Undressing Mr. Darcy

by Karen Doornebos

  Lexi took a sip of her beer. “Did you confront Julian about that other woman?”

  “What other woman?” Sherry asked.

  “There was a woman in Julian’s robe with a puppy in his backyard today.”

  “Backyard.” Vanessa laughed. “You should see his ‘backyard.’”

  “Ooooh,” said Sherry. “A puppy . . .”

  “Why does the puppy matter?” Vanessa paced the hall outside the bathroom.

  “A guy. A girl. A robe. A puppy. Nothing good is coming out of that,” Lexi said.

  “I don’t want to jump to paranoid conclusions. After all, the woman—”

  “Could be his sister,” they said in unison.

  Lexi laughed so hard she almost sprayed her beer all over.

  “I’ve left myself open to possibilities at the ball tonight.”

  Lexi sighed. “Well, if that’s the case, then I certainly hope you’re not wearing a thong under that gown, because Regency women didn’t wear drawers. And you don’t want your panty lines to show. Turn around, let me see.” Lexi twirled her finger.

  Vanessa acquiesced.

  “Take ’em off.”

  “You can’t see any panty lines!”

  “Off.”

  “Sherry, are you wearing anything under your gown?”

  “A lady never tells, does she?”

  “Come on, Vanessa, we’re going to party like it’s 1799, okay?”

  Vanessa laughed. “You’re dating yourself in more ways than one with that line. And none of us are going to party like it’s 1799, now that I’ve read the goings-on in Harris’s List.”

  “You and Sherry should hit a pub after the ball. There are never eligible men at these Jane Austen things.”

  “Exactly. She’d certainly appreciate the irony that us modern women sign up and pay dearly for the kind of torture she had to endure in her social life. And you won’t be going to the pub?”

  “I have plans with David.”

  Vanessa was beginning to believe Lexi had changed.

  Lexi stuck a two-foot-long white ostrich feather in her headdress, as if she didn’t get enough attention everywhere she went.

  “I’m up for the pub!” said Sherry.

  Poor Sherry. She deserved to have some fun on her vacation, and not just by buying more Darcy paraphernalia.

  Vanessa tossed her cold meds into her reticule. “They gave a lecture called ‘What’s in Your Reticule’ yesterday. Well, I’ve packed my cold meds, my drink money, and my phone. And . . .”

  She slipped off her leopard-print thong, twirled it around on her index finger, and flung it across the room, where it landed on Colin’s head.

  “Woot, woot!” Lexi shouted.

  “Strumpet is in the house,” said Sherry.

  “I’m no strumpet. I’m a duchess.”

  “You’re not fooling anyone,” Lexi said. “You’re no duchess. And we can tell you’re still really hung up on him.”

  Vanessa managed a wobbly smile.

  “You’re going to need to attend my Break-It-Off boot camp, aren’t you?”

  “I’m remaining optimistic.”

  “Well, there’s nothing to break off anyway,” Lexi said.

  “Enough!” Sherry said to Lexi as she handed Vanessa a masquerade eye mask done up in gold, white, and black.

  “What’s this?”

  Sherry and Lexi had both already put on their masks.

  “It’s a masquerade ball,” Sherry said.

  Vanessa gaped at her mask. “What? How the hell am I going to find him in a room full of seven hundred masked people? How’s he going to find me?”

  “Relax,” Lexi said. “It’s a Jane Austen festival. Even in a mask he’ll stand out.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t easy navigating two-thousand-year-old pavers in ballet flats, a floor-length gown, and an ill-fitting mask, but Vanessa managed to get her glass of wine at the cocktail reception in the Roman Baths without incident.

  Once again, she felt the crashing of eras as she gazed at the twelfth-century King’s Bath, built on top of a Roman foundation, its water lit and glowing an intoxicating emerald green, surrounded by a golden building created in the eighteenth century, and here they were, time travelers from the twenty-first century, costumed in early-nineteenth-century clothes.

  The mind boggled, even without cold meds and wine.

  Both the formality of the venue and the clothing led to a certain raising of the bar among Vanessa, Sherry, Lexi, and David. David cleaned up nicely in his rented red British army uniform, and they all managed to behave as elegantly as they looked.

  Revelers in Regency gowns and formal Regency coats, all of them in masks, filled the pavements surrounding the green pool, and the laughing and talking echoed between the ancient columns, while flashes from cameras reminded everyone that it was actually the twenty-first century.

  Vanessa didn’t see Julian anywhere, and the ratio of women to men did seem to be five to one.

  “I hope Chase was able to get a costume,” Lexi said.

  It took Vanessa a moment to respond, she’d been so preoccupied looking for Julian. “Didn’t he bring his pirate getup?”

  “Well, he didn’t think that would meet with the strict criteria here,” said Lexi. “I’m going to text him and let him know where we are.”

  Vanessa looked beyond her small circle, craning her bejeweled neck to see if she could spot Julian. Without thinking, she finished her entire glass of wine.

  “He’s here,” Lexi said, reading from her phone.

  “He is?” Vanessa asked excitedly. “Where?”

  “You know I’m talking about Chase, right? He says he’s making his way toward the bar.”

  “Oh, right.” Vanessa couldn’t just stand here anymore, waiting for Julian to appear. “Sherry, shall we take a turn about the room?”

  Sherry smiled and locked her arm in Vanessa’s.

  Oh, to be Sherry, open to the events of the evening and not overly invested in one enigma of a man.

  Vanessa’s phone vibrated in her reticule. Chase had sent her a text:

  Save me? Cornered by a gaggle of German girls to the right of the bar.

  Sure enough, once she and Sherry had crossed the length of the King’s Bath and veered toward the bar, Vanessa could see the back of Chase’s head, with his dark brown hair falling to just below the nape of his neck, and yes, he was surrounded by blond German women with angled faces, all angling for him.

  She couldn’t tell what Chase had on, though, because another, shorter woman stood right behind him adjusting the feather in her hair as she looked in her compact mirror.

  “Chase, darling!” Vanessa waved her fan at him and deliberately overacted as she and Sherry approached. “Sweetheart!”

  The shorter woman stepped aside, Chase turned around, and Vanessa seemed incapable of moving for a moment.

  He wore a black eye mask and a shirt so snug it more than hinted at his muscular build, and he had a sword sheathed at his side, but what Vanessa wasn’t anticipating was her visceral reaction to seeing him in a red and black Scottish—kilt.

  Who knew a man could rock a kilt like that?

  Of course, the inevitable question surfaced, within seconds: was he wearing anything under that kilt? Because traditionally, a Scotsman wouldn’t.

  Vanessa dropped Sherry’s arm and cocked her hip. “Wow.”

  “Vanessa, my love,” he said with that gleaming smile. “So fabulous to see you again, and looking so ravishing in that diaphanous gown.”

  With that he left the German posse in the dust, sauntered right up to her, and pressed one hand on the back of her head. He guided her hand to his kilted ass, tilted her head back ever so slightly, and kissed her, Frenched her, long and passionately.

  She grabbed his hair and tried to pull him away until, finally, he did. He whispered “thank you” to her, then turned to Sherry and lifted her gloved hand to kiss it as he looked to see if the German women had dispersed.
And they had.

  “Sherry, a pleasure to see you.”

  Vanessa adjusted her gown, which only seemed to cling to her now. Had that been just a show to get rid of the German women? Because she’d never been kissed like that before! She’d kissed many a man in her time, too. What the hell! She’d been dating since she was, what, fourteen? She’d been missing that all her life?

  She couldn’t take her eyes off his lips, his mouth, and his tongue, as it moved. Oh, he was saying something.

  “Vanessa, I asked you, can I buy you a drink?”

  What did he say? She heard it, but she couldn’t get past the fact that they were both wearing skirts, neither of them with anything underneath, and they were—just talking?

  That tongue. That kiss. If it weren’t for Julian, that kiss could have catapulted him out of the friend zone!

  “I’ll get you a glass of cabernet. I know you like your red. Sherry, you’d like a bitter, am I right?”

  “Oooh, you’re good,” Sherry said. “Yes.”

  Vanessa finally found something to say. “Those German women were gorgeous—and young. Why would you want to get rid of them?”

  Chase looked at her askance. “I’ve done a lot of traveling. Why would I waste my time with German girls when I know that there’s nothing sexier than American women in general? Chicago women in particular, and PR women exclusively.”

  Now he was laying it on thick.

  Out of nowhere, Julian appeared and strode right up to Chase.

  He wore his Regency best and a silver mask.

  “Typical Scotsman, ignoring all manner of British protocol.”

  Chase cracked a smile. “Hey, Julian. Can I buy you a drink? How’s it going?”

  “It’s not going very well at the moment. You really must restrain yourself from such blatant displays of affection. Certainly that would never be tolerated in Regency times. An unmarried man and woman wouldn’t even be allowed to touch except with gloved hands, at arm’s length, on the dance floor. I must warn you the master of ceremonies and the dance caller are very strict here.”

  “You do realize, Julian, that we don’t really live in the Regency era. Well, most of us don’t, anyway.” He laughed.

  Julian sneered.

  Vanessa had never seen him sneer.

  He clenched his white-gloved fists. He had thrown down the gauntlet, but Chase didn’t bother picking it up.

  “How about I buy you an old-fashioned, Mr. Darcy?” Chase joked. Without waiting for a reply, he went to the bar.

  Julian stared at Vanessa.

  She had no idea what he could possibly be thinking, but maybe this was more about possession than anything.

  “Julian’s jealous,” Sherry whispered in Vanessa’s ear. “He was watching Chase kiss you and he stormed away from that group of people there as soon as he could.”

  Julian had shown some kind of emotion in public? Had the convergence of the energy lines here at the baths gotten to him?

  So many possibilities rushed, like a torrent, through Vanessa’s mind. Should she talk to him? Or, at this eleventh hour, should she do something more drastic? Once again, the course proved difficult to navigate. It confused her. She shouldn’t have to make the next move here, should she?

  “Ladies.” Julian bowed to Vanessa and Sherry. “If you will excuse me.”

  Just like that he disappeared into the swelling crowd and she missed her chance. Would she ever find him again in this crowd of seven hundred? And she knew she shouldn’t have had that lager, because now, of all times, she had to pee.

  * * *

  The crystal chandeliers dimmed in anticipation of the ball upstairs in the Pump Room. Vanessa’s stomach went a little queasy. Each dance would be long, sometimes fifteen minutes. The evening would go quickly, neither Julian nor Chase had asked her to dance, and neither man was anywhere to be seen.

  Sherry escorted Vanessa and Lexi toward the Pump Room fountain. “I’m treating us all to a drink of healing water! I’m slapping down my pound fifty.”

  Just as they raised and clinked their glasses and took a sip of the warm, mineral-rich water, a very nice gentleman in a blue tailcoat came over and very politely asked Sherry to dance, so Sherry set the rest of her water down on the wooden counter.

  Vanessa’s heart positively burst for her as Sherry raised her eyebrows and beamed.

  David, too, asked Lexi to dance, and they did make an adorable couple. Lexi set her glass down.

  Were the glasses half-empty or half-full? mused Vanessa as she stood alone. She drank her entire glass of mineral water, swallowed a few cold meds with it, and promptly sneezed.

  Couples lined up across from each other on the dance floor, forming two long lines of dancers.

  The dance caller spoke into the microphone. “Single ladies, don’t be afraid to fill in for the men. Join in the dancing, everyone!”

  From all angles of the room, women of all ages and sizes and equally varied costumes happily “filled in.”

  Vanessa went to the bar and asked the bartender for the strongest mixed drink he could concoct. She stood there staring down into it: Punch Royal, a deep red Regency mix of cognac, rum, and port, according to the bartender.

  She went for her phone as the quartet began the very lively opening song. It wasn’t easy to navigate the cracked screen with her gloves on, but there were no texts, no e-mails, nothing since she checked before she left the flat.

  The ballroom glittered with shimmering chandelier light, dancers bounced lightly on their feet, music filled the room to the high ceilings, and Vanessa had never felt more alone. And abandoned by Julian.

  But really, he hadn’t abandoned her. She’d shared nothing of her heart with him. She hadn’t opened herself up to him in any way. She’d given nothing, yet expected a return.

  She read in the program—er, the “programme”—that a Regency libations lecture was going on in one of the other rooms, so she took her drink and made her way past the smiling lines of dancers to a bright room and took a seat in the back, sucking on her drink.

  Before she knew it, her drink was gone, and the lecturer was speaking of small beer and orange wine and port, but nothing made any sense. She kept thinking about Julian and their time together, especially at the fairground.

  The costumed crowd laughed frequently at what the lecturer said, and some nodded their coiffed heads in agreement, but once he appeared to turn blurry on her, Vanessa realized the harsh reality.

  She was too drunk to be in a libations lecture.

  * * *

  And she needed to find Julian. She had to let him know how she really felt about him. She needed to take a chance. Maybe the booze had addled her brain, but her time had run out here in England.

  She felt as if her time had run out at home, too, for that matter. How had she gotten to this point in her life—alone? Had she somehow forgotten to get married and have kids along the way? Had she been working too much or having too much fun or—her phone vibrated with an e-mail. It was from another eBelieve match.

  Drinking all that mineral water and soaking in the magical spa waters of Bath had produced their cure, and Julian had been right! She had a virtual half life.

  Right then and there in the lecture room, on her phone, she took down her eBelieve profile and deleted the in-box messages. Time to live! Time to love! Time to hoist up her gown, jump over stiles, and get her petticoats dirtied in six inches of mud! She could live in the nineteenth century and the twenty-first, but she wouldn’t spend any more precious time living in the cyber world.

  Standing now, she steadied herself with the chair in front of her and with as much finesse as a drunken duchess could muster, she turned to leave as quickly as possible, but somehow the hem of her gown must’ve gotten under the leg of the chair next to her, where a large older man sat dressed in his Regency best. With a great ripping sound, her ball gown tore.

  These things happen when you grab your life by the—balls.

  She didn’t loo
k back; she didn’t look at the gown; she only aimed for the golden doorknob at the back of the room, turned it, and opened and quietly shut the door behind her, heaving a sigh that made her aware, once again, of just how exposed she felt in this gown.

  There, across the hall, leaning against a doorjamb and checking his phone, stood Chase in his kilt.

  “I’ve been looking for you.”

  Words that a woman would love to hear—from the man she’d been looking for. Especially someone she might have been looking for her entire life.

  Chase happened to be a great kisser and a fabulous guy. But she was here to figure out what was in store for her and Julian. That was her plan. That was her mission.

  “I see you’ve incorporated a slit into your gown,” Chase said. “Very fetching.”

  Vanessa looked down, and shit! Her gown had torn all the way up the side seam, from the hem to about where she’d tied off her garter.

  “Fucking hell!”

  Chase smiled. “I’m not quite so sure you fit in with this genteel crowd.”

  “I can’t go in the ballroom like this!”

  “No. You can’t. Let me take you back and we’ll get that ruined gown off you.”

  He kept staring at her stockinged leg, completely visible now through the slit.

  “I need to find some tape, some staples, something! I need to fix this gown right now!”

  Chase moved closer and inspected the seam of the gown. “You know, you smell like a distillery, but that only makes you more alluring to me, a pirate at heart.”

  She laughed. “Seriously, I need to fix this.” She needed to fix everything.

  He opened the black leather Scottish bag attached to his belt and pulled something out and showed her.

  “A sewing kit? You sew?”

  “You don’t?”

  “No! What guy carries a sewing kit around?”

  “A reenacting pirate does. Pirates know how to sew, cook, and clean. Oh, and we know how to tie all kinds of knots, too.” He flashed that cocky grin.

  Unsolicited, an image of Chase popped into her head, striking a pose in his pirate outfit, a rose between his teeth, a French maid feather duster in his hand, and ropes on his bedposts. She should never drink rum.