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Getting dressed for the big battle

Fr: ebethbnet

To:jfbennet

Subject: Not quite hell, just a suburb

This is a very quick email. I thought I'd have time, but while we were sitting at breakfast, Lady Catherine announced that we're all going for a walk round the lake. It doesn't appear to be optional. Well, I doubt she's going, or her daughter who has only emerged this morning. Apparently she's 'too weak' for parties. She's an academic and needs to preserve her strength. Or something. Anyway, Anne de Bourgh looks like the undead. So it may actually be quite fun, without them. Will's cousin Rich is here, with his Mom (so unlike Lady C other than in the face, as you wouldn't believe), his wife and his kids, who are super cute, and they're all making this much more fun. Also, I wouldn't put it past him to try and pants Bill. He appears to be that sort. And I would help. If I hear a single sentence more about twig work and birch bark highlights, I'm going to go insane.

Love you lots, and while I wish you were here, I wouldn't actually wish it on anyone.

Lizzie

xxx

"You like her."

"What?"

Rich sits down next to me as I pull on my walking shoes. "You like her. She's the staffer isn't she? I knew it."

"Wait, Lizzie's the one you…" Jules is kneeling on the passage floor, wrestling Sam into his boots, and yet finds time to quiz me.

I groan. "Good grief, are you guys serious?"

"Yes," they say, almost simultaneously.

"OK," I say, and hold up a hand. "Yes, she is the one I danced with, although how you worked that out, I'll never know."

"Ha," says Rich, triumphantly, and hi-fives Jules. Actually hi-fives her. What is with these people? Rich stands up to rescue Lucy from where she has wobbly walked too far down the hall. He carries her back with a thoughtful expression, despite the fact that she is trying to lever off him with a well placed hand in the throat. "And you do like her." He puts her down, and she immediately sets back off the way she had been.

I look between them for a second. I can't lie to Rich. Never have been able to, not even when I wanted to. "Maybe," I say, and sigh. "It's seriously complicated."

"Because George Wickham got to her first."

"Partly that, and partly a whole bunch of other things."

Jules finally manages to finish ramming Sam into his winter-wear and he shoots off down the hall, circling Lucy, and coming back past Bella who is placidly sitting on the floor, playing with my shoelaces.

"Like what?" asks Jules, as she finds her own walking shoes.

I shrug. "We're different."

"Not irreconcilably," says Rich as he goes off again to rescue Lucy.

"I don't know. I'm not sure there's any point in even thinking about it. We're cut from different cloth."

Rich deposits Lucy back at our feet, and the proceeds to sit on the floor, legs out stretched, cutting off her access. "So make a holly, jolly patchwork."

I give him my most withering stare, and he shrugs.

"What?"

"A patchwork?"

"Yes," he says, and grins. "Right then," he says, standing up. "I believe we're supposed to be meeting by the boathouse." And with that, he sweeps up both his daughters into his arms, and walks off down the hall, Sam skipping along behind. I look at Jules as she picks up everything that Rich has forgotten. She catches my eye and grins.

"Come on. Let's do this thing."

This place is stunning. There was a fresh fall of snow in the night, and everything sparkles and scrunches. Of course, the magic is slightly dampened by our tour guide, Bill, who feels the need to tell us the height of each hill, the genus of every tree, how many boats are in the boat house, how much they cost individually…The list goes on. I catch Charley's gaze, and she rolls her eyes as her fiancée begins on the generator and how it works, but her fingers are intertwined with his. There really is no accounting for taste. I hang back with Rich, Jules and the kids. Oh, and Will. Unfortunately.

"So," asks Rich. "What's Will like to work for?"

I catch Will's eye, and he smiles slightly. "Oh, you know, interesting."

"Interesting how?"

"Oh…I…"

"Come on Lizzie, spill the beans…"

Jules digs him in the ribs. "Stop being mean. She has to go back and work for him again on Monday, while you swan back off to the office."

Rich grins. "Fine," he says. "When did you first meet him?"

"At a fund raiser at my parents' farm in Tennessee."

Rich spins round. "She's from Tennessee, Will!"

"I know." He rolls his eyes at his cousin. Clearly he is not exactly enjoying this inquisition.

"So clearly at least one good thing has come out of Tennessee."

Will raises an eyebrow. "Even though it has no state dinosaur?"

This conversation is quickly getting weird. Rich laughs, and stops to pick up Bella, where she has fallen into a snow drift, and is now looking balefully at her snow covered hands. "It's all right monkey," he murmurs, and wipes them off, before turning back to me.

"So, was he running round in a state of nervous panic?"

"Do you see me as some kind of roadrunner?"

Rich grins at Will again over Bella's head, and then turns back to me.

"Uh, no actually," I say. "He was suffering from the mother of all headaches, and wasn't really very chatty."

Jules laughs, and puts an arm round Will. "That sounds like you."

"How could you tell?" asks Will looking at me, still clearly wondering from that first time.

I shrug. "It was in your eyes. You looked the way I feel when I think my head's going to explode."

Rich and Jules exchange grins, and I am immediately suspicious. What is it with these two?

Will laughs, quietly. "Yeah, well it was pretty bad."

"Your headache or the evening?"

He winces. "Both? I'm not exactly the party kind of guy."

Rich and Jules both splutter into laughter. "You can say that again," says Rich, and claps Will on the back.

"Uncle Will Uncle Will Uncle Will Uncle Will," shouts Sam as he runs up to us. Harriet has stopped ahead, watching as her grandson pelts back along the path to his uncle. Will, that chameleon of chameleons, immediately stops being such an ass. He grins. Actually grins. I almost stop walking I'm so surprised. He hunkers down and holds out his arms, and Sam throws himself into them.

"There's a squirrel in a tree and it's got a nut in its paws and Dad said you know about animals and come and tell me about the squirrel," he says, in one long, breathless stream.

Lucy, toddling in front of us, frowns, and says "wirrel" firmly. This kid may be small, but boy is she determined. Jules laughs.

"Fine, come on my little squirrels." She picks up Lucy, and walks with Will who is no doubt getting dizzy as Sam circles him, running all the while. They walk off ahead, between the trees up to Harriet, and Rich grins down at me.

"So come on," he says. "Now he's out of earshot. What's he really like?"

I sigh, and smile. "Difficult. Complicated. Brilliant politically, but…"

"…emotionally stunted?"

I splutter. "Well, I..."

Rich grins. "Yep. Emotionally stunted. I'd never say it to him, because, you know, he'd probably throw himself off of a bridge, but he's more like Aunt Kate than he'd like to believe."

"Really? That bad?"

Rich grins again. "Not normally, but you know, he is very controlling. He likes things to be done his way."

I roll my eyes. "Sure. Because if it isn't his way, it's clearly wrong?"

Rich shrugs. "He finds it hard to trust people. He's a why-would-I-get-someone-else-to-do-it-when-I-can-do-it-better? guy."

I frown. "Then why run the campaign? Why not be the one running?"

"Because that's not how Will is. He loves his job, and he loves all things politics, but he'd much rather be the guy who the other guy depends on than the actual guy."

I roll my eyes again. "Sure. Because he's the shy type?"

Rich grins. "Well he's not exactly the public speaking type. He'd probably end up screwing up, majorly."

"Yeah, I guess."

"He's much better at organising, at getting the best out of someone else." He shrugs, and sets down a squirming Bella to walk again. "I mean, he went as far as to interfere with Bingley's personal life, just to make sure he didn't screw up."

I'm not sure I can do this much longer. I'm dangerously close to not thinking that Will is a total ass. I mean, he's controlling, and mean, and a completely closed book, but maybe he isn't all that bad? I mean, maybe there's more to him.

"Yeah," continues Rich. "Apparently Bingley was falling for one of his staffers, and Will thought it was a bad idea, and practically got her fired."

Wait a second. "What? When was this?"

Rich looks slightly startled. It may be at the panic in my voice. "Uh, I don't know. A few weeks ago, I guess."

I thought I had hated someone before. I was certainly no fan of Justin Cox when he cheated on me. Or Cindy Draper after she stole my assignment in English and then passed it off as her own. But now? This is hate. It leaves me reeling.

"Why the hell would he do that?" I say, not exactly masking my passion. I'm too angry for pretending right now.

Rich looks a little worried. "I don't know?" he says, nervously. "He always has his reasons."

Yeah. I'm sure. I take a few deep breaths, and stop walking.

"Are you all right?" asks Rich, watching me, concerned.

"I'm..." I was going to say that I was fine, but frankly, there's a lump in my throat like an iceberg, and my hands are shaking. Right now I feel the closest I ever have to losing control. "No, not really. I think I'll go back to the cabin."

"Do you want me to walk you back?" he asks.

"No, no, it's fine," I manage. "Some time on my own will do me good." I smile at him, trying to assure him that I'm not going to close the door of the cabin and have a coronary. "I'll see you later."

He nods, clearly unsure. "OK," he says. "Let me know if there's anything you need."

With that, I turn in the snow, and walk back the way we've come. I reach up impatiently to brush away hot, angry tears, and just manage to get back to the cabin before I can't stand it any longer. I kick off my walking shoes, drop jacket and gloves and scarf in chairs in the living room, and the climb into my bunk. It's cosy, solitary warmth wraps me in a jolt of home, and suddenly, the real tears come, thick and fast.

Everyone returns while Lizzie sleeps fitfully. When she wakes, the sun has set, the bedroom cast in gloomy shadows. She wakes with a headache, and immediately remembers everything that she found out. There is nothing to do about it. She cannot confront him at his aunt's house. She cannot see him, especially not see him and remain silent. She climbs stiffly out of the top bunk, and wanders to the bathroom, where it turns out, washing her face does little to help the headache. Then she scuffs into the living room.

"Oh, Lizzie, you're awake."

"Hmm." she mumbles in response.

"Rich said that you weren't feeling well. How about now?"

In any other circumstance, Lizzie would have told Charlotte everything, but now, with Bill just walking in, and Mr Lu reading his paper by the fire, there is nothing to say. "Uh...I'm not feeling great. I think I'll skip tonight, if that's all right."

"But this is the dinner party," begins Bill. "You can't miss..."

"Of course it's all right," butts in Charlotte. "You stay in and rest."

"But Charlotte, this is an important night. Lady Catherine expects everyone to be there."

Charlotte shakes her head. "Lady Catherine can go..." She clearly thinks better of her first thought. "I'll explain it to her, and I'm sure she'll understand."

Lizzie and Bill wear similar expressions of scepticism.

Charlotte shrugs, and smiles at Lizzie. "It'll be all right. Is there anything I can get you?"

Lizzie shakes her head. "I'll be fine. We've got tea and a kettle, and cookies around. I don't need anything else."

Charlotte smiles. "All right then."

Bill starts to look panicky. "Are you ready? Mr Lu? Miri? MIRI?"

Miri appears at the door of Charlotte's room, scrubbed and groomed and dressed. "I'm here," she says, grim. "You're not coming?" she asks, eyes narrowed.

"You know, headache," says Lizzie, waving vaguely around her face.

"Lucky," mutters Miri, and stalks towards the door.

Charlotte grimaces, stands up, and then herds everyone over to the door. "Oh well, let's go" she says in a sing-song voice. To Miri, she adds in a low tone, "the sooner we go, the sooner we come back." Lizzie smiles slightly, relieved to see some glimmer of her friend through the new fiancée of Bill. With a slam, the door closes, leaving Lizzie in blissful silence.

Fr: george at jrusselonline

To: ebethbnet

Subject: rat, slinking back

Hey you,

So, after your last incredibly forgiving email I realised that I had been a complete skeeze. So, Mary is history. I thought you should know. I was a rat. She was nice and all, but she was no you.

Maybe we can meet up soon? Let me know when you're in a town for more than one night and I'll come see you.

Love,

George

"I thought you should know?" I mutter. "And what am I supposed to do about that?"

I'm sitting in the big armchair in front of the fire, my laptop propped up in my lap, a cup of tea on the arm. And I'm grumpy as hell. Well, more than grumpy. I'm grumpy about George. I'm furious about Will. Furious and bitterly disappointed, and sad, and betrayed and...well. A whole bunch of stuff. I consider typing a snotty email back to George, thanking him for now being ready to be with me, now that he has apparently dumped someone else. Boy, do I feel special. I take a breath. This isn't fair on George. He was only trying to be nice, and now I'm taking out all my Will-related anger on him. I take another deep breath, and attempt to calm down. I stop writing snotty emails, and start on my resignation.

Lizzie is shaken from her reverie of resignation writing, trying to walk the fine line between righteous and annoying, by a knock on the door. "Come in," she calls, still feeling too grumpy and tired to get up. She immediately regrets her slack guard of the door, when Will Darcy walks in. It's weird, Lizzie muses, as he appears to be the kind who would linger in doorways and walk unsurely, and yet here he is, striding across the room. Of course, as soon as he gets to the other side of the room, he spins on his heel, and starts striding back the other way, a one man marching band. Lizzie remains sitting still, curled up in the armchair. She watches rather like a tennis spectator, following him back and forth across the room, all the while with a confused, vaguely irritated expression on her face.

"Did you want something?"

Will glances at her mid-walk, but doesn't stop.

Irritation begins to build to something more resembling anger. She snaps closed her laptop, thumps it onto the coffee table, and then stands up. Only then does she remember the headache. Exacerbated by leaping to her feet all too quickly, Lizzie staggers slightly, one hand to her head. Will stops walking.

"Are you all right?" he asks, suddenly very close, a hand on her arm. She doesn't say anything, just attempts to blink the headache out of her eyes. "You're still feeling ill? Charlotte said..."

"It's just a headache," she says thickly.

"Have you had a drink? Come and get some fresh air. You'll feel better, right?" A ghost of a smile plays around his mouth.

It's just too much for Lizzie. "Don't make fun of me," she snaps, and shakes off his hand.

Will bites his lip, and steps back. "Right." He stands still and looks at her for the longest minute of her life. Then he shakes his head, and walks out of the door, it slowly closing behind him. Lizzie watches him go, and breathes heavily, feeling like suddenly the air has rushed back into the suffocating room. Before she has even had a chance for a good lungful though, Will strides back through the door, pushing it back open, slamming against the wall. "I forgot something," he says, walks right over and takes her in his arms. "I love you," he says, and kisses her.