Suddenly, Georgiana froze in place. “Oh, Elizabeth, you must say that word!” she exclaimed, both terrified and amused.

Elizabeth paused, trying to imagine Georgiana’s horror, repeating the play’s lines in her head.Then she snorted.“I will, will I not, Georgiana? I must say the word ass repeatedly. Ooh, I do so love this play.” She gave Georgiana a quick hug. “Come, girls, I will need much practice to say my lines without blushing.”

Chapter 13

“We have only one more scene through which to read,” Worth told Anne, as they hid themselves away, by common assent, on the same bench they had occupied previously in the conservatory. It offered them privacy. If anyone questioned their withdrawal, they would place the blame on the need to practice their scenes. They played lead parts, Beatrice and Benedick.

“Scene four of act five,” Anne noted, “after the second wedding scene.” She flipped through the pages to find the place. Sitting close together, they read from the same book.“Are you ready, Mr.Worth?”

“Absolutely, Miss de Bourgh.”

Anne pointed to the passage. “You may begin, sir.”

Worth cleared his throat before declaring, “Soft and fair, Friar. Which is Beatrice?”

Anne moved a bit closer. “I answer to that name. What is your will?”

“Do you love me?”Worth gazed at Anne’s profile.

She huskily whispered her lines.“Why, no, no more than reason.”

Worth returned his attention to the play. “Why, then your uncle and the Prince and Claudio have been deceived. They swore you did,” he read.

Anne asked flirtatiously, “Do not you love me?”

“Troth, no, no more than reason.”

“Why then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula are much deceived, for they did swear you did.”

Worth caught Anne’s hand in his, letting his finger trace a circle in her palm. “They swore that you were almost sick for me.”

Anne copied his teasing tone. “They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me.”

“’Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me?” He raised an eyebrow and his partner burst into laughter.

Composing herself, Anne read, “No, truly, but in friendly recompense.”

Worth looked down at the script. “Then Leonato, Claudio, and Hero produce the poem Benedick has written to Beatrice and Beatrice’s letter to Benedick.” He held up his invisible prop, a letter, and studied it.Then he read the lines, “A miracle! Here is our own hands against our hearts. Come, I will have thee, but by this light I take thee for pity.”

Anne said faintly, “I would not deny you, but by this good day. I yield upon great persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.”

“Peace! I will stop your mouth.”Worth lifted his hand to caress her face.“We should rehearse the kiss if you are willing, Miss de Bourgh.”

“If you wish, Mr.Worth,” the lady responded breathily.

“I wish very much, Miss de Bourgh.”The man lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her gently. Their lips touched briefly-no embrace- no overt sexuality-simply an early courtship kiss-a declaration of a commitment between them. “I look forward to the actual performance so I might repeat the pleasure of tasting your lips, my Anne.”

“Am I yours, Mr.Worth?” she murmured.

“If I have anything to say on the matter.”

Anne slid her arms around his neck. “I believe I am in need of more practice, sir.”

“As am I.”Worth chuckled as he pulled Anne closer.


Hours of separate and group rehearsals brought additional laughter, along with some frustration. They considered postponing their performance an additional day to allow more time for perfection, but Lord Stafford insisted that they were as ready as they might ever be; and after some desultory debate, the gentleman’s reason prevailed. After dinner, they would offer up their version of Shakespeare’s comedy for the delight of one another, as well as Darcy, Lady Catherine, and Mrs.Williams.

Elizabeth had talked Darcy into her idea of wearing men’s clothing, but she had forgotten that Lady Catherine would be in the audience. Now, I will just prove my inappropriateness, she chastised herself. Even worse, I have involved my sister and Georgiana.What was I thinking? However, as her entrance approached, Elizabeth took a deep breath and stepped, or rather galloped, to center stage. She played the part of the ineffectual constable Dogberry, with his ever-present side-kick, Verges, who was portrayed by a terrified Georgiana.

Elizabeth heard Lady Catherine’s snort of disapproval, but Darcy’s simple “Excellent!” gave her the courage to portray the foolish Dogberry with pure abandonment. She spoke with all the pomposity of the man who considered himself learned when the world recognized him as an incompetent fool.“Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman, for I cannot see how sleeping should offend. Only have a care that your bills be not stolen. Well, you are to call at all the alehouses and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. But if they will not, why then, let them alone till they are sober. If they make you not then the better answer, you will say they are not the men you took them for.”

Darcy laughed heartily. In his opinion, Elizabeth was a natural, but then she always amused him, even when they were in opposition. He had loved her handling of the infamous Caroline Bingley’s obvious barbs back in their Netherfield Park days. It was one of the qualities which had attracted him to her in the first place. Her presence lightened his heart and brought him joy. Knowing Georgiana had upcoming lines in the play, Darcy returned his attention to his sister’s look of pure delight. Six months ago, a sultan’s fortune could not have induced his sister to perform in a play and place herself in a position for censure or for praise.

Tonight, infected by Elizabeth’s enthusiasm, Georgiana hobbled along as his wife’s partner. “If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse and bid her still it,” she declared. Darcy’s smile exploded. She will recover, he thought. Her heart will heal, thanks to Elizabeth. “Bravo,” he said loudly enough for Georgiana to hear. Quietly, he added, “Bravo, my dear sister.”

“Darcy,” Lady Catherine hissed under her breath, but he immediately hushed her.

“None of your usual censure, Aunt,” he warned. “Let them know the day’s distraction.”

“But . . .” she began; however, a glacial stare from Darcy silenced her immediately.


Peter ventured a quick survey of the ballroom thespians.The ladies—Mrs. Darcy, Miss Darcy, and Mrs.Wickham—flaunted a freedom not rightly theirs and abused the precepts of propriety with their performances. He despised women who crossed the boundaries of society’s unwritten laws. Women, and society as a whole, often found him disagreeable because he fancied himself a discerning critic—not blind to the follies and nonsense of others. He knew that affectation of candor is common enough; one meets with it everywhere. Of the three women, Mrs. Wickham bothered him the most. Her behavior had not been calculated to please in general; and with more quickness of observation and less pliancy of temper than the others, he was very little disposed to approve of the woman.

He found Lydia Wickham not deficient in good humor when she was pleased, nor in the power of being agreeable when she chose it; and although rather handsome, she was in the habit of spending more than she ought, a grievous error in a lady as far as Peter was concerned.

“No,” he whispered, “not Mrs. Darcy or the girl.” The mistress of the estate, although occasionally bordering on impertinence, had an affectionate nature, which added to her virtue. He had heard that Miss Darcy was exceedingly proud, but the observation of a very few minutes convinced him that the girl was only exceedingly shy. In fact, Peter rather liked Georgiana. Despite his disapproval of Mrs. Darcy’s and of Miss Darcy’s choice of attire for the play, only Mrs. Wickham gave true offense. “Outrageous,” he muttered. Like his father, he held the opinion that the loss of virtue in a female was irretrievable; that one false step involved her in endless ruin; that her reputation was no less brittle than it was beautiful; and that she could not be too guarded in her behavior toward the undeserving of the other sex.

Peter was well aware of the history of George Wickham and his wife. Though he did not suppose Mrs. Wickham to have deliberately engaged in an elopement without the intention of marriage, neither her virtue nor her understanding had kept Lydia Bennet from committing the ultimate transgression—possessing nothing but love, flirtation, and officers in her head, she had succumbed and entrapped at the same time. Peter had never understood Wickham’s choice. What attractions had Lydia Bennet beyond youth, health, and good humor? What could make him for her sake forego every chance of benefiting himself by marrying well?

“No, it must be Mrs. Wickham,” he repeated. “She is the most deserving.”


Darcy became engrossed in the Pemberley rendition of Shakespeare’s comedy. His sister playfully came alive, and despite the troubles plaguing his household, he accepted the possibilities of Georgiana’s future—of her finding a match appropriate to her station, but also a loving relationship. He would not give his consent, no matter the man’s title or his wealth, to any suitor who did not engage Georgiana’s heart.

As the final scenes developed—leading to the masked wedding, where love prevails—Elizabeth slid into the empty chair on his left. Darcy caught her hand in his and brought the back of it to his lips. “Thank you,” he mouthed. She understood his meaning without his expressing the words.