Real: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 2

  "Mrs. Darcy?"

  Yup — that's the other thing. I decided about an hour after my unholy awakening that this whole thing was a terrible nightmare. And, like most nightmares, it needs some riding out. It's horrid — but there's going to be light at the end of the tunnel if I could just hold my breath long enough. Besides, comparatively, I'm cool with that now.

  Because it didn't take long for the other details to set in.

  The only thing worse than a universe where I've slept with Darcy — is a universe where I've married him.

  "Ma'am?" Lilieth presses, hands in what must be the tenth braid in my hair.

  "I'm fine, Lilieth." I sigh. Whatever, play the part. "You don't have to do this."

  "Oh, I am sorry, madame!" She exclaims, backing away as if my hair caught fire. "I did not ask. Do you not prefer braiding?"

  She's like a scared little rabbit. This dream is getting weirder by the minute.

  I turn to look at Lilieth. Light hair and pale skin — she looks young enough to be just hitting puberty. This girl shouldn't even be working!

  She trembles when I meet her eyes again, and I suddenly remember the precursor of this pause from the hair-primping. "Everything's fine. Don't worry. Just, uhm — keep going?"

  The more I struggle, the more I'll have a hard time waking up.

  Ride it out, Lizzie. Ride it out.

  I turn around, and Lilieth's hands resume their tying and pinning. "Shall you wear the green dress, madame?"

  I — guess?

  "Sure — I mean, yes," I add at her face-scrunching.

  I can't even retrieve my own dress? Did people used to do nothing? Lilieth pats my newly pinned-up hair and prances away to what's presumably a wardrobe area.

  People used to be so weird.

  But then again, whoever said I'm in the past? Maybe I'm in some sort of strange future — a totally dystopian future where I'm forced to marry Darcy because we're the only human beings left alive.

  I sigh. What is wrong with my imagination?

  The guy asks me out — like, sure, I'm totally caught by surprise. By a starring role in my 'think it over' dreams? He doesn't deserve that.

  "Mr. Darcy shall be very taken with you, madame. He does prefer green on you." Lilieth re-appears with a chunk of pale green cloth.

  He what?

  I groan. Whatever. I'm hungry — and it seems like no one's about to feed me until I put on another twelve layers of clothing. Modesty is a very relative concept.

  "Thank you, Lilieth. That dress should do."

  • • •

  How women can tolerate wearing this many layers, with no bras or undies, I will never understand. I feel like a slutty version of Lydia making up for my lack of, well, coverage with too much cloth everywhere else.

  But, if anything, it's at least assurance that I maybe hadn't slept with dream Darcy last night, since it seems like everyone goes commando anyway. Wait, that came out wrong. Darcy — well, this Darcy — he's not a dream Darcy. He's not my dream guy. He's just Darcy — in a dream. Hence, dream Darcy.

  Got it?

  Okay, fine, it doesn't seem like anyone cares anyway. I'll just wake up and have a good story to tell.

  I was very insistent about declining Lilieth's assistance with coming to breakfast (I can walk down the stairs by myself perfectly well, thank you), but she was adamant that her master wanted her to keep an eye on me. So, now, I'm walking by myself while she trails three steps behind — an imperfect compromise.

  Didn't know I could barter in dreams.

  "Elizabeth, are you well?" A strangely familiar voice greets me when I finally enter the room Lilieth nudged me to.

  I won't admit it out loud, but thank God for her assistance — I would've never found this room by myself. My mind is too crazy of an architect.

  I mean — an estate? Must be too many Inception reruns. DiCaprio and Gordon-Levitt can be quite convincing.

  The comforting smell of breakfast food, particularly eggs, makes me momentarily forget about the previous greeting.

  "Lizzy?" Familiar female voice says again.

  So I turn to the source — and drop my jaw.

  "Lizzy?"

  "Uhm — Gigi?" I finally stammer. She looks like Gigi — those eyes are trademark — and she sounds like Gigi.

  But why is she blond?

  And, of course, wearing the same kind of clothes I am while everyone else is sporting some sort of apron.

  "Oh." She pauses a little, hands clasped together. "Brother mentioned you had fitful slumber. Are you well, Lizzy?"

  What's with the British accent — seriously?

  I see Gigi — this Gigi, anyway — starting to walk towards me. I decide that's not a very good thing.

  "I am fine, Gi— Miss Darcy?"

  "Lizzy, please. Do not tease me so." She lowers her head, blushing. "You have always called me Georgiana."

  Because in this twisted universe, I'm Darcy's wife, her sister-in-law — right.

  When I don't answer right away, she starts fidgeting with her fingers.

  Well, what do you know? Dream Gigi is actually shy.

  "Georgiana, you must let your sister eat." Darcy's low voice rolls over from the other side of the room. Despite the accent, his voice feels gladly familiar in this weird, weird place. "Lizzy, please — feed yourself."

  Feed myself? My sub-consciousness speaks with a very strange vernacular.

  Oh, what would Freud say?

  I look tentatively at the two siblings. They both seem to expect me to sit down next to Darcy, so I do. The plate is already full.

  "You have always preferred your omelets thus." He sounds almost apologetic as I sit down, only retracting slightly to smooth out all my layers of skirts. "Would you wish for porridge as well?"

  It takes me a moment to realize he's actually asking me. William Darcy, arrogant snob, is asking what I want to eat and seemingly willing to have it procured just for me.

  This dream is bizarro.

  "I apologize for my curtness this morning," he's suddenly whispering under his breath. I look at him, bewildered. He looks good in the period clothes. His neck is nestled perfectly in all those collars. His hair, a little curlier here, makes him look slightly more relaxed. "I am sorry, Lizzy."

  Oh — I blink. He's — apologizing.

  He reaches for my hand and takes it before I can stop him.

  "I was — perturbed by your unrest the past night. I worried so, Lizzy, darling. I feared you had —" He stopped himself, gulping before continuing, "I feared the field fire last week had frightened you."

  Field fire? Uhm, what?

  I've never felt so stupid in my entire life.

  "Lizzy, please — say you pardon me." He looks at me earnestly, eyes tender.

  I had no idea William Darcy did tender.

  "Uhm — of course," I stammer. His hand is squeezing mine, creating a very uncomfortable distraction. "I — uhm, there's nothing to forgive."

  He smiles — and I discover he has dimples.

  And suddenly, the entire world has wrapped itself up neatly and thrown itself into the infinite beyond, not even caring where it lands.

  Because, seriously — what's going on?

  • • •

  I finish up my eggs Florentine after gobbling down the omelet. Georgiana pointed them out and, well, I was hungry even after that generous plate. And, what do you know — best decision ever. These things are almost as good as Mom's cooking. They're not as nice as the omelet was, but they're still way more than decent enough.

  "The nightmares have hungered you, Lizzy." Darcy is reaching over again.

  I try not to flinch when his hand lands on mine, hurriedly reminding myself that as far as dream Darcy is concerned — I'm still his wife. I'll tolerate the hand-holding and terms of endearment as long as he doesn't try to — kiss me, or something.

  "Mm-hmm." I stare at my plate. But then in my peripheral vision, I see him leaning towards me, inclining his head so that he co
uld get a glimpse at my face. If this keeps up — he'll be totally in my face in no time.

  So I sit up and turn, perfect posture in place (wow, this place makes me alliterate). "I'm doing great — don't worry."

  He frowns that handsome face of his, looking exactly the opposite of what I told him not to do. Could you blame the guy? What would you think if your size-6 spouse wakes up extra antsy and starts eating like a famished soldier?

  "I pray you have more restful sleep tonight," he speaks lowly, intimately, squeezing my hand again. This all feels very, very strange and weird and unsettling. I inhale, reiterating to my panicked mind that I'll be long gone before this imaginary evening sets in. "Do not worry for the house. Mrs. Reynolds shall manage. You must rest, darling — perhaps in the library?"

  Who knew Darcy sounded this sexy with a British accent?

  Wait, did I just call — ugh, gross.

  I vaguely recall that his last words were a question of some sort. I mutter something — anything. "Right, I — will. Thank you."

  He nods slowly, brow still furrowed sadly. Then, after squeezing my hand again, he stands up and addresses Gigi. "Georgiana, do have me summoned if Lizzy falls ill. I have urgent correspondence — but none more important than she."

  "Yes, Brother." Dream Gigi nods empathetically. I wonder if I look as bewildered as I feel.

  "Rest well, Lizzy. I shall be back 'fore supper." He walks towards me while he speaks, since I happen to be seated between his spot and the door.

  I nod feebly, until he stops right beside me — and drops a kiss on my head. He walks on before I can reply, and then he's totally gone.

  What the heck?

  I ignore the soft tingles that spread from my scalp to my face, neck, and shoulders. William Darcy, period costume and all, does not get me all hot and bothered.

  "He means well, Lizzy — you must rest," Gigi — well, Georgiana — is saying softly, circling the table towards me.

  When she's next to me, she drops her hands on my shoulders and squeezes them the way Jane does. I pray to heaven that she doesn't feel the awkward temperature my upper body happens to be at this moment. Oh, wait — dream people don't feel. Good.

  "My lessons shall commence in yet another hour. Perhaps you wish to play a piece together while I wait?"

  Play? I play? I play what?

  I look up at Gi-orgiana. She's looking expectantly at me, like a little kid waiting for an answer, despite the height she currently has over me. The blond hair still disconcerts me.

  "I — think I will — rest," I put together randomly. She frowns, and I scramble for something more related to what she'd said. She mentioned — lessons, right? Knowing Gigi, those are probably cooking lessons. "I can — watch you — your lessons?"

  She looks — surprised. I thought that was a nice thing for sisters to do?

  "I — Miss Grayson shall come as chaperone, Lizzy. You need not trouble yourself."

  "Oh." That's all I say. She's still hovering awkwardly next to me, so — uhm. "The — the food. I'm sure you'll make wonderful food."

  Now she's really frowning, and I feel totally stupid. What did I say wrong? And what does she mean about chaperones?

  "I — shall go, Lizzy. Please, do rest," she mumbles softly. Then she hugs me and leaves the room.

  I sit alone on the table, despite its overabundance of food. If this nightmare was meant to confuse me — then it's on a roll towards becoming the world's greatest success.

  • • •

  "Mrs. Darcy, do you wish to visit the library?" Lilieth catches up to me from where she's been hovering behind.

  I stop and look at her, mind blank for a bit. The hallway surrounds us in large, grandiose panels of wood, stone, and glass.

  Library? Right — library. With the Darcy siblings both occupied, I thought I'd try to find what this imaginary estate holds. So far — it holds a thousand hallways, windows, and artwork. I'd love to be alone — some of those floors are begging for sock slides — but it might be pretty embarrassing for the mistress to get lost in her own house.

  So, here's Lilieth.

  "Aren't we —" I swallow, rearranging my words. "Maybe we can — govern — I mean, order — things around — first?"

  I want to slap myself so badly, and this isn't even real.

  "Yes, madame." Lilieth curtsies. I kinda do, too. She resumes her former post.

  Why won't she just walk in front so I can follow her?

  But since she's not going to do that even if I command her to, I resign myself to wandering down hallway after hallway, feigning an air of command. I suppose this is how fake royalty feels.

  "Mrs. Darcy." A servant scurries past us — I've started to notice the nuances in clothes.

  "Mrs. Darcy." Another one goes by.

  Are we in the servants' wing or something? How could this many people be working for just a family of three? I keep walking. The scent of warm bread fills the air. My mouth waters.

  What? Food is life. Don't judge.

  "Oh!" An older, plumper servant lady almost runs into me when I look through the next door. She's practically squealing, "I am sorry, ma'am! So sorry! Miss Darcy needs her tea, and supper must be in the oven soon — oh, pardon, pardon me!"

  "It's okay. I'm not even hurt," I say right away. What's with all these people and their jumpy nerves? I reach out to help her, but she pulls away.

  "Mrs. Darcy is kind, Mrs. Anders — don't fret." Lilieth is suddenly speaking behind me. I look around. The modest girl is sparkling with gusto. "She does not punish."

  Uhm — no. I don't.

  "Thank you, ma'am, thank you." The lady — Mrs. Anders keeps bowing.

  I nod a little to acknowledge her overcompensating behavior. What's so bad about running into your mistress?

  Lilieth seems to read my thoughts. "Please pardon Mrs. Anders, madame. She has only begun her time at Pemberley. Lady Catherine was her former mistress."

  With the terror implied in her tone, I just nod.

  I don't know too many Catherines outside of the vice chairperson of Pemberley's board of trustees. It's not exactly a trendy name anymore without mutations.

  But that one Catherine has me nodding in fear already.

  "Mrs. Darcy, are we doing things wrong?" Mrs. Anders, much calmer now, asks gently.

  Wrong?

  "No, uhm — I don't think so." I look at her in question. She gives me nothing, so I look around what must be the kitchen. People are running around — rushing through their work with trained precision. But even then, everyone's smiling. "You guys — the food — smells good."

  I'll never forget the way Mrs. Anders beams at me.

  "Does, uhm," I decide to make small talk, for some unfathomable reason, "does Georgiana choose the food?"

  I know she does in real life.

  "Oh, oh — never." Mrs. Anders blanches and suddenly sounds very apologetic. "Miss Darcy would never usurp your authority, madame."

  Authority — huh. Whoever cooks the food makes the rules, I guess.

  "Thank you — I look forward — to eating." I smile, the modern, broad way. Anders and Lilieth just look at me funny. "I'll go to — the library. Bye!"

  I grab Lilieth's hand and run out the door. She kindly complies and doesn't say another word until she's safely nudged me towards the library.

  My mind is given a few precious minutes to order itself on the way there.

  What is this place? Why is everyone afraid of me? And why am I in charge of the food — I am so the wrong person for that.

  My mind tries to grapple at all the different possibilities. Did I hit my head or lack oxygen? Am I drowning? Was I being inceptioned by someone? (Yes, verb use. I'm not apologizing) What could possibly explain a world that seems to be full of things I've never even thought of?

  Lilieth gives me one last nudge into the library. I look up — and I'm a goner.

  No wonder Belle fell in love with the Beast.

  • • •

  Lilieth
had to literally pry me away from my third book this afternoon. For a reason as silly as changing again for dinner, her behavior was unpardonable. I had an original copy of Milton in my hands. I can't risk waking up before I get back to it!

  So when I throw my tantrum like a spoiled child, Lilieth suggests that I bring the book along while she dresses my hair. I was pretty grumpy from the whole ordeal — but, hey, I'm still holding Milton. It's a viable compromise. I tucked it between the folds of my skirt for dinner, and promptly smuggled it here right afterwards.

  "Lizzy, do you wish for some sweets?" Darcy is leaning over from his side of the chaise. I try my best to stay put. No more surprise kisses, please. "You ate little at supper."

  I'm surprised he noticed — because I definitely didn't. Still grouchy from being parted from Milton, I was picking at my food the entire meal.

  "Lizzy." He's shifting closer, so I talk — fast.

  "I'm fine. Don't worry." I look at him and put on a smile. It's so fake that I want to punch myself — but whatever, too late. "Do you — want sweets — too?"

  He frowns while he studies me, like he knows something's wrong. I exert all possible effort into not trembling. His scrutinizing gaze is no joke.

  "No," he finally says and pulls back. I let out a subtle stream of air between my lips. "I do not worry, Lizzy."

  I'm perfectly happy with his answer until he grabs my hand and adds, "I care."

  No.

  Oh no.

  This isn't where he kisses me — is it? I refuse to look at him, letting my eyes wander all over the drawing room. I land on Georgiana, who's rifling through sheet music. He won't get, well, ardent in front of his baby sister — right?

  Then again — this sister ships us. So, nope, as cock-blockers go, she's a no-go.

  Wait, why did I think co— ugh, gross. Like, really gross.

  "Lizzy," Darcy starts talking. I panic — a lot.

  But Gigi saves me.

  "Lizzy," she calls over from the grand piano. I smile at her readily, anxious to embrace any alternative she provides in place of this intense, emotional Darcy. "Shall you help me choose?"