Husbands for Georgiana

    By Margaret D

    Part I

    Posted on 2008-06-25

    "Young ladies of her age are sometimes a little difficult to manage, and if she has the true Darcy spirit, she may like to have her own way"

    To: William (will@austen.com)
    From: Georgiana Darcy (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    Subject: Summer plans

    Dear William,

    My very best friends in the world are staying in Chicago for the summer. You’ve met them: Frances Price, Eleanor Tilney, and Jane Fairfax. We want to rent an apartment for the four of us and get jobs and pretend that we're real career women, like in 'Sex and the City'. But, um, without the sex because we are good girls and we are saving ourselves until marriage. ;-) If you buy me a car, I'll drive down to Pemberley for a couple of weekends.

    Love,
    Georgiana

    To: Georgiana Darcy (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    From: Fitzwilliam Darcy (will@austen.com)
    Subject: RE: Summer plans

    Georgiana,

    I am not buying you a car. You can borrow one of mine while you stay with us at Pemberley this summer. You have barely said 10 words to Elizabeth. She wants to have a chance to get to know you.

    Fw

    To: Annoying Brother (will@austen.com)
    From: Georgiana Darcy (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    Subject: RE: RE: Summer plans

    Frances says that it is important that we work in summers to build up our CVs so we can get jobs after we graduate. What will my future employers say when I say that I spent the summer after my freshman year at home talking to my sister-in-law?

    Georgiana

    To: Georgiana Darcy (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    From: Fitzwilliam Darcy (will@austen.com)
    Subject: RE: RE: RE: Summer plans

    You are guaranteed a job for life at Austen Inc. It's in Dad's will. You'll be cleaning the executive toilets if you don't spend the
    summer with Elizabeth and me.

    Fw

    To: Control Freak (will@austen.com)
    From: Georgiana Darcy (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Summer plans

    Who said I wanted a boring job working for my brother? I found a job and I signed a binding contract for the summer. I know what I want to do, and you should respect my decisions. I'll visit you lots, I promise.

    Georgiana

    To: Georgiana Darcy (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    From: Fitzwilliam Darcy (will@austen.com)
    Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Summer plans

    Georgiana,

    >> I found a job and I signed a binding contract for the summer.

    Nice try. Lucy Snowe at Bronte financial services told my VP Anne Elliot that you begged her for an unpaid internship doing absolutely anything so long as it meant you had to stay in Chicago. I told Lucy that your plans have changed. Elizabeth is looking forward to making your summer at Pemberley the best you've ever had.

    Fw

    To: Control Freak (will@austen.com)
    From: Georgiana Darcy (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Summer plans

    I got your last email about canceling my JOB too late. I can't believe you did that. I found the perfect 4-bedroom townhouse to share with my friends, and I signed a 3-month lease and paid the non-refundable deposit and the first and last month's rent. If you don't let me stay in Chicago, Frances, Eleanor, and Jane will be HOMELESS.

    And I did not beg Ms. Snowe for the job. I am a Darcy; I don't beg. I persuaded her to see things my way.

    Georgiana

    To: Georgiana Darcy (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    From: Fitzwilliam Darcy (will@austen.com)
    Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Summer plans

    Georgiana,

    Your concern for your friends is touching. Let them stay in the perfect townhouse. The non-refundable deposit and pre-paid rent comes from your bank account. You are still coming to Pemberley. In case you need more persuading: I will cut off your allowance if you insist on staying in Chicago. I hope you had time during your house hunt to study for your final exams.

    Elizabeth sends her love.

    Fw

    To: My Stupid Brother (will@austen.com)
    From: Georgiana Darcy (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Summer plans

    You’ll take away MY money from MY trust fund if I don’t listen to you? I thought marriage was supposed to teach you to RELAX and act like a NORMAL HUMAN BEING. I don't want to spend all summer trapped at Pemberley. If you are so concerned about my finals, stop being YOU andlet me do what I want.

    Georgiana

    To: William (will@austen.com)
    From: Georgiana Darcy (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    Subject: Sorry

    Dear William,

    Rich took me out to dinner and we talked. I didn't realize you thought that I wanted to stay in Chicago to avoid Elizabeth. That's totally wrong. I like her a lot, and I understand that you both think it's important that we spend time together as one big happy family. I didn't mean to make youunhappy. I'll see you after finals.

    Love,
    Georgiana

    To: Georgie Darcy (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    From: Richmond Fitzwilliam (rich@austen.com)
    Subject: Our deal

    Hi Georgie,

    Did you have to rent the most expensive place in the city? With a private pool? The Darcy family account will pay the entire summer's rent, and Will won't have to know it. Weekly grocery delivery, full cleaning service, lawn care, pool maintenance, all utilities paid. Your friends had better thank you a lot.

    Leasing you a BMW for June through September without Will realizing that he's paying for it is going to take a bit more work, but you'll get it delivered to Pemberley on time. Any color requests? Any ideas what our cover story is going to be?

    You drive a hard bargain, Miss Darcy. You have learned a lot from living with Will. Dinner was fun. We should do it more often with a company credit card. You are a very expensive date. Don't tell Will that I let you order a $150 bottle of wine. You aren't even legally allowed to drink.

    -Rich

    My very best friends come with me to the tiny landing strip outside the city that William uses for his private plane. We come in one cab, and my luggage for the summer comes in the two additional cabs following us. I wear all black in mourning for the cool summer with my friends that I am not allowed to have, plus black is very flattering and some of the pilots are cute.

    I don't have a cute pilot for my flight. I have William. (OK, he was listed this year as number fifty-two in People magazine's 'Most Beautiful' issue, but brothers are by definition not cute.) I disapprove of William's airplanes and his recreational flying on environmental and personal safety grounds, but it's convenient to let William fly when we need to travel between Pemberley and Austen Inc's headquarters in Chicago. It's three hours by car, or less than one hour by tiny plane.

    Eleanor Tilney cries when I hug her good-bye. She's still upset about the physics final exam we had that afternoon. Thinking of it makes me feel like crying, too. We studied so hard! Jane Fairfax gives me good advice about being nice to my brother's new wife that I ignore. I know it's all her fault that I'm not allowed to stay in Chicago. William never used to be able to say no to me. I hug Jane to make her stop giving me sensible advice. Frances Price gives me a present that I'm not allowed to unwrap until I'm on the plane. I love presents. I hug her and ask her what it is. She's an awesome best friend.

    "You'll come back to Chicago and stay in your room soon," Eleanor sobs. I had Rich move most of my things into the master bedroom of the townhouse I rented for my friends. Maybe if I'm very good, William will let me return to Chicago. Or maybe if I'm very bad, he'll send me away. Hmm...

    Frances says, "Don't wait too long to come back, or else we'll rent out your room and sell your things on eBay. You have way too much stuff." I know she doesn't really mean it. She was my roommate last year, and she loves my espresso machine.

    "Call and e-mail us lots," Jane reminds me unnecessarily. What else am I supposed to do all summer? I'm not working or taking classes or traveling or doing anything at all. I'm not even running Pemberley anymore. It's going to be soooooooooo boring.

    The last of my bags is crammed into the plane's cargo bay, and William is talking to the grounds crew about fuel, weather, radar, or something else airplane-y. He waves at my friends and me. Eleanor blushes, because all men make her blush. Frances glares, because she is prejudiced against blindingly attractive people thanks to growing up alongside her four blindingly attractive idiot cousins. Jane smiles and waves back, because that is the proper, polite, sane thing to do. I know that William’s wave means that it's time to leave. I grab my purse and my laptop and walk over to my brother's dinky plane.

    "All ready, captain?" I ask.

    "Ready when you are."

    "Let's get this over with."

    "I'm not as bad at flying as you pretend."

    It's not just the flight that I want to be over and done with. It's this entire awful summer. It's going to be torture. Sure, I love Pemberley and William lots and lots, but I already spent the first seventeen years of my life at Pemberley with William. I want to do something new with my life, like learn Swedish or have a summer job and be treated like a mature, independent adult. Instead I get to spend three long months getting to know my new sister-in-law. This is going to be hell.

    Then I unwrap Frances's present: a bag of my favorite brand of jelly beans for the flight. Excellent! I eat them while William tells me about his marital bliss.

    "Pemberley was a prison for me before Elizabeth. After you left, it was just me in that big house and no one to talk to except people who work there. Mrs. Reynolds was very tolerant when I demanded that she spend her coffee break with me so I could listen to her tell me about her grandchildren, and I think I scared away several decent gardeners by trying to help out.”

    He expects me to laugh at the idea of him helping in the gardens. I don’t, because I know he must be lying. My brother has never spoken to the gardeners at Pemberley in his life. I eat more jelly beans.

    “Thank god for Charles for realizing that I was going mad and making me stay with him in Connecticut."

    "It was Caroline's idea, not Charles's," I say. I had overheard Caroline's drunken confession to Isabella Thorpe at the wedding reception. William was supposed to finally fall for her, and instead he picked up a do-gooder social worker, while Charles went after Elizabeth's much more attractive sister.

    "In that case, thank god for Caroline. I knew I wanted Elizabeth in my life, but I had a difficult time imagining her actually living at Pemberley. It isn't anything like where she was living when I met her. You should ask to see pictures of the apartment she was sharing with Jane in New Haven. They were trained social workers ready to save the world, and they wanted to be part of the community they served. It was awful. The house where they grew up is a bit better, but still just an ordinary suburban house."

    Elizabeth comes from the suburbs? I knew she wasn’t from our circle of friends, but I didn’t realize how middle-class she is. And she’s the new mistress of Pemberley? Now I see why William was so insistent that I return home for the summer: She must need all the help she can get, and no one knows Pemberley like I do.

    I do not give whatever response William was expecting me to make, so he continues his fascinatingly boring story. “I didn't think that Elizabeth would know how to handle Pemberley. I was wrong. I knew she liked it when she visited in March. Remember?"

    "Yes, I remember."

    How could I forget? William had been moping since Thanksgiving, when he stayed for too long with our awful Aunt Catherine, which is enough to give anyone serious mental issues. Rich and I were really worried about him over Christmas. I skipped class on a Friday in February and went to Pemberley with Charles and his sisters, and William was running around and grinning like an idiot because of a woman.

    Pemberley has a big park that is open to tourists, and part of the house with the antiques, objets d’art, sculptures, and paintings can be seen on small guided tours. Elizabeth was there as a tourist, obviously throwing herself at my brother, as Caroline and Louisa said, but William didn't see it that way. Elizabeth made him happy for two days before vanishing, then it was time for me to go back to my university. Three weeks later William and Elizabeth announced their engagement.

    "Elizabeth knows Pemberley better than I do now,” William says, which isn’t saying much because he’s a guy and he doesn’t notice things like wallpaper, carpets, or flower arrangements. “Mrs. Reynolds loves her. So does the rest of the household staff. She thinks we should arrange to exhibit some of our paintings in art museums. Mom and Dad would hate that, but we have a first-rate collection and we can't expect everyone to want to come out and take our guided tour."

    What do you expect to hear from a social worker from the suburbs? The Darcys did not collect art as a public service. The artwork is ours. I say, "I like having our things at our house. They belong in Pemberley."

    "You don't even live at Pemberley most of the year. Elizabeth will tell you more about it. The Chicago Institute of Art is interested in the Gainsborough. Elizabeth also has lots of ideas for how to increase community involvement at Pemberley."

    "What community?" We live in a massive walled estate. We don’t have neighbors.

    "That was her reaction, too. She has ideas. They require lots of dinner parties."

    Dinner parties? I already hate her ideas. Is she a masochist or does she genuinely enjoy the company of the most boring people in the country? Our neighbors live in awe of Pemberley and the Darcy family, and they accept all invitations to come to the house to gape at our awesome house and our awesome selves. My mom died when I was a baby, and Dad died when I was in high school, so it’s just been William and me trying to carry on the Darcy family traditions. The Darcy women have always been glamorous, gracious hostesses, but I was never comfortable in the role. I invited people to the house as rarely as I could get away with. Maybe Elizabeth hasn’t figured out how boring the neighbors are.

    I know how boring they are, so I ask, “When are you going to Chicago next?”

    William disapproves of the change of subject, but he answers my super-important question: “Next Monday.”

    Thank god. Today is Friday. I can survive a weekend with Elizabeth and her community dinner parties, then I can see my real friends and tell them how horrible Elizabeth and her community dinner parties are.

    William must have been able to guess my thoughts, and he ruins all my plans of happiness by saying, “I’m not your personal chauffeur. You aren’t invited to come with me.”

    “Then when am I invited? There’s no extra effort required from you. I won’t be bringing any luggage.”

    “Elizabeth can take you when she goes into Chicago. She hasn't been there yet. She's planning on making a trip next month.”

    Next month? Is he serious? “If you won’t fly me to Chicago, I’ll borrow one of your cars and drive. My whole life is in Chicago.”

    “Your family is here.”

    “I only want to go there for a day. Then I’ll come back and go to Elizabeth’s dinner parties and do whatever other stupid things she wants me to do. Just let me go to Chicago with you once or twice a week.” I know I promised Rich that I would be good and behave myself, but he can’t blame me for reacting when William is being unreasonable.

    But I shouldn’t have said ‘stupid’. Now William thinks everything I am saying is an insult to his precious wife. He says in a low, stern voice that would send lesser men running, “You agreed to spend the summer at Pemberley.”

    “I didn’t expect to be banned from leaving the grounds.”

    Now I think of the cool townhouse I rented for my friends, the pool, the internship at Bronte financial services I was supposed to have... William should acknowledge all the cool things I’ve sacrificed to make him happy, and instead he’s treating me like a child who needs to be driven around by my sister-in-law.

    “Georgie, don’t be difficult.”

    A small airplane cockpit is not the best place for an argument, especially not one of the epic battles that my brother and I have thanks to the Darcy temper, Darcy stubbornness, Darcy self-confidence, and, one of the strongest forces in the known universe, the Darcy pride. Before I can tell him what I think of his use of my stupid childhood nickname ‘Georgie’, we are interrupted by the airplane’s radio.

    A scratchy voice says something technical with lots of numbers that have no meaning to me. William takes his radio transmitter and says other technical things with lots of numbers, and I eat more jelly beans. William turns some knobs and checks various screens and dials, and the radio is silent again.

    The interruption from the radio has brought an end to my argument with William. That’s probably a very good thing. When Rich comes down with my BMW, I’ll go to Chicago whenever I want, and if William is already angry with me, maybe he won’t let Rich give me the car.

    I offer William jelly beans, which is as close to an apology I will give. He has never shown sufficient appreciation for the greatness of jelly beans and refuses my generous offer. More for me.

    William says, “We’ll discuss your trips to Chicago together with Elizabeth later. She has plans for both of you. Now tell me about your semester. Did you pass your exams?”

    That’s not the happiest subject for the evening after my last final exam, but I still manage to sound cheerful and lie blatantly: “The grades aren’t out yet, but I’m sure I did brilliantly. I always do.”

    I don’t want William to know that I’m finding my courses at Chicago to be a lot more challenging than I had expected. It would kill me to disappoint him. Nothing has ever been difficult for William, and he was a 4.0 student through Harvard, Oxford, and Columbia. I’d hate him for being so perfect if I didn’t love him for being my brother.

    William hasn’t learned that I am capable of telling him a lie, and I hope he never learns. He laughs at my boast and says, “How are your very best friends? Do they still hate me?”

    “Only Frances hates you.”

    I tell him big-brother-friendly versions of some of the coolest things I’ve done with Frances and my other friends since he visited me last, and after a while I almost manage to forget that I am being taken into exile against my will. William lands the tiny plane almost smoothly, and then he lets me drive us from the landing strip to the main house in his newest sports car. Other people will take care of transporting my bags. I'm home. Then I remember that it's no longer really my home. I'm no longer the mistress of Pemberley. I've been replaced.

    Before we go into the house, William tells me, "Please give Elizabeth a chance."

    "I'm here, aren't I?"

    "Don't make this more difficult for her than it already is, Georgiana. She is trying hard to get used to what our life at Pemberley is like, but there's a lot that's new and different for her."

    "I'm tired. She's waiting for us inside."

    "Promise me you'll be nice."

    "Fine." A half-promise is good enough for William. It’s late and he's tired, too.

    Elizabeth hugs and kisses William (with tongue, in front of his little sister, very inappropriate) as if they hadn't seen each other in weeks. She hugs me too tightly, as if we were more than casual acquaintances. She asks about my things, and William explains that I have more bags for three months than most people require for a polar expedition. I have very nice things, and I like to bring them with me when I move. Then she allows me retreat to my bedroom while William tells her all about every moment of his day and she tells him every moment of hers.

    Elizabeth doesn’t come into Chicago with William, so I haven’t seen her since their wedding in April. I wasn't very good company that weekend. I had the differential equations midterm on the following Monday, and everyone kept on asking me again and again why I wasn't a bridesmaid. Because I was taking five classes that semester, because I couldn't fly out to Pemberley every other week for dress-fittings and wedding rehearsals, because I hate lavender, because I didn't know the bride at all. My polite response to the ever-popular question: "I just flew in from Chicago last night." Everyone at the wedding talked about how good her influence will be on me and about how she'll help me come out of my 'shell'. I smiled and agreed, because that was what I was supposed to do. My car to go back to school left before William and Elizabeth's flight to Italy for their honeymoon. I love Italy. Last summer while we were in France, William promised to take me back to Florence this year, but now he has other things on his mind.

    Sure, I like Elizabeth. She's a friendly person. She’s nice, I guess. Anyway, I don’t have a choice. She married my brother, and that means she’s family.

    In the privacy of my room, I call Frances's cell and hear about their move into their new place. They haven't discovered that they are living rent-free with paid maid and grocery services. I'm way richer than Frances, Eleanor, and Jane, so it makes sense that I pay for everything. They don't agree, but that's OK. I still cover the bills.

    "How's Elizabeth?" Frances asks out of politeness.

    "Short." Did I mention that I'm tall? I am. All Darcys are.

    "Go to sleep. You'll be nicer in the morning." She has said that in the past, and it has yet to come true. I hang up and get ready for bed. Two huge term papers and three final exams and all the fighting with William about the summer - I'm ready to sleep for at least a week. But before I could turn off the lights and get into bed, there's a knock at my door.

    "Georgiana?" Perfect timing. It's Elizabeth, when I least want to see anyone. I try to look happy to see her or at least not openly hostile as I open the door and let her in. She’s family, so I have to put up with her, otherwise William will be angry with me and I’ll never be allowed to go to Chicago.

    "I'm about ready to go to bed," I say, though it must be obvious even to someone like her who doesn’t know me at all. My bags haven't arrived from the plane yet, so I'm in my old pink nightgown, I don't have my contacts in, my hair is down, I look and feel like I could collapse on the spot.

    "I just wanted to tell you how happy I am that you agreed to spend the summer with us," Elizabeth says and smiles too widely to be sincere. What a great start. I make her nervous.

    "Yeah." My lack of enthusiasm can be attributed to tiredness.

    "Will says you're really sad about leaving your friends in Chicago. Maybe we'll find some way to make this summer worth your time. There's a lot of young men in the area. I’ve met a few who are very interested in getting to know you better.”

    Oh no. I remember scenes from the wedding: Mrs. Bennet telling me about how she managed to find her daughters such wealthy, handsome husbands, Mrs. Jennings declaring that in her day I'd be married by now, Emma Woodhouse dispensing well-meaning advice on how to catch a man. Not now Elizabeth. If this is her idea of how to make me her new best friend for life, she couldn’t have chosen a worse strategy.

    “I lived here for seventeen years. I know the young men in the area, and they’re all boring.” They are so boring and unattractive that I ended up with a ridiculous crush on the worst person on the planet, George Wickham. But I’m not going to mention that or even think about that mess. Let’s just say that I haven’t had much luck in the past with summer romances.

    “I’ve heard from William that you barely know the neighbors.”

    “Because they’re boring.”

    “You should try talking to them before making your mind.”

    “Trust me. They’re boring.”

    Elizabeth laughs. She doesn’t understand anything about me. She says good night and I shut the door behind her.

    William forced me to come from Chicago for this? There are few things that I hate more than matchmaking schemes, especially matchmaking schemes involving me. I am nineteen years old and perfectly happy single, unattached, free to admire and be admired at ease. Free! William would agree -- I don't need anyone. And I’m not just saying that because of George Wickham.

    Before I can make any more independent, empowered-female declarations, I fall asleep, the lights still on

    Part II

    Posted on 2008-07-07

    "He is as good-natured a fellow as ever lived; a little of a rattle; but that will recommend him to your sex, I believe"

    My first day at Pemberley does not begin well. Elizabeth has moved breakfast from the family breakfast room to the family dining room, and no one remembers to tell me. Mrs. Reynolds finds me sitting alone in the breakfast room ten minutes later wondering where my coffee is.

    “Mrs. Darcy said that the family breakfast room was too fancy for eating in,” Mrs. Reynold tells me as we walk together to the wrong room. “I told her we can clean the crumbs she leaves on the table, but she said she’d feel out of place.” She doesn’t approve of this sort of attitude from a Darcy, I can tell. The household staff had as little power over choosing the new Mrs. Darcy as I did.

    William and Elizabeth are sitting so close together that their elbows knock into each other whenever they try to eat. William reaches over and takes bacon from her plate with his fingers. They look as happy as school children. They didn’t notice that I was missing at all. I hate being ignored.

    “My mother decorated the family breakfast room. It gets natural light in the morning. It is closer to the bedrooms and William’s office.”

    My announcement has half its intended effect. Elizabeth instantly recognizes her mistake in not telling me where to go for breakfast in my own home, and she looks appropriately alarmed and horrified. William doesn’t make any apology for being an inconsiderate, self-absorbed person.

    “We thought you were still asleep,” he says. “Sit down and have some coffee.”

    I sit across the table from them. Elizabeth tries to make up for her mistake by talking too much. “Would you like some eggs? Sausage? Bacon? My family always used to have cooked breakfasts on Saturdays, and now that I have my own family here, I wanted to bring that tradition to Pemberley.”

    There is an extended silence following that stupid speech, and then I say, “I like the family breakfast room. The chairs are more comfortable. The newspapers are still delivered there in the morning.”

    “Elizabeth likes this room more,” William says. “She says it’s cozy.”

    Cozy? Pemberley is not a cozy place. Maybe she’s pining for her tiny apartment in the rough part of New Haven.

    She sees that I am not satisfied with that excuse and says, “This is next to the kitchens. It’s more convenient for the staff.”

    William grins at that ridiculous statement, and maybe I would be able to take it as a joke, too, if I had my coffee ten minutes ago in the family breakfast room as I should have had. I say, “It would be even more convenient for the staff if we slept in a hotel and got breakfast at Denny’s. I want my breakfast in the breakfast room tomorrow.”

    I know I made a mistake as soon as the words are out of my mouth. Ultimatums never go down well in the Darcy family. Elizabeth looks like I kicked her dog, and William looks ready to send me to my room or much, much worse. He’s the nearest person I have to a parent, and he knows exactly how to make me feel like a disobedient child.

    “Dearest Lizzie, would you please give Georgiana her coffee? And Georgiana...”

    I know what his glare means. I mumble, “Sorry,” and I accept the cup of coffee from my sister-in-law.

    The rest of breakfast does not go much better. I eat toast and drink coffee, because I care about my arteries and fat in-take, and I say nothing. Let the awkward silence convey what I think about the situation. I notice that Elizabeth is no longer sitting practically on my brother’s lap. Good, she can learn some good manners.

    “We are having some guests over for dinner tonight,” Elizabeth says to me, because she knows that William would have no objection to anything she does. “I thought that would be more fun for you than just a boring meal with your brother and me.”

    Maybe she has never met a naturally shy person in her extensive life experience in Connecticut. William and I have always preferred small family gatherings to big social occasions, but we have learned to adapt, more or less, to fulfill our social obligations. William stands around in the background and sometimes makes snide remarks that would be interpreted as rude if he were not a billionaire, and I sit next to talkative people and listen to them until someone asks me to play the piano. It’s not my idea of a good time, but I can’t expect Elizabeth to know that. She doesn’t know anything about me.

    “Who did you invite?” I ask.

    Elizabeth interprets that basic question as a sign of my approval, and she lists the guests way too enthusiastically. “Your friends the Thorpes, my sister Jane and Charles, the Smiths, the Blackalls, Mrs. Everett and her nephew. Oh, and Caroline Bingley. I don’t think we can avoid inviting her. She’s staying with Jane and Charles now. I like your friends Isabella and John Thorpe. I knew you’d like to see them again.”

    There are many things wrong with that guest list, but William is watching me and I’m not going to risk getting yelled at again. Besides, now that I have had my coffee, I can think more clearly and act less suicidal.

    “That’s fine. If you would excuse me, I’m going to practice on my piano.”

    William nods, and I escape before I give into the temptation to tell Elizabeth exactly what I think about her party. She’ll find out soon enough what I really think about the Thorpes.

    Someone has been using my piano!!!! The seat is too high. The stack of music I left on the piano has been moved. The cleaning staff knows they are not allowed to touch my music. William wouldn’t let anyone into my music room. He knows how important my music is to me.

    Then I remember: Elizabeth plays the piano. That was the first thing William told me about her, in an attempt to trick me into thinking that Elizabeth and I would have tons in common. She played and sang some Mozart when I had to invite her to stay for dinner last February. She wasn’t bad, but she wasn’t anything special, at least to anyone who wasn’t my brother. He watched her all night, really watched her, as if she would disappear if he looked away for a moment. I didn’t realize that those intense looks meant that William was in love, until after Elizabeth left and William told off Caroline for saying mean things about Elizabeth. Then both Caroline and I knew that we had lost him. It’s not a happy memory for me.

    Pemberley is Elizabeth’s home. I don’t expect William to give Elizabeth her own piano when mine is the best money can buy and it is unused for most of the year when I’m in Chicago. I can intellectually and rationally accept the idea of Elizabeth playing my piano, but emotionally I still feel betrayed.

    Elizabeth comes in about an hour later and says something bland complimenting me on my music, even though I’m making tons of mistakes and I know I’m playing badly. I let her know that I would prefer to be alone, undisturbed, with my music. William comes in close to noon.

    “Time for a break,” he announces. He’s wearing blue jeans and a green short-sleeve T-shirt. I am so shocked by his outrageous clothing that I stop playing in the middle of the Chopin mazurka. William always dresses as if he were attending a board meeting every day of his life, though he usually leaves off the tie when he is just spending the day at home at Pemberley.

    “What happened to your clothes? Those aren’t yours, are they?”

    William grins and says, “Elizabeth ended the Darcy family ban on denim.” He doesn’t mention that he’s the one who set the ban, after I came home from going shopping with Isabella Thorpe with a too-sexy pair of jeans when we were in middle school. I could say something about the too-sexy pair of jeans my brother is wearing, but I am still too startled to be able to say anything clever.

    “Elizabeth wants to take a picnic by the lake. You are invited.”

    “A picnic?” What happened to my stodgy brother? Tourists who come to visit Pemberley take picnics, not the family. Absolutely not. Never. Disgusting. Marriage has made my brother incapable of thinking for himself, otherwise he’d know how ridiculous the idea is that I, Georgiana Darcy, would choose to eat sandwiches in the dirt with Elizabeth. People could see us! What would they think? “Tell Elizabeth I say thanks but no thanks.”

    “It’s not as bad as you think. There aren’t many insects. We bring a blanket.”

    “You’ve done it before?”

    “Yes. Elizabeth likes picnics.”

    “Then have fun. I’ll have lunch here, indoors, with furniture. Besides, I haven’t checked my e-mail yet. Stand right there a second.” I take out my cell phone and take a picture. Some things must be seen to be believed.

    To: Eleanor (eltilney@chicago.edu), Frances (fraprice@chicago.edu), Jane (janefx@chicago.edu)
    From: Georgiana Darcy (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    Subject: My brother in jeans
    Attachment: wtf.jpg

    Dear Very Best Friends,

    William has been brainwashed and/or replaced by a space alien who wears JEANS and takes PICNICS. He invited me to go on the picnic, too. OUTSIDE WITH BUGS. I knew it was a mistake to agree to come out here for three entire months.

    Guess who’s coming to dinner? EX-friend Isabella Thorpe and her moronic pretty boy brother. Elizabeth invited them especially for me. What joy is mine. I miss you lots and lots already.

    Love,
    Georgiana

    To: GDARCY (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    From: ELTILNEY (eltilney@chicago.edu)
    Subject: Re: My brother in jeans

    Hi Georgiana,

    Would you be totally grossed out if I said that your brother looks damn good in jeans? ;-) I hope you aren’t going to be too mean to Isabella. You can be scary sometimes.

    My grades haven’t been posted yet. Have yours? I know I failed that physics final. I don’t want to have to re-take the class. What should I do?

    BW, Eleanor

    To: Darcy, Georgiana (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    From: Fairfax, Jane (janefx@chicago.edu)
    Subject: Re: My brother in jeans

    Georgiana,

    Your brother looks very happy in his jeans. How are you getting along with Elizabeth? Did you tell her anything about the Thorpes, or are you hoping that she knows how to read your mind?

    Sorry to cut this short, but I have to stop Frances from spreading lies.

    luv, Jane

    To: Georgiana (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    From: Frances (fraprice@chicago.edu)
    Subject: JANE HAS A BOYFRIEND

    You learn so much about other people who you share a house with them. Jane tried to sneak off and meet him without us knowing about it, but I happened to hear part of her conversation and foll

    To: Georgiana (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    From: Frances (fraprice@chicago.edu)
    Subject: JANE HAS A BOYFRIEND

    owed her because it’s not like Jane to sneak off and I knew she was going to do som

    To: Georgiana (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    From: Frances (fraprice@chicago.edu)
    Subject: JANE HAS A BOYFRIEND

    ething interesting. This isn’t working. I’ll call. Jane, get away!!!!

    To: Frances (fraprice@chicago.edu)
    From: Georgiana (gdarcy@chicago.edu)
    Subject: Re: JANE HAS A BOYFRIEND

    DETAILS! NOW!!!! CALL ME!!!!!

    "Georgie!"

    I look up from my book. It's my sister-in-law's voice, calling down the hall. I hate being called 'Georgie'. My awesome roommate Frances hasn't been able to get rid of the awful childhood nickname 'Fanny', and I may be eternally doomed to the equally awful 'Georgie'. It's Georgiana, Jor-jy-AH-na, four syllables please.

    "Georgiana! Are you down there?"

    She could send someone to my room to tell me to come downstairs rather than announce to the entire house that she wants to see me. I'm not going to yell back.

    My friends have taken a vow of silence, or maybe the satellite covering the mobile phone signals in Chicago is down, or maybe their phones have been stolen. I’ve left several million messages. I know what’s happening: they are building new lives without me, even though they are living in the house I found for us and that I am paying for.

    It’s been a miserable afternoon. I spent way too long calling Frances and brooding over how mediocrely I must have done, now that I have the time to think about it, on that physics exam Friday. Thanks for that reminder, Eleanor. Now I’ve moved on to another distraction: literature.

    “Georgie?”

    She won’t just give up, will she? I close my book (William Burrough's Naked Lunch, better not let William see that) and look at my watch. The guests for dinner must be arriving. I don't want to be social tonight, especially not with the Thorpes. Let everyone wait.

    There is a discreet knock on my bedroom door. "Georgiana? Are you in there?" William, of course, being tactful and polite. Ask politely, get a polite answer. I get up from my bed and open the door.

    "Sorry to keep you two waiting," I say.

    My brother stands in the doorway, looking like he's posing for the cover of GQ. The jeans and T-shirt are gone, thank god, and he’s wearing one of his summer suits, light gray rumpled linen with a bright white button-down shirt. He’s always been the pretty one of the family – tall, dark, and handsome. His curly hair is the precise right degree of scruffiness to look cute and comfortable. Laid-back and content, the new, happily married Fitzwilliam Darcy. The most annoying thing about him is that he doesn’t put any effort into his appearance. It’s all natural. It’s sickening.

    I have to put a lot more time into looking effortlessly sophisticated and superior for the party. I take after our dad’s more Nordic looks: very blond, very pale, very tall, very cold, very unapproachable. I would have rather inherited Mom’s good looks and super-long eyelashes like William. I do my best with what I have, and with the best make-up money can buy. Mostly I try to copy what my beautiful friend Jane Fairfax does, because she looks fantastic all the time in whatever she wears. She is an inspiration to us all.

    All my efforts don’t satisfy my brother. William is still my big brother and guardian. He looks disapprovingly at my dress; too short. I haven't worn it since high school graduation. There isn't a need to get dressed up when I'm at school, and the weather hasn't been nice enough during my visits to Pemberley for me to get out my summer dresses before today. And apparently I've grown since last May. At least I have the legs to be able to still wear it, preferably not in the presence of my big brother.

    But William doesn't say anything. That would be so pre-Elizabeth of a thing to do. He used to be an over-protective brother before she got him to loosen up, or so I've been informed. Mental note: next time wear trousers.

    “We weren’t certain you were here,” he says as an apology for the yelling in the halls.

    “I’ve been reading all afternoon.”

    “You should have come downstairs. Elizabeth was reading, too.”

    “Who was preparing the house for the party?”

    “We pay people to do that.”

    I am surprised that Elizabeth trusts the staff that much. I always took charge of preparing the house and ordering the food when we invited guests over, but I guess she does things differently. Everything is different now.

    We go down the main stairs together, both immediately adapting that distant look of knowing that we must look very elegant to everyone else gathered in the front hall. But then William has to smile, completely ruining the aloof, sophisticated look. I let go of his arm and he races down to go to his Elizabeth's side. I continue being as distant and elegant as possible, but my grand entrance is lessened by everyone now going into the drawing room. No signs of the Thorpes yet.

    I come in last and sit on the sofa next to Caroline Bingley. Her great campaign to marry my brother failed, and now she's getting dangerously close to her mid-thirties and she's still in need of a new obsession - or prospective suitor - or however she thinks of it. She has always been very kind to me. Sure, she was using her friendship with me in order to get to know William better, but the friendship with me turned out to be much more real than her imaginary romance with William.

    We kiss each other on both cheeks and say the usual nonsense about how it’s been ages since we last saw each other. “I thought you’d come last month, when Will and Elizabeth came back from their honeymoon,” Caroline says. “Charles and Jane threw them a big party.”

    “I had a paper I had to write.”

    “Elizabeth hasn’t been to Chicago to visit you, either, has she?”

    “She’s been busy here. Pemberley is a big house.”

    “Will flies to Chicago at least once a week. His plane carries six passengers. Will, Georgiana and I were wondering why you won’t take your wife to Chicago with you. Are you afraid that she’ll find out what you really do when you’re out of her sight?”

    Elizabeth does not appreciate Caroline’s joke. “I know what Will does in Chicago. He goes to work and he goes out to dinner with his cousin or his sister. Then he comes home.”

    I resent the implication on William’s behalf that he’s so boring. I say, “He doesn’t go to dinner with Rich and me every night. Sometimes he goes to the opera and the CSO. He took my friend Jane with him to hear Mahler’s ninth two weeks ago. He said that Elizabeth wouldn’t be interested.”

    I shouldn’t have said that. Now everyone is looking at me, and I think I may be blushing because I hate being stared at. I won’t look at William or Elizabeth or guess what William must be thinking about the implied insult to his wife’s musical taste.

    Caroline laughs loudly, and she says, “You weren’t interested, either, were you, Georgie? I bet Will asked you first to go with him.”

    Now I know I’m blushing, because Caroline is right. He did offer to take me, and I said no because I don’t like Mahler. I say something about an exam that may or may not have existed, and Caroline laughs even more loudly and others laugh with her.

    The awkward moment has passed, and I feel suitably chastised and embarrassed. Caroline pats my arm and says, “Don’t start brooding like Will does when things don’t go his way. No one likes a sulking teenager or, even worse, a sulking Darcy. Now tell me how much you hate your school. You should have gone to Vasser like Louisa and I.”

    “I like the University of Chicago. My classes are almost fun sometimes.”

    Now William isn’t glaring at me. Caroline winks, and I know that she understands something about what I’m going through. She has an unwelcomed sister-in-law of her own to live with. It’s too bad that William was never even remotely romantically interested in Caroline. She would be a great sister.

    Caroline is too cool and popular to be able to spend all night talking to me. She changes seats to talk with a Smith, and I sit quietly in my corner of the room. Unfortunately it would be beyond rude if I tried to call Frances again.

    Elizabeth is playing the proper role of hostess, encouraging conversation where conversation is needed to be encouraged, but I ignore all her not-so-subtle hints and stay silent. I have nothing to say to these people, especially not to the young Smith/Blackalls who are doing so very well at their chosen Ivy League schools. Elizabeth hasn’t given up on her matchmaking plans. I want to be back in Chicago with my friends.

    A new guest arrives: Isabella Thorpe. My first impulse is to go up to her and ask her where she got her shoes. They are wonderfully shiny and yellow. Then I remember that we are no longer friends, because I will never forgive her for what she did last March.

    My nineteenth birthday fell on the Friday after I met Elizabeth at Pemberley. She had vanished, I had returned to school, and William was supposed to come to Chicago to take me out to the most expensive restaurant in the city and give me the most expensive presents for my birthday. He canceled at the last minute because of urgent business in New York City, so I decided that I would be taken out to dinner by my friends: Frances, Jane, Eleanor, Rich, Edmund Bertram (he invited himself), and my nearly boyfriend Abernathy Benwick. Abernathy is a poet, and that meant that he was not interested in me because of my money or my famous family. He was also too detached from reality to get to the point and ask me out, but he would have eventually if it weren’t for Isabella.

    Isabella Thorpe goes to Barnard College in New York City, so I was very surprised when she came over to our table at Chicago’s most expensive Japanese restaurant and announced, “Georgie Darcy, is that you? I was just thinking about you! You won’t believe who I saw last night. That mechanic you nearly married, George Wickham! My mom told me that he’s wanted by the police now. Do you have any idea what he did? If I had known he was a fugitive, I would have turned him into the police. He was at a dive bar in Brooklyn, not the sort of place we would go. I was there just to use the toilet, then I saw him and said, ‘You’re Georgiana Darcy’s mechanic!’”

    She has a very loud voice. Everyone in the restaurant heard. I was ready to die. Frances started talking loudly about her brother Billy’s trip to India, as Eleanor and Jane both began telling their own loud, completely irrelevant stories, because they are my very best friends and they knew what I needed them to do.

    Edmund chose not to take the hint and said, “A criminal mechanic fiancé? No one ever tells me the good stories about Georgiana.”

    “Billy said the food was so spicy that he ate at McDonald’s every day for the first week he was in Mumbai...”

    “Miss Darcy is full of hidden depths and shallows,” Abernathy declared, and I knew this would be an insurmountable shallow. Now he was going to find another heavenly angel of purity who had never known the secrets of love to be his muse.

    “Oh, don’t say that,” Isabella said. “George Wickham is hot. Everyone at Lambton High wanted him, but we never had a chance once Georgie showed that she was interested. She’s a Darcy.”

    “That’s enough, Izzy,” I said.

    “I could find a picture of you two together. Remember how you couldn’t go to the senior prom with him because Will would find out, and then he snuck in and then—“

    “Be quiet, Izzy.”

    Isabella now noticed that she was making a scene, and then she looked over my dinner companions and said, “Oh, sorry, is he your boyfriend?” and she pointed to Edmund, the most boring person on the planet whom I only tolerate because he is the love of Frances’s life. Who would notice Edmund was in the room when Abernathy Benwick was around?

    Thank god my cousin Rich was there. He’s my other legal guardian, and he was involved in the Wickham incident from the beginning to the bitter end. He got the name of the bar in Brooklyn and the exact time George was sighted, and then Rich called William to pass on the information. William was helping the police track down George. I was surprised that he would do all that just for me, but Rich said that William had other reasons, too. Like what? An intense desire to see George in jail? Unfortunately all charges were dropped, and William and Rich told me that I would never hear anything about him ever again.

    I wrote Isabella a very mean e-mail that night reminding her that she had promised never to mention George Wickham again and declaring that she would not be welcomed to Pemberley again for shouting my family’s secrets in a crowded restaurant. She sent back an apology that I did not acknowledge because it would never make up for the fact that Abernathy stopped coming around to our dorm room to say hi.

    In spite of my mean e-mail, Isabella must think that she did the Darcy family a service by helping William find George Wickham. Now she is back at Pemberley and saying to Elizabeth, “I am so sorry that I am late, Mrs. Darcy. My brother promises he will come later. We are both so very, very sorry. We were so pleased to be invited tonight. It’s been too long since we’ve been able to see the entire Darcy family at home. You’ve already done so much for the house and for the community. Will and Georgie are so lucky to have you here.”

    In addition to being incredibly indiscreet about personal secrets, Isabella Thorpe is a shameless flatterer when she wants to be liked. William has never liked her much, because she has been speaking that way to him since she was eleven. Elizabeth doesn’t look very charmed by Isabella’s little speech, but she still smiles and says, “You aren’t late at all. We’re glad you came. I know that Georgiana has been waiting for you.”

    Isabella says, “She doesn’t have to wait any longer. Where is she? Oh, there you are! Georgie!” She comes straight to me in my quiet corner, and since everyone is watching us, I have to hug her and not say that I hate her and wish she would go away forever.

    She sits next to me and says, “I haven’t seen you since that time in Chicago, when your gorgeous cousin only wanted to talk about him. I won’t say a word tonight, I promise. I was so shocked when heard that he got married.”

    “Who’s married? Rich? He hasn’t had a girlfriend for years. He works too much.”

    “No, he. Who we’re not talking about.”

    “George?” Less than a year ago, he was telling me that I was the only woman he had ever loved and that he couldn’t live without me. Did he find someone more gullible than me already? But William and Rich promised that I would never hear anything else about him ever again, so it doesn’t matter that he is married. He doesn’t matter anymore. I tell Isabella, “Good for him. I hope he enjoys his first divorce.” Even if he doesn’t matter, I’m allowed to be mean.

    “What about you and that blond guy? Who was he? Are you still together?”

    Another problem with Isabella is her idiocy in all matters of romance. That blond guy and I would only stay together long enough to choose our weapons before killing each other. If Isabella and I were still friends, I would share my favorite Edmund-Bertram-is-a-tool stories with her. Since I will never forgive her for what she did on my birthday, I say, “Edmund isn’t my type. He’s too short.”

    Isabella laughs. She has heard that complaint about the opposite sex many times when we were in high school. “John will be glad to hear that,” she says. It takes me a moment to figure out which John she is talking about. John Thorpe.

    Ever since the George Wickham incident, Isabella has been kind of obsessed with the idea that I would mend my broken heart by falling madly in love with her brother. We used to be able to have normal conversations without needing to talk about brothers of any kind. Not anymore.

    "John said he'd come later tonight. He's out with some of his brothers from his fraternity, but I told him that he had to come to Pemberley tonight for dinner. But he had already committed himself to helping Barney move - you should meet Barney, he's really lots of fun - and you know how much importance John puts on his word of honor. But John will be here tonight, or else I'm sure neither of us would ever forgive him."

    Blah blah John blah blah... She conveniently forgets that I have known and disliked John Thorpe for most of my young adulthood. He’s incredibly good-looking, and he’s a moron. He goes to a Midwestern state school more famous for its football team than its academics. I have seen John a couple times when he was in Chicago. College has made him even dumber than he was back in high school. If he's out with his frat brothers, that meant that he'd probably be half drunk by the time he actually made his appearance. Joy. It will be something to look forward to after dinner.

    I glanced over towards Elizabeth, hoping that she would announce dinner was ready or something like that. Anything. I'd even welcome a segue into a conversation with a very eligible, boring young man, just so long as I didn't have to listen to more of Isabella, who still hasn’t noticed that she’s no longer my friend.

    No luck. Elizabeth is talking to Jane and Charles. William? No, he's talking to the Blackalls or the Smiths, some people I don't know.

    Isabella stops talking, now waiting for a response. After too long of a pause, I say, "Oh really?" which is adequate enough of encouragement for her to continue her monologue. Blah blah John blah blah... After dinner I'll play the piano for everyone. All night. Then if John Thorpe does appear, I'll have my excuse.

    At dinner I have very good luck with seating: between William and Mrs. Jane Bingley. Perfect.

    "Will, dear," Elizabeth says, and off William goes to sit next to her and hear whatever witty comment she's making now.

    The other guests are still coming in. I look at the entrance to the dining room with real fear. I can imagine John Thorpe taking this moment to stagger into the room, or at least Isabella sitting next to me. Instead Elizabeth motions for a Blackall or Smith to take the seat next to me, one of those nice young men in the area who are interested in getting to know me better. She is blatantly maneuvering us together but there are worse dinner companions, so I limit my reaction to merely rolling my eyes.

    I should probably know his name by this point, since we have all been sitting in the drawing room for at least a half an hour together. I have absolutely no idea who he is and no real desire to find out. Instead, I turn to Jane Bingley. I must say something now, just to show that I'm not intentionally ignoring the Blackall or Smith on my other side, even though I am. Being well-bred can be such a bother.

    "How is Netherfield?" I ask. That's the Bingley's house, right?

    "Good," Jane says quietly. She doesn't know what to say to me and I don't know what to say to her. When Charles is nearby we always seem to all be able to talk together, or at least there's a lot of talking taking place. Charles is a nice guy. I love Caroline, but I still can't believe that she wanted me to marry Charles last year when I was still in high school. She didn't right out say, "Georgiana, go sleep with my brother," but she made it clear enough of what her intentions were to make it kind of awkward when I first met Jane. Unfortunately Caroline had also made it clear to Jane that she expected Charles to be interested in William's much, much younger sister.

    The servants come in to serve dinner. I wonder what Mr. Purves, Pemberley's cook, would say if he knew the sort of things I eat at college. Ramen noodles and cold pop-tarts... mmm... I could use a strawberry frosted pop-tart now.

    But I have other things to worry about now. John Thorpe was going to come some time tonight. He would curse too much, look at my legs too much, and make William angry. Elizabeth probably won’t be much help. She would be too busy congratulating herself on reuniting me with an old high school friend.

    "Miss Darcy? You don't look like you're enjoying this excellent soup," the Blackall or Smith to my right says. Now am I expected to be pleasant and conversational?

    "Sorry, I'm trying to figure out a good way to resolve a certain problem of mine," I say, hoping that I could just come off as looking shy and preoccupied rather than rude. Maybe the infamous Darcy pride could come in handy in dealing with John Thorpe. Tell him he's not good enough for me. Surely he could make no argument to that.

    "What problem?" the Blackall or Smith asks. Isabella is sitting on his other side; no wonder he is trying to talk to me.

    "About men," I say. "How do you make them not interested in you?"

    He laughs. "First you don't wear that dress. Then you don't have that distinctly Darcy aristocratic look to you. And then you don't be obscenely rich." He's trying to flirt with me, how cute. Probably a Smith. With a last name like Smith, you'd have to make an extra effort to make yourself memorable.

    "How about if I tell you to be quiet and go away?" I ask. He looks flustered for a moment, so I take a deliberate pause before continuing, "Would that make a man not interested in me?"

    He smiles. Now he thinks I'm flirting back. Let's see how long it will take William to notice. "To be very effective, you should also say that you've decided to give up all your worldly possessions and you want to join an environmental extremist group."

    "Smith, what do you think about..." Good old William. My William. Elizabeth doesn't look very happy with him for interfering. She doesn't realize how much I rely on having an over-protective brother. Maybe I should try to say something to her. But then she'd think I'm confiding in her, and she'd do even more to try to make me get out of my proverbial 'shell'. Why can't I just be a nice, quiet, sheltered girl?

    At the dinner table I notice there is only red wine and no white. Caroline has to ask for a vegetarian plate, which she should never have to ask since she has been a regular visitor here for two years. The kitchen staff would have had her plate ready if they had been told she was coming. The appetizer course lasts too long. Most annoying of all, Elizabeth doesn’t even notice everything that is going wrong. She talks and eats and laughs. She is a terrible hostess, and I’m the only one who notices.

    There is still the problem of John Thorpe. After dinner I go straight to the piano and pick out very long pieces so I can be certain that I'll be in the middle of playing something whenever he appears. But he has no tact; he has to come in between movements when I'm still rearranging pages. At least he doesn't look noticeably drunk.

    Every time I see him, I am surprised by how good-looking he is. Golden hair, golden skin, very blue eyes, and he’s taller than I am. We would look good together as a couple. How unfortunate that such good looks are wasted on him.

    Having made his proper apologies to Elizabeth and William about coming late, he notices me. I quickly begin to play the final movement of the piano sonata, nodding in his direction as a proper, very impersonal greeting. Of course he wouldn't let me get away so easily. "And there's my Georgie," he says, coming up to the piano bench and making it impossible for me to continue playing. "You're a damn good piano player." The way he says it, you'd think I played at a bar or a nightclub lounge. Pianist.

    "Be quiet and go away," I say. But I'm too pleased with myself, and I smile. Now he thinks I'm being coy. No, I really do want him to go away. "I'm going to give up all my worldly possessions and join an environmental extremist group." I knew that line wouldn't work. "William!"

    No, he has to be too busy talking to Elizabeth and Mr. Smith from dinner. He makes some sort of gesture of acknowledging that I said his name. Stupid man! Doesn't he realize that his poor, defenseless little sister could really use an overbearing and domineering older brother right now?

    "I still have a movement to play of my sonata," I say, straightening my posture and making myself look ready to play again.

    "Did anyone ever tell you that you're beautiful when you're playing?" John says, moving to stand behind me at the bench.

    "I'm not playing yet," I hiss, then determined to show how little he effects me, I begin to play. I know I am making more mistakes than usual from constantly looking towards William and waiting for him to tell John to go away. Doesn't William notice that John's practically breathing down my neck? Elizabeth must be telling William to let me handle it myself. It must be her fault; my brother wouldn't so heartlessly abandon me. I nearly stop playing when John leans over, completely getting in the way, to rearrange the pages I had already neatly set up. I wasn't even at the end of the page yet.

    "Go away, go away, go away, go away," I repeat under my breath as I continue playing. Of course he wouldn't take the hint. John Thorpe is mentally incapable of observing any subtleties, if you could say that I'm being even remotely subtle. I can usually play the role of the polite, tolerant, and somewhat indulgent hostess - or ex-hostess, now - but not tonight. Maybe I've changed during college. Or maybe I'm just in a really, really bad mood and sick to death of dealing with people I don’t like.

    I take the tempos a bit fast so I can be finished as soon as possible. I give up the idea of playing all night and instead move from the piano bench with John close behind. Just to make my point very clear to my brother, I go over and sit next to him. Now William will have no excuse for not doing anything.

    "Georgie, you should come to the party Robbie is giving next weekend," John says, talking too loudly and disrupting the conversation William is having. Good. Now William will say something about how I'm previously engaged and get me out of it.

    No, he seems determined not to interfere. Fine. "No thanks," I say, hoping to sound very distant and uninterested.

    "Are you sure, Georgie? You could probably use to see a few more faces your own age," Elizabeth says, glancing at William. They want me out of the house. They should have thought of that before insisting that I spend the summer at Pemberley rather than in Chicago with my friends. I don't care if they're newly weds and sickeningly in love. I'm not going to a party with John Thorpe.

    "Be a sport, Georgie girl," John says. ‘Georgie girl’? How could he possibly think I would ever be remotely interested in him?

    "No thank you," I say, distantly, superiorly, in a no-way-in-hell-am-I-going sort of tone. William should be getting alarmed by now. At least make some comment about his opinion of frat parties. He certainly had enough to say about them before I left for college. I was scared to death of everyone connected with the Greek system for the first three weeks of college before I realized that my brother just was being an over-protective snot again. And now he refuses to be the over-protective snot when I want him to be.

    "Did Miss Darcy tell you about her environmental interests?" Mr. Smith says. At least he realizes that I would be much happier if John were a few thousand miles away.

    "Your environmental interests?" William asks, sounding far too genuinely interested. Now everyone's looking at me, expecting me to talk about Greenpeace or rainforest preservation.

    "I'm going to become an eco-terrorist," I declare, making certain that I look as prim and proper as ever. "Mr. Smith and I were discussing it over dinner."

    William gives Mr. Smith his what-have-you-been-doing-with-my-little-sister look. William! I don't care about Mr. Smith. Get rid of John Thorpe! Fine. I'll try this again. "John, go away," I say loudly enough for everyone to hear.

    "Georgiana!" Elizabeth says, sounding thoroughly scandalized. I suppose I'm not playing the role of the quiet, submissive little sister-in-law very well tonight. Mr. Smith looks quietly amused by the spectacle I'm making of myself. William looks confused. And John laughs.

    He's just laughing. What more can I do? William still hasn't caught on. Mr. Smith won't do anything. Elizabeth must think I'm on drugs. Isabella wants me to marry John. John wants to have a rich, pretty date to show off at Robbie's party. Caroline is talking to a good-looking older man in another part of the room, so she won’t intervene and save me. Charles and Jane Bingley think all is happy, smiling, and good in the world. The Blackalls/Smiths that I don't know can't be expected to rush to my aid.

    The doorbell rings - thank god! A distraction! Maybe my knight in shining armor has come to save the day. Or maybe Robbie and Barney are here to haul John off to do more frat boy sort of things. The butler can be heard letting in the guest. Another Smith/Blackall, perhaps?

    The door opens and the butler comes in first to consult Mr. and Mrs. Darcy before admitting the unexpected guest. "Captain Frederick Wentworth," he says, and William nods his head in approval.

    "Who's he?" I begin to ask, but don't wait for an answer.

    Wow.

    Hellooooo Captain.

    Part III

    Posted on 2008-08-20

    "There are few among the gentlemen of the navy, I imagine, who would not be surprised to find themselves in a house of this description"

    How to impress a sailor? I look at my closet and try to think like Captain Frederick Wentworth, the ruler of the waves confidently steering his course through the dangerous storms of the Pacific. He is one of Elizabeth’s do-gooder friends, but I won’t hold that against him. Elizabeth is part of the Darcy family now, and that makes the Captain a family friend and a very (very, very) welcomed guest in our home.

    The red dress? No, too formal. The white sundress? No, too long, who wants to see my ankles? The green dress? Yes, the one with the white flower print, it makes me look really thin. If William says anything about it being too short, I’ll get Elizabeth to tell him to loosen up.

    Meanwhile, the Captain is in one of our guestrooms in Pemberley, ready to be swept off his feet. He will first admire me as Elizabeth’s pretty, sweet sister-in-law, then he will spend more time with me and we’ll reveal our inner souls to each other, and then he’ll beg me to sail away with him on his ship, as soon as its repairs are completed in San Diego.

    A dab of make-up, perhaps a little more lipstick, but it must look natural. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard. That’s where Caroline Bingley went wrong. She had William running in the opposite direction before he had a chance to appreciate her wicked sense of humor and her clever nastiness.

    What does Greenpeace do these days, anyway? I don’t want to look like an ignorant, spoiled rich girl. I turn on my laptop and google “Greenpeace Rainbow Warrior Frederick Wentworth”.

    Oh. Oh my. Oh no. And William let him inside the house?

    Last April, arrested off the coast of Cyprus for causing damage to Turkish tuna fishing boats. Greenpeace press statements say that the Turkish boats attacked the Greenpeace ship first; the Turkish fishermen want reparations for the damages to their boats. Last March, arrested in Japan for intercepting/stealing boxes of whale meat taken from a ‘scientific’ whaling expedition allegedly about to be sold illegally as food. February, arrested in Malaysia for punching the captain of an illegal tuna fishing boat.

    Greenpeace is more exciting than I had thought.

    Another Google search reveals all the manifestos and press releases the Captain has written or signed attacking companies that include some of William’s business partners and friends. He hasn’t published or said anything against Austen Inc or William, thank god, otherwise as a Darcy I’d be duty-bound to tell William and have him thrown out of the house, even though he is the sexiest rebel environmentalist in the entire world.

    Time for Google image search! Wow, does he ever wear a shirt when he’s on his boat? Not that I’m complaining.

    Even without a shirt, none of the pictures can compare to how the Captain looked last night coming into the drawing room, when he instantly captured my heart. He is big and dangerous. He could have beaten up anyone in the room with one hand tied behind his back, and he would have enjoyed it. Shaved head, short blond trimmed beard and mustache, pitiless grey eyes, very muscular – not at all the type I usually go for, but no one could be immune to the Captain’s complete and utter sexiness. I was rendered almost mute for the rest of the night, but I’ll do better today now that I’m over the initial shock. He’s our family friend, and he is here for the rest of the weekend.

    I go down to breakfast (still in the wrong room!) ready to impress the Captain with my beauty, intelligence, charm, and sensitivity to environmental issues. William, Elizabeth, and the Captain are already sitting at the table. Frederick is wearing jeans and a black T-shirt that shows off his biceps and, yes, a tattoo! A tattoo of a pine tree, probably not something he got while in prison.

    “Good morning!” I say, because the Captain is there and he has made it a very good morning for me. My morning cheerfulness surprises Elizabeth and amuses William. Elizabeth is dressed casually like our esteemed guest, and William is in his usual dark suit, no tie since it’s Sunday. No picnics must be planned for today.

    Frederick says, “Hi, morning, Georgie. Am I allowed to call you ‘Georgie’ like everyone else, or should I be bowing and calling you ‘Miss Darcy’?” He smiles, I smile, and I know that he must feel the same connection between us that I felt as soon as he came into the drawing room last night.

    “You can call me whatever you want.” I sit down across from Frederick, leaving the seat by William empty. “Did you sleep well in the guest room? No one had told me that you were coming, otherwise Mrs. Reynolds and I would have done more to prepare the room.”

    Instead of my usual coffee and toast, I have a bowl of organic muesli and a glass of fresh-squeezed organic orange juice, like the Captain. I can imagine the remarks William must be ready to make about my breakfast, so I make certain not to look at him.

    “The room is great,” the Captain says. “Liz knew I was headed across country, but I didn’t know I’d find a way here until I arrived.”

    “Now that you have found us, I hope you’ll want to stay.” Plain muesli is really dry and doesn’t taste like much, but I don’t say anything or add honey to it. The Captain eats his plain, and so will I.

    Is there anything ethically wrong about coffee? Do vegans drink coffee? There’s an easy way to find out. I ask the Captain whether he would like some coffee, and he refuses and says, “Too much caffeine is bad for the heart.” Fine. I can adapt. No one can object to tea, can they? I pour myself a cup of tea from William’s pot of Assam tea, and I tell Frederick and Elizabeth about the tea estates which provide the Darcy family’s tea stores, in case the Captain has any doubts about my tea’s organic, fair-trade, eco-friendly origins.

    After my impromptu lecture on tea-growing in India and our ancestor Reginald Fitzwilliam’s work in the East India Tea Company, William says, “You should listen to Georgiana giving tours of Pemberley. It can take days.”

    The Captain laughs, and I shut up. OK, message received. I drink more of the tea and wish it were coffee with its heart-threatening levels of caffeine. Then I would be awake enough not to make a fool of myself.

    Elizabeth says, “What are your plans, Fred?”

    She wants to keep him to herself, I can tell. I answer for him. “I’ll show you around the house and grounds this morning. You are our guest, so you have to put up with the family’s pride in our home. Pemberley is a national treasure. Don’t worry, William was exaggerating about my house tours. If you miss your boat, you can go to our lake and borrow one of William’s boats. Do you fish? Or would you rather have your own boat and try to keep William and Charles from fishing? I’ve heard about the important work that Greenpeace has done to protect the oceans from over-fishing. It’s a very important problem, not here at Pemberley, of course, but in the Mediterranean and the oceans. We spend so much time thinking about climate change, rainforests, and air pollution, and we forget that most of the planet is covered by water.”

    My speech ends with William falling into a coughing fit that is barely covering his laughter. Thanks a lot, dear brother. The Captain is surprised by my passion for oceans. He will soon learn that I can be a very passionate person. I can’t tell what Elizabeth thinks, but I doubt she’ll help me.

    I remember what I promised this morning, about not coming on too strongly and scaring him away. And if I talk more about Greenpeace, the Captain may realize that I only know what you can learn from spending five minutes reading the Greenpeace web site. Maybe I can sneak back to my room and read more from their web site before lunch.

    “We’ll invite Jane and Charles over,” Elizabeth says. They can come after I give the Captain a private, extensive tour of Pemberley. But before I find a way to say that, my cell phone rings. Who would call me at this hour? I take my phone out of my purse and see it’s ‘Edmund Boretram’. Send him straight to voice mail.

    Everyone is looking at me, so I say, “It’s no one important.”

    My phone goes off again. Edmund again. Can’t he take the hint? I end the call. Now a text message: ‘pik up i kno u r there stop ignorng me u brat’. Edmund can’t seriously expect me to respond to that. It’s more important that I stay here in the family dining room while Elizabeth and I decide how the Captain spends his day. I am in the process of turning off my phone when it rings again and, since everyone is watching me, I give in and answer it.

    “Hi, Edmund. Sorry, I can’t talk now. E-mail me, and I’ll get back to you.” That’s not half as rude as what I want to say to him. I even use a happy tone of voice, because I don’t want the Captain to think that I’m not a nice person.

    “I could be calling because Fanny is in the hospital.” Just great. Edmund is in a peevish, chatty, whiney, self-important, annoying mood, as usual. Why did I ever give him my cell phone number? It’s very rude to talk on your cell phone at the table, so I get up and go into the corridor. If Edmund prevents me from giving the Captain his house tour, I’m going to have him banned from entering our dorm building next year.

    I say, “I know that Frances is fine. I got an e-mail from her fifteen minutes ago. She told me about the movies they saw yesterday.” That was why my very best friends weren’t answering their phones yesterday. That is an acceptable excuse. I would have much rather been at the movies instead of the dinner party with the Thorpes.

    “I was with them. You don’t think Christian Bale is attractive, do you?”

    “I’ve never liked him much, but Frances does. Did you really call me to ask whether Christian Bale is hot?” Normally I would be happy to spend five minutes mocking Edmund for something like this, but the Captain is in the other room without me!

    “It’s about the house you rented for them. I talked to the landlord.”

    Oh no. I thought it would take a week or two before they started asking questions. It’s so typical of boring Edmund to ruin my careful plans.

    “You didn’t tell Frances and the others, did you?”

    “No, because I am going to fix everything so they wouldn’t have to. You can’t pay for everything yourself. You don’t live there. Fanny, Eleanor, and Jane have jobs, and they don’t need your charity.” As if Edmund knew a thing about earning money, budgeting expenses, or paying rent. He gets a monthly allowance from his dad that is almost as big as mine.

    “They can use their money however they want. I want to use my money this way. If they cannot enjoy my company, they can enjoy the house and the pool.”

    Edmund doesn’t appreciate my joke or my generous spirit. “You agreed on a budget so everyone could afford her share. We all knew you were going to pay for more than your fair share, anyway, but you can’t pay for everyone.” The ‘we’ is unfortunately accurate. Frances told him about our summer plans, and then he insisted on being part of all our discussions. He is living in a dorm on campus for the summer because he is, of course, very boring.

    “Frances, Eleanor, and Jane can donate their share of the rent to a charity of their choice. We have a very nice house guest who works for Greenpeace. He’d be happy to take their money.”

    Edmund and I argue some more, and we eventually agree that the grocery and cleaning services would be stopped (his idea, I think cleaning services are a life necessity, especially for career girls), and my friends will get their utility bills to pay, but I still cover the rent (because it’s all been pre-paid). And somehow it made sense to have the Bertram family pay for the pool boy. I was kind of distracted at that point in the conversation because the others left the family dining room and I had to smile, nod, and use polite language until they were gone. Where are they going?

    Now that Edmund has ruined my day, he wants to chat about our finals, Christian Bale, and Jane Fairfax’s mysterious boyfriend. He doesn’t know more about the mysterious boyfriend than I do, plus I loathe Edmund, so I hang up and look for our house guest or William.

    William is in his office checking his e-mail. “Where’s the Captain?” I ask.

    “Elizabeth is taking him to Netherfield. Jane insisted. You can tell him more about the important work he is doing for the oceans later. Who was calling you?”

    “Edmund Bertram, Frances’s cousin. You’ve met him. He wanted to talk about Christian Bale.”

    “Your friends are strange.”

    “He’s more of a nemesis than a friend.” Especially now. The Captain is gone!

    I won’t be pathetic and call Caroline and get myself invited to Netherfield. Could I do that? Would that work? No, no, I won’t scare him away by coming on too strong. He won’t stay at Netherfield for very long. Pemberley is much, much nicer. Then I’ll show him around the house and grounds.

    I go into the music room to practice on the piano. It would make a very good impression on the Captain to come into the house and hear strains of Beethoven in the halls.

    "Who is playing that wonderful music?" he'd ask.

    Elizabeth would reply, "My very talented sister-in-law, Georgiana."

    He would lead the way down the halls, following the sounds of my music until he comes to the music room. For a moment, he would simply stand in the doorway, afraid of disturbing me. Then Elizabeth would probably ruin the moment by saying something to bring him back to reality. I'd bashfully look up, startled to see that I now had an audience. He would tell me how lovely my music is, and he would beg me to play more.

    Two and a half hours later, and they still aren't back. What makes Jane and Charles so much more interesting than William and I? Caroline wouldn’t go after the Captain for herself, would she? Greenpeace captains don’t get paid enough for Frederick to meet Caroline’s minimum financial requirements of a potential significant other. I can confirm that she is a very expensive dinner companion.

    Lunchtime. William and I entertain each other to the best of our abilities, and sometimes we almost manage to forget that we have been cruelly abandoned by his wife and the man who could be my future. Elizabeth calls and says that Jane and she are taking the Captain into Lambton to introduce him to some of their friends. She has only been at Pemberley for a month. How many friends can she have?

    2:00 pm. They aren't coming. He isn't coming. And these shoes are starting to get uncomfortable.

    I try to call Frances on her cell, but she doesn't answer. I text her that Edmund is wildly jealous of Christian Bale. No answer from Jane. She gets a text, too. ‘r u with mystery boyfriend?’ Eleanor is at home, and she has a personal crisis that she tells me about and that I solve for her. That makes me feel a bit better. Then Eleanor asks about rent for the townhouse, and I find an excuse to hang up. Now what do I do?

    It’s a Sunday afternoon and the public wing of the house is open to visitors, but it’s only May and so there aren’t many visitors today. The young gallery attendant on duty recognizes me. I smile, she looks terrified and self-conscious because I’m a Darcy, I nod, she looks away, she hopes I won’t have her fired, and I go to the family portrait gallery. I wish the staff at Pemberley wasn’t so irrationally scared of me. I’m a nice person. OK, about a dozen people were fired after the George Wickham fiasco last summer, because William wanted to find more people to blame and punish after he got rid of George, but there won’t be a repeat of that.

    My doting brother has more pictures of me than anyone else in the Darcy gallery. It’s kind of sweet and embarrassing. There’s me as a baby being held by my mother, me at age three in a dress hugging my dad’s favorite hunting dog, a double portrait of William and me from when I was in first grade, a family portrait with William, Dad, and me when I was ten, a small portrait when I was fourteen, then the full-length portrait of me commissioned for my sixteenth birthday.

    There are three portraits of my mother: the double portrait with Dad for their wedding, a full-length portrait for her thirtieth birthday, and the half-length portrait with baby Georgiana from a year before she died. Dad had stacks of old photographs of her, William must still have them, but I think the portraits shows more of my mother’s life and personality in them. She belongs in long gowns and jewelry as the beautiful, glamorous mistress of Pemberley.

    Dad didn’t like to sit for portraits, and he appears only as part of group pictures. I notice that his last portrait is still absent. It showed him fishing with George Wickham. There was a time when it was natural to see George in the Darcy family gallery, but not now. William had the portrait removed last August. Sorry, Dad, but we’re not putting it back yet.

    I look at my parents’ wedding portrait more closely. Too closely. I lean forward and compare my mother’s eyelashes to William’s, and I manage to trip the alarm. That’s one of the problems about living in a museum. Of course, William would have the loudest, most sensitive alarm system in the world for the Darcy family portraits. The other visitors turn to look at me, and I hear the hurried footsteps of the security guard. How embarrassing.

    A young security guard, who hadn’t seen me when I came in from the family part of the house, comes to reprimand me for getting to close to my own artwork. Or he begins to. “Excuse me— Oh god, it’s— I mean— Would you like a seat, Georgie— I mean, Miss Darcy, ma’am?” He shuts off the alarm, and I know everyone is watching and thinking that Miss Georgiana Darcy is an idiot.

    “I will come back later tonight. I apologize for the disturbance. It’s my fault.”

    “No, no, please, Miss Darcy. We can close the room for you and turn off the alarms if you want. It’s been done for Mr. Darcy. It’s no problem at all.” Now the terrified gallery attendant is peeking in from the door and hoping that she won’t have to do anything.

    “I don’t require any special attention. I was only dropping by.”

    “But it’s your family. I mean, it’s your right, and it’s no problem at all.”

    And to make things worse, the Captain comes into the gallery, followed by Elizabeth, Jane, Caroline, and Charles.

    Seeing me having a tense conversation with the security guard, Caroline manages to find the correct thing to say: “Oh no, Georgiana, have you been caught stealing paintings again?” I love Caroline. Now the situation is a joke, and I don’t need to try to explain the special significance of the Darcy family portrait collection. Outsiders can’t understand how important it is to us.

    Even though I would have rather met them anywhere else in the house than here, I still smile and say with as much cheerfulness and enthusiasm as I can fake on demand, “Captain Wentworth! You’re back. I hope Elizabeth isn’t showing you the house after I already promised to show you Pemberley during breakfast.”

    The security guard is confused, too confused to recognize a dismissal. “If you want the gallery cleared, Miss Darcy...”

    “No, that’s not necessary. The Darcy family invites people to share our artwork. We can all enjoy it together. But don’t get too close, Frederick. I found that out myself before you arrived. The alarms are very sensitive.”

    I step towards the exit, but the others aren’t following. Fred, Jane, and Charles walk around to look at the paintings. Elizabeth is clearly familiar with the paintings and goes straight to the full-length portrait of William painted for his thirtieth birthday. Aww, very sweet of her. It’s a very good likeness of William, and it’s extra special because of the expression on his face. It’s a look of love. ($0.75 for the postcard in the gift shop.)

    “How are the portraits done?” Charles asks, while looking at the portrait of William and me as kids. We were adorable back then. “Do you send a photo to the painter and say how big you want it?”

    “No, we do live modeling. My sixteenth birthday portrait took an entire summer’s worth of sittings. It was really boring, but that’s what the artist said he wanted. He also got to use one of Pemberley’s garden villas as a studio and summer home for as long as he was working on it, so he wasn’t in a big hurry.”

    “Will’s portrait couldn’t be done from a photo,” Elizabeth says. “He has that look – he wouldn’t let himself be photographed like that.” The Bingleys don’t understand what she’s talking about, but I do. I am surprised, although I shouldn’t be. She is William’s wife. I’m not used to anyone else understanding my brother and recognizing his private versus public looks like I do.

    I am pleased to see that the Captain admires my portraits, although he doesn’t stand in front of my full-length portrait like Elizabeth does in front of William’s.

    “You don’t need to look at our portraits, Frederick. The originals would rather see you themselves. Come, let’s see the rest of the house.”

    I get rid of the Bingleys early on my tour of Pemberley. They have already seen the house, and Caroline says that she isn't wearing the right shoes for traipsing around attics. William is working, so they are left in the garden parlor to entertain themselves.

    It is not nearly so easy to get rid of Elizabeth. I suggest all sorts of things she could be doing with her time instead of being a third wheel, and she responds by suggesting all sorts of things I could be doing instead of showing the Captain my home. She seems to think that she would be doing me a favor by sending me away. How can she think that anyone would not want to spend more time with the Captain? Is she blind?

    If Frederick notices that Elizabeth and I are fighting over him, he doesn’t say anything about it. He asks questions about the house, and he makes the expected environmentalist remarks about the difficulty of heating such an enormous house in the winter. (I assured him that the Darcys could afford the heating bill, which was the wrong thing to say because it made Elizabeth and he laugh.) From Elizabeth’s occasional questions, I realize that I’m taking them to parts of the house that she hasn’t been to at all. She’s been the mistress of Pemberley for a month, and she has never been to the old nursery! Isn’t she curious at all about the house she lives in? The house tour would be a much more romantic and personal experience for the Captain and me without Elizabeth, but it’s still fun. I love showing off Pemberley, and when she isn’t trying to send me to my room, Elizabeth is quiet enough to be ignored. Eventually I declare that we have seen a sufficient portion of the house that we can stop and have dinner.

    The last stop of the tour is William’s office. William has been there since lunch with one of his vice presidents, Anne Elliot. She sometimes drops by on weekends when she’s visiting the Russells.

    I do the introductions. “Anne, this is my friend, I mean our family’s friend, Captain Frederick Wentworth. He is staying with us for as long as we can keep him here. I’m going to slash his car’s tires tonight. Frederick, Anne Elliot.”

    “Vice President of Austen Inc, head of human resources,” William adds. “We’ve had another small catastrophe at the office in Chicago, but Anne has found a solution as usual. Someone should give her a raise.”

    Anne says, “Frederick and I have met, many years ago.”

    I know what that look she is giving him means. Anne Elliot wants him! Too late. He’s mine. “Don’t tell me that you have a secret history as an eco-terrorist. That was supposed to be my hidden secret, and now everyone else is using it, too. Ask William, Fred. I told everyone at the party last night that I was going to become an eco-terrorist, before you arrived. I have always cared deeply about the environment.”

    “Since when?” asks Caroline. Damn her for her love for deflating hypocrites and pointing out the ridiculous.

    “Since forever. You do not know the depths of my soul.”

    “Neither do I,” William says. “We can discover them together during dinner. You can tell us more about the good work Fred has done for the planet.”

    I sit between Anne Elliot and Caroline. Anne barely says a word to me. She has never liked me much. She eats and answers direct questions, that’s it. The Captain is across from us, and I try to talk to him as much as possible. I get him to tell us about the Turkish fishermen who attacked his boat, the Japanese whale meat, and other stories that didn’t make it to the news section of the Greenpeace website. At the end of each of his stories, I tell him more about how much I respect his work and admire his dedication to the cause. Caroline laughs every time, but that’s OK because I think the Captain believes me. He must like me!

    After dinner, I offer to play some music for everyone. Even if the Captain doesn’t know his Bach from his Bartok, he’ll be impressed by my piano playing. Everyone is. Anne Elliot says that she has a long drive ahead of her to go back to Chicago tonight, and I pretend that her early departure is a big disappointment. William reminds her that he’ll be flying into Chicago tomorrow for some important business meeting, and I practically have to drag the Captain to the music room so he can admire me.

    I play Liszt’s Mephisto waltz even faster than my piano teacher would ever let me, but I can tell that the Captain is distracted. By what? He’s looking out the window, down the drive where Anne Elliot is driving away. He must be thinking about the forests, global warming, and the preservation of endangered animals. It must be hard work being a committed environmentalist. I play a gentle Bach prelude to see whether that would suit his mood better. He does sigh, but I don’t think it’s because of the Bach. Those poor tuna, being illegally fished without Fred around to punch anyone. When a charming Chopin waltz fails to make the Captain smile even a little bit, I wonder whether he’s tone deaf. This would be a big problem in our future relationship.

    No more progress will be made tonight. It’s late, the Bingleys are saying farewell, and the Captain is going back to his guest room. Why isn’t he making some kind of effort to spend time with me alone? Is he afraid of what William would say? Or is he afraid of offending Elizabeth by hitting on her sister-in-law? There has been a disappointing lack of flirting all evening, but the Captain must be a private man. He doesn’t reveal his feelings in front of others. I’ll see him tomorrow, without William around, and then he’ll be free to show what he really feels.

    I dress casually on Monday, and I am ready to show the Captain how down-to-earth and informal I can be. But the only person at breakfast is Elizabeth.

    “Where’s the Captain?” I ask. “Is he awake yet?” I pour myself a cup of coffee to drink quickly before he comes down to disapprove of its caffeine levels.

    “He left early this morning. He talked to his sister and found out that she has rented a place not far from Chicago. It turns out that it’s Anne Elliot’s old house. How random is that?” Elizabeth eats her breakfast as if this is not the biggest tragedy ever, or at least the biggest tragedy of the week, not counting the physics final.

    “He’s gone? But he said he’d stay until after lunch. He promised.”

    “He said to apologize to you for not saying good-bye. He said that you should look into volunteering at the local Greenpeace chapter, since you care so deeply about the environment.” Elizabeth says this with a smile not unlike Caroline’s from last night. Oops, another person who isn’t convinced that I am the world’s biggest closet tree-hugger.

    “I do care,” I say, but I don’t make any promises about wasting my time with a bunch of do-gooders who would judge me based on my last name as soon as I walked through the door of their commune.

    “I appreciate what you did to make Frederick feel welcomed, and I think it was really sweet of you. I know you think he’s a silly good-doer, or whatever Caroline called him.”

    “I admire the work he does.” It wouldn’t do any good now to mention how incredibly hot he is. What did I do wrong? Why did he leave? I scared him off during the house tour, didn’t I? He thinks I’m too materialistic and obsessed with showing off my possessions.

    Elizabeth says, “I know. You said that at least a dozen times last night. Thank you for making a fuss over Fred and letting him feel like a honored guest. I didn’t expect it from you.” Yes, she really must be blind.

    “Do you think the Captain will be back soon?”

    “Whenever his boat sinks again.” Elizabeth laughs at her joke, and I try to laugh, too. How often does the Rainbow Warrior sink? I’ll go online after breakfast and check. But it doesn’t sound like the Captain will be back this summer.

    Oh well. At least I tried. I wonder who Elizabeth will invite to Pemberley next

    To Be Continued . . .

    © 2008 Copyright held by the author.