by Ari Rhoge
“Please don't,” said Darcy, in monotone.
“I have a friend I could set you up with — Maggie King. She's a sweetheart,” said Jane, drumming her fingers over the rim of her mug. Will looked up at her, grimacing with a discomfort she had seen on her sister's face before. Jane couldn't help but laugh. “Okay, fine — I get it! You're not the setting-up type. I'm just saying, she's really nice. She works at Elizabeth's school.”
Charlie sat up straight. “Hey, just ask Lizzy!”
Jane laughed out loud, then abruptly stopped herself. “I'm sorry. That was rude.”
“No, you're right. They would murder each other. Blood and guts all over these pristine walls,” Charlie said, sighing, and gesturing to the room around him, complete in its ivory–marble decadence. Darcy smiled slightly, and shook his head, not exactly disagreeing with his friend's point.
“Well, that, and she already has a date,” said Jane, pausing to sip her tea.
“Oh?” Charlie grinned, stroking his imaginary beard. He did this a lot, mostly out of beard-envy — this usually happened when they were watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy, because he was fascinated with Gandalf's facial hair.
“Stop doing that!” Jane imitated him, half-laughing. “You're not bearded.”
Charlie put his hands in his lap, grinning at her. “I love when you're mad —— because you're never actually mad.”
“Lucky you.” She smirked at him.
Darcy was quiet, staring at the blueprints in front of him. He was waiting for Jane to say who Elizabeth was taking to the party, though he had a sinking suspicion that he already knew. And then the topic passed, and he couldn't find it in himself to bring it up again.
“Are you hungry?” Charlie asked Jane. He had gotten up now, his arms around her waist as they sashayed in a really clumsy slow-dance. The lack of music didn't seem to deter them.
Jane was shaking her head. “It's still morning. We had breakfast two hours ago.”
“Yeah, Janie —— that has absolutely no relevance to what I'm saying.”
“He eats all the time. You'll get used to it,” Darcy finally said, slouching back in his seat. He flexed his arms and cracked his knuckles, after being cramped up from writing. Jane winced.
“He does that all the time,” noted Charlie, pulling away from his girlfriend.
“You two should just marry each other,” Jane suggested. “These sorts of idiosyncrasies could form the foundation of a very understanding and supportive marriage.”
“But Will doesn't support me — he tears me down,” Charlie argued. Darcy shot him a dirty look. “Okay, fine… maybe he has single-handedly planned this event for me. And, yes, he does legally represent me. And maybe I do enslave him as a personal consultant in all aspects of my life. But that does not mean—”
“Bullshit,” Darcy scoffed, then turning to face Jane. “Did he ever tell you about the time he called me, at three in the morning, July of 2002 —ouch, Charlie, what the fuck?”
Charlie had dropped all of his paperwork, leaping over to punch Will on the shoulder. “No. No! Not cool. You were sworn to secrecy, remember? Georgie was there —— you took a blood oath.”
“Dude, that wasn't blood — that was cranberry juice. Not even… cranberry cocktail. And, quite frankly, I don't know how you didn't realize the difference —— but I assume it's because you were still drunk—”
“Will.”
Jane glanced between them, curious and amused.
“Fine.” Darcy raised both hands in surrender. “Withdrawn.”
“Good.”
“That's not fair!” laughed Jane. “Now I need to know.”
“I'll tell you sometime — it's excellent leverage,” Darcy said, smugly.
Charlie rolled his eyes and shrugged, indicating that his friend was too ridiculous to deal with. “I hate him so much.”
“Bromantically, Charlie?” deadpanned Will.
“Shut up.”
9
—
Manners, or Lack Thereof: Part I
The moving boxes began to appear around the apartment at a very gradual pace — Lizzy had almost missed them. But by the beginning of February the boxes occupied a third of the foyer, and the apartment began to look considerably less cluttered. It hit her like a swift punch — Charlotte was moving out. She had known Charlotte would be moving out. They had talked about it, and, like all of their recent interactions, the conversation had been short, emotionless, and devoid of proper eye contact. But Lizzy was suddenly very sad — and there was no getting around that.
“You're moving,” she said, simply, over breakfast that morning. Well, it was lunchtime — but they had both slept in.
Charlotte looked up from her bowl of cereal. “Uh-huh. Didn't we talk about this?”
Elizabeth shrugged, and got up from the table. She started on the dishes by scrubbing the coffee pot. Charlotte sighed heavily, pushed away from the table, and then dropped her bowl in the sink. “Thanks — and Lizzy?”
“What?” said Lizzy, gruffly.
“Never mind.”
The house phone rang — Lizzy grabbed it from its receiver, holding it between her ear and shoulder as she continued washing dishes. “Hey, Jane.”
Jane was, of course, very busy. This was one of three phone calls that morning. She had been working with Charlie for the last three weeks to make the Netherfield banquet an event of absolute perfection — ever the doting girlfriend. Lizzy cocked her head and smiled. She couldn't tell which one of them was luckier to have the other. At the moment, her sister sounded calmer than she had been in a while.
“Hi, Lizzy —— I'm not calling for any favors this time.” A beat. “But thank you so much for the name of that florist — because Caroline Bingley was about to have a conniption when Ophelia's Flowers dropped out.”
“Hey, that's completely fine,” said Elizabeth, breezily. “I knew them from Dad's birthday party, 2008.” She turned off the faucet, and laughed, thereafter frowning. “Wait, Ophelia's Flowers? Seriously? Isn't that a little morbid?”
“Why?”
“Naming your florist company after a Shakespearean character who drowned herself, that's all.”
“Um, it's very clearly poetic,” said Jane. “And a little ironic — because they canceled on us. But listen, I was going to ask if you wanted a lift to the party tonight. I have to be there a couple hours early — I want to help Charlie out with any last-minute preparations. I just didn't know if Greg was picking you up as a date or if you're meeting up there.”
“We're meeting up there,” she said, switching the phone to her other ear. “It's all very casual. I wouldn't even consider him a date.”
“Oh, please — this is just you trying to convince yourself otherwise,” Jane teased. “You like him!”
“Do not!”
“The dress you're wearing tonight — old or new?”
“Old,” Lizzy said, with conviction.
“Liar.”
“Shut up. It was on sale. —— Okay, fine — it wasn't.”
Jane giggled on the other end, and Lizzy laughed as a reflex. Then she reminded her that their parents would get to Netherfield a little late but would be bringing Mary, who was taking a semester off from her studies. Then she asked Elizabeth to be a little nicer to Charlotte (“I'm trying,” she answered) — then she reminded her that they would pick her up at 6:45 p.m. sharp, so actually being in her dress and having found shoes to match would be helpful. Lizzy wrote herself a memo, and stuck the Post-it to the refrigerator.
• • •
The Netherfield banquet was ritzy and upscale — they had left it up to Charlie to downplay the decadence. Though Lizzy had already expected suits and expensive dresses. The ballroom was absolutely beautiful. Silver tinsel clung to every possible surface (recycled from Christmas, no doubt) and tea lights twinkled from the ceiling. Round tables with cream velvet-covered chairs. Waiters in penguin suits. It all vaguely resembled a wedding — only there was
a DJ instead of a band.
Lizzy stood beside John Bennet, close to the back of the room, past the gaggle of dancers and the deafening speakers that blared mildly depressing pop ballads. Both were armed with a glass of champagne, and partook in their favorite activity of people watching. Their recent victim was Lizzy's own mother, who was schmoozing with Charlie's uncle as if her life depended on it. Mary, brunette, pixie-cut, and quite pretty in a violet dress, smiled politely at her side.
“Poor girl,” John said, sighing. “I think your mom has shifted her focus — she's looking to snare Mary a boyfriend now.”
“Yeah,” Elizabeth said, tilting her head. “I don't know… Charlie's uncle seems a little —— up there, in age.” He elbowed her gently, and Lizzy grinned, nudging him back. “I love Mary, but thank goodness Mom's moved on to the younger ones. I don't know how much more persecution I could take. —— Brian Ventresca — your neighbor — called me yesterday. She really did give him my number.”
“She's a desperate woman who wants grandbabies — what can you do?” he said, smiling, eyes bright.
“Grit your teeth and deal with it.”
“That's the secret to marriage, Lizzy.” John emptied his glass of champagne and swiveled on his feet. “Garçon, I'd like another.” He plucked a second flute from a waiter's tray.
“You're driving.”
“Oh, right.” John handed her his glass, and Elizabeth grinned.
Charlotte joined them a minute later. She hugged John, and asked him how the girls were doing, to which he delivered some dry and mildly affectionate response. Bill Collins followed close behind, jogging his left leg in rhythm to the current song. His hair was slicked back, his suit was electric blue, and he wore unnecessary cuff links. And then he glanced at Elizabeth and raised his eyebrows. “Two glasses, Lizzy?”
“Oh, I'm getting especially tipsy tonight,” she deadpanned. Charlotte caught her eye, and Lizzy smiled at her — a secret truce. “You look really nice.”
“Thanks,” said Charlotte. She had her hair pulled back in a loose bun, and wore a smart little black cocktail dress. She eyed Lizzy carefully, and grinned. “Who'd you dress up for?”
“I didn't dress up for anybody,” said Lizzy, crossing her arms defensively.
“Oh please, I made you try on that dress months ago. You're in heels, and I see mascara. There is definitely a boy.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“I'll sort through her text messages later and let you know,” said John, quickly. Lizzy shot him a dirty look. He chuckled, and pulled her in for a one-armed hug.
“Elizabeth, might I trouble you for a dance?” asked Bill, straightening the lapels of his jacket. He flashed her a winning smile. She most definitely did not want to be troubled for a dance.
But she chanced a glimpse at Charlotte's face, and decided to be nice. After all, he was her best friend's husband-to-be. At the last second, Charlotte took her fiancé's hand, and tugged him toward the dance floor, beaming at Lizzy from over her shoulder. “Sorry, girl. We need all the practice we can get before the wedding.”
Lizzy was thankful for the rescue, intentional or not. She watched Collins lead Charlotte with precise, intricate footwork, and cocked her head to one side. Was he attempting a waltz?
“The wedding,” John echoed, a look of comprehension crossing his face. “Wait — that's the guy Charlotte's marrying? —— Seriously?”
“Stop it. See, this is where my negativity comes from.” Lizzy pointed at him. “I'm trying to be supportive.”
John mimed locking his mouth and pocketing the key, and chuckled when his daughter reactively rolled her eyes. “Well, at least Charlotte was right about one thing — you do look very pretty tonight, Liz.”
“Thanks,” said Elizabeth, with a smile. She felt pretty — her dress was deep emerald in color, long-sleeved, and with a modest neckline. But it was pretty snug — and the skirt was a little too short, so she kept tugging it down self-consciously. She had also borrowed a pair of Jane's heels, and had taken an extra five minutes on her hair. It was down now, long, dark, curly, and thankfully lacking in the knots-and-frizz department.
Lizzy had stopped trying to convince herself that she hadn't dressed up for Greg. So, she liked him. Big whoop.
“Well, I don't believe that there isn't a guy,” John said, confidently. “But it's okay — I respect your privacy.” Lizzy laughed out loud, and he gave up. “Okay, I don't. Tell me.”
She smiled at him. “I will when I come back. I want to go find Jane. After that, you owe me a dance.”
“You're on.”
Lizzy weaved through the tables and chairs, standing aside to let the occasional giggling drunk girl pass by. Jane saw her from a few feet away, and waved, rushing over as fast as her heels could carry her. Several heads whipped around to stare — it was hard not to, for Jane was almost ethereally beautiful. Her strawberry-blond curls were pinned up on her head, and she wore a dramatic, backless red dress with a full tulle skirt that fanned out past her knees.
“People are going to attempt to murder you tonight out of pure envy,” Lizzy told her seriously, once they had hugged. “So, I asked Dad to bring a nunchaku, for defensive purposes.”
“How clever of you!” Jane grinned. “You think of everything, Lizzy. Always prepared.”
“I try. —— Hey, have you seen Greg?”
Jane stood up on her tiptoes and scanned the room. She and Greg had met the week before, when Jane had cooked them dinner at her apartment. Her brow crinkled and she shook her head. “No, I don't see him. Check with Vince — he has a guest list.”
“Shit. We have a bouncer?”
“Kind of.”
“That's intense,” Lizzy said, smiling.
“Right?” said Charlie, causing Elizabeth to jump. He laughed, and steadied her. “Relax — I didn't mean to sneak up on you. Who are you looking for?”
“Her date,” chirped Jane.
“He's not my date,” Lizzy amended.
“I'll dance with you in the meantime,” offered Charlie, setting down his glass of wine. “Jane doesn't even want to yet.” He jutted out his lower lip and pouted at her. Charlie looked handsome, as always. His red hair was artfully messy, and he was all easygoing and graceful in his black tuxedo. His tie had also gone missing in the course of an hour.
“I still have to find my parents!” Jane explained. “And Mary — how's Mary doing?” She turned to her sister.
“Suffering silently. They're over there.” Elizabeth pointed toward the back of the banquet room. Jane thanked her, and set off in the opposite direction. Lizzy let Charlie lead her off for a dance.
• • •
40 minutes, many acquaintances and two dances with Charlie later, Lizzy wandered around, slightly buzzed, carrying her heels in one hand. Still no sign of Greg. It suddenly occurred to her to check her phone, which she had left back at the table. Moving past people and excusing herself, she made it back, and pulled her cell phone out of her coat pocket.
Two missed calls, of course. Lizzy sighed, and pushed her way out of the ballroom and into the hall.
The music wasn't as loud there, so she dialed her voicemail, stopping before a giant bay window.
What greeted her was some quick, rambling message from one Greg Wickham. Her heart sank. It was all fluff and apology, and Elizabeth had a hard time trying to pick up on an exact reason for his no-show. But even if he had made an excuse, Lizzy knew the real reason he hadn't shown up. It was Darcy — which was ridiculous, because she had barely even seen the guy all night. No doubt that he was being hounded by Caroline Bingley and company. Lizzy lifted her head to stare out the window. It was starting to snow.
For a brief moment, she considered stepping outside for some fresh air. But she remembered that her coat was still in the ballroom. Muttering complaints under her breath, Lizzy turned on her heels to march back inside.
Which was when she nearly collided into Will Darcy.
He steadied her at the last minute — and Lizzy pulled away uncomfortably, feeling her cheeks flush. Or maybe it was too much wine. And the sting of feeling rejected.
Darcy cleared his throat. “Hello.”
“Hi.”
“… I came over here to ask if you wanted to dance.”
“Okay.”
“Great.”
Oh. So, this is happening. Neither of them said anything for a few seconds. Lizzy took the opportunity to notice his expensive, well-fitting suit. He was suddenly taller than she remembered, and his dress shirt brought out the blue of his eyes. It annoyed her.
• • •
They danced to a bluesy, lilting Joni Mitchell song — and Elizabeth tried to distract herself by counting the number of couples around them, before playing a silent round of Spot the Ginger. There were only three, shockingly — Charlie, Caroline and an additional relative. These distractions only worked for about 30 seconds before Elizabeth told Darcy that he had to say something before she completely lost her mind. “This is the longest dance of my life.”
Darcy arched an eyebrow delicately. “Well, what would you like me to say?”
“That response will do fine for now,” Lizzy said, grinning. Will grew silent again, leading them around the dance floor.
She didn't like him holding her — rather, she didn't like being this close to him. It surprised Lizzy how much she suddenly disliked Will Darcy. She blamed Greg's account of what had happened. It had only given her further incentive to hate him. Lizzy stole a glance at Will then — he was looking off to the side, watching Jane and Charlie dance. She followed his line of vision, and smiled reflexively. Charlie held Jane very close, their fingers intertwined. He pressed a kiss against her hair, one hand at the small of her back. And then he dipped her, and she giggled.
“They're really good together — don't you think?” said Elizabeth, watching them. “Look, he even lets her lead sometimes. That is true love right there.”
Darcy glanced down, and said nothing for a moment. It seemed as if he were choosing his words carefully. “You think he loves her?” he finally said.
Lizzy shrugged. “I don't know. You can never tell what's going on between two people — especially not from standing on the outside.”