calculations were one decimal off, that bright young man would die with the whole world as witnesses, and the United States would be the clear loser in the Space Race.

  “Oh, heavens.” Jane swooned a little. “I can’t imagine how terrifying that must be for him.”

  Charlie put an arm around her while Eliza took her hand. Jane was that type; she brought out the protective instincts in others. Aunt Catherine called girls like that “precious.”

  “He’s trained for this,” I spoke up, attempting to soothe my nervous secretary. “He’ll be fine.” Eliza was giving me an inscrutable look, those striking eyes distracting me.

  “If you don’t mind, Mr. Darcy, I’d like to go down to St. Joseph’s,” Jane entreated.

  “Of course. Just be back in an hour. I have a feeling we’ll be busy, and it’s going to be a long day for Jack. Charlie, you go with her. Eliza, you can go too, if you need to pray.”

  All three of them looked up at me in surprise. Jane and Charlie gave Eliza a questioning look, which she answered with a twisted smile before shaking her head.

  “No thank you, Mr. Darcy. I’ll stay here if you don’t mind.” Again, that bombshell of a smile; it made me crazy to see it. The woman was too audacious for her own good.

  I shrugged, feeling prickly. Jane and Charlie shuffled out quietly, leaving me with Eliza and a few other station employees who were speaking quietly amongst themselves. The station receptionist, Charlotte, handed out cups of coffee and a few stronger drinks to the people still assembled. As Jack announced the beginnings of Glenn’s descent, I watched Eliza grow pale, her breath coming in panicked little gasps.

  Unable to bear it any longer, I took a seat beside her. She seemed not to notice at first; she just kept chewing at her lip, eyes far away and unfocused. Was it terrible that I was less concerned for the astronaut than I was with the state of that lip? I raised my hand, intending to give her shoulder a light squeeze, but instead placed it palm down on the space between her shoulders. We tensed together in mutual surprise, connected by that touch, until I felt her slowly relax, felt the rise and fall of her breath become steady and calm.

  I did wonder why I was even bothering when Eliza Bennet and I had never shown each other anything but mutual disdain. For some reason her distress distressed me. For the first time, I’d seen her as more than a thorn in my side, more than just a sharp smile and a barbed remark. Under my palm was a woman who was more than what she seemed.

  It wasn’t until the room erupted into shouts and joyous applause that I realized they’d confirmed Glenn’s splashdown, and that the astronaut had emerged from the craft, alive and unharmed. So, he’d survived, but what about me? I found myself unable, perhaps unwilling, to remove my hand from the warm terrain of her back, a tantalizingly new territory that I found myself wishing to explore. She felt electric to my touch, evoking a pleasurable awareness of my own vitality. I was a red-blooded American man, and she was, I now admit, a desirable woman.

  It was Eliza that broke that contact but my disappointment, while surprising, was brief. In her excitement over the astronaut’s success, she seemed to have forgotten who I was and the battle lines previously drawn between us. Happy tears stood in her eyes as she craned her neck up, lips brushing against my cheek before she launched herself off of the couch and into the arms of her jubilant cohorts.

  I excused myself quietly, unnoticed by the small crowd of happy people. I ducked into my office, wanting to restore the natural order of things. I touched my face—was I imagining the ghost of her perfume lingering on that hand? She’d kissed me. Eliza Bennet kissed me. I shook my head, feeling a smile tug at my lips. I took out the small mirror I kept in my desk. The shape of her kiss was there, branded in red lipstick. My fingers traced the curve of her lips before I took out my handkerchief and wiped it away.

  March

  “Mr. Darcy, sir. Mrs. de Bourgh for you.”

  I ground my teeth—a reflex to those words—forgetting about the tooth that had been giving me misery lately. I looked up at the ceiling, calming myself before picking up the receiver.

  “Aunt Catherine, how are you?”

  “Don’t Aunt Catherine me, William,” the voice on the other end said testily. “You know why I’m calling. I received another call from that awful Bliss woman at the Mother's Morality League. She’s done it again!”

  I didn’t have to ask which “she” my aunt was referring to. I’d been expecting this call. I’d been wondering what I’d done to deserve a curse like Eliza Bennet. Surely, I’d paid for my transgressions just by virtue of being in Buffalo. Did she have to make my life a living hell?

  “Catherine, if you look at the numbers, you’ll see that her show is one of our most popular.”

  “That's not the point, William! Some of that music is fine, but we hold our st
ations to a certain standard. We can’t just allow that woman to play anything she wants.”

  I wanted to laugh. I didn’t want to tell my aunt that Eliza Bennet was the most unmanageable woman I’d ever encountered in my twenty-nine years. My inability to bring her to heel was going to count against me and keep my early reprieve just out of reach. Every time I’d tried to take her to task, she neatly turned the tables on me with nothing more than a lifted brow and a turn of phrase. She was utterly infuriating.

  And yet.

  And yet during my time in Buffalo, my disdain had slowly become a begrudging admiration. Eliza Bennet was whip-smart, funny, effortlessly hip and, in her own way, alluring. Every day she arrived at the studio like an unexpected storm, arms laden with records, her airy voice carrying through the halls and into my office, disturbing my monotonous peace, always leaving some lingering trace of scent—orange blossoms one day, musky amber the next.

  “Darcy, have you heard a word I’ve said?” Catherine snapped in my ear.

  “I’ll talk to her, Catherine. I’ll get her in line.”

  “Please do. These women apparently have nothing better to do than bog us down with complaints. Collins over at the FCC is a friend and is directing them all to me . . . for now. But Darcy . . .”

  “I know, I know. Standards.”

  I ended the call, feeling irritable at my lot in life just then. I hated Buffalo, hated this job and the station. I hated having to hear Paul Anka and Dean Martin all day. I hated that the only time of day I looked forward to was when I put on my coat and hat and walked home for the day. Charlie had asked me why I didn’t just move out to the suburbs like he had, a thought that horrifies me still. I’m city born and bred. The wide open spaces were for the dreamers. Give me a skyline view and a glass of gin any day.

  With a sigh, I pushed away from the desk and wandered out of my office. Jane was typing minutes from the last staff meeting, and the steady click of her fingernails against the typewriter keys made my skin crawl. Not that I’d ever say that to her; she really was a sweet kid.

  “Jane, what time does our Eliza come in today?”

  Jane blinked and looked up at me like I’d just announced myself King of America. “She’s not in today, Mr. Darcy. The weekend jockey is taking her shift.”

  My irritation grew—and another feeling. Was it . . . disappointment? “Not in? Why was I not informed?”

  Jane gulped, her lovely blue eyes wide with worry. “It was in your morning messages, Mr. Darcy.”

  If I was being honest with myself, I was looking forward to having words with Eliza Bennet. Her verbal sparring was a challenge, at least. She broke the monotony.

  “Why is she out again?”

  Jane’s eyes shifted away. “I believe her father isn’t well. She had to take him to the hospital for some tests.”

  “I see.” I considered for a moment before saying, “Make sure you get her on the books for a meeting with me tomorrow, if she’s back by then. Tell Luke he’ll have to cover an extra twenty minutes. And make me a dentist appointment, if you don’t mind, Jane.”

  “I’ll see to it, Mr. Darcy.”

  * * *

  I wondered, later, if that visit to the dentist hadn’t changed things for good. I sat in my office, mouth sore and jaw aching, holding a letter in my hand. I couldn’t seem to make sense of it no matter how hard I looked. The return address was from Oak Park, Illinois. The only person I knew from Oak Park was Fitz, my best friend from Harvard, but the handwriting was distinctly feminine. I stared at the page again, but the letters all seemed to blend together.

  It was then that Eliza stormed into my office, wild-eyed and furious.

  “You’re moving me to nights?”

  I looked up at her, bewildered. Of course, part of me remembered that she was being informed of the change in rotation today . . . my gesture of friendship towards Regina Bliss and the Mother’s Morality League. But now, looking at the paper in my hand, that all seemed so insignificant.

  It must have all been in my face—my confusion, my sullen rage—because Eliza immediately cooled, like a lightbulb going dark. She shifted back on one leg, studying me.

  “Are you alright?”

  I shook the letter. “Can you read this? I can’t seem to make heads or tails of it.” My mouth was still numb from the dentist, and my words came out slurred.

  She sat next to me on the couch. That day she smelled of sandalwood and rose, spicy and sweet. I felt myself becoming calm. She took the letter from my hand, chewing her lip as she scanned.

  “Oh!” Her breath hitched in her throat. “It was an accident. Your friend, Richard—”

  “Fitz,” I corrected. “I call him Fitz.”

  “This is from his wife. He was in a convoy in the mountains north of Saigon. The jeep threw a rod and the driver got spooked, lost control.”

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  She looked up at me, eyes wide and full of compassion. I said the first thing that came to my mind. “I didn’t even know he’d gotten married.”

  The next thing I knew her arms were around me, pulling me close. Any other day I would have found it exciting, but today it just felt necessary. I thought of Fitz, always ready with a grin and a cheap joke at my expense. His bawdy humor disguised a ruthless intelligence and an unexpected thoughtfulness. Fitz was, had been I should say, the better man, and I’d always known it. What a cruel joke that I was the one left standing.

  “Don’t say things like that,” Eliza said softly, stroking my back. I hadn’t even realized I’d spoken the thought out loud.

  My arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. I rested my head on her shoulder, and we sat that way for some time.

  April

  “I understand your frustration, Mrs. Bliss. For what it’s worth, I’ve had that particular jockey moved to the night shift so as not to subject children to her selections.”

  Regina Caroline Bliss, Grand Poobah of the Mother’s Morality League, sniffed and sipped her tea. She was everything I’d expected her to be, rigidly prim with all the polish that her wealthy, suburban life afforded. No doubt in her youth she’d been a beauty; now she could boast of being “distinguished” and “well put-together.” She was also as empty as the plate of meringues sitting on the table between us.

  “And, as a show of good faith, the station will happily sponsor your next charity event,” I added. How I hated having to appease uptight fussbudgets who wanted nothing more than to spoil everyone’s fun on the grounds of their morality. If they weren’t having fun, no one was.

  Regina Bliss put her teacup down and smiled at me. She was trying for coquettish but couldn’t quite make it work. “Mr. Darcy, you’re really too generous. The Orchard Park Squash League is in desperate need of a new court and equipment. We’ve been planning a benefit luncheon for the spring.”

  I somehow resisted the urge to roll my eyes, a heroic effort on my part. That would be just her idea of charity. Objectively, I knew that my circumstances were not so very different from the woman sitting across from me at Buffalo’s finest and only tea room. Like Regina Bliss, I’d been born wealthy, went to the finest prep school and universities that money could buy. But there our paths diverged. Regina Bliss had embraced the lifestyle of a wealthy suburban busybody in a way I never could, denying herself the vibrant possibilities of a less . . . monochrome life. Unlike Regina Bliss, I knew things couldn’t be categorized into just black and white—not life, not schools, and certainly not music. I’d been born wealthy, not sheltered.

  She put her hand on mine, leaving it there a moment too long. Was she trying to tell me what it would take to get her little band of do-gooders to stop lodging complaints about the station? While I wasn’t surprised by her (morals can so often be a shaky bedrock to build one’s foundation on), I was surprised by how unseemly it felt. After all, it wasn’t the first time an older woman had come on to me. And why not? I’m a tall, good-looking guy with a full head of hair and a great smile wh
en I use it. This isn’t me so much bragging as being cognizant of my assets. I bring a lot to the table, just not this particular table.

  Withdrawing my hand, I cleared my throat and signaled the waiter for the check, insisting that lunch be on the station’s dime, avoiding her eyes to cover my own embarrassment. If only Aunt Catherine could have been there to see “Darcy, the Playboy” become flustered by an aging socialite with too much time on her hands. How far the mighty hath fallen.

  “How was the meeting?” Jane asked as she took my coat and hat. The smell of Regina Bliss’ overbearing, powdery perfume had followed me all the way back to the station.

  “Between you and me, Jane, I feel like I need a shower.”

  A snort of laughter from behind me made my guts freeze. Perfect. Just perfect.

  I turned around slowly, mouth going dry at the sight of her. Her messy, dark hair had been brushed to a shine and was being held away from her face with a large band of green velvet, showing off her high, clear brow and making her eyes look even larger than I had ever seen them before. Since that day in March, I’d only seen her once or twice in passing, never exchanging more than a polite nod.

  The urge to pull her to her feet—and into my arms—was almost overwhelming. I wanted to tell her that I’d gone to Oak Park to meet Fitz’s young widow, who would too soon be a single mother. I’d made up some story about Fitz loaning me money in college and had left her with a substantially large check, enough to keep her and the baby quite comfortable until Fitz’s VA benefits could come in. I don’t think she believed me, but she took the money gratefully enough. It felt good to help, to honor my friend, but in that moment, I wanted more than anything to show her that I could be, on occasion, a decent man.

  “Miss Bennet, I thought you were on nights now?”

  “You’re not wrong, Mr. Darcy. I just came by to pick up my paycheck.”