with a smile. “Oh, Mrs. Younge, what a lovely idea. It is a perfect day for a walk, do you not agree, Mr. Wickham?”
“Any day that I could escort two such lovely ladies must be a perfect day. The weather would not dare refuse me such enjoyment.”
I looked down at the fabric on the settee quickly, trying not to burst out laughing. I was hoping he read my move as a shy young girl being overwhelmed by such a compliment. And what a compliment it was. Did he always flirt quite so obviously? If I ever got out of crazytown (it could happen; they’ve developed some really great meds) I was going to have to reread Pride and Prejudice to see if he always talked like this or if he was just laying it on extra thick for Georgiana.
There was much hustle and bustle as Mrs. Younge called for our hats and parasols to be brought so we could prepare for our walk. It seemed like a lot of prep work for a short walk on a sunny day, but then the sun was the enemy of our delicate and pale English skin. I remembered Caroline Bingley’s snide comment about Elizabeth’s skin getting tanned while she travelled and had to suppress the urge to laugh. I wondered what would happen if I just set off for a walk without all the proper accoutrements. Or announced that in just a few hundred years tanned skin would be looked on favorably and that, in fact, people would pay good money to artificially turn their skin brown. I would bet that my current tan, still left over from those blessed few weeks over break when I’d had actual time away from school to hang out at the beach and lay mindlessly in the sand, was set off nicely by the straightjacket the doctors probably had me in. Assuming straight jackets were white. I’d only ever seen them in movies and they always seemed to be white.
Luckily, Georgiana’s body remembered how to tie on a bonnet and the proper way to open and hold a parasol, and so, within a few minutes Mrs. Younge, Mr. Wickham, and I were out the door and on our way down the cobblestone street headed toward the seashore. Wickham had offered me his arm and we strolled together a few steps ahead of Mrs. Younge. I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to notice as she fell farther and farther behind us, just like I wasn’t supposed to notice the speaking looks she and Wickham had shared over my head as I was fiddling with my parasol.
They had decided between them that now was the best time to strike. I wondered if this is how it really went down, or if my extra bit of flirting had caused them to move up their scheduled seduction. I suddenly worried that I’d set things off too early and Darcy wouldn’t reach us in time to save Georgiana. That could seriously mess up the whole novel. Georgiana would then be Mrs. Wickham, stuck with an unfaithful scoundrel of a husband who once he had his grubby paws on her thirty thousand pounds would likely never even look at her again. Darcy would never go to Netherfield, he’d be too distraught over his sister’s elopement, and would likely take her back to Pemberley after he somehow paid off Wickham—unless of course, Wickham wanted to flaunt his power over Georgiana to Darcy and so kept her from her brother as much as possible. Of course Wickham would want to hurt Darcy anyway he could.
I tried not to hyperventilate. If Darcy never went to visit Bingley at Netherfield he would never meet Elizabeth Bennet. Literature’s greatest couple would never get the chance to meet all because I’d batted my eyelashes a few times!
Wickham was saying something to me, but for the life of me I couldn’t pay attention. I’d just ruined my favorite book of all time and I was sinking into a pit of despair.
“Miss Darcy? Are you well? You seem rather far off,” Wickham’s voice finally cut through my mind’s frantic rambling. Miss Darcy. Wait a minute. I was not, in fact, Georgiana Darcy, but just a sad, overworked, and heartbroken grad student taking a slight vacation from reality. I had not ruined my
“Any day that I could escort two such lovely ladies must be a perfect day. The weather would not dare refuse me such enjoyment.”
I looked down at the fabric on the settee quickly, trying not to burst out laughing. I was hoping he read my move as a shy young girl being overwhelmed by such a compliment. And what a compliment it was. Did he always flirt quite so obviously? If I ever got out of crazytown (it could happen; they’ve developed some really great meds) I was going to have to reread Pride and Prejudice to see if he always talked like this or if he was just laying it on extra thick for Georgiana.
There was much hustle and bustle as Mrs. Younge called for our hats and parasols to be brought so we could prepare for our walk. It seemed like a lot of prep work for a short walk on a sunny day, but then the sun was the enemy of our delicate and pale English skin. I remembered Caroline Bingley’s snide comment about Elizabeth’s skin getting tanned while she travelled and had to suppress the urge to laugh. I wondered what would happen if I just set off for a walk without all the proper accoutrements. Or announced that in just a few hundred years tanned skin would be looked on favorably and that, in fact, people would pay good money to artificially turn their skin brown. I would bet that my current tan, still left over from those blessed few weeks over break when I’d had actual time away from school to hang out at the beach and lay mindlessly in the sand, was set off nicely by the straightjacket the doctors probably had me in. Assuming straight jackets were white. I’d only ever seen them in movies and they always seemed to be white.
Luckily, Georgiana’s body remembered how to tie on a bonnet and the proper way to open and hold a parasol, and so, within a few minutes Mrs. Younge, Mr. Wickham, and I were out the door and on our way down the cobblestone street headed toward the seashore. Wickham had offered me his arm and we strolled together a few steps ahead of Mrs. Younge. I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to notice as she fell farther and farther behind us, just like I wasn’t supposed to notice the speaking looks she and Wickham had shared over my head as I was fiddling with my parasol.
They had decided between them that now was the best time to strike. I wondered if this is how it really went down, or if my extra bit of flirting had caused them to move up their scheduled seduction. I suddenly worried that I’d set things off too early and Darcy wouldn’t reach us in time to save Georgiana. That could seriously mess up the whole novel. Georgiana would then be Mrs. Wickham, stuck with an unfaithful scoundrel of a husband who once he had his grubby paws on her thirty thousand pounds would likely never even look at her again. Darcy would never go to Netherfield, he’d be too distraught over his sister’s elopement, and would likely take her back to Pemberley after he somehow paid off Wickham—unless of course, Wickham wanted to flaunt his power over Georgiana to Darcy and so kept her from her brother as much as possible. Of course Wickham would want to hurt Darcy anyway he could.
I tried not to hyperventilate. If Darcy never went to visit Bingley at Netherfield he would never meet Elizabeth Bennet. Literature’s greatest couple would never get the chance to meet all because I’d batted my eyelashes a few times!
Wickham was saying something to me, but for the life of me I couldn’t pay attention. I’d just ruined my favorite book of all time and I was sinking into a pit of despair.
“Miss Darcy? Are you well? You seem rather far off,” Wickham’s voice finally cut through my mind’s frantic rambling. Miss Darcy. Wait a minute. I was not, in fact, Georgiana Darcy, but just a sad, overworked, and heartbroken grad student taking a slight vacation from reality. I had not ruined my
Similar Books
