A waiter barely avoided bumping into me as he rushed from the kitchen.
“Oh, excuse me, sir.” He glanced up. “She’s a looker, isn’t she? We’re calling this table the Bachelors’ Booth. A group of guys will always choose to sit here if it’s open. If there’d been a hot farm girl like that running around my hometown, I might not have left.”
“Hmmph.”
“People say the woman pictured on the other side of the bar is more beautiful, but there’s just something about this one . . .” He trailed off and we stood, side by side, gazing up at the photograph. He shrugged and walked around me while I sipped and continued to stare. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
“It’s embarrassing, isn’t it?”
I turned, and there she stood, the object of my affection, lovely in a red dress that was just clingy enough to be sexy. Yet, she also exuded a prim demeanor—a little purse clutched in front of her.
She stepped up beside me and looked at her own portrait. “I had no idea what Corbin was planning when he sent that photographer down to Alton. He said the pictures were for publicity, and I thought, you know, pamphlets or something. Never dreamed he’d . . .” She held her hand up, indicating the photo. “There’s one of Jane on the other side.”
“You make farming look very appealing.”
“I’m sure,” she answered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“How are you, Lynley?”
“I’m good, Mr. Darcy.” She grinned. “I know, I know you’re Liam, but it tickles me to call you Mr. Darcy.”
“You look just as at home in that lovely dress as you do in jeans and boots, or a gardening apron.”
“Well, aren’t you the smooth one?”
“No, I’m really not, as you are quite aware.”
“Actually, I believe you are—except for rare instances of literary faux pas.”
“Why are you here?”
“I came up to see how things were going on opening weekend.”
“See if there are any glitches?”
“Yeah.” She fidgeted. “No.”
“No?”
“Corbin said you’d be here tonight. Look, can I buy you a drink? Oh. Never mind. You’ve already got one.”
“Let me get you one, and we’ll find a table. Chardonnay’s your favorite, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “Yes, thanks.”
I stepped over and got the bartender’s attention. “Chardonnay for the lady, please.” I waited with my back to the room—and her—while I tried to figure out what to say. “Lynley, I know we didn’t get off on the right foot.” No, that was an understatement. “We’ve known each other a while now.” Blech, too trite. Crap.
I turned back and she was gone. Glancing around, I saw her sitting at a high top by the window. A guy in a suit had approached the table—geez, they moved fast around here—but Lynley just smiled and pointed my way as she thanked him.
“Friend of yours?” I asked, not liking the tension in my voice.
“No, just a knight in shining armor seeing a lone damsel in perceived distress.”
“I don’t think there’s much distress you can’t handle.”
“See that, right there”—she pointed at me—“exactly the right thing to say. Yep, you’re a smooth one.” She took a sip. “But I am, in fact, a little distressed.”
“Why?” I reached out a hand, drew it back.
She was focused on her drink, not on me, so she missed the gesture. “And regardless of how awkward I feel, I had to come here tonight—to thank you, on behalf of the families who depend on Fairlight Farm, since they don’t know specifically who to thank.” She looked up at me then, that wild-eyed intensity in her eyes that made my blood simmer. “We’re on track for a record year, and I am—we all are—indebted to Castleton, to you.” She closed her eyes briefly and sighed. “I know your generosity is because of what happened with Whitman, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. But the end result is, I’m grateful to you, for helping me save Fairlight Farm.”
I sighed too. Gratitude. Not what I was hoping for. “I’m sorry, very sorry, if you, in any way, feel uneasy about the partnership Castleton has with Fairlight Farm. It was a good fit, based on sound business judgment, one I would have wanted for my company regardless of those other circumstances. The debacle with George Jr. was an unfortunate detour, but the outcome was the right one. Besides, Castleton is my company, and it was my responsibility to set things right.” I did put my hand over hers this time and wondered if she felt the connection too. “So, don’t be distressed.”
“A happy ending for all?”
“Of course.” I sat back, gazing at her, then sat forward again. “Nope. No, not yet.”
“What?”
“Lynley, almost from the first minute I saw you and heard your voice, I’ve been . . . attracted, no, drawn. . . no—I tried to tell you in the spring, but I just couldn’t. But now we’ve cleared the air, and I have to be honest.” I put my hand back over hers, to ground me. “I want to see you.”
“You are seeing me.” She waved her hand, as if in greeting. “I’m right here.”
“See you. Socially. Hell, I’m screwing this up. Can I take you out to dinner some time?”
She blinked, and I worried I’d overstepped.
“Out to dinner? Like, out, out. On a date, out?”
“If you’re not interested, just say so. It won’t change our business relationship, and I’ll never mention it again, but being around you makes me settled and it makes me happy, and . . .” I shrugged. “Well, I had to take a chance.”
A shy smile crept across her features, warm and soft, like a winter’s dawn. “I’d like to go to dinner with you. I’d like that . . . very much.”
“You would?”
Her lips twitched in a mischievous grin. “Well, maybe. It depends.”
“On what?”
“Where would we go?”
My heart gave a joyful leap. “Where would you like to go?”
“I’ve heard about this great little restaurant that’s new in town. It’s one of those local joints, with the farm-inspired menus and the uptown atmosphere. Do you know the place?”
“I do.” I stood and took her elbow as I led her to the hostess stand. “And I bet I can get a table.”
Autumn, again
We walked hand in hand along a fence row at Derby Farms, my family’s place in the Shenandoah Valley. Derby is a sprawling one-hundred-acre farm that has been in the family since before the Civil War. I brought Lynley here to meet my parents and visit the place most dear to me in all the world. The day we arrived, she made me very happy by gasping, “Stop the car!” as we crested the hill and the house came into view. She rolled down the window, leaned out, and turning back to me with a big smile, she announced, “It’s wonderful! I’ve never seen a house fit its setting so well. It just belongs here, doesn’t it?”
I had to agree, and then I thought to myself how much she belonged here too.
Now, we strolled around the cherry tree orchard and into the woods, the cool crisp autumn air rustling the orange and brown leaves. The sun was bright and the sky clear. It would be cold tonight; it might even frost. It would be a good night for a bottle of wine and a fire in our room—among other entertainments.
I brought our joined hands up to kiss her fingers, making her new engagement ring wink in the sunlight. We’d come to Derby so I could give her that token as well, and ask her, surrounded by the land I loved and the history I sprang from, to share my life. Some people might think it was too fast, but really, I’d known her for a year, and when you know, you know. She’s the one. And I’m a man of action.
“Mr. Darcy,” she began, and somehow the appellation didn’t annoy me coming from her. “When did you fall in love with me? I know you carried a torch for a while before I knew, but how did that spark ever ignite in the first place?”
“It must have started from that first moment, that first lively banter.”
“You me
an your snarky comment about the literary Mr. Darcy. Perhaps it was my snarky comment in return that intrigued you. Like your fictional predecessor, you enjoyed having someone not ingratiating and servile, and my impertinence roused your interest and made you take a second look. You actually knew almost nothing good about me, really.”
“I saw your compassion when you stopped to help me with my car last winter. For me, an almost stranger, you risked encouraging Tom Collins to ask you out again.”
“Now, now, Tom isn’t so bad. Like Jane says, there’s someone out there for everyone.”
“Is that what Jane says?”
“So, there’s someone out there for Tom. It just isn’t me.”
“No, it isn’t you.” I stopped and took her in my arms. “You’re mine now, I’m afraid.”
“I’m not afraid. Not at all.” She leaned up and kissed me. “My Mr. Darcy: he’s good, he’s honest, he’s honorable. He’s handsome as sin.”
“Well, I do have to live up to my namesake.”
She laughed.
“Honestly, though, I think most any man could be the perfect Mr. Darcy, if he chose.” I leaned back against an ancient oak tree, keeping my arms around her.
“Choosing to is the important phrase, I think.”
We stood there in momentary silence, enjoying the breeze, enjoying each other’s company. Finally, my Lynley spoke:
“You have it wrong, you know.”
“What do I have wrong?”
“You men, you think everything is about you. But you’re not the only one to miss the point. A lot of people think Pride and Prejudice is about Mr. Darcy.”
“Isn’t it?”
“He definitely plays a role. He makes mistakes: he’s a snot, he’s haughty, and he has to eat crow. But his errors are mostly about delivery and image. Elizabeth herself says he changes very little in essentials.
“No,” Lynley continued. “The person who grows the most in Pride and Prejudice is Elizabeth Bennet. She learns to see Darcy for what he truly is, despite his faults and despite hers. She’s the one we watch as she dumps the chip off her shoulder, so she can clearly see the past and forge into the future.”
“Say what you will. I’m still indebted to Mr. Darcy’s example. He isn’t perfect . . .”
“Just forgiven.” She finished my sentence with a grin. “There are a million ways a man can become a Mr. Darcy.”
“True.”
“But it takes an Elizabeth Bennet to see them.”
* * *
Karen M Cox is an award-winning author of four novels accented with romance and history: 1932, Find Wonder in All Things, At the Edge of the Sea, and Undeceived. She also wrote “Northanger Revisited 2015,” which appeared in the anthology Sun-Kissed: Effusions of Summer. Originally from Everett, Washington, Karen now lives in Central Kentucky with her husband, works as a pediatric speech pathologist, encourages her children, and spoils her granddaughter. Like Austen’s Emma, Karen has many hobbies and projects she doesn’t quite finish, but like Elizabeth Bennet, she aspires to be a great reader and an excellent walker.
Acknowledgments
“I must learn to be content with being happier than I deserve.”
Jane Austen
* * *
I have been blessed to be surrounded by extraordinarily talented and generous people. My thanks to my Dream Team of authors who wrote smart, original stories under a slim deadline, did not quibble over the hard edits, made time for “final look” and then “final look AGAIN”, offered great insight how best to get this book to the world—and all with remarkable verve and great affection for Fitzwilliam Darcy and his creator, Jane Austen. I have been a fan of each of these authors for such a long time that I must frequently pinch myself to comprehend my good fortune. I am lucky to have been on this journey with them—maybe we will all get to meet in “real life” one day.
The idea of this Darcy point-of view anthology has been a long time in coming, and I have had strong opinions of how I wanted it all to look from the onset. Multi-talented author Beau North created the gorgeous announcement banners. It was the first visual branding for this endeavor—and she was totally on point (and patient) with designing exactly what I wanted. Then she created the promo art for each story for social media. If you haven’t seen them, check out the hashtag #TheDarcyMonologues—the spectrum of the collective is clever and fresh.
The amazing cover art is the genius of Shari Ryan of MadHat Books. She took the cover concept and created exactly as I envisioned. Shari professionally, quickly, and concisely handled my countless questions, suggestions, and “just one more tweak” in the demanding format of the print interior—even had a special script code written to make it happen. And then when the original concept had to be scrapped because of the print-on-demand company’s limitations that were beyond our control (long, convoluted story only to be shared over strong cocktails), Shari AGAIN created the present cover and interior for both print and e-book. I could not recommend her expertise more!
With a project of fifteen authors from around the globe, word and style challenges will occur. Katie Shapcott from the UK and Lisa Brown from the US (Looking Glass Revisions) split the task of proofing the stories, making sure that British vs. American spellings and phrasing were correct as per each of the authors’ prose—and, of course, citing back to me the Chicago Manual of Style when I would bleat, “Are you sure? That punctuation looks odd.” Too bad it would totally take the reader out of the story if I were to footnote all their wonky findings. I learned a lot; I look forward to working with both on future projects.
A special thank you to Judy-Lynne for graciously bestowing upon us the title The Darcy Monologues. We had learned she had used it first for a short story written years past at the Republic of Pemberley. Once we had the name with her blessing, everything began to click in place.
Many bloggers and reviewers have encouraged us from even the faintest whispers of this project. The Jane Austen community of readers and writers has rallied behind the collection, and the resulting momentum has been hopeful as we endeavor to create something worthy to honor Jane Austen. Thank you for sharing in our fervor of Darcy too.
Claudine at Just Jane 1813 is really the unsung hero in all of this. She has tirelessly coordinated multi-blog events for the announcement, cover reveal, blog tour—and all that that entails. She has beta’d stories, set up the playlist on Spotify, massaged my words in the Introduction (even an editor needs an editor), made key marketing suggestions, and talked me off a few ledges when the anthology faced the occasional glitch. A great part of the success of this book is due to Claudine’s good sense and calm (think: Elinor Dashwood)—I am forever in her debt.
I must thank my excessively tolerant family and friends who always support my hare-brained schemes. Nothing seems irregular to them and if it does, they seem to like me just the way I am.
Lastly, and I beg your indulgence as I purloin Cassandra Austen’s eternal words for my own Mr. B and our ever-growing children: Never forget you are “the sun of my life, the gilder of every pleasure, the soother of every sorrow…”
—Christina Boyd
Christina Boyd wears many hats as she is an editor under her own banner, The Quill Ink, a contributor to Austenprose, and a ceramicist and proprietor of Stir Crazy Mama’s Artworks. A life member of the Jane Austen Society of North America, Christina lives in the wilds of the Pacific Northwest with her dear Mr. B, two busy teenagers, and a retriever named BiBi. Visiting Jane Austen's England was made possible by her book boyfriend and star crush Henry Cavill when she won a trip to meet him on the London Eye in the spring of 2017. True story.
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The Darcy Monologues: A romance anthology of Pride and Prejudice short stories in Mr. Darcy's own words Page 52