Hello, dearest, loveliest readers!
Today I am posting Ch 1 of a modern adaptation I've been working on when the angst-o-meter on PL sends me into the red. I have the first 10 chapters finished and the first 5 have been read and edited by my amazing beta, who is everything lovely. Postings will be somewhat scattered for now (as my focus is on finishing PL asapasapasap), but I will throw down a chapter from time to time, so make sure you follow for updates in the beginning (if you're the kind of person who wants to read when things are hot off the presses). Posting will become more regular as soon as PL is in the books.
If you enjoy this variation, please let me know in the comments! It's just a fun little side project for me, but if enough people express an interest I will start posting regularly sooner than later.
Thank you for reading!
xo brynn
Pride & Politics
A Modern Pride & Prejudice Variation
by Brynn Ashley
CHAPTER ONE
"Why do I let you talk me into these things, Charles?"
Will Darcy groaned at the sight before him. The Meryton Ballroom was small, crowded, and absolutely hideously decorated. Valentine's Day wasn't for another four days, but it looked like cupid had made an appearance just in time to throw up all over the place. Gaudy paper mâché creations, mismatched balloons, and what appeared to be second-hand streamers flanked him on all sides. When Charles Bingley had promised a night of networking over appetizers at a local fundraising event, he had expected craft services and cocktails, at the very least. Instead, they had arrived earlier than was fashionable and been met only by an assortment of generic-brand Ritz Crackers and a sweaty cheese platter straight out of the grocery store sale bin. Even worse, he was drinking something that tasted suspiciously like spiked Kool-Aid out of a plastic cup.
The 'potential donors' he had been encouraged to 'network with' looked like they were barely out of college—and even if they had somehow managed to graduate with their BAs in Halo, Philosophy, Feelings Studies, or some other useless, wholly unemployable degrees—they were probably living in their parents' basements.
The whole thing was ridiculous.
What was he doing here? What was he expected to say to these people? Were they to make polite conversation over vintage comic books and locally sourced, fully organic, artisanal peanut butter? It was as if the entire affair should come complete with its own hashtag, which, as he was to find out much, much too late—it absolutely did.
"Come on, Darcy," his friend urged. "It wouldn't kill you to meet some actual residents of the city you live in, would it?"
"I know plenty of people in the city," Darcy replied coolly.
"Yeah, you know developers, and landlords, and city officials, and half of the Gold Coast, but I don't know how that's going to help you with any actual voters come election time."
"I wasn't aware that my demographic was so heavily weighted towards itinerant hipsters who make their own soap."
Charles Bingley shook his head with a slight, forgiving smile. Though the two had been best friends since they roomed together in their freshman year of college and then pledged the same fraternity, they remained as dissimilar in temperament as ever. Where Charles was gregarious, Darcy was taciturn. When Charles smiled in the company of strangers, Darcy sulked. Luckily, Charles knew that behind all that snark and bravado was an anxious, tense, and socially maladapt gentleman with low blood sugar, who was prone to fits of discomfort when in unfamiliar surroundings. Tonight, Charles had intended to break him of that very uncharitable element of his character. With the mayoral election season right around the corner, his friend needed all the help he could get when it came to improving his attitude in strange company. Still, Charles knew that Darcy didn't mean half of what he said when he was in one of his black moods, and tonight was certainly no exception.
"Settle down, man. This is a good crowd."
Charles surveyed the room with a practiced, diligent eye which betrayed his motives. Darcy groaned again.
"Who is she, Charles?"
Charles nearly choked on his punch.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yes you do, Charles," Darcy pressed.
He had been here before. The whole experience was starting to take on an annoyingly familiar air. He wondered if Charles would keep his promise to return to his place in order to work on the campaign materials together as they had planned, and replanned, and planned again—or if he'd be forced to call an Uber while Charles absconded with his latest conquest at the drop of a hat. Or worse, when he disappeared into the crowd for the remainder of the evening and left Darcy to find his own way home without a word. It had happened too many times to count, and Darcy was tired of trying.
"Who is she?"
Sufficiently caught in the act, Charles relented.
"Fine. Her name is Jane Bennet and she's an angel."
Darcy rolled his eyes and adjusted his finely pressed lapels. He was hot, irritable, and horribly overdressed.
"You dragged me here for a girl?"
Charles' eyes widened in shock, as though they had not had this conversation a hundred times before.
"Not just any girl, Darce!" he cried out, as he so often did. He lowered his voice but spoke loud enough to be heard over the now booming salsa music. "She's the Executive Director of the Longbourn Foundation, which, if you can be bothered to remember, is the reason we're here tonight. It's a very influential community organization—and for someone in such dire need of influencing the community, I think you might want to eat a cracker and try to relax."
Darcy opened his mouth to reply with some cutting remark or another, but it was better for both of them that he was interrupted.
"Wait, hold that thought. Here she comes."
Soon enough Darcy was introduced to Charles' latest angel. Despite his initial poor impressions of the Meryton Ballroom and the idle tech-age flower children who inhabited it, Darcy had to admit that he liked her. Jane Bennet was polished, graceful, and direct—a far cry from the type of girls Charles usually went for—who Darcy could hardly desire to be seen with in company. No, he gave Charles leave to like her. Jane Bennet was a class act. She would do until the next one came along.
An hour later, Darcy was sulking near the wall when Charles returned from his latest dance with his angel.
"Hey!" he shouted, catching Darcy's eye in the crowded room. "Come on, man. Get out there and dance. Or do something. Anything, I beg you." He pointed out the figure of a woman, dancing with Jane somewhere near the middle of the room. Since he hadn't worn his glasses, all Darcy saw was a gyrating, brunette blob.
"That's her sister, I think. Stop being such a snob and come dance with us. Try to have fun or something. Or don't even try for all I care, just come dance."
"Her sister?" Darcy bristled.
"Yeah, Elizabeth. Lizzie, actually, I think? It's pretty loud out there. She's some kind of writer or something. She's also Jane's plus one tonight—and since you're mine…"
"No."
Charles feigned innocence, as was in his best interest.
"No?"
Hungry, tired, miserable, and annoyed—Darcy finally reached his boiling point.
"Come on Charles, what is this? I've already allowed you to drag me to some hole in the wall dive filled with clearance party supplies, bad punch, and listless, useless, Twitter warriors who are entirely dependent on student loans and their suburban parents and probably still will be at forty-five. I won't be roped into some kind of bizarre double date scenario on top of it."
"Come on, man. That's pretty harsh, even for you."
Unfortunately, the DJ had picked that very moment to pause for donor announcements. It was even more unfortunate that neither Charles nor Darcy noticed the silence until it was far too late.
"I have an image to protect, man. I can't be slumming it in Logan Square with some professionally unemployed volunteer who ironically blogs about her cats, Instagrams every meal, and sports a tattoo that embodies how Lorde lyrics make her feel. Get a grip."
Somewhere, someone coughed.
The two gentlemen turned to face the room.
The room faced back.
Jane Bennet and her sister faced back.
Charles went white with shock and embarrassment, but Darcy merely clenched his jaw—his feelings moving inward, as always.
"Christ, Darcy. I think she heard you," Charles whispered to his friend. "Actually, I think everyone heard you. Like, for miles."
As the DJ rather awkwardly began his announcements and called Jane to the stage, Darcy grasped the opportunity to make a quick exit.
"Charles, can we go?" Darcy huffed. "I have campaign materials and those slogans to look over. Caroline wants me to get back to her before Monday. Then I'll have the day, the whole day, to relax with Georgie when she gets into town."
Charles nodded, still conscious of the number of eyes in the room fixed on them. Elizabeth Bennet had moved closer to where they stood against the wall and was engaging some friends in a lively conversation. When the laughter rang out from the party, neither Bingley nor Darcy felt they had to wonder at the topic of their conversation.
"Fine with me," Charles agreed. "We should probably get you out of here before you show up on the front page of The Red Eye for inciting a mob, anyway. I can see the headline now, 'Local Political Prospect Can't Hang. Single-Handedly Kills Vibe from Diversey to Fullerton.'"
The muscles in Darcy's jaw throbbed as he finally met the eyes of one Elizabeth Bennet—the target of his misplaced feelings of unease and indignation.
He grimaced.
She smiled.
Unfortunately for Darcy, Monday would be a much busier day than expected—and the headline would be much, much worse.
Next time on Pride & Politics: Bennetgate begins and Darcy learns how the internet works. Georgiana explains hashtags to a room full of people who think they already know what hashtags are. Caroline Bingley suffers from delusions of grandeur.