Once I was done I ran back to the bed, eager to fall asleep and try out my new escape hatch. Unfortunately neither Caroline’s body or my mind seemed in the least bit inclined to sleep.
After thirty minutes of staring up at the ceiling listening to Caroline’s stomach rumble, I finally jumped back up off the bed and rang for her maid. Might as well at least go down to breakfast.
As Caroline’s maid helped me into yet another one of her lovely gowns, I stared vacantly at the mirror in front of me. I wondered why more movies didn’t cast her as a blonde. She had lovely, almost too pale hair. Coupled with her snotty attitude and her penchant for pale silk gowns, it gave her the appearance of an ice queen. How unfortunate for her that Darcy preferred the dark, liveliness of Elizabeth.
“It’d help your cause if you smiled once in awhile, Caro,” I muttered under my breath.
“I’m sorry, Miss?”
“Nothing, Mary, I’m just talking to myself.”
As I walked down the stairs, I wondered if smiling would be breaking some kind of Caroline code that would pop me back into the earlier scene. Or if I could manage a somewhat pleasant demeanor as long as I didn’t do anything that directly altered the storyline. What was on the agenda for today? Walking in the shrubbery with Darcy and then after dinner the big, dramatic pride discussion between Lizzy and Darcy. I was torn. Part of me wanted to stick around for that, because, well, that’s an awesome scene, and the other part of me realized that participating in that scene as Caroline Bingley was going to be borderline torture.
“Good morning,” I said as I swept into the breakfast room. I must have sounded even cheerier than I thought because both Darcy and Bingley looked surprised as they stood up and bowed.
“Good morning, Caroline, did you rest well?”
“Yes, Charles, I did. Thank you for asking. Oh, Miss Bennet,” I turned with a gracious smile as Lizzy walked into the room. “How are you this morning?”
I almost giggled at how startled she looked. Her eyes darted between me and the bowing gentlemen as if waiting for some unseen ambush. Not that I blamed her.
“I am well. Thank you, Miss Bingley.”
"And your sister?” I asked, following her over to the sideboard and filling up my plate. “I do hope that our dear Jane is feeling better.”
“Oh yes. I believe she is. I am hoping she might be able to join us tonight after dinner.”
“That is wonderful news!” Bingley positively beamed with excitement. “I am so glad to hear it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bingley,” Lizzy replied as she sidled away from me and toward the table. I let her escape to the relatively comfortable company of Bingley’s enthusiasm and sat a few seats down the table from Darcy and applied myself to my eggs and toast. I felt, more than saw, Darcy glance my direction in confusion a few times. My guess is Caroline probably spent most of her time throwing herself at him (I mean, who wouldn’t?). Under normal circumstances I probably would have been drooling over him too, but I was starving. And knowing as Kelsey that Caroline had absolutely no chance made my breakfast infinitely more interesting than drooling over Mr. Darcy.
The only one who had a chance was Lizzy. Though now that I wasn’t his sister throwing myself at him during our upcoming stroll held some appeal. The worst that could happen would be that I’d pop back into the scene where I’d become Caroline. I’d have to wait for midnight. I could end up being a very awkward pumpkin as I sat around the rest of the day waiting for midnight to chime after having just mauled my brother’s houseguest. This was Mr. Darcy, after all, so he most likely wouldn’t respond with the, say we shall…
enthusiasm
…that Wickham had responded with when I’d tried a similar tactic on him.
The fact was, Darcy wasn’t going to fall in love with Caroline. If I wanted to get a chance at kissing the actual hero of the novel I was going to have to get out and find a way to get back in as Lizzy.
“I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then. ”
Knowing Caroline had
no chance didn’t stop me from clinging just a little too tightly to Darcy’s arm as we strolled in the shrubbery later that morning. Who are we kidding? The clinging was entirely in character for Miss Bingley, so I was well on my way to making it through another set of scenes with flying Caroline colors.
Mr. Darcy had really, really nice arms. He was tall and I was shorter than my usual Kelsey self. I was truly enjoying the petite girl next to the tall, handsome, breech-clad gentleman phenomenon I was currently experiencing. I batted Caroline’s pale eyelashes up at Darcy and contemplated the fact that Mark, handsome and ridiculously buff as he may be, does not quite match Darcy for height. Or, you know, the wearing breeches thing.
I almost tripped over the hem of my gown. Why was I thinking about stupid Mark Barnes when I was on the arm of Mr. Darcy? There was no good answer. If I could explain the workings of my brain, I wouldn’t need the years of therapy that were obviously waiting for me outside of
Pride and Prejudice
.
Mr. Darcy looked at down at me, his dark brow knitting in concern. I allowed myself a moment of positively drowning in his amazing hazel eyes before I pulled myself together and turned on the Miss Bingley Annoys Darcy by Teasing Him About Elizabeth act. Clueless Darcy had been dumb enough to mention that he thought Lizzy had “fine eyes,” and Caroline had decided the best response was to constantly tease Darcy as if he were planning to propose to Elizabeth. Caroline meant to point out all of Lizzy’s flaws, but honestly, all she succeeded in doing was to keep bringing Darcy’s attention back to her rival.
“I was just thinking, Mr. Darcy, of what dress I shall wear to your wedding.” I honestly had no idea how Caroline brought the subject up. Jane Austen was a huge fan of dropping into a scene mid-conversation. As, apparently, am I. I always managed to pop into a character when a line is expected of me. “I hope you will give your mother-in-law a few hints, when this desirable event takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue; and if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of running after the officers—”
I nearly lost my train of thought when I Darcy’s jaw clench as I recited, with as much enthusiasm and slyness that I could muster, Caroline’s little lecture. ‘Cause. Um. Darcy’s jaw. Yummy.
Get it together Kelsey
.
“—And, if I may mention so delicate a subject, endeavor to check that little something, bordering on conceit and impertinence, which your lady possesses.”
God Almighty. Caroline Bingley said some really craptastic stuff. I didn’t realize just how bitchy that whole speech was until it had to come out of my own mouth. I’m surprised Darcy didn’t just turn around and walk back down the path to the manor. I would have. Well, after I smacked her across her stupid face.
Mr. Darcy, obviously, had more class than me. Or he was a glutton for punishment. Or something. He merely raised an eyebrow and quirked up a corner of his mouth in a slightly mocking smile. I almost shivered. Kelsey could see, even if Caroline obviously hadn’t, that his smile was a warning. “Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?”
I tilted my head and smiled coquettishly up at him.
This, Caroline dear, is where you should shut up and pretend to play nicely with others.
But that wasn’t in Caroline’s make-up. She’d find a stab at Lizzy’s extended family too fun to pass up. “Oh! Yes. Do let the portraits of your Uncle and Aunt Philips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great uncle, the judge. They are in the same profession, you know; only in different lines. As for your Elizabeth’s picture, you must not attempt to have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?”
I felt momentarily sorry for Caroline, she just didn’t know when to stop talking. Maybe things just came out of her mouth without her meaning to say them and she was as horrified as everyone else that she’d said it but just passed it off as no big deal.
“It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but their color and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied,” Mr. Darcy said.
I smiled weakly, really it was more of a grimace, in response. I was too preoccupied with my assessment of Caroline to take any great delight in his zinging her with the “Lizzy is hot” commentary.
Could Caroline and I be more alike than I wanted to admit? I almost always said the wrong thing. Look at my last few encounters with Mark. I opened my mouth and stupid, stupid, stupid things came out. And then I didn’t know how to react to my own stupidity so I freaked out and shut down. Caroline just hadn’t gotten to the stop-talking-altogether part of the complete social lameness equation. She would keep digging until someone else bailed her out by stopping the conversation.
Poor Caroline Bingley.
And poor me.
More like poor everyone else around us.
And on cue, Jane Austen bailed Caroline out of her own conversational idiocy by bringing Elizabeth and Mrs. Hurst around the corner to interrupt her
tête-à-tête
with Darcy.
“I did not know you intended to walk,” I said in my best surprised voice to Caroline’s sister and Lizzy.
“You used us abominably ill,” answered Mrs. Hurst, “in running away without telling us that you were coming out.” She darted forward and snagged Mr. Darcy’s other arm so that Lizzy would be forced to walk alone as the path was only wide enough for three.
Mr. Darcy attempted to drop both of our arms, but we both clung on for dear life. “This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue.”
But Lizzy, who never seemed to have a problem expressing herself, laughed gaily and answered. “No, no; stay where you are. You are charmingly grouped, and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting a fourth. Goodbye.'' She turned off and nearly ran down the pathway, eager to be away from us. I could see the shock and disappointment flash across Darcy’s face. Poor sucker, he already had it really bad for her and she could literally not wait to be rid of him.
I’d feel more badly for him if I wasn’t wrestling with finding commonality with Caroline Bingley of all people. I sighed. I’d played the scene well enough, it was time to be done. “All this walking has quite done me in. If you don’t mind, I would like to return to the house now.”
Mr. Darcy nodded, looking ridiculously relieved. Mrs. Hurst quirked her eyebrow at me in surprise, but I didn’t offer any other explanation as we made our way back to the manor.
I took myself up to Caroline’s room and fished my biography out of the desk. I read over it, looking for flaws. It was fine, even if I wasn’t. Then I flung myself on the bed and cried myself to sleep.
I woke up as myself.
~
Traumatized. There was no other term for it. My experience as Caroline had freaked me out. I was less upset now over the not being able to write myself out on the first two tries—Caroline was a stronger character, so it made sense that I’d have to flesh out my own character more to get out of her. What was really causing me some serious panic was my complete inability to jump into Elizabeth Bennet. So far I’d managed to get into Georgiana who barely qualified as a character—I don’t think she even has a line of actual dialogue in the novel. Lydia, quite possibly the stupidest character in the book. And now—Caroline. If
Pride and Prejudice
has a villain, it’s her. Okay, that might be harsh—Wickham is a scoundrel, Darcy’s Aunt Catherine de Bourgh is a witchy old harpy, so they could qualify as villains. But nope, if I had to pick one, I’d totally go with Caroline. So why in the heck would I have ended up as her?
I was really afraid the answer was that I was too much like her: socially lame and rather self-obsessed. And like her and the other two characters (and unlike Lizzy) I was the kind of girl who would never end up with the good guy. Georgiana and Lydia both were taken in by Wickham, so I shared the propensity of dating jerks with them. Caroline had better taste, she was in love with Darcy after all, but that love was as unrequited as the day is long.
Maybe even in a fictional reality I was destined to never find happiness.
Or maybe I needed to stop trying to be someone else—it obviously wasn’t working out well for me—and fix my own problems.
I put the book back up on my bookshelf and resolved to put the whole novel-jumping thing out of my mind. It was easier said than done. There was a part of me that was just dying to try jumping one more time to see if I could manage Lizzy. There was another part of me that was scared of what character I could end up as next.
But I was done being the girl who never got the good guy.
~
“Hey.”
Mark looked surprised to see me. In all honestly, I was kind of surprised to be there myself, casually leaning against his car in the parking lot of my
alma mater
. I hadn’t even been back here since I graduated.
“Hey, Kelsey.”
“I just wanted to apologize for dinner the other night,” I said. “Not dinner, really, but my behavior.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “You don’t need to apologize. I probably should, though. I shouldn’t have said what I did in the parking lot. I let my frustration get the best of me.”
“No, you were right. I have been acting weird. I can see how that would be confusing. And now here I am at your place of employment, which probably comes off as a bit stalkery, but I didn’t have your number and I didn’t want to ask Charlie for it. But I felt like I should apologize.”
Mark grinned. “Well, we can stand here and argue over who should apologize or we could go get a coffee.”
I gaped at him. “Yeah, I’d love to get coffee,” I said sincerely as soon as I recovered.
Ten minutes later we were ensconced in one of the back booths at the Caffeination Station, its proximity to Whittier Prep, and the amount of coffee you could get for a relatively small amount made it a favorite student hang out. Probably about half the kids in here, judging by the number that had said hi to Mark—or Mr. Barnes—as we ordered, must have been students at Whit Prep. I hadn’t been back to the Station since I’d graduated, but it hadn’t changed much.
The caramel white mocha sitting in front of me was roughly the size of my head and was giving me major flashbacks of hanging out here during high school. There had never been quite this hot of a guy sitting across the table from me when I was a teen, though.
“That’s some drink.” Mark glanced at my oversized cup piled high with whipped cream and white chocolate shavings as he took a sip of his black coffee.
“You’ve no idea. It’s amazing. I’d forgotten how good.”
“Did you used to come here when you were in school then?”
“Yup, in the grand Whit Prep tradition, I hung out here way too many afternoons pretending to be cool.”
Mark raised an eyebrow at me in consideration.
“What? Do I have whipped cream on my face?” I wiped at my mouth.
He laughed. “No, I was just trying to imagine what you were like in high school.”
I shrugged. “I was a floater. I got along with everyone, but I didn’t really have my own group, not at school at least.”
“Ah, see I thought you’d be part of the popular group.”
“Me? Um, no. I mean, they didn’t bother me or anything, I got along with the popular kids, and with the geeks and chess club.”
“But you dated a football player, isn’t that what Charlie said?”
I looked up, surprised that he’d remembered.
“Briefly. Extremely briefly.” That high school heartbreak had led me to the determination that had Darcy been a modern American high-schooler he would not have been a football player. Wickham on the other hand—I’d lay good money on him being a quarterback. “But what about you? Did you go to high school here or in Australia?”
“Oz. Uni here.”
“Is your family still there?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“It’s got to be hard living that far away from them,” I said sympathetically. “No matter where I go in Southern California I’m never more than ten minutes away from some member of my extended family. They’re probably a little too close, actually.”
He laughed at the face I pulled. “It’s a bit lonely at the hols, but I survive. I think I miss my sister most. She’s younger than me. Kind of a brat, but I love her.”
“Little sisters are supposed to be brats, it’s in the job description. I know because I am one. Have you been back much since college?”
“A few times. She visited me once. I love home, but I fell in love with America when I was in school.”
“And you were a jock in school, I bet. I mean that in the best possible way.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” He grinned, dimple winking at me. It was suddenly really hot inside the coffee shop, as if they’d turned the heater on full blast even though it was at least eighty degrees outside. I tried not to fan myself.
“I meant, you obviously enjoy an…active lifestyle. I mean you seemed to enjoy climbing up that damn mountain, so I bet you played sports in school.”
“Kelsey, that wasn’t exactly mountain climbing.”
I tried to look affronted. “Hush. I like to think it was. It makes me feel better about almost passing out twice.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better—“
“It does,” I assured him.
“Everest has nothing on it.” He nodded solemnly. “But yes, I played baseball growing up. Got a scholarship for uni because of it.”
“Seriously? I didn’t know they play baseball in Australia.”
“Not that many people do. I got into it when I was young because of my grandfather. He was American. Everyone else I know played cricket. I play a bit, but baseball was a passion. If you want to get anywhere with it, you have to leave Oz. So I did.”
“Wow. And you decided to teach instead of pursue baseball?”
He shrugged again. “I wasn’t good enough to make the pros, and teaching became a new passion. I still love the sport, but it’s not like I’m up nights mourning some baseball career that didn’t happen. There’s an opening for a coaching position at Whit Prep though: they’ve asked me to fill it.”