The green room, not to be confused with the green salon at Pemberley, was quite crowded for the time of day. Nine am.
“Why are we all here, again?” asked Darcy, pacing about the room.
“Why are we ever here?” His cousin grinned up at him. “Some author’s whim.”
“I was quite happy back at Pemberley.”
“Then it must be your fault,” said Caroline. “You know they all hate it when you are happy. They have to create some form of angst, and then I get to shine!” She grinned as she said the last.
Darcy glared at her. “One comfort I have is that I very rarely get married to you.”
She shrugged. “Your loss, buster.”
Wickham sauntered up and put his arms around Caroline. “We’ve recently become married again,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “Most enjoyable.”
She turned in his arms and kissed him deeply. “Though why they all think I need to get drunk to marry you, I have no idea.”
“It’s most insulting, I know, darling,” he said. “Think of how it makes me feel. I always get you on the rebound, when I get you.”
“But he usually gets me,” said Lydia, as she flounced into the room and shoved Caroline aside. “I’m his real wife, so I'm his favourite.”
“Don’t be too sure of it,” smirked Caroline. “It’s only that stupid plot device, so Lizzy can see that Darcy is the best of men when he rushes out to make sure George makes an honest woman out of you.”
“She’s right, you know,” said Wickham. “If not for Darcy, I’d have left you in London to your own devices.”
"No," cried Lydia, melodramatically. "You wouldn't have. You love me! I mean sometimes you do leave me, but I always thought it was because those nasty freckled little authors couldn't come up with anything more creative! They're all just jealous of me. That's why they do it, but it's never enough. Then they have to kill me in childbirth on top of it." She plopped down on the sofa and pouted.
“Ooh,” said Caroline, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Didn’t you die after marrying him, last time?”
“I didn’t even have the opportunity to make an appearance! And you got drunk for two months – it was disgusting.” Her sulky expression suddenly turned devious. “But you marry Darcy’s nameless cousin way more often that you marry my Wicky! She doesn’t really care about you like I do, luv. I never marry the colonel.” She looked up at Wickham and batted her eyelashes.
“You expect me to get jealous of a guy like Colonel Fitzwilliam?” asked Wickham. “He’s not even handsome, notwithstanding his appearance in that one film. And no one knows what to call him: Kerna, Colin, Harold, Montgomery, Quentin, Ri . . .”
“No, no,” cried the colonel. “Don’t say that one. I’m heartily sick of it.”
“I know your given name,” said Darcy. “I have no idea why you keep it such a secret – it’s not as if it were my surname or anything.”
“Darcy Fitzwilliam!” cried the colonel. “That would be hilarious.”
“At least no one would be shortening it."
"Sure they would," replied Colonel Fitzwilliam, "They'd all be calling me 'Darce.' Ugh!"
"Oh, don't remind me of that one, but they don't just mutilate my last name. No, that's not enough. All those ladies change my given name to William or Will – what on earth do they have against Fitzwilliam, I ask you?”
“It’s a bit of a mouthful,” smirked Wickham. “Now take my name – George! Grand name! And they often give it to your dear departed papa because I was his favourite!”
Darcy scowled. Wickham was being a little too cocky for his liking. “You and I both know the truth of the matter – that’s just part of the pack of lies you habitually feed my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth.”
"She of the fine eyes!” said Caroline, a touch too scornfully.
“Bitter much?” asked Lydia.
“Only because she always gets to be so ridiculously perfect all the time while they make me act like a cow!”
“But I love you, darling, even if you do throw dishes at my head,” said Wickham. “You have perfect aim and honey brown eyes – that’s good enough for me.” He gazed at her adoringly.
“Gag me with a spoon!” cried Lydia as she barrelled out of the room.
Caroline giggled and snuggled closer to Wickham. The colonel threw down his newspaper. (Yes, he had been reading it all along, the authors just didn’t bother mentioning it till now.) “I’m going off to look for Charlotte!”
Darcy glared at Caroline and Wickham again. “Don’t either of you have any tact? He’s been engaged to Caroline quite recently.”
“He has?” asked Wickham, gazing accusingly at Caroline.
“Annoying, but true,” said Caroline. “Don’t worry – he’ll get over it. If Rita gets off her butt and writes more of that story where he marries Charlotte he’ll be right as rain in no time.”
“Rita,” Wickham mused. “I must say she's one of my favourite authors!"
"Yes!" said Darcy, enthusiastically! "I agree. And, I'm so glad she gets to be Elizabeth in that little clique of hers! But you and me having something in common, well, that's just scary."
Wickham laughed, "Indeed, it frightens the heck out of me!" Then turning back to Caroline he said, "Isn’t Rita the one who first got us together?”
“Yes,” giggled Caroline, playing with her ruby necklace.
Just then Georgiana stormed into the room. Darcy, while not pleased to see his sister in a state, was happy for the diversion. Caroline and Wickham took one look at her livid face and snuck out of the room. There was bad blood between George and Georgie, and when she was angry she was quite able to bring the subject up ad nauseum.
“Why can’t everyone be like Rita?” she asked, shaking her fist at the sky.
"Strange, we were just talking about Rita."
"Did you just call me Strange?"
"Of course not, I was just wondering if you've become psychic. Maybe you've been spending too much time at Pemberley."
Georgiana heaved a loud sigh. "Who cares? I was about to say something. Do you want to hear it or not?"
“Of course I do. What is it this time, dearest?” asked Darcy.
Georgiana swivelled around to face him. “I know you only want to console me, but if you call me Sprout I dare say I shall vomit!”
“I have no intention of calling you Sprout. Unless you call me that vile name: Wills.”
“As if!”
“So, what’s it that Rita does right?” asked Darcy, thinking that he’d been neglected by Rita for a little too long. Why, out of all the couples who’d been popping out kids in her work in progress, he and Lizzy weren’t even expecting their first born, as far as he could remember, that is. It had been a very long time.
“She is the only person who truly understands me! She knows my nature through and through. I’m timid. Timid! No, not just timid, Too Timid. Totally and incredibly shy and tongue-tied. I think it was made pretty darn clear by The Creator, so why oh why do others insist on writing me the opposite?”
"Well, isn't that kind of the point of fanfiction, to change stuff from the story?"
Georgiana sighed heavily, "You are NOT helping. Besides it's not just fanfiction."
Darcy groaned. “You’ve been watching the new movie again, haven’t you?"
Georgiana looked away guiltily.
"Why did I ever get a dvd player at Pemberley? Life was much simpler before all these so-called modern conveniences!" He paced from one end of the room to the other, then looked back at his sister, running his fingers through his dark, damp curls. "Don’t tell me. Was Lizzy watching it with you?”
"You told me not to tell you."
He looked at her sternly. "Don't make me resort to namecalling, Sprout."
"Oh, you wanna stoop that low, Wills? Fine! Yes, we were both watching it! There, are you satisfied now? Good, 'cause I’m mad as fire and your wife is incandescently happy!”
No sooner had Darcy sat down helplessly on the sofa, than Lizzy ran into the room and jumped upon his lap. “What’s my name?” she cried, giggling.
He sighed. “Mrs Darcy.”
“Kiss me when you say that, fool!”
He kissed her dutifully.
"And how do you feel about me?"
"I love you."
Elizabeth sighed and rolled her eyes. "A little more passion, if you please."
"I love, love, love you and never wish to be parted . . ."
"No, no! Not that part."
"You have bewitched me body and soul?"
She smiled her satisfaction, then threw her arms out in the air. “Do you know what I love about you, Fitzwilliam Darcy? You’re so . . . rich! And, not to mention, handsome." Darcy rolled his eyes. She always talked like this after watching that movie, even though the actor that played him in it looked nothing like him! She giggled and continued, "You know what? I think you should have a marble bust made of yourself and then we can throw that silly, old painting right into the pond!"
Darcy knew he had to give her at least half an hour to regain her normal degree of sense and wit. The movie always affected her that way.
"Then perhaps you can undress down to your lawn shirt and breeches and jump in after it!"
At least she was referring to the other movie now. It gave Darcy some hope, even as he shook his head. Then he noticed something different about her. He looked to her chest and back to her face then whispered, "Please tell me you didn't bind your bodice again."
She smiled. "How else am I supposed to look like me?"
There went any hope of that other movie having influenced her.
Just then, Charles and Jane wandered into the room, gazing dreamily into each other’s eyes. They were followed by a troupe of twins, puppies, and angels on fluffy clouds. Darcy reflected that though they usually went through agonies of heartbreak they were the couple that ended up happily together more than all the rest.
And here he was waiting for his wife to become herself again. Well, at least neither of them were suffering from amnesia this time around. Elizabeth had recently lost two months, and he thought it was great that she’d completely forgotten that she hated him. It had made things a bit easier. Well – it wasn’t over yet, but Darcy was hoping that he’d be able to propose at Hunsford without putting his foot too far down his throat.
He gave her a few more sighed, “Mrs Darcys,” accompanied with kisses. By the look in her eyes, the effect of the film was wearing off.
“You are just doing that to humour me,” she said. “And not out of love!”
“No . . . I .. . . I love it when you are incandescently happy.”
“That’s a lie and you know it,” she snapped. “I thought deceit of any kind was your . . .”
“It is!” he cried.
“My brother never lies!” yelled Georgiana, jumping to his defence.
“Right.” Lizzy looked at both of them scornfully. “I’m supposed to believe that just because it's in two movies? Or am I supposed to just take your word on it?"
“Mrs Reynolds has known Fitzwilliam since he was four and can vouch for him.”
"Mrs. Reynolds? What has she to do with this? I mean, is that all you can come up with?" asked Elizabeth snidely. “Yes, Mrs Reynolds is a paragon. She is unalterably loyal and has all sorts of other amazing abilities. But saying anything remotely negative about her employer is not one of them. She couldn't see a negative trait in my husband if it bit her. You know, I've always suspected her of having an unnatural attraction to him. Sometimes, when he looks at me . . . in that way of his, she seems to enjoy it just a little too much.”
Georgiana just said, "Ew," and turned towards the doorway as the colonel entered with Charlotte. They were both looking on with smiles on their faces.
“This should be a good one,” whispered Charlotte.
Mary, Kitty, Lydia, Mr and Mrs Bennet, the Gardiners, Anne, Lady Catherine, Mr Collins, Sir William and all the rest were crowding around the door and shuffling for the best position whilst eavesdropping.
“I am so annoyed! Yes, truly!" continued Elizabeth. "I lost two months! Two months, and then I couldn’t even remember that I despise you, Darcy! Do you know how unfair that is?"
"Are you kidding me?" asked Darcy. "I'm the one who always loses my memory. And then I usually get confused."
"Well, some people do," retorted Lizzy sarcastically. "And it's not just the memory loss. I mean, that's not humiliation enough for me. Charlotte, oh excuse me, Mrs. Collins here," gesturing to Charlotte, "gets to manipulate me! As if."
"Look just be thankful you didn't get hit on the head, or worse. Besides, I'll bet it will help things along in that story," offered Darcy, "we'll be able to get to the happy ending much sooner thanks to your memory loss . . . and Charlotte's assistance."
"Assistance, is that what you call it? Mr." (here she made her voice go deep) "Disguise of every sort is my abhorrence."
"Hey," interjected Charlotte, "I was only trying to help. I usually get stuck with my 'real' husband. Excuse me, if I was just trying to make your life a little easier. So don't judge me, Lizzy, don't you dare judge me! You should be thanking me."
"Thanking you?" started Elizabeth. Then she paused for a moment of reflection. "You're right. It's not your fault. You know what, if those bennetgirls had been on the ball and not lost two months of their story challenge, I wouldn't have had to lose two months of my memory! I mean, is Alicia even capable of writing a story in which everyone's memory remains intact? And don't even get me started on Sofie! At least someone finally got it through to her that it's Lizzy with a Y not I-E! And the rest of them! Alyson is taking so long on her re-write of My Story that it’s as bad as Rita and her Poor Mama, Sarah has me all google-eyed over a dragon, and makes me see Bingley naked which is just wrong, Cindy writes a Persuasion story and both Jen and Rita write about Emma! Who cares about Emma Woodhouse anyway? I can almost understand Jen, since she's chosen Emma as her BG persona (though I can't understand why she would.) But Rita? She's left me hanging in Poor Mama wondering if I'm pregnant for years. And then when she finally does write something, she gives Mrs. Knightley a baby just like that!" She snapped her fingers as she said the last. "It is so not fair."
"I know how you feel," said Darcy putting his arms around her. "I am in agony to find out whether we're to have a child in that story as well."
"Don't" she replied, shrugging out of his embrace.
"Are you rejecting me?" he asked in suprise.
"Don't patronize me. This isn't some story. This is real life, and I don't have amnesia now. I remember all your faults perfectly. I’ve been married to you for over two hundred years and I recall every moment of every single one of them, and let me tell you, for the best of men you really do have very little going for yourself! Pride in good regulation indeed! All these stories and films over the years have done nothing but fed your vanity.” At Charlotte’s poorly suppressed snicker, Lizzy turned and that shrewish look Caroline had oft mentioned appeared in her otherwise fine eyes. “Don’t you start with me, Charlotte. You marry for security and ask me not to judge you, then your husband is barely cold in his grave and you take up with Colonel what’s-his-name Fitzwilliam!”
“You are just jealous because you think he would have offered for you if he wasn’t a second son!”
“What? Do you really think that I, the heroine of the story, would settle for a . . . a . . . plot device?”
Charlotte appeared shocked, and Darcy felt like banging his head against the wall he always found himself leaning upon. How did those ladies always manage to do that?
The colonel, who was visibly offended, retorted, "A plot device? That's not what you thought of me in that story that told the truth of what really happened between us during the Rosings pianoforte scene!"
Elizabeth's face turned bright red and Darcy looked from one to the other with an expression of something between curiosity and suspicion. Just then, the door flew open and everyone else tumbled into the room, a jumbled pile of taffeta and buckskin, and flailing arms and legs.
Darcy looked to the heavens, or at least the general direction he thought that the authors must hang out, and said a swift prayer. “Rita, if you can hear me, please, please, let her be pregnant! You don’t know how frustrating it is to be kept not knowing for months and months and months. Please! Even the hormonal mood swings of pregnancy can’t be as bad as this!”
And suddenly a beam of light flashed down from above. No, Darcy was not struck by lightening, but he did receive divine inspiration. He grinned and then began whispering in everybody’s ears.
“Oh my!” cried Mrs Bennet. “Hill! Hill! I must talk to Cook right away to see if . . .”
Mr Bennet shushed her and everyone scurried around the room, bringing the most comfortable chair forward into the limelight, and plumping all the pillows. Even Elizabeth and Georgiana were excited and seemed to have forgotten their ill-humour. They joined hands and giggled merrily as they helped with the preparations. Then, Hill opened the door and Cook herself walked in carrying a tray, which held the most beautiful and delicious cake anyone had ever seen.
“I’ve been paying attention,” announced Cook. “I know what day this is!”
Everyone else crowded around, and noticed that even all the other bennetgirls and their neighbours had joined them. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY RITA!” they chorused. “WE LOVE YOU TO BITS!”
And just as suddenly Rita was sitting in their midst, in the most comfortable chair of all, and blowing out her candles.
Mrs Bennet sniffed and wiped her eyes on her lace-trimmed hanky. “Ah Rita!” she sighed. “She’s so much like my own sweet Lizzy. If anyone can restore peace to this La La Land, it is she!”
The End!
Have the bestest birthday ever, Rita.