by Nicky Roth
'But we are children!'
Perhaps... - Yes, that might work.
'Lady Marjorie, if I may make a suggestion? Perhaps, if they could try on the dresses now, and after them their mother...'
'Do you want to get rid of us, Miss? You and your child-hating fiancé are well matched it seems,' the mother snapped.
Okay, obviously it wouldn't...
'I think at this point everybody wants to get rid of you and your brats,' a young woman sitting in the front row remarked icily and had several heads nodding including that of their instructor.
'You know I paid for this just as everybody else did! And they are just children, they don't know what's right or wrong yet.'
'Yes, that is, why someone should teach them what is proper, for fuck's sake,' the same young lady carried on, her voice growing gradually louder.
'Typical!' the mother shouted as if everybody around her was deaf. 'This is so typical. Are children not to have any confidence at all? I think it is a good thing that they can put their foot down and say what they want.'
Well, last time Elizabeth checked, speaking one's mind was one thing, terrorising others and destroying their property a different one altogether.
At any rate, the poor berated children had by now undressed and stepping onto white lace here and ivory silk there, had wriggled into one of the gowns each, bursting a couple of buttons in the process, for why should one open them? Completely unnecessary. Foolish to put buttons on clothing anyway.
'Now, this is enough!' Lady Metcalf boomed, all friendliness gone at last. 'Out!'
'You can't make us leave. We are paying customers.'
'Great, then you can pay for the damage your little darlings have done.'
'But they are just children...'
'Yes, and you are their mother, sitting right there doing nothing. So stop whining and take responsibility,' the same young woman who had interfered before replied before Lady Marjorie had found her voice again.
Shit, she looked as if she would have a heart attack at any moment. Okay, no, not quite but she was definitely hyperventilating. Not so good either. Everyone stared at the rapidly breathing woman in her ridiculous attire, but no-one moved.
Shit, shit, shit!
'You,' Elizabeth pointed at the young woman who had argued with the mother, 'dial 999 and get an ambulance.'
'Oh? - Yes, sure. Of course...'
So, what next? Right, her first-aid course had been a while ago, but she did remember the basics. Just where to get a paper bag in an emergency like this, was a question she would ask the paramedics next time she took a course. Okay, plastic should do as well, and fortunately, some of the dresses were still wrapped.
Pressing the make-shift bag to Marjorie Metcalf's mouth she quickly stabilised and as soon as she had done so, the mother of the two little harridans' began anew: 'Now you have traumatised my poor little babies with these unnecessary theatrics!'
And as if on cue both girls started crying as if their favourite Teddy had been set on fire.
'Then perhaps you should take them away from this horrific scene and comfort them...' Elizabeth snapped.
Seriously, one more word from that twit and she would lose it.
As all eyes were on her, the mother complied, muttering something about complaining, wanting her money back and suing the venue.
The door fell shut behind her, and everybody started to cheer.
'I fear I will not be of much use now...' Lady Marjorie gasped, still looking awfully pale. 'So I suggest you have a look around while I sit here and answer any questions you might have. Dear me, I could really use a cuppa.'
'What are we supposed to do with these gowns?" a middle-aged bride with a face and figure which reminded her slightly of Mary, asked, pointing at the destruction on the floor.
'Put them on the table over there. I will see what can be done later, and either charge that woman for the dry-cleaners or the dresses.'
Applause followed, and someone went in search of some tea.
'Damn, and I was so well prepared. I even put on the most ridiculous clothes my wardrobe had to offer, just to make a point that it was all a matter of the right choice. - Or the wrong one, in my case.'
This now had everybody laugh again.
'Thank you, deary,' she smiled at Elizabeth. 'You have your wits together. This could have ended badly, you know? Your groom is a very lucky man. I am sure he loves you very much. - And such a pretty face, especially with those eyes of yours and a lovely figure to top it all!'
She knitted her brows in silent contemplation before carrying on with a twinkle in her eyes: 'You know what? I'll give you a hundred-percent discount. As a thank you for preventing worse. - No, I brook no opposition. Go ahead.'
'But...'
'Oh, come now, you deserve it!' the young woman who had argued alongside her nudged her towards the rows of dresses. 'I wouldn't have had the foggiest what to do. You saved the day, luv.'
Elizabeth glanced around her and for once dearly hoped to see opposing faces, but apparently, the others seemed to be of the same opinion. Yes, they had basically fought a war together, but come on, no female jealousy anywhere? Not even a teensy weensy bit? Nothing she could use as an excuse? Nope, nada. Shit!
Bloody hell, here she was, the only person who wsn't actually getting married, and she was the one who could choose a wedding dress for fuck all. Oh, the irony!
Yes, she could say so, but that somehow felt like the wrong thing to do right now. Call it peer-pressure, baby. And perhaps in ten years from now, she would have found a man who was willing to marry her. Wedding dresses did not have a use-by date as far as she was aware, did they?
Oops, there were the folks with the ambulance at last. She might feel fairly alright again already, but it certainly was certainly better for Lady Marjorie to have someone professional check her up, just to make sure.
Five minutes later, they had gone again, leaving her Ladyship, who had pointedly refused to go to the hospital, sitting in a chair with an IV in her arm, while the one or other woman had begun to try on gowns with all the due respect for the dresses, naturally. Some looked really nice, while others had a knack to squeeze themselves into styles that looked rather awkward on them. It was those women Lady Metcalf beckoned towards her and whom she gave friendly advice, Elizabeth noticed. She really was a dear. And good at what she was doing. Had it not been for those girls, the whole thing could have been an absolute success.
Anyway, what was she to choose? Simple, and cheap obviously. Cheap in price not in looks. Not an easy feat.
Time relentlessly ticked on, and all she could see was white. One woman after the other slipped out of the room, some placing orders right there and then, while others were still thinking things over and three hours later, she had still not found a dress that she could choose in good conscience.
'May I show you this one?' Lady Marjorie, who had long gotten rid of the needle in her arm asked, startling Elizabeth. 'I think it would suit you just fine.'
It was lovely, but perhaps it was time to own up.
'Madam, I have to confess, that I am not actually getting married. I am merely here to accompany a friend for the dancing lessons tomorrow and...'
'Oh, shush. It's timeless enough for you to wear in a couple of years from now and if you don't want to do so, then sell it! I have a weak heart, I easily could have died. You, deary, saved my life.'
'That may be, but I never expected to be paid for my help. It should be a matter of course that one helps in such cases, shouldn't it?'
'Yes, and if one is in a position to show gratitude, that also should be. Now, come, try it on.'
'You are like my older sister...'
Jane! Perhaps Jane could wear it when she got married to Bingley.
'She must be a lovely person then,' the lady giggled. 'Are you sure that this young man you are accompanying is not interested in you in other ways than just friendship? I have to say I have some trouble believing this.'
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'Yes, pretty sure. He actually made it quite clear.'
'Then I fear I have to consider him an idiot.'
'He is not. I am just not his type, I presume.'
'Ah, but one of you is in love, I see... - Perhaps all will turn out well. I do believe in romance, you know? Happened to me. I was nothing but a simple shop girl, and then, one day my now husband of more than thirty years came in and we looked at each other and there was this certain something. Oh, don't get me wrong, I did not dare think he would marry me, considering that he was a baron, and back then that was still something. But he returned the next day with a single red rose and the day after and... - Ah well, he is such a dear! Believe it or not, but ever since that first day, I have gotten a red rose from him every single day.'
'That does sound almost like something from a novel.'
'It most certainly does, but my maiden name is Miller, so believe me, not much glamour there. Wait, I help you button up.'
The dress did look beautiful and it fit her just right, though it was perhaps a bit long. Nothing that could not be changed quickly and easily, especially since the ivory coloured skirt was completely unadorned. The top was just as plain, apart from the subtle embroidery and beadwork on the neckline and the lower part of the long sleeves. It most certainly was timeless in its simplicity, but not boring either. It was... - plain perfect.
'And?'
'It's lovely.'
'Is this how you have imagined you'd look like as a bride?'
'No.'
'No?' Lady Metcalf asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
'No, because I have never thought about it. But even had I done so, I think that this looks better than anything I could have come up with.'
'Good. Then it is yours.'
Okay, surreal didn't quite sum it up. Not tonight and not the last couple of weeks. First her mother and the tons of baby stuff she had bought for a non-existent baby and now a wedding gown when there was no wedding. In a sense it was a stark reminder that not many things happened in her life at present. How it still could be so crazy was a mystery, thinking about it.
When she climbed up the stairs to her room - no, actually Will's and her room, Elizabeth could not resist pinching herself. Nope, she was awake, and there really was a wedding dress hanging over her arm, though it was now safely wrapped in a garment bag. By the way, why was it that people seemed intent on putting her into dresses? Okay, that one had to wait until later.
The light was on, she could see the small strip of yellow from underneath the door. Darcy was already back. Shit, how was she supposed to hide the dress away now without him getting the wrong idea? Yes, she was fully aware they were just friends, it was not a bloody hint, but argh...
Well, she could always claim that she had taken the dress of one of the other women up with her so their soon to be hubby wouldn't get to see it. Or she could claim that they also had bride's maids dresses...
Yes, either might work, unless she once again erred as she had with the two bratty hyenas and their mum and all hell would break loose. By the way, it was now official, this weekend had been a very bad idea.
Well, one thing was clear, she could not stay outside their door forever and sleep on the floor lest someone might stumble over her. Right, act normal and just walk inside. Deep breath, and... - WTF?
Chapter 38:
The key-question
Darcy was fast asleep, snoring slightly while he lay sprawled all over their bed, stark naked held down by a pair of handcuffs that were firmly attached to the headboard by the looks of it.
It didn't look very comfortable, so how the heck could this man look so bloody damn relaxed? But he did, even wearing a smile on his face. Nothing to freak out about, right? Nothing unusual. Totally normal. Sure, happens every day. Who didn't sleep like this?
Okay, totally naked he actually wasn't. Someone had been courteous enough to cover his private parts with a cushion. Not very original, really. Come one! No Sherlock Holmes needed to figure out where the keys were to be located. Ha-ha!
And that film hadn't been even all that good. Now it had lost all attraction. It had fuck all to do with the original character, to begin with, though admittedly, she had found that particular scene immensely funny. Now faced with it in real life, she suddenly understood why the chambermaid had been running away screaming. But screaming hysterically was not for her. Besides, at the moment she was pretty much speechless.
Seemed as if the rhetoric lesson had kind of turned into a practising session for stag-night. There was no way this would have happened if Will had been sober, surely. And anyway, who would do such a thing? Ah well, never mind. Darcy slept peacefully enough, they could just as well sort out the mess in the morning and with a clear head.
After all, it had been a long day and so would tomorrow be, so, time for bed. How difficult could it be to pry the blanket out from underneath him and bunk on the sofa?
A Chippendale two-seater might not be very convenient for sleeping on, but still better than the floor. And at least with Will passed out, she had a chance to hide the dress from him. So, open wardrobe, shove the thing in there, conveniently forget it on the way home. - Sorted!
All Elizabeth had to do was to get into her pyjama's, brush her teeth, comb through her hair and close her eyes. Eh, speaking of pyjamas, where the heck were they? She was sure she had put them on the bed when she had searched through her bag for something to wear earlier that evening. And speaking of her bag, where the fuck was it?
Not where she had left it on the floor by the window, not in the wardrobe, not in the chest of drawers, not in the bathroom. Underneath the bed it wasn't either, and not tucked away behind the screen. It was gone. Darcy's, too.
'You've got to be kidding me!'
Oops, she had not meant to say that aloud.
Darcy stirred in his sleep trying to turn around, struggled slightly before muttering something under his breath. Yeah well, forget it mate. Eventually, he cracked his eyes open, looking straight at her, licking his lips. Good God, pull yourself together, girl!
'Care to tell me what happened?' Elizabeth asked if only to say something.
'This... - this is not what it looks like... - I...' he stopped, shaking his head slightly as he seemingly struggled for the right words.
'And what is it supposed to look like?'
Seriously, this took the cake. Wasn't this exactly what one needed after a long and increasingly shitty day? Sure. Someone seemed to think so. Awkward 101 - lesson learned. And why did Will look so bloody sexy, even when his hair was this dishevelled, his eyes unfocused and heavy-lidded and he was strapped to a bed?
'No idea, actually. But it can't look good, I guess,' he, at last, continued, his face gradually colouring.
Okay, he slowly but surely seemed to sober up. But was that good or bad? Ah, never mind!
'Hm, it actually doesn't look all that bad either,' she grinned.
What were friends for but to make the best out of every fucked up situation, hey? Best way to go was to crack a joke or two. Hopefully...
'Do you want to tell me that you like the sight of me handcuffed to the bed like this?' he caught his breath, the eyes widening slightly.
Yes, of course. The sight was mouth watering. And not only that. Argh.... - Just when she had gotten over the fact that he didn't like her that way, she had to have a full sight of his glorious body. So not fair!
'I was merely joking.'
Did she imagine it, or did his face fall ever so slightly?
'Oh, okay. Please tell me the keys are on the bedside table...'
'Nope.'
'I'm going to kill him. I am so going to kill him, I swear! Have you looked in other places yet?'
'No. I was just trying to locate my bag. No keys as far as I could see, but I might have overlooked them. By the way, your bag is gone as well, and so are all or clothes. I'll have another look around, but I think I have an inkling where the keys are.'
'Swell! Yes,
I have an idea, too,' he sighed, while Elizabeth started searching the room.
Right, they were not on the windowsill, not on the chest of drawers, nor inside it, not in the bathroom, nor were they on the small side table by the window or the drawer of the bedside table, which only held a small paper bag with the words “Hope that's enough for tonight. - Fitz” written on it. She looked into the bag, only to find a handful of condoms and another note telling them that they would find their bags in front of their door early in the morning. No keys. Fuck! Double fuck, actually.
'I am afraid that if there are any keys in the room, there is only one place left...,' she, at last, remarked as off-handedly as she could manage.
By the way, what if they were not in the room at all? She had not thought about that possibility, and apparently neither had Darcy. The poor man looked mortified when she suggested as much. Okay, she knew that feeling. Bathroom, drawing pin... - Shit, the mirror! She had completely forgotten about the mirror behind herself when she'd bent forward. No, no, no... - What must he think of her? Right, no time for that now. And he'd closed his eyes by then, right? Phew!
'Ready?' she inquired, her face flushed, while she reached for the cushion.
Darcy only nodded, his eyes pressed firmly shut and his lips together in a thin line. Perhaps she should close her eyes as well. It would be courteous. On second thought, nope, that was a stupid idea. After all, she needed to find the bloody keys and fumbling around aimlessly was perhaps not such a good idea.
So, now or never. One, two, three... - With a swift movement, she pulled the cushion aside and placed it on the bed next to herself from where it fell to the floor with a soft thud. What was it stuffed with? Rice or something? Not that she cared all that much right now.
Ah, there the little bugger was! And so was the key.
'Have you got it?' she heard Will press out from between his teeth.
'Yes, I've got it.'
'Then could you please release me?'
'Yes, of course. I just need to pick them up.'