First (Wrong) Impressions: A Modern Pride & Prejudice (2 page)

She let out a long sigh and said, “I don’t understand any of you.”

Mom was the kind of person who believed everyone should get married at least once in their life. When Mrs. Winnie Bennet said she wanted everyone to get married, she really did mean it. Mom was a traditional woman, who went to a conservative church and who ran the church bake sales. She made wedding dresses for a living. She loved babies. So Mom surprised everyone when Luke came out to her; she patted him on the hand, saying, “We’ll find you a nice young man, don’t you worry. And then you can have babies, too.”

Mom
really
wanted everyone to get married at least once.

“I’m married to my job,” Luke said, winking at Lizzy.

Lizzy had to stifle a laugh because her mother would only turn her frustration on her.

Mom shook her head in disbelief. “How is your mother supposed to get grandbabies if you won’t date anyone?”

“Mom…” Lizzy said, rolling her eyes. “Leave him alone.”

“You’re as bad as him. Twenty-six years old and neither of you married. Two peas in a pod, you are. It’s really too bad you’re not a man, Lizzy. You’d be a perfect couple.”

“Seriously, Mom?”

“Why is this rich cousin in town?” Jane asked, trying to move the conversation on.

It did the trick. “Well, apparently, he’s in town to housesit.”

“What does he do?” Mary asked.

“Who cares? He’s rich!”

“I’d find it boring to just sit around,” Mary mused, this time not looking up from her phone.

“No kidding!” Lizzy said. “He must do something.”

“Well, Luke’s Mom tells me that Denny told Maria that he’s still figuring that out. In the meantime, he travels a lot.”

Lizzy laughed. “Sounds like he’s finding himself.”

“With fifty million dollars in the bank,” Mom exclaimed, “he can afford to be lost all he wants!”

Chapter 2

Maria Charlotte’s wedding to Denny Carter was the kind of event Lizzy dreaded. Maria was Luke’s sister and she was twenty-three; an age which Lizzy’s mother firmly believed was the perfect age for matrimony. Lizzy’s mother made the wedding gown, just exactly the way Maria wanted, and every time old-maid-at-twenty-six Lizzy was in range, she got to hear about it. Over and over and over.

Thank God she didn’t live at home anymore.

The Charlottes owned a modest, but cozy, house in an older part of town. Lizzy’s mom pulled up under the overgrown trees that had already turned various shades of orange and red. The narrow side-street was covered in crushed multi-coloured leaves that crunched under Lizzy’s feet when she stepped out of the van.

Chatter and laughter hit Lizzy as soon as she opened the back door. She hadn’t removed her sneakers before her youngest sister bounded into the back porch.

“It’s about time you got here!” Lydia exclaimed. “Oh my God, Lizzy! You have got to meet Denny’s cousin.”

“Let me get my shoes off first,” Lizzy said.

Lydia scrunched in her face in an exaggerated pout. She was tall for fifteen, with the dangerous combination of a youthful frame and a bombshell body. The modeling companies loved her, and the commercials nearly as much. Her glossy black curls were tipped today with pink, purple, blue, and red.

“Lydia, stop being bossy,” Jane said.

Lydia stuck out her tongue. “Hurry up! Come on. No one expects you to take off your shoes, Jane. Just get up here.”

Jane gave her that look that only elder sisters can pull off. “Stop being bossy.”

Lydia ignored the chiding to wave. “Hey, Luke. Hi, Mary. Come on, hurry up!” In a lower voice—or at least lower for Lydia—she said, “Charles Bingley’s here. You have got to meet him.”

“Do we, now?” Lizzy said.

Jane pushed her outside shoes against the wall and pulled her indoor ones from her purse.

When she’d slipped them on, Lydia grabbed her arm. “Okay, let’s go.”

As Lydia dragged Jane up the stairs with Lizzy and company in tow, the chatter grew louder and the bubblegum pop of G’Anna, the millennium pop sensation, waged a war of noise against the voices.

“G’Anna? Seriously?” Lizzy made a disgusted sound. “Aren’t you supposed to play sappy love songs at these things?”

“Power ballads are also acceptable,” Mary called out. “R&B as well.”

“Oo,” Jane said, “and the older jazz singers like Ella Fitzgerald.”

“Michael Bolton!” Lizzy exclaimed to a flood of laughter from her sisters.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “You are all
so
not with the times.”

“I’m not the one playing some washed-up thirteen-year-old’s music.” Lizzy said, as she pushed, weaved, and waved her way through the house, Lydia in tow.

Lydia stopped prancing to whirl on her sister. “G’Anna, also known as Georgiana de Bourgh-Darcy, retired from music at eighteen. No one knows why and it apparently cost her millions to get out of her contracts. They suspect it was totally because of her mother’s death. I think it was drugs.”

Upon Jane’s arrival in the living room, several offered up their seats and the eldest Bennet sisters took a loveseat with thanks. Luke settled on the floor near Lizzy’s feet, and Mary squatted beside him, pulling out her cell phone.

“You don’t even know my birthday, but you know the real name of a pop princess?”

“That’s because I care about her,” Lydia snapped back, though she had a laugh in her voice.

“Touching,” Luke commented.

Lydia flounced off into the kitchen, ignoring him. “Hi Charles! I want you to meet my sisters!”

A moment later, Lydia returned with two men in tow. One was average height and good-looking, with dark, aboriginal features and a wide smile. He wore a T-shirt and jeans, his braided hair hung over one shoulder and he had enough muscle to bench-press an armoured car.

“This is Jane, my oldest sister, and this is Lizzy.” Lydia frowned. “My sister Mary is…oh there she is. Jane, Lizzy, this is Charles Bingley, Denny’s cousin.”

They exchanged greetings and Lizzy found herself liking this Charles Bingley and his broad shoulders. There was genuine warmth about him that Lizzy approved of instantly.

“This is my friend, Darcy,” he said.

Behind Charles loitered a taller man, more handsome than the rich cousin, but far less friendly-looking. He was in a blue button-up dress shirt and dark dress pants. His conservative haircut matched the outfit and his light skin had a touch of sunburn, like he’d just gotten back from a beach vacation.

“Good day, Darcy,” Lizzy said. “Are you from Edmonton?”

“No.”

Charles glanced at him with amusement. “Darcy lives in Calgary, like me. He’s up here for business. I decided to housesit for a friend whose condo is being renovated while she’s away, and hey, it’s Denny’s wedding soon and I haven’t seen him in a while. It all works out.”

Lizzy smiled and turned to Darcy; he seemed the type of person who needed encouragement to talk around strangers. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your last name. Darcy…?”

“William Darcy,” he replied coldly. “My friends call me Darcy.”

“Then what do strangers call you?” Lizzy grinned.

“Mr. Darcy.”

The laugh in her voice died abruptly. So, not shy. Just an ass. Well, she could play along. “Well, then, Mr. Darcy, I hope to one day achieve friend status.”

Charles burst into laughter. “She got you.”

This
Mr. Darcy
glanced around as though he needed to be rescued by one of his no-doubt large fleet of servants.

“Don’t take offence,” Charles said, still laughing. “Darcy hates parties.”

Lizzy remained skeptical, but let it pass.

“Lizzy, can you help me? It’s hard to move in this seat.” Jane’s shoe had slipped off.

“Sure.” Lizzy bent down to help slip the shoe back on. Jane’s sock had caught on the inside of the shoe, so Lizzy adjusted it. “I keep meaning to drive you to get a new one. This shoe is dead, Jim.”

Jane grinned at the Star Trek reference, but said nothing. Her cheeks were flushed. Lizzy realized that she might’ve just made Jane uncomfortable in front of Charles, who, until now, had been exchanging a number of smiles with her.

“My sister says women love shoe shopping.” Charles said. “She says it’s a universal truth.”

Jane didn’t look up, her cheeks turning redder. Lydia huffed and crossed her arms, glaring at Charles.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, clearly confused.

Lizzy was about to answer, but Jane stopped her. She offered Charles a soft smile. “They’re trying to figure out how to tell you I only have one leg.”

Several expressions flashed across Charles’ face before embarrassment won the battle. “Oh.” He grimaced. “I was trying to be…funny.” He looked down at her leg, then away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Lizzy took a deep breath. “So, Mr. Darcy, what is it that you do? I don’t believe you said.”

Darcy cleared his throat. “I—”

“It’s fine. I’m not offended.” Jane pulled up her pant leg above her sock until the peachy shell of her false leg was visible. “I’ve had it for six years now. I’m mostly used to it, but my sisters are overprotective, especially Lizzy.”

“I am not overprotective.” Lizzy turned to Charles. “People react strangely sometimes and I don’t like to see anyone upset my sister.”

“That just means you’re a good sister. Are those special shoes to wear indoors?”

Jane nodded, giving him another smile. “I tried going without them once, but I slipped and fell down the stairs. I don’t like to be without them now.”

Lizzy leaned towards Charles and said
sotto voce
, “What she’s trying to say is that she scared me so bad that I won’t let her go without them.”

Everyone laughed except Mr. Darcy, who looked as if he was about to be sent to the gallows. Why on earth would he come to a party if he didn’t want to speak to anyone? Lizzy couldn’t understand people like that. But at least most of the tension has been dispelled, and Charles, eager to please, sat down on the loveseat arm next to Jane and peppered her with questions about prosthetics and shoes.

Another G’Anna song blasted from the speakers, drowning out the conversation.

“Lydia, can’t you play something else? This is an engagement party, not a freaking prom.”

“It’s not my fault you have no taste, Lizzy.
The Battle is Over
is like the best love song ever.”

“Actually,” Mr. Darcy piped up, “I believe G’Anna’s best love song, and therefore the best love song ever, is
What If You Stayed.
”

They turned to him, including Lizzy, who couldn’t help her slack-jawed expression.

Darcy cleared his throat, his cheeks flushed. “G’Anna is my sister.”

Lydia’s shrieks pierced the sound barrier, as she lunged at Darcy. Poor Mr. Darcy cringed as Lydia jumped around him, grabbing his shirt, rambling incoherently about G’Anna’s greatness and could he get his sister to come to Edmonton so that they could meet because OH MY GOD they would be perfect best friends and OH!! OH!! They could hang out on commercial sets and they could totally start a girl band and have epic adventures and have a reality show based on their lives and…

“Lydia!” Mom called from the kitchen. “Stop screeching! This isn’t a hockey game!”

“For God’s sake, leave the poor man alone.” Lizzy tugged on her sister’s shirt. “Lydia, seriously, stop. You’re scaring him.”

“Oh my God, Lizzy! This is G’Anna’s brother! Here! Right now!”

“Lydia, stop it this instant,” Jane chided.

“Mom, tell Lydia to leave Darcy alone!” Mary shouted. “Lydia, he looks like a deer in the headlights.”

“I don’t,” Darcy said, squaring his shoulders.

Charles gave him a once-over. “Ya kinda do, man.”

Mom came out of the kitchen, huffing. “What the devil is going on, girls? Stop acting like a bunch of savages.” She looked at Charles and amended, “Oh, I wasn’t making a comment about
your
people.”

“Thanks,” Charles said dryly.

Lizzy let out a long sigh and closed her eyes.

“Mom!” Jane exclaimed. “You can’t say those things.”

“Don’t give me that look, Jane Bennet. Charles Bingley knows I didn’t mean anything by it. Now, what’s all this fussing?”

“Lydia is bugging Darcy.”

“Now, Lydia, come on. Leave the poor man alone. He’s too old for you. Let your sisters flirt with him instead. Come and help with the sandwiches.”

Lydia gushed for another thirty seconds before being removed to the kitchen by her mother.

“Sorry, Mr. Darcy. She’s a big fan.”

“Clearly.”

And that was all the response he gave to being jumped on by Lydia.

With Lydia’s disappearance and Charles’s focus on Jane, Lizzy was left to sit observing his pained expression.

A few minutes later, Lydia came back. “Mary, can you go to the shoot with me tomorrow? It’s our last day filming and Mom can’t go now.”

Mary looked up from her phone. “It’s not in my appointment calendar, so no.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Mary! Mom has to cancel and Dad is busy with the store. I have to be there by nine and I need a chaperone. Come on! You know they won’t let me on set otherwise.”

“Plan better next time,” Mary said and went back to her phone.

“What’s the problem?” Charles asked.

The responses from the three sisters came at the same time and showed their differing opinions:

Lizzy: “Lydia’s filming a commercial for—”

Jane: “Lydia’s an actress who—”

Mary: “Lydia thinks she’s an actress.”

“I don’t
think
I’m an actress, you moron, I am one.”

Mary lifted an eyebrow.

“Give me a ride tomorrow.”

“Who’s a moron?”

Charles and Jane exchanged more smiles and he asked, “Why does she need someone there?”

“Collective agreement,” Mary supplied, “Lydia’s fifteen.”

“Almost sixteen!”

“Almost sixteen, also known as still fifteen. She has to have someone on set with her. She’s supposed to arrange this beforehand.”

“I was busy helping with this party! Lizzy, you can do it, right?”

“Sorry, I’m busy.”

“Oh, come on! You don’t need to be at work until four.”