A/N: This story is a rewrite of the story previously posted under the title "The Seductress," well over a year ago. I was dissatisfied with that story, and after a number of edits, have produced the following, which hopefully better conveys the main ideas I had set out to portray.
This is a story of a modern-day Elizabeth (Liza Benetin) and a Regency-era Darcy. As fictional characters, they are both gorgeous, much-admired, and well-off. But neither of them is perfect. He is both proud and prejudiced; she is implacably resentful. His flaws are more manifest at the beginning; hers develop towards the end. They will have their HEA, but with backgrounds as disparate as theirs, it is bound to be a bumpy road. The bumps are all written and distributed into 30 chapters, posted weekly. Enjoy!
It did not really matter how she got there. She just had to accept that she was, in fact, there.
Only a moment before, Elizaveta (Liza) Benetin had everything. The perfect family, the perfect resume, the perfect job, the perfect boyfriend.
Petite with a slender yet delightfully curvaceous figure, striking golden curls, and bright, intelligent hazel eyes, the Belarusian-heritage Liza would best be described as simply gorgeous, and never lacked for male attention. Intelligent, sharp, and witty, Liza had graduated from the nation's top university to immediately join the trading floor of one of the most prestigious financial institutions. There, she had immersed herself in stocks and numbers, enjoying the rush of adrenaline that came with the high-stake trades. There, she had worked alongside her boyfriend. Her ridiculously, unbelievably perfect boyfriend. Liza had wondered bemusedly every once in a while how such a man as her John could even exist. He had adored Liza beyond all reason, pampered her at every opportunity, and complied with her every caprice. John had comforted and encouraged Liza, praised her, supported her, loved her.
Liza had loved John too. Tenderly yet with a strong possessive flame. She had happily basked in his attentions, and known exactly how lucky she was. Yet for a reason that Liza could not decipher herself, she would occasionally immerse herself in fanciful daydreams that did not include her perfect John. Passionate, crazy, sensual, and often tension-filled day-dreams about equally passionate, equally sensual, and equally charged tall, dark, and handsome strangers. Perhaps, that former picture-perfect life of hers was so terribly perfect that it was bordering on boring. Perhaps she had missed every once in a while the rush of emotions that accompany less perfect lives: the drama, the stress of uncertain or unrequited love; the novelty and interest of first dates; the sensations of power over an unaccepted admirer. The excitement of the trading floor largely compensated for the lack of stressful drama in her love life, but every so often, on a nice, breezy evening out on the beach in the Bahamas, Liza would find herself daydreaming…
Liza had just reread Pride and Prejudice. And lately the tall, dark, and handsome stranger of her daydreams had been none other than Mr. Darcy. Well, a slightly embellished, more passionate Mr. Darcy. Liza was a modern woman after all. Perhaps it was an unknown, thoughtless, ill-advised wish being granted?
It did not matter. For now she was here, with all the heart-wrenching drama she could never have truly wanted, and her picture-perfect life so long ago that it almost seemed to have never been.
She first recalled herself in a small antique room, as the door flung right open, and a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties ran out, about to enclose Liza in a hug. "Elizaveta!" She shouted, and stopped abruptly. The two women regarded each other with furrowed brows and deeply quizzical expressions.
Liza's mind was reeling. The woman before her perfectly fit the modest-sized mansion. She was dressed in Regency-style attire, and appeared to be very at ease with the odd (that is, strikingly un-modern) surroundings. Liza was further astounded that the woman knew her name. It appeared that her arrival had been expected.
Charlotte Lucas was equally confused. There stood, right in front of her house, her childhood friend aged by a decade yet still recognizable. But not only had Elizaveta arrived without a carriage, but she was dressed in a most peculiar – and dare she say improper? – manner. Elizaveta's luggage had been sent ahead by the girl's parents, and had been delivered the night before, and Charlotte had taken the liberty to ask her maid to unpack before her friend's arrival, seeking to ensure maximal comfort after Elizaveta's long and undoubtedly tiring journey. Nothing in Elizaveta's trunk had prepared her for such attire!
At last, Liza's keenly intelligent mind fully took in the situation before her. By all appearances, she was in Regency England (the woman had a decidedly non-American accept). That, of course, could not be. But Liza could not immediately come up with a plausible explanation for her present odd surroundings. Nothing made sense. Another person would have panicked in her place, but if Liza had learned one thing on the trading floor, it was to keep her calm. Though she still knew not what to make of things, Liza simply decided that the best course of action would be to act naturally, and to put this girl, who apparently thought herself her friend, as much at ease as possible. Liza also noted the other woman's terrified glance at her dress, and realized that her attire must be quite shocking.
Unaware of the woman's name, Liza simply smiled, and greeted warmly. "Oh, what a pleasure it is to see you!" There, that should do nicely: it gave no indication of how long they had been apart, nor of how well acquainted they were, and even concealed the fact that Liza knew not the woman's name.
Somewhat relaxing at her friend's friendly greeting, Charlotte managed a quiet, "What happened to you, my dear?"
Understanding that the woman was referring to her dress, Liza pulled a tearful smile onto her face, and answered (taking note of the familiar "dear" used by her friend): "Oh dear, you would not want to hear it! For such a sordid tale has surely never been told." Dropping her head in a theatrical expression of grief, Liza continued her tale of being robbed by dreadful highwaymen. 'How terribly clichéd,' she thought, mentally chastising herself for being unable to engineer a more original and credible story. Yet her friend seemed ready to believe her. "And so it is, that I am left with nothing but my undergarments. Luckily, they found nothing of value in my purse, so I could retain that as well," she added quickly, to account for the fact that her bag was suspiciously intact (and value there was certainly enough, Liza mused with amusement, recalling the numerous credit cards in her wallet).
"Oh God! My poor friend!" Charlotte exclaimed compassionately. She then thought for a moment, and asked curiously. "Is that really your undershirt? Do they wear such beautiful undergarments in Russia?" She regarded her friend's rich purple sundress with uncontrollable curiosity.
Liza simply nodded, hoping to keep the woman talking.
"Oh dear, you'll have to tell me all about Russia!" Charlotte chirped excitedly. "It's been so long since I saw you there. Ten years! Can you believe it? It's been ten years since we met and parted!" At this, she finally gave Liza the long-coming greeting embrace.
Liza was joyous at the new information. So she had met this woman ten years before in Russia, from where she had apparently just arrived. Good, at least she had some context for this odd encounter.
Coming to her senses, all color suddenly left Charlotte's face, as she said hurriedly. "Oh goodness, Elizaveta, how uncouth of me! I am keeping you out here, in your undergarments, when you must be exhausted from your journey and that terrible accident. Pray forgive me, dear. It was only the excitement of our meeting that made me forget all hospitality."
At this, she received a forgiving smile from Liza, and ushered her guest into the house, quickly leading her into a guest room. "I think I best give you time to change and to rest before you meet Mama and Papa. I know you must be terribly tired."
With this, the woman warmly pressed Liza's hand, and left the room, calling for a maid to attend to her guest.
Once she was dressed in a fine blue muslin gown and the maid had put up her hair, Liza was restless to go back out. She still had no idea where she was or what was going on (reality TV would be her best bet, if she hadn't been on a Bahamas beach just minutes before – but perhaps that was part of the show?). But at least she was thoroughly amused, and her curiosity made her eager to go back to company. And so she told the maid that she would be happy to come out whenever the hosts were ready for her company. After the maid had left, she sat on her bed and listened carefully to the conversation outside her room.
"Miss Benetin would like to come out for supper, madam," She heard the maid say.
"Charlotte, should we call her now, or should we make her rest some more?" A female voice asked.
At this, she heard the woman who had greeted her answer pleasantly: "Elizaveta was never one to be made to do things, Mama. Although I cannot understand how she is still standing and not dropping from fatigue, we should certainly let her do as she wishes. Please escort Miss Benetin to the sitting room, Anne," she must have addressed the maid.
Liza was in raptures. Charlotte! At least she knew her host's name!
A minute later, Elizaveta was further gratified to see the maid return and tell her: "Sir and Lady Lucas and the two Misses Lucas are in the sitting room, ma'am. If you would like to join them, please let me take you there."
Good, now she knew her host's full name: Charlotte Lucas. 'Oh God, Charlotte Lucas! Apparently, this is not just any reality TV show, but a Pride and Prejudice reality TV show. Oh well, all the better. This could be fun.'
Over the days that followed, Liza Benetin determined to learn as much as possible about her role, and to perform it with maximal proficiency. The first of these objects was facilitated considerably by the discovery, on Mr. Lucas's writing desk, of a letter seemingly from her father. Although reading a letter that was not addressed to her was presumptuous and rude, Liza simply could not resist the temptation to learn more about her new circumstances. Besides, this show was clearly designed for her, and the letter wasn't really private business, only a stage prop, she reasoned. And so she took the letter into her hand and read it hungrily.
Dear Sir Lucas,
It has been a great many years since your family has graced us with your presence in Moscow. I have always looked back upon those days with pleasure, as have my wife and eldest daughter. In fact, my Elizaveta has never forgotten the friend she had found in your lovely Charlotte, and I believe my daughter has quite treasured Charlotte's correspondence.
I have recently discovered that Elizaveta wishes to travel, and has a most fervent desire to see England. If you remember her from your trip, you would know that she is not one to be easily dissuaded. Not that I wish to dissuade her, by any means. She is an intelligent, sensible young woman with fierceness of character that makes me comfortably sure that she can well take care of herself. She is also three-and-twenty, and I am sure she is ready to see more of the world. With this, I have given her my blessing to commence her journey.
Elizaveta has expressed a desire to visit your family on her trip. I am sure she has mentioned this to Charlotte in her most recent letter. She would not wish to infringe on your hospitality, and would be ready to stay with you as much or as little as you wish.
She should be in Herefordshire within three months. With your approval, we shall send her things ahead of her.
And one more thing, dear sir. Enclosed in this letter, please find Elizaveta's own fortune of two thousand pounds. I did not wish to give it to her directly, for she does not yet know this, but I do: she will probably not come back to live with us here. She is a grown, independent woman, ready to make her own way. This should be enough to get her started. She will, of course, receive more upon my death.
Please feel free to deduct as much as needed to cover her expenditures while lodging with you, and convey the rest to her upon her departure from your home. You know I would trust you with anything.
I hope you are well. It has been far too long since we have last conversed. But I remain:
Your affectionate friend,
Vladimir Benetin
'Well, that completes the show's setting', Liza thought. She now had a pretty clear idea of her circumstances: she was apparently a Russian gentlewoman visiting Charlotte Lucas from Pride and Prejudice. 'Do I get to meet the irresistible Mr. Darcy?' She wondered with a smile.
Liza, always a girl of action, immediately began adapting herself to the setting. She spent a good portion of her time in the library, reading and attempting to master the contemporary language and culture. She also stole stealthy glances at Charlotte as her friend was going about her needlework. It would be best to learn as many of the customary activities as possible.
So Elizaveta was delighted when a new opportunity to learn the basics of being an 1800's English lady presented itself in the form of Charlotte's cheerful exclamation: "Liza! There will be an assembly in Meryton in three days! It would be the perfect opportunity for you to meet our neighbors."
Liza's eyes brightened instantaneously. Dancing! God, was she fond of it! Elizaveta Benetin had been dancing for as long as she could remember, and competed quite seriously since the age of 13. Salsa, rumba, cha-cha, quickstep, waltz, foxtrot, jive, and tango: you name it; she could dance it.
But her joy was momentarily diminished as she realized that most of the dances she knew and loved probably did not exist in regency England. And so carefully, she asked: "What dances are popular here, Charlotte?"
"Oh, the usual: cotillion, reel, quadrille. And occasionally," here Charlotte had the grace to blush, "the waltz."
"Um, well, the waltz I can certainly do, but the others… I'm afraid you will have to teach me, my dear," Liza replied almost sheepishly.
"You know the waltz but not the others?!" Charlotte exclaimed in consternation. "But it is the most scandalous! I mean… it's a relatively new dance, so I was a bit surprised," she corrected herself immediately, tempering her outburst.
"We don't really dance the Scottish reel in Russia," Liza gave the first potentially plausible excuse that came to her mind.
Charlotte appeared to accept it readily. "Oh yes, of course. How silly of me. I will be glad to teach you."
That afternoon and the next, the girls spent cheerfully going through the common dances. Charlotte was amazed at Liza's easy and natural grace. Miss Benetin was an exceedingly able pupil, and had mastered the dances almost to perfection in no time at all.
Elizaveta was absolutely delighted. She felt like she had adequately mastered the art of comporting herself as a Regency English lady, and was rightfully proud of her speedy progress. She now spoke perfect early 18th century English, was conscious of the contemporary etiquette, knew how to dance and embroider, and possessed the proper clothes (courtesy of her supposed Russian gentleman father). She was also aware that she was in possession of some, albeit modest, means. But that money was at present in Mr. Lucas's custody, and would remain such until she chose to leave the Lucas Lodge. Besides, it was really not a terribly impressive amount – a mere two thousand, compared to Jane Austen's Mr. Darcy's ten thousand a year. And so, always the entrepreneur, Liza resolved to increase her fortune by somewhat creative means. There was a little problem, however: she was a woman in Regency England, and women then and there did not do business. But that problem could be easily resolved by finding a tradesman to act on her behalf.
And so it was that the day of the Meryton Assembly found her at a store in town, bent conspiratorially with the shop owner over a single 20th century plain Bic pen.
She had a simple proposition for the tradesman: she would give him one innovative (nearly magical!) quill, which was made of an unknown material, seemingly lasted forever, and did not require ink. He would auction it off to a wealthy gentleman, and would give Liza 100 pounds from the profit. Any extras, he'd get to keep.
What Liza didn't tell the man was that she had another seven or eight such pens. But she wanted to get him to tell her how much the first one actually sold for before stating her conditions for the sale of the second. That plan was almost ruined when another such pen fell out of her purse and onto the floor, but fortunately the only person who noticed was a tall, dark gentleman who stood next to her and observed her intently but inconspicuously.
Having completed her business arrangement, Liza cheerfully headed back out of the store.
But as soon as she turned around, she bumped straight into the same tall, gorgeous gentleman. Liza smiled as her eyes brushed over his broad shoulders, his dark curls, and his large, intent, mesmerizing green eyes.
Regaining her composure, Liza curtsied politely to the handsome stranger. But instead of bowing back to her, the man lifted his chin slightly in a proud gesture, his face freezing into a stern and disapproving mask, and abruptly turned away.
'What insolence, what incivility!' Liza may not have been the expert on Regency manners, but it was plain as day that she had just been cut by that gentleman. All her admiration for his fine figure evaporated as soon as it came. She had known plenty of jerks in New York City, but none of them had ever slighted her. No, men were generally awfully pleasant with her, and she knew exactly why: Liza was fully aware of her own beauty and the effect she generally had on men. Yet this man seemed to be almost repulsed by her! It was clear that he held her in absolutely no regard, and considered himself far above her. Who was he to cast such a judgment on someone with whom he had no acquaintance whatsoever?! He clearly had no manners, and from his resilience to her natural good looks, Liza easily surmised that he had absolutely no taste either. With a light shrug, she pulled the smile back onto her pretty face and left the store. The man was clearly not worth her notice.
At the same time, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, currently visiting Mr. Charles Bingley of Netherfield Park, was walking hurriedly away from the same shop. To say that he was perturbed would be an understatement; he was positively agitated, yet he was not quite sure why.
To be sure, the entire day had been unpleasant. That morning, his good friend Charles informed him quite unequivocally that they were going to attend an assembly at Meryton that very evening. In vain had Darcy struggled; his friend would not be repressed. Yet Fitzwilliam was by no means looking forward to the assembly: he was shy to a fault, and, backed up by his wealth and impressive estate, had transformed that shyness into defensive pride. He would not wish to dance in such company as that afforded by Meryton.
So he had entered the quaint little shop in a foul mood. He attempted fruitlessly to distract himself with various trinkets, but eventually his interest was captured by a stunning young lady who entered the shop and headed determinedly towards the shopkeeper.
Darcy was not prone to eavesdropping, yet this time he absolutely could not resist. He felt drawn towards the unknown lady, but was too shy and uncertain to approach her directly. And so in order to come closer to speaking to her himself, he began by listening in to her conversation with the shopkeeper. Great was his amazement when he learned that the lady had come to discuss business of all things! Greater still was his utter surprise when he noticed the skill with which she was conducting said business. She was attempting to sell a very curious item for an extraordinarily high price, and Darcy had to admit that her marketing of the item was flawless. The little exhibition of the writing utensil's amazing merits, which she eagerly conducted for the shopkeeper, was quite convincing. And a second identical pen, which fell out of the lady's small purse, did not escape Darcy's notice.
'Why did she not sell that one too?' he wondered for a moment. And then it dawned upon him: she was selling only one object at a time, in order to extract from the shopkeeper the true price! 'What a clever little minx, by Jove!'
Before long, Darcy found himself marveling inwardly at the lady's pleasant intelligence. His mood had lightened considerably. And then he chastised himself: what did he find so pleasant in this young woman? How could he possibly look at her twice? True, she was clearly clever, and well versed in the world of business, but that was a fault, not a virtue. She was a lady for God's sake, so what on earth was she doing talking about business with a man? Such impropriety he had never seen before! 'No, this… this girl… is certainly not a lady. A common country lass, a little more cunning than others, perhaps.' And with that, he haughtily dismissed her.
It was at that point that his ostensible and unpardonable slight of Elizaveta Benetin occurred. She passed by him and gave an elegant curtsy; he did not bow, did not even nod, instead only raising his head higher in a proud gesture of dismissal. She was not worth his notice. She was improper to a fault.
Yet as he walked away from the shop in a frantic hurry, he could not help but recall her brilliant eyes, sparkling golden hair, and the enchanting grace with which she dropped her curtsy. Completely involuntarily, he imagined her graceful, elegant figure on the dance floor, and even though he did not acknowledge it consciously, the thought of that evening's assembly was for some reason no longer unpleasant.