“Oh yes, I heard a rumor they were gathered not too far from here. You two best behave.”
“Never.” Cassie continues to giggle. “I am determined to be the most incorrigible flirt. What about you, sister?” She leans in with a conspiring gleam in her eye.
I hesitate. Shaking off the rust and matching my castmates isn’t going as naturally as I hoped. Given my enthusiasm for acting in my youth, I thought it would be something I could slip back into, like a second skin or riding a bike. But I’m finding something heavy holding me back from fully leaning into the character.
I’ve spent so long actively killing the part of me that resembled Lydia, and now, trying to resurrect it in its complete form feels impossible.
Sure, I’ve seen winks of it the past few days, but pulling it out is like trying to complete a puzzle that’s missing half of its pieces.
A tall figure blocks our path, obscuring the rays of the sun. “Yours, I believe.” A voice with a subtle British lilt sounds from the shadowy figure extending a handkerchief to Chloe-as-Elizabeth. My heart skips an irrational beat.
It’s Jack.
But it’s not. When my feet halt and my eyes adjust, the man standing before me is someone entirely new.
With a smooth, shaven face I haven’t seen in years, Jack looks younger and more like a wolf in sheep’s clothing than the wolf himself.
His red wool jacket sits tight, pulling across his broad shoulders. The brass buckles that adorn his chest wink in the shining light, and I drag my eyes down and away over white wool breeches that, uhm—
Oh, look at those black gaiters. Those are some nice gaiters.
My traitorous gaze refuses to be content with feasting on his boots and pulls north to his pants again, which hug his thick thighs in a way that’s somehow more deadly than the peek the penalty box picture supplied.
Bridget steps back, brushing against my shoulder and whispering into my ear, “His appearance was greatly in his favor; he had all the best part of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figure, and a very pleasing address.”
“Huh?” I blink back to reality.
“It’s a line fromP&P.”
“Do you have the whole book memorized?” I whisper, arching a brow and telling my mouth to close.
It doesn’t.
I fear it will be stuck in the openly gawking position until the end of days now.
She shrugs. “I might have a photographic memory.”
“Oh well, that’s impressive.”
“My sister, Lydia.” Chloe-as-Elizabeth’s voice cuts through my stupor.
“Pleasure.” The red-coated gentleman I vaguely register as Jack, my best friend, reaches out for my hand. I extend it, and mischief sparkles in his gaze as his lips press against my skin.
Suddenly, all the pieces I’ve been missing to complete the Lydia Bennet puzzle make themselves known. The sound of my own ridiculous giggle echoes through me as a swarm of butterflies flutters in my gut.
If every officer looked this stunning, then at least half of Lydia’s foolishness makes sense now.
Jack’s stare rests on my face like he’s trying to parse something out.
“Hi,” I whisper, my brain utterly devoid of any other word in the English language this close to him.
“Hello, pet.” He winks.
“Mr. Wickham, are you coming?” Chloe asks, exasperation in her tone. And I find myself at war with how I feel about her reaction because I completely understand. I promised her a luncheon where a professional hockey player wearingthis outfitflirts with her for the entire event. If I were in her shoes, I’d be impatient, too. Nothing like this ever happens in Chawton Falls.
But there’s an ugly part of me I didn’t know existed that wants to growl “mine” at her, take Jack’s arm, and run away for real.
I’m supposed to be silly. I get it. But that’s probably taking this whole thing too far.
