Текст книги "Prom and Prejudice"

Автор книги: Elizabeth Eulberg

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 10 страниц)

Twenty-Nine

AFTER THE DINNER, JANE OFFERED TO TALK TO CHARLES TO see if he could give any insight to Darcy's behavior, but I felt it was useless. There was only one thing that I had control over at that point – my performance in the following week's recital.

I threw myself into practice, running through my piece over and over every day. I felt more pressure when I noticed that the posters for the spring recital featured my name: "Performance of Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini by Elizabeth Bennet and the Longbourn Orchestra."

During class I would stare at my desk and pretend it was a keyboard, going over the piece in my head.

I was at Longbourn to get an education, to get better at music. Prom, boys, anything else was just a distraction to me at that point. I ignored all the girls talking about the dance, which was the weekend after the recital. I would zip past them as they held fashion shows in the hallway. I didn't even glance at their designer dresses.

I had never been so focused on a performance in my life. I found myself getting annoyed when the orchestra couldn't keep up or someone missed her cue. Part of me was convinced they were doing it on purpose, that there was a desire among the students to see me fall flat on my face. But I was going to do everything in my power to nail my part. They could screw up, but once I started playing, there wasn't anything they could really do to stop me.

The evening of the performance came. I briefly saw my parents for a late lunch, but I could hardly eat. My nerves were getting the best of me.

The Longbourn auditorium was an old building, with stained-glass windows and a large balcony. All of our performances for music and drama were held in this space and it seated nearly five hundred people. It was tradition for parents to come up for the recital and there was always a lavish reception afterward.

I sat by myself backstage in a practice room with my headphones on, listening to Rhapsody. Our performance was the finale for the evening, and I didn't want to get distracted by listening to the various performances by members of the orchestra and the other piano students.

My legs began to twitch. I closed my eyes and tried some breathing exercises to calm down. I nearly screamed out when someone tapped me on the shoulder to notify me that it was time.

We were all dressed in floor-length black dresses. I had my hair tied back in a loose bun that Jane had done for me.

I waited in the wings as the members of the orchestra took their places to the applause of the audience. Mrs. Gardiner then took center stage and motioned for me to make my entrance.

I tried to walk out with confidence, but felt my nerves increase with each step. I looked up toward the lights as I took my bow. The lights temporarily blinded me so I couldn't see the audience. The white light that was burned into my gaze gave me something to concentrate on as I sat down at the piano.

I gently guided my hands up and down the keyboard. Mrs. Gardiner was waiting for my signal to start, and I needed this quick moment to re-familiarize myself with the keys. I'd been playing piano for more than a decade, but this little ritual was something I did before every performance. I wanted to, in some way, connect with the instrument before I played.

I looked at Mrs. Gardiner and nodded. She held up her baton and the entire orchestra flipped their instruments to attention. At that very moment, I was nearly bursting with a desire to start. The nerves subsided and this gush of energy rushed forth as I eagerly anticipated the motion of the baton that would start the piece.

Mrs. Gardiner flicked the baton down. The strings started to play and I answered with chords. The beginning was the easiest (if anything by Rachmaninoff could be considered easy) and soon I found myself in a wonderful zone where I let my fingers do what I'd practiced them to do. They happily slid across the piano as I gave myself over to the music.

This was when I truly felt alive. No matter if I was answering the orchestra with runs or large bundles of notes or quietly building anticipation for the next variation, there was nowhere else I wanted to be but at Longbourn, on that stage, with this orchestra.

Nearly fifteen minutes into the piece, as I started in by myself on the eighteenth variation, the audience began to applaud. This section was my favorite, not just because it was featured in many romantic movies, but it was beautiful. When the orchestra joined in with me, I felt a lump in my throat.

As we finished that section, I took a deep breath. I needed every ounce of energy and concentration to get through the end.

As I began to tackle Rachmaninoff's challenging runs, a trickle of sweat began to make its way down the side of my face. I might not have even breathed for the last minute or so while I hammered away at the keyboard. Every note rang out and I leaned forward into the keys. It was a race to the finish, and after one last run and the crescendo of the orchestra, all fell silent as I played the last two chords.

I dropped my hands into my lap from exhaustion. The audience erupted in applause. I looked at Mrs. Gardiner and she motioned for me to stand up. As I did, she enveloped me in a huge hug. "Thank you, Elizabeth," she whispered in my ear. "That was wonderful!"

I nodded and went to shake the hands of the two first-chair violinists, Mary and Kitty, which was customary when playing with an orchestra.

I finally faced the audience and noticed they were on their feet. I bowed and motioned toward the orchestra, who then stood up.

For the first time, I surveyed the audience. I did notice that not everybody was standing; several students from my classes sat looking completely bored, but their parents seemed impressed.

And then in the third row, I saw my parents, both with tears streaming down their faces. I nearly started to sob, but the sight of Darcy, Georgiana, and their mom standing next to my parents shocked the tears from my system.

Thirty

THE RECEPTION WAS HELD IN FOUNDERS HALL, THE SAME place the mixer had been at the beginning of the semester. It was beautifully decorated with flowers and candles. I was having difficulty finding my parents; anytime I tried to locate them, someone would come up and congratulate me. Granted, the majority of people coming up to me were adults; even an inspiring performance of Rachmaninoff wasn't going to erase the scholarship stamp across my face.

After profusely thanking the headmistress for her kind words, I made a beeline for the food, as I knew that was where my dad would most likely be.

"There you are!" he exclaimed while holding a plate full of crudites.

Mom came rushing over and hugged me tightly. "Oh, Lizzie!" I felt my chin twitch as she held on to me. "You were wonderful. Your father and I are so proud of you."

Dad leaned over and planted a kiss on my forehead. "Amazing. I have no idea where you get any of your talent. It certainly isn't from either of us."

Mom hit him. "You promised you wouldn't embarrass her."

My parents were always overly sensitive about their behavior at Longbourn. They'd never monitored themselves when I had been at school back home, and they certainly didn't care about embarrassing me in front of my Hoboken friends, but I think the Longbourn parents made them even more uncomfortable than they made me.

"Lizzie!" Georgie ran up to me with a dozen red roses. "These are for you. From all of us."

"Thank you!" I smelled the flowers. "You shouldn't have."

"Nonsense." Claudia Reynolds came up to me and grabbed my hands. "It is customary for the soloist to be given roses. Especially after that performance. You were brilliant, my dear."

"Thank you. You have no idea how much that means coming from you." I still couldn't believe that Claudia Reynolds even knew who I was, but at that moment, there was only one person's review that I wanted to hear.

I turned hopefully to Darcy.

He came over and kissed me on the cheek. "Amazing."

"Thanks. I can't believe you guys came."

"Of course we would be here. We weren't going to miss it for anything." He smiled at me, and for a moment I sensed that Spring Break Darcy was back.

For the second time that evening, a sense of urgency overtook me. But this time it wasn't to perform, it was to come clean. I grabbed Darcy by the arm and started to lead him out of the room.

"Can I talk to you?" I asked.

"Uh, of course." He seemed surprised by my forwardness, but not nearly as shocked as I was.

We arrived outside Founders Hall, and he stood there with a puzzled look on his face.

"So ..." I tried to figure out what I wanted to say to him. For weeks I had wanted nothing more than to talk to him, but I figured that he would do the talking. I realized that for most of the time I knew him, he instigated our conversations. It had been my job to rudely reply back to him.

"I'm sorry, Darcy. I'm really sorry."

Darcy looked at me. "I keep telling you, there is nothing you have to apologize for."

"Yes I do. I'm sorry that I said all those horrible things about you to Wick, that I thought you were this stuck-up snob." His jaw clenched at hearing those words. "But the thing is, you weren't the snob. I was. You were right – I did have a problem with people with money. I built this wall up around me – I didn't want to get hurt. When I first met you, you seemed like every other person at Pemberley, and I refused, despite your efforts to get to know me better, to change my stubborn mind.

"Maybe we do have a lot more in common than I thought. You didn't want to trust any scholarship students. And I really don't blame you after what Wick did, and knowing how that affected you.... Even after that, you still could see past my circumstances and see me. I'm so horrified by my behavior. You tried to be nice to me and I just dismissed you. You didn't have to do any of those things – giving me the coat and the tickets to see your mom, introducing me to your family, and helping with Lydia. In fact, I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to speak to me again. But, the thing is, I'm ready to take down the wall, and I really hope that we can be ..."

I suddenly didn't know what to say next. I couldn't say friends, as I knew deep down that wasn't what I wanted from Darcy.

Darcy folded his arms. "Lizzie, does this have anything to do with the fact that prom is next weekend?"

"Prom? No, not at all."

He nodded slowly. "Good, because there is something you should know. I have no intention of asking you to prom."

Thirty-One

DARCY'S WORDS HUNG IN THE AIR FOR WHAT SEEMED LIKE an eternity. Truth be told, there were only a couple seconds between that statement and what followed, but to me those two seconds were painful.

A person can think a lot of things in two seconds: how foolish she's been, how awful a person she's been, that maybe she's no better than Caroline Bingley, that maybe Longbourn has changed her for the worse.

I tried desperately to hide any emotion from Darcy. He had every reason not to want to go to prom with me. And I didn't really care about prom anyway.

I cared about Darcy.

Although he already made it clear to me that he had no intention of making the same mistake twice. I was that mistake.

At least, in those two seconds, I thought I was.

"Lizzie," he said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "Prom is a stupid, inconsequential event. In the past few weeks, I've seen friends ask girls to prom who they don't even like. Why? So they can have a date. It's a silly tradition that I have no desire to take you to."

I nodded at him. Trying, for the second time this evening, to fight back tears. But these were a different kind of tears than earlier. My heart was starting to tear in two.

Darcy picked up my hand. "You are far too important and special to me to take to such an uninspiring event."

I looked up at him. He smiled at me and bent down on one knee. "Elizabeth Bennet, will you do me the great honor of not going to prom with me?"

I stared blankly at him for a few seconds. Then I took him in, kneeling before me, giving me the best proposal of all. I couldn't help but laugh at his wonderful gesture. "Yes, I will."

"Will you instead avoid prom with me and let me take you on a date?"

"Yes."

He stood up and put his arms around me. "You have no idea how much agony I have been in these last few weeks."

I pulled away. "Why?"

Darcy sighed. "You seem to forget who my mother is. I knew better than to even approach you with anything while you were getting ready for the concert. Especially knowing that you have a pretty ferocious right hook."

The realization that Darcy wasn't ignoring me because of any ill feelings was a huge relief.

"And your absence from the Junction?"

He bit his lower lip and curled his arm around my waist. "I'm sorry to inform you that I have your shifts on my calendar and I'll see you tomorrow night."

"Thanks for the warning." I placed my head against his chest.

"Oh, and one more thing I should warn you about." I was so comfortable; I nuzzled my head into his shoulder for him to continue. "I'm going to take you to a very casual, very non-Pemberley place for our date. There will be no crystal, no foie anything, and, more important, no crazy prom parties. Just you, me, and some delicious Italian food."

"Sounds perfect."

Thirty-Two

PROM NIGHT ARRIVED. JANE SPENT MOST OF THE DAY GETTING a spray tan, manicure, pedicure, and her hair done.

"Are you sure you don't want to borrow anything for tonight?" she offered.

I looked down at my generic jeans and V-necked top and shook my head. "No, I'm good."

I helped Jane with her dress, a beautiful, red strapless gown. We went into the common room and I volunteered to take pictures for everybody before the media arrived. Charlotte was equally gorgeous in her cream, beaded spaghetti-strap floor-length gown.

Everybody looked stunning (even Caroline, who was going with a guy from the city). Every hair was sprayed into place, every nail filed to perfection, everything done to the standard of a proper Longbourn lady.

I wished them all a good evening and headed down the long staircase. Below me were dozens of Pemberley guys decked out in tuxes, corsages in hand. I'm sure my common appearance was the last thing they were expecting to see, but they weren't who I was looking for.

Darcy stepped forward among the crowd – he stuck out like a sore thumb with his jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers. He bowed down to greet me and we both laughed.

He held my hand as we got into a taxi. As we drove away, I thought about all the girls who were going to prom tonight. They may have been happy with their fake eyelashes and hair extensions. But that wasn't what I wanted.

What Darcy and I had was better than any prom or custom couture dress.

Because what we had was real.

Acknowledgments

EVEN THOUGH MY NAME APPEARS ON THE COVER, THERE ARE so many people responsible for this book in your hands.

I'm so lucky to have one of the best editors in the business, David Levithan. Thank you for your constant support of my writing. I don't know how you do all that you do. You are truly an inspiration, my friend. Although I'm still not entirely convinced that you are human.

Jodi Reamer, my fearless agent, was in my corner years before I was even published. Thank you for staying with me and still talking to me even after reading all those awful drafts.

Bushels of gratitude to everybody at Scholastic, especially: Erin Black for revisiting Miss Austen with me, Elizabeth B. Parisi for a fabulous cover design, Susan Jeffers Casel for your copyediting brilliance, Sheila Marie Everett for not taking it personally when I bust out laughing when I introduce her as my publicist, Leslie Garych, Tracy van Straaten, Julie Amitie, Emily Sharpe, and all of the sales reps for their constant enthusiasm.

I bow down to Bethany Strout and Jennifer Leonard for once again giving me such thoughtful reader's comments. I really appreciate you both taking the time to help me with this story. I can pretty much guarantee that I'll be bugging you both again. This is what you get for being so good!

I would be lost without Kirk Benshoff (Violet's Dad) and his amazing website design and tech expertise. Seriously, I'd be curled up under my desk if it weren't for you! I'm also lucky to have a great friend and blog proofreader in Natalie Thrasher.

I'm grateful to have such a wonderful support system of friends and family who understand when Author Elizabeth goes into hiding to write. I'd especially like to thank Stephenie Meyer for being so enthusiastic for my writer life and having that conversation about Pride and Prejudice that led me to the idea for this book.

To all the booksellers, librarians, and bloggers who have supported me as an author – I know how many books are out there and I'm truly honored when anybody picks mine up. Thank you for giving me a chance.

And of course there's Jane, the lovely Miss Austen. No one could ever touch what you have created. Prom and Prejudice is simply my attempt to pay homage to your brilliant work and to celebrate you as what you will forever be known as – one of the greatest authors of all time.

About the Author

Elizabeth Eulberg was born and raised in Wisconsin before heading off to college in Syracuse and making a career in the New York City book biz. As the author of The Lonely Hearts Club, she tried swearing off boys, but it didn't work. She lives outside of Manhattan with her three guitars, two keyboards, and one drumstick, and online at www.elizabetheulberg.com.