Attempting elizabeth, p.23
Attempting Elizabeth, page 23
"Goodbye, Mark." I whispered.
I ran all the way back to the parsonage clutching the papers he’d given me to my chest. I didn't stop to say hello to anyone, just sprinted up the stairs to my room and slammed the door behind me. I sat down in the chair by the window and opened Mark's pages with shaky hands. It was pretty much the same as the story he'd written originally. Until the end.
Kelsey. She's the reason I'm here. I don't know how or why she pulled me into this novel, but I'm kind of glad she did. That might sound weird, but if she is here, I'd rather be here with her. She fascinates me. I know she thinks that the Lizzy character is prettier than her, but she's so wrong. I could watch Kelsey's face for hours, everything she thinks shows up in her expressions. She reminds me of the ocean. She's got undertow…in a good way. In a ‘pull you down and drown you in the love of a good woman’ way. In the ‘it will seep into you and sink into your pores and immerse you way.’ But also in the ‘it will challenge and push you and pull you apart and help put you back together better than you were before’ way.
I cried until the tears ran out.
~
That night Mark stood before me, wearing Darcy’s best jacket, his cravat tied in an intricate pattern that must have taken at least an hour. He didn’t let on that we were playing a scene at all—no smile or reassuring wink. He’d fully committed to the role, and those famous words were uttered with absolute perfection. Who knew Mark was such a good actor?
“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
He continued on, expressing Darcy’s opinions of the inferiority of Lizzy’s connections, of her family’s manners, of his own pride. Jane hadn’t given us an actual script here, so I’d written him a hybrid of the proposal scenes from the two most famous movies. He’d memorized it well.
I stared at him. Which was probably good because that was what Lizzy was supposed to do. There was an almost audible breaking sound coming from the vicinity of my heart. I wanted him to be saying those words for real. Or maybe not those words exactly, because Mark wasn’t Darcy and, thank God, could never really be Darcy. He wasn’t proud, self-conscious, or arrogant. He wasn’t any of the things that Darcy was up until this point—up until he came up hard against Lizzy’s vivacious, open, and honest spirit and found himself lacking.
I was the Darcy. I was the one trying to hide my own insecurities behind stupid bravado. The one quick to jump to conclusions, the one who retreated inside a wall of silence and secretly coveted Mark's ease and openness. And Mark saw straight through it all.
He was waiting for me to reply, to play the scene like we’d decided—straight to Austen. I opened my mouth but the words wouldn’t come.
Elizabeth may have rejected Darcy, but I couldn’t bring myself to reject Mark, even if it was fake.
“I...I can’t,” I finally managed. He looked at me in surprise, one eyebrow raised, wondering why I’d just veered off track. "Mark, I don’t think I can do this.” I stood up, and took a tentative step toward him. “I’m sorry, it might be the only way, but I can’t just say no to you and not see you for months and months.”
Mark reached out his hand and I took it gratefully, closing the last few steps between us.
“Why, Kelsey?” he asked, looking into my eyes.
I had to say it. I couldn’t be a coward anymore.
“I can’t have you say those things—that you love and admire me—and not have them be to me. I can’t have you say someone else’s words like that, it breaks my heart. I won’t sit here and listen to it because—” I swallowed; my throat was painfully dry. “Because I love you. I love you. Mark Barnes, not Mr. Darcy or—”
I think I would have kept blabbering on for goodness knows how long except that Mark cut me off with a kiss that took my world apart. Took it apart and then rebuilt it, piece by piece, with his kiss at the center.
I kissed him back with everything that was in me. I didn’t care anymore about anything but me and Mark. I didn’t care if we destroyed Pride and Prejudice. I didn’t care if Lizzy ended up with Darcy. I didn’t care about anything but us. Our story.
I don’t know how long we stood there, Mark re-writing my life’s story with his lips, but when he finally lifted his head from mine it felt like it had been forever and somehow not long enough.
“Darcy did make a rather poor job out of it the first time,” he brushed a strand of hair off my neck with his thumb. At some point his hand had found its way up to the back of my neck, cradling the back of my head. “I’d rather not be stuck with his words. I love you, Kelsey Edmundson, the end. No qualifications, no struggling with anything at all.”
There wasn’t any way to respond to that other than to wrap my arms around his neck and pull his head closer to mine. You know, sometimes reality really is better than fiction.
As Mark's lips settled onto mine again I gasped against them, pulling away slightly.
“Kels?” He asked, concern etching his brow.
“Wait! Wait!” I jerked out of his arms and ran to the small writing table in the corner of the room, scrabbling around for a quill and ink. “Just a sec!” I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote frantically on it. I threw down the quill and waved the sheet of paper in the air, hoping the ink would dry quickly. I tested it delicately with my finger. It didn’t smudge so I folded it up and held it in the palm of my hand.
I ran back to Mark. “Sorry,” I said, a little out of breath. “I just had to do something.”
“No problem, not quite the reaction I was expecting after declaring undying love and all that—”
“Shut up and kiss me,” I instructed.
He laughed that deep, delicious laugh that always turned my insides out. He drew me close, his strong arms wrapped around my waist, “No more running away,” he whispered as he leaned forward.
“No more running,” I agreed as I brought my hand up resting my palm and that folded piece of paper against his strong, broad chest. He captured my mouth with his and I whispered against his lips “Let’s wake up, Mark.”
A rushing sound, like waves crashing inside my head, filled my ears. I could feel the familiar pull and push that I’d experienced so many times when popping back into a scene. I ignored it all, keeping my eyes tightly closed as I focused on the sensation of Mark’s arms around me, on the feel of his lips on mine.
I felt the bright, warm light on my face. I cracked an eyelid open and glanced up. I’d left the blinds open again and the brilliant Californian sun was streaming cheerfully through the window.
I was in my own bed, in my own apartment. The bright face of my bedside alarm clock had the right date on it. It was as if no time had passed and nothing had changed.
Except for the warm, strong, male body that was sprawled out under me, his large hands still gripping my waist.
I took a moment to study Mark’s face, he still had his eyes closed, his sandy colored lashes resting against his cheek. I thought for a moment my heart might actually burst with happiness. I reached up and ran a finger across his cheekbone as if to make sure he was really there.
Mark's eyes opened. He took in the popcorn ceiling of my bedroom before his gaze centered onto my face, hovering a few inches above his. A slow smile spread across his face as he reached up and pulled me down for a kiss. It was long, slow, and completely brain-melting. At some point he rolled me to the side, our legs tangling together. I lay there in the crook of his arm as I kissed him back with everything I had.
I could feel laughter rumbling in his chest as he finally broke the kiss. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he laughed. “How did you manage that?”
I smiled, feeling suddenly shy. I was still clutching the sheet of paper in a death grip against his chest. I managed to pry it out of my hand and hand it to him.
Mark unfolded the wrinkled paper and read what I’d written.
“I know you love Pride and Prejudice,” he said as he grinned at me. “But I like this better.”
I took the paper from him and looked down at the simple phrase that I’d written.
Kelsey Edmundson loves Mark Barnes.
The End.
“So do I,” I answered.
~ The End~
Chapter Quotes
Chapter One: Mr. Darcy, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Chapter Two: Westley, The Princess Bride
Chapter Three: Han Solo, Star Wars: A New Hope
Chapter Four: Morpheus, The Matrix
Chapter Five: Mr. Darcy, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Chapter Six: Phil Connors, Groundhog Day
Chapter Seven: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Chapter Eight: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis
Chapter Nine: Mr Bennet, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Chapter Ten: John McClane, Die Hard
Chapter Eleven: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Chapter Twelve: Alice, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
Chapter Thirteen: Anne Shirley, Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery
Chapter Fourteen: Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Chapter Fifteen: Cinderella, Walt Disney’s Cinderella
Chapter Sixteen: Alice, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
Chapter Seventeen: Aurora, Walt Disney’s Sleeping Beauty
Chapter Eighteen: Mr. Darcy, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Chapter Nineteen: The Grandson, The Princess Bride
Chapter Twenty: Amanda Price, Lost in Austen
Chapter Twenty-One: Dr. Sam Beckett, Quantum Leap (Genesis Episode)
Chapter Twenty-Two: Elizabeth Bennet, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Acknowledgements
Attempting Elizabeth would not have been possible without the amazing work of Jane Austen. I owe her a debt of gratitude both as a reader and a writer.
Thank you to my husband, Edward, and my children, Maddie and James, for your love and support, and for letting me "go writing."
The Austen community, especially the readers and contributors at IndieJane.org have been so supportive of this project. Kelsey's story would never have been told without your encouragement. Thank you to Nancy Kelley, my Indie Jane partner in crime, for always believing in this story.
Attempting Elizabeth was originally written as a short story for the Jane Austen Made Me Do It contest hosted by Laurel Ann Nattress. Many thanks to Laurel Ann for providing such a great opportunity and for supporting all of the writers involved.
I have the best beta readers, story editors, and editors without whom I would be lost: Kimberly Truesdale, Patricia Marquez, Rebecca Nyenhuis, Jacqueline Maxman, C. Allyn Pierson, Amanda Beaty Chambers, and Mark House.
The writing community on Twitter is such a valuable resource. I would like to thank Jennie Kohl Austin for responding to my desperate plot tweet with a suggestion that changed the course of this novel for the better.
Special thanks to my Australian dialect coach and editor Rob Austen.
To the Starbucks on Prospect in Helena, thanks for never getting tired of me taking up the back table with a wall outlet and for providing me with lots of caffeine in delicious and fattening delivery systems.
As always, a huge thank you to Jennifer Becton for inspiring me to self-publish and for being such a wonderful and giving colleague.
A huge thank you to my amazing cover designer and biggest cheerleader Victoria Austen-Young. Thank you for always talking me down off the ledge, spending countless hours looking at pictures of rugby players with me for "name research," never laughing at my crazy ideas, making sense of my ramblings, correcting my Aussie speak, and generally being awesome.
About the Author
Jessica Grey is an author, Janeite, fairytale believer, baseball lover, and recovering Star Wars fangirl. A life-long Californian, she now lives in Montana with her husband and two children, where she spend her time writing, perfecting the fine art of preschooler-wrangling, and drinking way too much caffeine.
You can follow Jessica on Twitter @_JessicaGrey or read her blog at www.authorjessicagrey.com
Also by Jessica Grey...
Awake: A Fairytale
Alexandra Martin didn’t believe in fairytales…
Alex has always been more interested in rocks and science than stories about princesses and magic. Now she’s far too busy with her summer internship at the Gem and Mineral Museum to think about children’s stories. Between avoiding her former best friend and high school baseball star, Luke Reed, and trying to hide her unrequited crush on her mentor at the museum, the real world is occupying all of her time.
…Until she walked into one.
It turns out fairytales aren’t all fun and games. A curse has turned her neat and orderly world upside down, and to break it, she bands together with a fellow intern and a recently awakened princess who’s been asleep for 900 years. Can this trio of unlikely heroines put an end to an ominous enchantment, discover true love, and keep an ancient and evil magic from being unleashed on modern-day Los Angeles?
Views from the Tower
Eleven enchanting fairy tale short stories:
After spending her whole life isolated in a tower, Rapunzel’s salvation is finally at hand, but she may have merely traded one form of captivity for another…
Special Agent Alice Harrison of the Office of Narrative Order should know better than anyone not to follow a suspicious (and suspiciously good-looking) man in a white rabbit suit down a hole…
Miss Lucinda Beacham is bored. The endless balls and dances she must endure as a debutante hold no enjoyment for her—that is until she finds a frog sitting on the edge of a fountain, a frog who just so happens to know her name…
Being a fairy godmother isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, especially when you’re a junior in high school and your next assignment is your former crush…
Views from the Tower is a collection of short stories that offers new perspectives on some of your favorite fairy tales, including a trio of different takes on Rapunzel. Each story offers a unique foray into the exciting world of fantasy, as well as a golden opportunity to see some well-known legends in a whole new light.
Sample: Loving Miss Darcy
Please enjoy the following excerpt from
Loving Miss Darcy
by
Nancy Kelley
A raindrop splattered on the sleeve of Richard Fitzwilliam’s jacket, darkening the camel fabric to brown. The former colonel glanced at the sky and muttered a curse when he saw the heavy, grey clouds quickly rolling in.
Richard leaned over his horse’s neck and urged him into a canter, but the clouds broek when they were only halfway to the stable. By the time they reached shelter, his coat was soaked through. He dismounted and shook rain water from his dark blond hair, at the same time taking in the unusual amount of activity going on around him. He soon found the cause—a fine pair of matched bays were being led into their stalls by the stable hands.
His shoulders stiffened. Simon. “Will I find my brother in the house?” he asked the stable master.
The short man bobbed his head. “Indeed, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“Thank you, George.”
For a brief moment, Richard contemplated going back out into the rain rather than greeting his brother, but his love for his horse would not allow that. He might not mind the cold rain, but Arion deserved better.
“I do rather envy you your quiet stall, however,” he muttered as he rubbed the hunter down until Arion’s chestnut coat gleamed.
When he could put off the inevitable no longer, he took the umbrella he kept by the door and walked up the path to the house. The warmth of the house felt good on his chilled skin, and for a scant second he considered taking the kitchen door and going up the back stairs to his room. His damp clothes clung to his body and he would have loved a change, but he knew how much Simon disliked untidiness, so with a mischievous grin he asked the butler where he could find his brother.
The elderly servant straightened, his hands behind his back. “In his lordship’s study, Master Richard.”
A muscle twitched behind Richard’s eye. “Thank you, Graves.”
“Of course, Master Richard.” The youthful title Graves insisted on using eased the ache behind Richard’s temple, mostly because he knew Simon would have received a similar address when he arrived, and he loved seeing his brother taken down a peg.
However, once he left the kitchen, the rapidly building headache returned. The door to the study was closed, and he took a deep breath before entering. He crossed the room to where a fire glowed in the hearth without so much as greeting Simon, who sat behind their father’s desk.
Simon raised a delicate handkerchief to his nose. “Richard, must you always be covered in the scent of horseflesh?”
“It is the natural consequence of working with horses, Simon, though of course you are unaware of that. I had not realized we were to be graced with your presence—the last I heard, you were enjoying the pleasures of London too much to ever leave.”
Richard leaned back on his heels and admired the bright pink hue spreading from his brother’s ears and down his neck. “I always intended to return home at some point this year to look over the books,” Simon said.
Richard’s fingers twitched, but he maintained an even tone. “By that you mean your friends have gotten tired of the way you poach off them and you decided to come here and poach off Father instead.”
