Part 6- 'The great Lady herself…

Harry sat impatiently awaiting his stars; they were late and he had much to thank them for. Their antics last night at the charity ball had earned him a restless night's sleep. Marcie had been a nightmare, and he had been forced to listen as she ranted and raved, screaming like a banshee, and even occasionally throwing things. Plates and cutlery he only narrowly managed to avoid; he had always managed to move surprisingly quickly, when the need arose, for such a large man.

She swore and cursed at him, and banished him to the sofa for the night. He was not to get any peace there, for she followed him and berated him for his poor choice in actors, a highly reprehensible act of poor judgment that was no doubt going to cost her a lot of money. Marcie hated losing money.

That was almost as much as she hated journalists. Darcy's behaviour last night had proved gold dust, and Marcie had to divide her time between cursing him and cursing the many journalists who persisted in calling her.

Throughout the night she had to take numerous, probing calls, always with the same questions, until Marcie eventually became so fed up that Harry watched in growing horror as she threw the phone on the floor and proceeded to jump all over it, smashing it to pieces in a show of rage reminiscent of a demented rain dance!

Consequently, he had suffered. The sofa had been far from comfortable, and he rubbed his sore back. He wearily watched both Lizzy and Darcy arrive late, too tired to be angry…and too dejected to care.

Darcy appeared sheepish, and looking more than a little afraid, but Lizzy bounded in with a surprising energy. A flurry of activity met their arrival, and as the techs milled around them Lizzy and Darcy took their places on the set. They took up their positions; Darcy shuffled his feet, visibly nervous, and it took a few deep breaths before he was finally ready to speak.

'Miss Bennet…about last night, I wish to…' she interrupted him. He could not fathom the reason for her smile.

'Mr Darcy, you stated last night that my opinions and words mattered little to you…well, I believe I may safely state that the feeling is entirely mutual. There, now we have made clear our little regard for each other…however, I, for one, am not prepared to allow our differences to hamper this production in any way. I have too high a regard for this book, Harry and everybody else who works so hard here everyday to jeopardize it by our petty quarrels.'

Darcy looked at her slightly bemused; he had been expecting to be kneed in the crotch at least, not to be confronted with the very voice of reason.

She continued, as calm and as resolute as ever. 'I am willing to be wholly professional about this, Mr Darcy, and aim to ensure this film's success…'

Darcy smiled, 'You're right, of course…as always, so no more disagreements, then…?'

Lizzy laughed quietly, 'Well, I can't very well promise the impossible…let us at least endeavour to get along…however awful we may prove to be at it...'

Darcy had been about to utter words to a similar effect, when Harry called out, 'Alright, people…places…' he trailed off unenthusiastically, '…Oh, who bloody well cares, anyway…let's just get it over with…' He slumped off to his chair, and fell into it with a plop.

The scene they were about to film was an intense one, Rupert is angry with Celia for what he considers to be the games she continues to play with him.

Encouraging him one moment and then coolly dismissing him another…he could not understand it, nor did he care for it.

She had done it again last night, spent the entire evening ignoring him when only the morning before she had declared she was not entirely indifferent to him. She had held his hands in her own then, and smiled lovingly…yet, he could not understand how quickly the changes were wrought in her, and he must owe it to her impetuous youth; not for the first time, he berated himself for ever falling in love with her as if such a thing can ever be helped.

They had agreed early that morning to meet by the little grove, sheltered away to one side of the house, underneath a hidden arch set in the recess of the wall, built, it seemed, exactly for the secrecy of lovers.

It was a cold morning, and Celia seemed all the more beautiful for it. The weather was bringing a rosy red glow to her cheeks, and the cloak she wore, trimmed with fur around the neck, offered a beautiful contrast with its whiteness.

She had come down with hurried steps and, shivering against the cold, had wrapped her body close around him for added warmth. He was still angry with her even as his heart melted in her warm embrace.

'Celia, you cannot play these games with me…I will not tolerate it…'

'You cannot still be angry with me…? Come, Rupert, it will not do, how could you expect me to act otherwise in front of father…really, you're being silly.'

He pushed her away angrily, 'I am nearly twice your age…if we are to talk about silliness, it is these games of yours that must stop…'

'Games…? That I do not hang about your neck and coo pretty words…I am not that sort of young woman…perhaps I feel more than I care to display…what does it signify…?'

'It signifies a great deal…you have long been aware of my feelings, perhaps I do not care for your engaging my heart for your own amusement…'

'You think I consider your heart...your feelings a plaything…I assure if you knew me at all you would not accuse me of such callousness…'

'How am I to know what to feel or think, Celia? You have not spoken, and if you do not do so now, I swear to you I will walk away forever…'

She stayed resolutely silent. Rupert waited expectant and growing steadily despondent, and still she could not speak. Rupert despaired of her ever doing so and with a heavy heart turned to leave, until he felt a cool hand on his arm that stopped his heart.

She turned him around to face her, reaching up she pulled him close. She kissed him so longingly and deeply; Rupert was pleasantly surprised. He pressed her close and she placed a hand on the nape of his neck, reaching up slowly till her hand was in his hair.

Darcy's surprise at the yearning Lizzy displayed matched that of Rupert, though the surprise was quickly matched with a passion of his own. He responded forcefully; the arm encircling her waist tightened and he brought his hand to caress her cheek.

The chemistry was unmistakable; the whole crew watched on, fascinated. Lizzy was certainly giving the commanding performance she had promised; as for Darcy, it was hard to discern whether he was still only acting.

Harry was wide awake, flustered and excited all over again; at last, yes, this was the girl he recognized, with all the passion and intensity he had the foresight to recognize at the auditions.

The kiss proved to be a lingering one; though exactly the length dictated in the book, everybody recognized it was hardly textbook!

Rupert was amazed at the intensity of her embrace, and wondered how she could understand the longings of the flesh, of the loins and the heart so well… at so young an age.

She broke the kiss off at length; breathless, she locked foreheads with him. 'Will that persuade you to stay…?'

He returned her smile with a dazzling one of his own. 'You know very well I could never leave you…'

'Good. I would be very sorry to part with you now…especially as I've fallen in love with you…' She laughed, delighted with his reaction to these words as he caught her up in his arms and twirled her around and around.

Harry called out, 'Cut and print!' to end the scene; he joined in with the spontaneous applause that greeted his words and, rushing on set, began to gush,
'That was marvellous, simply magnificent…fabulous, Lizzy I knew you had it in you…' Only then did he remember her co-star, 'And Darcy…well that was…fine.'

Lizzy smiled as she watched Harry scurry off as fast as his fat legs could carry him to call Marcie. Amidst the congratulations and praise from the others, she spied an evidently dumbstruck Darcy, looking on, amazed. She could tell he was impressed, his mouth agape, and an expression of bemusement across his face.

She turned to him, smiling deviously; reaching up, she cupped his chin in her hand and closed his mouth. 'You had best close your mouth, Mr Darcy, it appears as if you are catching flies…'

He beamed at her, 'Well that was…um, it was…' he struggled to find the words.

'A commanding performance, Miss Bennet…' Another voice found the words for him. They both turned to see a severe, older woman peeking out over a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. Her hair, which was now slowly greying, was worn up, pinned tightly in a bun. She wore a long, knee-length tweed skirt, and a suit jacket over what appeared to be a high collar blouse, and all in grey. In fact, the only colour on this woman was a necklace of black pearls around her neck.

Even her slight smile was grey, concealing much and offering nothing. Everything about her was neat and tidy and pressed; not a crease or stray hair was in sight. Lizzy recognized her instantly; though she had never before met Darcy's aunt, she had heard much of Lady Catherine, who was the patron of his theatre and head of the committee that ran its affairs.

She was by all accounts a truly formidable woman; she was very rich, very grand and very possessive of Darcy. There had been rumours of her intending to visit her nephew on the set, but Lizzy had heard nothing that allowed her to be daunted at the sight of this woman. Wickham had also delighted her with tales of what she might expect, and he had been entirely accurate.

Lizzy smiled sweetly and boldly, 'Thank you…and may I take the liberty to presume that you are Lady Catherine de Bourgh…?'

'You may, and I am…' she replied coldly.

Lizzy smiled further yet, 'Your reputation precedes you, ma'am…'

'Really…' Lady Catherine did not care for the brash tone in Lizzy's voice, 'and how do I rate, Miss Bennet…tell me, do I come up short..?'

'Not at all, your Ladyship…I am happy to say in this instance general report has been entirely accurate…you are exactly how I would have pictured you…'

The smile playing on Lizzy's face made it difficult to determine if that remark was to be received as a compliment or dismissed as an insult.

The tone between the two ladies was barbed to say the least, and Darcy, as the poor unfortunate soul caught in the middle, was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Still he could not help but admire Lizzy for the fearlessness she was showing.

Lady Catherine had decided she'd had enough of Lizzy's suspect tone and words and turned to her nephew, 'Darcy, I wish to speak to you…alone…' And so saying, she took Darcy by the arm and dragged him away without another word.

Lizzy smiled and shook her head; she was almost beginning to feel sorry for poor Darcy.

Bingley burst into the room and started speaking before Darcy had a chance to warn him. 'Now this doesn't mean I've forgiven you, but I've come to offer my support. I've heard the grand old lady was coming to see you…' he paused to catch a breath, 'and nobody deserves that…that old bat would chase the very hounds out of hell…'

He blathered on, entirely failing to notice Darcy rolling his eyes emphatically at him, desperately trying to draw his attention to something behind him.

Not something, someone…Bingley finally understood much too late; he gulped loudly and asked in a barely audible voice, 'She's right behind me isn't she…?'

Darcy smiled and nodded.

Bingley turned to see Lady Catherine standing behind him, menacingly tapping her foot and pushing her glasses further up her nose. He beamed disarmingly at her, 'Lady Catherine…what a pleasant surprise…!'

She was unmoved, 'Mr Bingley…well, I would like to say it is good to see you again, but that would be a lie…'

Bingley looked back at Darcy, and seeing him mutter the words, 'Run, man…save yourself…,' wisely decided to heed his advice and beat a hasty retreat.

Darcy smiled, amused; Lady Catherine's face remained as unaffected as ever. She took up one of the papers Bingley had left that morning.

'Interesting headlines, Darcy…'

'Tabloid fodder…it doesn't mean anything…' he replied quietly.

Lady Catherine chose a different approach. 'Miss Bennet is a talented actress and a prettyish sort of girl…I'm sure you've noticed….'

'Aunt…' he tried in vain to stop her, he already knew where this discussion was leading.

She persisted, 'And nothing more, of course…?'

'No…nothing more…' Lie. Darcy resigned himself to the inevitably of it all. It was impossible to tell his aunt that he had long come to think of Elizabeth Bennet as being much more than just a talented actress.

But Lady Catherine was not so easily fooled; she did not trust the smile Darcy wore at the mention of Lizzy's name.

'I am sure I need not remind you of what you owe to the family name, and Pemberley Theatre…your father entrusted you with its safekeeping…I know you will not let him down…'

'I do not see how…?' Darcy was angry; it always seemed to be the same argument.

'Your past misdemeanours I have endeavoured to keep from the rest of the board…the committee know little of it, due to no small effort on my part.' Lady Catherine's familiar tone returned, smiling but always underlined with the faintest hint of menace.

'I am sure you are aware of the debt you owe me, Darcy…'

Darcy endeavoured to keep his bitterness in check, through gritted teeth, 'Of course, Aunt…you know I am eternally grateful…for all that you did on my behalf…'

She smiled and he was repulsed. 'Good… I am glad we understand each other…'