“Absolutely, Miss de Bourgh.”
Anne pointed to the passage. “You may begin, sir.”
Worth cleared his throat before declaring, “Soft and fair, Friar. Which is Beatrice?”
Anne moved a bit closer. “I answer to that name. What is your will?”
“Do you love me?”Worth gazed at Anne’s profile.
She huskily whispered her lines.“Why, no, no more than reason.”
Worth returned his attention to the play. “Why, then your uncle and the Prince and Claudio have been deceived. They swore you did,” he read.
Anne asked flirtatiously, “Do not you love me?”
“Troth, no, no more than reason.”
“Why then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula are much deceived, for they did swear you did.”
Worth caught Anne’s hand in his, letting his finger trace a circle in her palm. “They swore that you were almost sick for me.”
Anne copied his teasing tone. “They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.”
“’Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me?” He raised an eyebrow and his partner burst into laughter.
Composing herself, Anne read, “No, truly, but in friendly recompense.”
Worth looked down at the script. “Then Leonato, Claudio, and Hero produce the poem Benedick has written to Beatrice and Beatrice’s letter to Benedick.” He held up his invisible prop, a letter, and studied it.Then he read the lines, “A miracle! Here is our own hands against our hearts. Come, I will have thee, but by this light I take thee for pity.”
Anne said faintly, “I would not deny you, but by this good day. I yield upon great persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.”
“Peace! I will stop your mouth.”Worth lifted his hand to caress her face.“We should rehearse the kiss if you are willing, Miss de Bourgh.”
“If you wish, Mr.Worth,” the lady responded breathily.
“I wish very much, Miss de Bourgh.”The man lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her gently. Their lips touched briefly-no embrace- no overt sexuality-simply an early courtship kiss-a declaration of a commitment between them. “I look forward to the actual performance so I might repeat the pleasure of tasting your lips, my Anne.”
“Am I yours, Mr.Worth?” she murmured.
“If I have anything to say on the matter.”
Anne slid her arms around his neck. “I believe I am in need of more practice, sir.”
“As am I.”Worth chuckled as he pulled Anne closer.
Hours of separate and group rehearsals brought additional laughter, along with some frustration. They considered postponing their performance an additional day to allow more time for perfection,
but Lord Stafford insisted that they were as ready as they might ever be; and after some desultory debate, the gentleman’s reason prevailed. After dinner, they would offer up their version of Shakespeare’s comedy for the delight of one another, as well as Darcy, Lady Catherine, and Mrs.Williams.
Elizabeth had talked Darcy into her idea of wearing men’s clothing, but she had forgotten that Lady Catherine would be in the audience.
Now, I will just prove my inappropriateness
, she chastised herself.
Even worse, I have involved my sister and Georgiana.What was I thinking?
However, as her entrance approached, Elizabeth took a deep breath and stepped, or rather galloped, to center stage. She played the part of the ineffectual constable Dogberry, with his ever-present side-kick, Verges, who was portrayed by a terrified Georgiana.
Elizabeth heard Lady Catherine’s snort of disapproval, but Darcy’s simple “Excellent!” gave her the courage to portray the foolish Dogberry with pure abandonment. She spoke with all the pomposity of the man who considered himself learned when the world recognized him as an incompetent fool.“Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman, for I cannot see how sleeping should offend. Only have a care that your bills be not stolen. Well, you are to call at all the alehouses and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. But if they will not, why then, let them alone till they are sober. If they make you not then the better answer, you will say they are not the men you took them for.”
Darcy laughed heartily. In his opinion, Elizabeth was a natural, but then she always amused him, even when they were in opposition. He had loved her handling of the infamous Caroline Bingley’s obvious barbs back in their Netherfield Park days. It was one of the qualities which had attracted him to her in the first place. Her presence lightened his heart and brought him joy. Knowing Georgiana had upcoming lines in the play, Darcy returned his attention to his sister’s look of pure delight. Six months ago, a sultan’s fortune could not have induced his sister to perform in a play and place herself in a position for censure or for praise.
Tonight, infected by Elizabeth’s enthusiasm, Georgiana hobbled along as his wife’s partner. “If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse and bid her still it,” she declared. Darcy’s smile exploded.
She will recover,
he thought.
Her heart will heal, thanks to Elizabeth.
“Bravo,” he said loudly enough for Georgiana to hear. Quietly, he added, “Bravo, my dear sister.”
“Darcy,” Lady Catherine hissed under her breath, but he immediately hushed her.
“None of your usual censure, Aunt,” he warned. “Let them know the day’s distraction.”
“But . . .” she began; however, a glacial stare from Darcy silenced her immediately.
Peter ventured a quick survey of the ballroom thespians.The ladies—Mrs. Darcy, Miss Darcy, and Mrs.Wickham—flaunted a freedom not rightly theirs and abused the precepts of propriety with their performances. He despised women who crossed the boundaries of society’s unwritten laws. Women, and society as a whole, often found him disagreeable because he fancied himself a discerning critic—not blind to the follies and nonsense of others. He knew that affectation of candor is common enough; one meets with it everywhere. Of the three women, Mrs. Wickham bothered him the most. Her behavior had not been calculated to please in general; and with more quickness of observation and less pliancy of temper than the others, he was very little disposed to approve of the woman.
He found Lydia Wickham not deficient in good humor when she was pleased, nor in the power of being agreeable when she chose it; and although rather handsome, she was in the habit of spending more than she ought, a grievous error in a lady as far as Peter was concerned.
“No,” he whispered, “not Mrs. Darcy or the girl.” The mistress of the estate, although occasionally bordering on impertinence, had an affectionate nature, which added to her virtue. He had heard that Miss Darcy was exceedingly proud, but the observation of a
very few minutes convinced him that the girl was only exceedingly shy. In fact, Peter rather liked Georgiana. Despite his disapproval of Mrs. Darcy’s and of Miss Darcy’s choice of attire for the play, only Mrs. Wickham gave true offense. “Outrageous,” he muttered. Like his father, he held the opinion that the loss of virtue in a female was irretrievable; that one false step involved her in endless ruin; that her reputation was no less brittle than it was beautiful; and that she could not be too guarded in her behavior toward the undeserving of the other sex.
Peter was well aware of the history of George Wickham and his wife. Though he did not suppose Mrs. Wickham to have deliberately engaged in an elopement without the intention of marriage, neither her virtue nor her understanding had kept Lydia Bennet from committing the ultimate transgression—possessing nothing but love, flirtation, and officers in her head, she had succumbed and entrapped at the same time. Peter had never understood Wickham’s choice. What attractions had Lydia Bennet beyond youth, health, and good humor? What could make him for her sake forego every chance of benefiting himself by marrying well?
“No, it must be Mrs. Wickham,” he repeated. “She is the most deserving.”
Darcy became engrossed in the Pemberley rendition of Shakespeare’s comedy. His sister playfully came alive, and despite the troubles plaguing his household, he accepted the possibilities of Georgiana’s future—of her finding a match appropriate to her station, but also a loving relationship. He would not give his consent, no matter the man’s title or his wealth, to any suitor who did not engage Georgiana’s heart.
As the final scenes developed—leading to the masked wedding, where love prevails—Elizabeth slid into the empty chair on his left. Darcy caught her hand in his and brought the back of it to his lips. “Thank you,” he mouthed. She understood his meaning without his expressing the words.
“I love this scene,” she whispered.
Darcy smiled, “I recall.” During their courtship, Elizabeth had often asked when he had recognized his growing affection for her. On one such evening, Darcy had turned the tables and pleaded with her for words of devotion, and they had repeated Beatrice’s and Benedick’s lines from the second scene of the play’s final act to each other. That evening, he had truly realized Elizabeth returned his love. Through the play, she spoke the words he most needed to hear. Now, he listened as Worth and Anne offered their interpretation of the characters.
Nigel Worth, as Benedick, took Anne’s hand as he spoke the words of affection, and Darcy found he caressed Elizabeth’s in anticipation. “And, I pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?”
Anne smiled wryly. “For them all together, which maintained so politic a state of evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them. But for which of my good parts did you suffer love for me?”
Worth touched Anne’s cheek. “Suffer love! A good epithet. I do suffer love indeed for I love thee against my will.”
“In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor heart, if you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours, for I will never love that which my friend hates.”
“Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.” Darcy glanced at Elizabeth as Worth continued his recitation. Her lips moved in a silent mirror of the play’s action. It was true; they certainly had not “wooed peaceably”-more a resemblance of a fencing match, but now Elizabeth answered his every prayer-she brought Georgiana along; she admirably fulfilled the role of Pemberley’s mistress, and she carried his child. All the blessings of his life rested in her.
“I must go,” she murmured as she leaned closer. “I have one more scene.”
“Hurry back,” Darcy answered, reluctant to allow her to depart.
He heard Lady Catherine’s deep “hurmph” of contempt, but
Darcy said something positive he was sure she would not cross. “Anne shows a true talent, Aunt.” He smiled to seal her agreement.
Her Ladyship spoke softly. “I would expect nothing less. She and Georgiana outshine the others.”
Darcy thought that an impossibility. He knew Miss Donnel to have at one time in the not too distant past earned her living on the stage. Stafford’s mistress may have left the performing arts behind, but she expressed the confidence to face an audience without blushing, something not found in his sister or in Anne.Yet, he graciously accepted the compliment meant for Georgiana and just as graciously ignored the cut aimed at his wife. With his aunt, Darcy had learned to pick his battles. “I am sure Anne and Georgiana would greatly appreciate your praise, my Dear.”
“However, I do not like the way that man mauls my daughter,” she hissed under her breath.
“It is part of the play,” he responded quietly, as they waited for the group to switch the scene. “And I believe Mr. Worth would treat Anne with respect under all circumstances.”
“Well, one would certainly hope so!”
The group’s return brought their attention to the stage. He observed that throughout the performance Mrs. Williams remained aloof.The lady did not laugh—did not politely applaud. She simply stared at the raised dais, a sour expression frozen on her face. He knew from his sister’s report that Mrs.Williams disapproved of the theater, and Darcy wondered why the woman bothered attending under the circumstances. He supposed she could find no way to politely refuse, and now the lady suffered in silence.
The viscount and Miss Donnel claimed love as Claudio and Hero, and then it became Beatrice’s and Benedick’s turn. Elizabeth, Georgiana, and Mrs.Wickham joined the audience, taking up positions behind Darcy, Lady Catherine, and Mrs. Williams. Lord Stafford produced the paper supposedly inscribed with Benedick’s love poem and handed it to Anne. In like form, Miss Donnel produced Beatrice’s love letter and presented it to Mr.Worth.
Worth and Anne pretended to read the incriminating words in opposition to their denials of affection. Worth declared the papers to be proof of their true feelings, even as Beatrice declared that she would love him only to save his life. And as they had rehearsed it earlier, Worth delivered the line, “Peace! I will stop your mouth.” Then he took Anne in his arms and kissed her thoroughly.
Elizabeth and Georgiana giggled and clasped hands in excitement. Darcy barked out a surprised laugh, but Lady Catherine gasped out her daughter’s name, instantly bringing the scene to its close.
“Anne!” Lady Catherine was on her feet. “You are becoming overwrought,” she declared in an autocratic tone. “You will retire immediately to your room.”
Anne flushed with embarrassment, but she refused her mother’s order. She spoke calmly and with respect, but her resolve remained firm.“Mother, this is only a play, but even if it were not, I am seven and twenty—too old to be sent to my room, as if I were a misbehaving child.”
Elizabeth rushed forward to offer Anne her support. “You are mistaken, Lady Catherine. Miss de Bourgh treated the scene with professionalism.”
Her Ladyship spit out, “What can one expect from a woman with no connections, who prances around in men’s attire and who corrupts the minds of her sisters in life and in marriage!”
With an effort, Elizabeth spoke calmly.“I found Miss de Bourgh’s and Mr.Worth’s performances tastefully executed,Your Ladyship.”