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

by Joana Starnes

  * * *

  The crack of bat made him snap out of his memories and back to the game. Fitzwilliam had a full count as he fouled off yet another one. The Seattle fans were getting loud. The stadium gasped as one when the big guy wearing #17 launched the ball out to right field. Fitzwilliam jogged down to first—but the fly ball hooked foul. The home team crowd sighed with relief, and then cheered madly. Fitzwilliam shrugged, unruffled by his near miss, and trotted back to the plate grinning.

  They had played together for four years now and Darcy was grateful for their friendship. Fitzwilliam had been the one to give Darcy the boot up the butt after his cataclysmic fail with Liz. “Stick to baseball, bud.” And Darcy had stood by Fitzwilliam when he lost his mother to cancer, and later when he lost his cheating girlfriend, who traded him for a billion-dollar software company owner. Fitz had been there through the whole nightmare involving Wickham and Darcy’s little sister, Georgie too.

  He also knew Darcy’s reasons for the fracture between Liz’s sister and Charley Bingley. For that bit of stupidity, Fitz sided with Liz. “Since when is that your business, Darce? Bingley should have told you to kiss off. Not your job to screen the guy’s women. That’s what lawyers and pre-nups are for.”

  * * *

  Fitzwilliam settled back in the batter’s box and narrowed his eyes on Cummins, the lazy movement of his bat looking like the twitching of a tiger’s tail. Sure enough, there was a solid crack of bat on ball, and a beautiful line drive sizzled toward the gap between the center and right fielders. The ball was retrieved as Fitzwilliam rounded first base and dug for second. Darcy and his whole Lancers’ team were on their feet as Fitzwilliam slid into second base.

  “Safe.” The umpire swept his hands out dramatically and Fitzwilliam fist pumped toward the bench, bringing the Lancers’ dugout to a fever pitch.

  Darcy took one more swing in the practice circle before for his turn at the plate. He heard, “Now batting, number five, left fielder, Will Darcy,” and the dull roar of the stands as they booed him while the stadium screens all flashed, “Make some noise.”

  “Make some noise, indeed,” he muttered.

  His jaw tight set and his shoulders back, he strode to the plate. He lived for moments like this—everything on the line and the chance to be the game changer. Adrenaline coursed through him—he was cool and ready. This was not conceit. This was his love of the game and these intense moments.

  He gripped his bat as he dug his cleat into the dirt, getting comfortable in the box. Williams, the catcher, made a snide remark. “Offend any more journalists, Dandy?”

  Bite me!

  The catcher brayed as if reading Darcy’s mind.

  Darcy was resigned to the nickname acquired in his rookie year. He had shared a Sports Illustrated photo shoot with his dad, wearing a top hat and tails, standing back to back while holding their bats down like canes. Truthfully, Darcy loved the article, featuring his dad, a retired Hall of Famer. Darcy knew he had made his father proud by following in his footsteps. When his dad died later that same year, the photo became especially poignant. His teammates loved to razz him about his good looks, fastidiousness over his uniform and equipment, and his regimented workouts—the picture had only fueled their imagination and generated the nickname. It was good-natured teasing for the most part because he was known for being a team player and putting in a hundred and ten percent effort.

  After the death of his father, he had withdrawn from all but the game for a while. He had been shy and struggled with the media side of his career, further building on his cocky, unapproachable status. His little sister, Georgie, now in his care, took over his social media accounts and helped dispel his aloof reputation—at least with the home crowd.

  “You’re not stuffy, but everyone thinks you are. I need to take you by the hand, I can tell.” She had been dead serious, which made him smile.

  He should have taken her seriously. Georgie had used the picture from the SI photo shoot as the header and a top hat as his avatar for his social media accounts. He was shocked when the top hats started appearing in the stands as the fans embraced his nickname, even tweeting and messaging in Old English speech with hashtag DandyDarcy. When a bunch of fans lined up in left field dressed like the Planter’s Peanut mascot calling themselves “Darcy’s Dandies,” he posed for a picture with them that trended on social media for some time.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Darcy was reveling in hitting a triple for the win before jogging toward the clubhouse. A TV sideline reporter called him over. He kept the grimace off his face and tried to show polite interest. One of Liz’s accusations was how he behaved selfishly toward others, particularly those in the media. Of course, she could not know why he was reserved with the newshounds and media people, but it was no excuse. He had not liked the way she painted his character.

  I’m trying to be a better man, Liz. Are you watching?

  The club house buzzed with energy. Graham Foster earned the game MVP for his powerful pitching performance, but plenty of guys were declaring him, Carreaga, and Fitzwilliam heroes too. Coaches were happy, which was always good, since DeBourgh on a terror could get ugly. He showered and checked his phone. Georgie had texted her congratulations as did Charley, and—gah!—Charley’s sister. Caro sent him hearts, hugs, and kiss emojis.

  Would that woman give up already?

  Talk about stalker fans. She actually wore a top hat and tuxedo jacket with a black mini skirt to Darcy’s birthday party. Darcy had told her. Charley had told her. Heck, Georgie had told her: “My brother isn’t interested.” But Caro continued to believe what she wanted. Even Liz had thought he was seeing that woman when she asserted his “girlfriend might object” to him asking another woman out. He had quickly set Liz straight.

  He called Georgie—one of his regular post-game rituals. “Hey kid! How’s it going?”

  “Physical therapy went well today. I was like jelly afterward.”

  “A pool of slime then?”

  “You’re disgusting. Jelly is not slime.”

  “Right. So, the new PT is working out better?”

  “Yes, I really like Annsley. Thanks for finding her. She’s quite the drill sergeant, but she’s fun and very kind. She doesn’t like baseball though. She doesn’t get it.” Georgie’s horrified whisper made him chuckle.

  “That’s fine, George. She just has to ‘get’ physical therapy.” He’d called her “George” since she was old enough to get annoyed about it, but now it was merely an affectionate nickname—like “Wills” was for him.

  “But she prefers rugby.”

  “It’s a British thing, George. They like their tea, their Royals, and their rugby. Go with it.”

  His sister giggled and he thought it was the best sound in the world. “Funny you should say that. Annsley has a crush on Prince Harry.”

  He put Georgie on speaker phone while he did his cool down stretches and she recapped his whole game, dissecting his plays.

  “The series is tied, and now you’re headed home for the next two games, right? I can’t wait to see you. I’ve made a new friend, and I’m geeked for you to meet her.”

  “Oh?”

  “I met her through Margaret. I got to sit in while she interviewed Margaret about competing in the Paralympics. It was a blast. Margaret showed her the footage her mom did of the Games and her scrapbook and her gold medal. Afterwards, we shamelessly begged her to come back and hang out again. Margaret convinced her that her interview story would be even better if she learned what it was like to live with a disability—and she did. That is, she came back and spent the day in a borrowed wheelchair that nurse Jillian brought us. Now she comes just to visit. She likes music. She plays the piano, and she does wheelchair yoga with me and Margaret, though she uses a regular chair for it.”

  “Your friend—without a name—sounds nice. I’ll be happy to meet her.”

  Georgie snickered. “Good. And don’t frown at her and scare her off. She’s v
ery nice. And pretty. And really smart.” Her voice became sharp with warning. “Oh, and don’t wear one of your stodgy suits. Smile and play nice.”

  He laughed. “Fine, George! I promise to not scare off your friend and to not embarrass you with my clothes.”

  “You’ll be here tomorrow, though, right?”

  “I’ll come straight from the airport.” This satisfied her, and he could sense how eager she was about her new friend.

  “Oh! Tell Fitz, his clutch hit was totally fly!”

  “His head is big enough already.”

  Fitzwilliam’s timing was right on. He sat down on the weight bench wearing only gym shorts and grabbed Darcy’s phone, turning off the speaker. “Darling! Did you catch my action?”

  Darcy rolled his eyes and let Fitz flirt with his little sister.

  * * *

  There was a travel day between games so Darcy flew into JFK the next morning. For her last two years of high school, his sister had been home schooled, and her only regular social contact was a live-in nurse and a physical therapist. When she finished high school, she had announced that she wanted her own place and to go to college. Her doctor had cleared it, and Darcy found her a place downtown not far from Fordham.

  The outside façade of the Pemberley’s Hope high-rise apartments was a pristine wonder of revitalized art deco, though someone looking closely would see the accommodations for people with disabilities. Georgie’s one bedroom apartment, like the rest of the Pemberley’s Hope interior, continued the architecture in pastels, steel, and glass. After the extensive tour conducted by the building manager, Darcy had wanted to live there himself: gym, spa, pool, art studio, music rooms, and a dining room with meals prepped by a registered dietitian. What sold him was the around-the-clock medical care and that the staff was young, bright, and friendly.

  Georgie loved Pemberley’s Hope, and Darcy could see that moving there had given her the confidence and liveliness she had lacked when living at his place that was not wheelchair friendly. She had her own life with a modicum of independence now. And probably the biggest relief to him—she had made friends here.

  Her next-door neighbor and fellow college student, Margaret Carlstrom, was a Paralympics gold medalist in wheelchair racing. Margaret was teaching Georgie to compete, too. His sister wanted a racing wheel chair, and he put one on special order when he realized she was in earnest. Darcy had met Margaret several times and enjoyed her brash attitude. He was happy to see his sister beating the depression that followed after her accident.

  * * *

  Upon arrival, Jillian, a pretty, red-haired nurse approached him. “Mr. Darcy, I’m glad you came today. We have a guy turning twenty this week, and his parents are in Europe. They don’t call much and usually just want to check in with the doctor. They’re struggling with the changes in his life.” She then whispered, “Can you drop by with some birthday wishes?”

  His heart chafed for this young guy who had been left to the care of others. Darcy understood a bit of the parents’ side too, as watching Georgie struggle had sent him to his knees in grief and guilt. But that was no excuse. Their son needed them. “Sure. What’s his name?”

  “John.”

  “Know what his interests are?”

  “Baseball,” she drawled. “But you’re not his favorite. His favorite player is Carreaga.”

  He smiled, taking her ribbing good-naturedly. After all, Jose Carreaga was the fan favorite on and off the field. “Happy to do it.”

  * * *

  Georgie’s door was open and he called out, “Lucy, I’m home!” in his best Ricky Ricardo voice. He froze in embarrassment when he glimpsed she was not alone. A group yoga session was in process.

  Margaret cackled. “You’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do.”

  Georgie spun her wheel chair around to him with a grin on her face. The others returned to their yoga positions.

  “Will, you’re earlier than I expected.” She took his coat and tossed it over a chair as he slipped his carry-on behind it.

  “Shh!” He grinned. “I’ll return in a few. You finish with your friends.”

  She pulled him down for a quick hug then zipped back over to the contortionists in her living room.

  He headed back downstairs for a coffee and to contact Carreaga about helping with a memorable gift for John.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, returning to Georgie’s room in a rush, he plowed into a woman standing just inside the doorway.

  “Oh, sorry!”

  He gently gripped her toned arms to steady her and looked straight into the stunned, golden eyes of Liz Bennet.

  “Will! This is my friend, Lizzy. She’s the journalist I was telling you about. I’m so glad you made it in time to meet her. I told her that you would just be a minute, but she said you were here to see me and didn’t want to foist her presence on you. I told her that you enjoyed meeting all my friends. Margaret tried to tell her, too.”

  “Sorry.” He repeated himself and released her arms. Darcy had no idea what to say to Georgie’s new friend “Lizzy.”

  Georgie was beaming up at him. Liz stepped back while rubbing her arms where he’d touched her. Is she disgusted by my touch?

  Her gaze slowly wandered up his body before her eyes met his. Is she checking me out?

  “Say hi, Wills!” Georgie giggled.

  “Hi, um . . . do you prefer to be called Lizzy?” She turned bright red and fidgeted with the strap on her gym bag.

  Georgie said, “Well, that’s her name.”

  “Uh, I really should be going.”

  Darcy saw this as an opportunity to make a better impression and he wasn’t going to let her slip away so easily. “Actually, please stay. I’d like to get to know you. I hear you enjoy music and sports.”

  He was blocking the doorway and he grinned devilishly when she saw that he was not allowing her to just sneak off. She relented with a huff and made her way back to the living room. He admired the sway of her hips in her yoga workout clothes.

  He noted she chose a chair which assured her a little distance from him as she crossed her legs and offered her familiar professional expression: polite, attentive, neutral. Darcy thought the set of her shoulders and her chin betrayed her pretense of ease. He liked the way her eyes tracked his movements to the couch as he took a seat and casually draped his arm over the back. Georgie wheeled her chair to settle at an angle. He quickly sat forward to give her a hug and a kiss.

  “Missed you,” he whispered before he shifted back on the couch. He could feel Liz’s observant eyes on him.

  “Lizzy enjoys baseball. Sometimes she stays and watches the game with me. She knows a lot.”

  “Yes, I know. She’s a sports reporter,” he murmured as he studied Liz’s face.

  She had to have known that Georgie was his sister, and yet she was spending time as Georgie’s friend. This made him pause.

  Had I been wrong about her? Was she one of those snooping types who wanted to pry into my personal life to get a story to further her career, like that Collins guy?

  “You know her?”

  Liz squirmed under his gaze before twisting to speak to his sister. “Georgie, I have a confession to make.” Will was alarmed, dreading what Liz might confess. “I led you to believe I didn’t know your brother.”

  “Why would you do that?” Now Georgie’s voice trembled with uncertainty. “Were you using me to get to Will?”

  “No, no, quite the opposite really.”

  True. I’m the last man on the planet she wants to date, right?

  Liz’s discomfort was evident when she wrung her hands and her eyes darted between him and his sister. She settled on Georgie.

  “I came here to interview Margaret for the human-interest sports story. I didn’t know until after we got to be friendly that you were Dar—Will Darcy’s sister. Um, we—that is—I . . . I kept the fact that I knew Will to myself because he and I aren’t the best of friends. I hope you can forgive the deceptio
n, Georgie. I didn’t mean you any harm.”

  Liz turned to him and her voice hardened, losing the gentle hesitancy she used with Georgie. “You must think that I came here under false pretenses to dig into your private life. I know how you feel about reporters and journalists. I overheard what you said during the ‘Meet the Press’ night—that we were all crawling slimes, no better than garbage pickers.”

  She heard that?

  No wonder her “selfish disdain for others” comment. He should have never made that remark in such a setting where anyone could hear. Truthfully, at the time he hadn’t cared who heard him, which made her accusation about his character true, but maybe now he could lessen some of the damage.

  “I sincerely apologize for those words. I know not everyone is like that hack Collins, and he was the cause of my remarks. He kissed up to me then delved into my private life because he wanted dirt. He was convinced that I was hiding some deep, dark secret that he could expose and make a name for himself.”

  Georgie cut in. “Will really only has one secret. Me. He doesn’t want reporters digging into my life. Not because he is ashamed of me but to protect me. A few years back, there was a lot in the press about my accident and the underage drinking at a party while away at boarding school. However, any journalist worth their salt can get the rest of the story.” Darcy tried to interrupt, but Georgie shook her head and Liz frowned. “Thank you for telling me, Lizzy. So, you already know each other?”

  And there it was. The sisterly interrogation.

  “I met Liz months ago, because of interviews for the Courier. Unfortunately, as we just learned, she overheard me make a snide remark about reporters. I also assumed she would welcome a date with me. And I hadn’t realized that it was her sister who I mistakenly thought was only into Charley for his money.”