Undressing Mr. Darcy (12 page)

Chase stepped forward.

With his sword, the instructor pointed to the top of Chase’s head. “This is the number one attack zone. You want to come down on your opponent’s head like this.” He brought his sword down slowly on top of Chase’s head, but Chase parried it with his sword.

“In fact, I’ll have Jack Sparrow here demonstrate with me all six of the attack zones. He looks as if he could do this in his sleep. Ready, Jack?”

Chase nodded. “Always.”

Vanessa hoisted her bustier a bit. The costume wasn’t really made to save the world in, evidently.

“First I come down on his head—attack zone number one. Defense must block the strike by raising the sword above his head, horizontally. Parallel to the ground. Excellent parry, Jack!

“Then I move my sword horizontally as I aim for his right shoulder for a horizontal cut. He moves his sword as vertically as possible to the right of his body and confidently parries the strike. That’s attack zone number two. Number three is the left shoulder, where we repeat. Yes!

“Now I take a downward swinging cut to the opponent’s left leg. Defense, swing your sword down, making sure your blade is pointing at the ground, and parry the attack away from your lower body. And now, the same on the right. See?”

Vanessa had to smile at how confidently and fluidly Chase moved through the attacks. He really made it look like fun. She could see him up on a stage, or even before a camera, performing. Who would know he was really an antiques dealer? What a quirky and cool career and hobby he had going for himself.

“Here’s the most risky maneuver—the thrust to your opponent’s torso. Step forward and lunge, aiming your sword outward, right at his chest. Defense uses a perfectly timed downward swing to knock the attack to one side. Defense, keep your sword vertical and strike your attacker’s sword to whichever side you like.”

With this the instructor stopped and looked at Vanessa. “Got it? What are the six attack zones, Wonder Woman?”

Yes, he was picking on her.

Vanessa counted off the zones on her fingers. “Head. Left shoulder. Right shoulder. Left leg. Right leg. Torso.”

“Very good, Wonder Woman. Now let’s see you put it into action. From the top, everyone! Take it slowly!”

Within no time Vanessa was laughing and having a blast as she and Chase got into a groove right away, their moves perfectly in sync, and he hammed it up with some very Jack Sparrow–inspired facial expressions.

The instructor nodded his approval in Vanessa’s direction. “Keep repeating this sequence. In a few minutes you’ll be comfortable enough with it to switch up the offense and defense.”

Vanessa lunged in for her third torso attack on Chase. “How did you ever get into this?”

“Do you really want to know?” Chase asked as he held his sword horizontally above his head to parry her attack.

“Yes!” She went in for his left shoulder. “This is some crazy shit for a stodgy antiques dealer!”

“I got a call from one of my good friends on a Saturday. It was his son’s fifth birthday party. They’d hired a Jack Sparrow impersonator, but the guy canceled just a few hours before the party. He thought of me—said I looked just like Johnny Depp. So I went to the costume shop and bam—the party was a hit. The kids loved me!”

“I’m sure they did,” Vanessa said as she aimed for his right leg. She could see him, hamming it up with a yard full of kindergartners. It made her smile.

“The rest is history,” he said.

She aimed at his head. “What do you mean?”

He blocked her strike. “I do a couple of birthday parties a month just for the fun of it.”

Vanessa was laughing so hard she had to stop, and she leaned on her sword. “You are kidding me!” She was really having fun. She never guessed she’d be in a hotel ballroom dressed as Wonder Woman sparring with a pirate who moonlighted as a kids’ party entertainer.

“No.” He smiled. “And I need an Elizabeth Swann. What say ye, my beauty? You seem like a natural with a sword.”

He had to be the quirkiest, most interesting guy she’d met in a long time.

“Well, wielding a sword isn’t exactly on my LinkedIn profile—”

“It can be after this class. The cake and ice cream is a real perk. And I drive to some very interesting Chicagoland neighborhoods. I know where to get the city’s best food now, that’s for sure, because, generally speaking, I avoid the meals at the kids’ parties. Plus I’ve been checking out all the local landmarks and buildings. This isn’t my only hobby, though.” He winked.

“I’m sure it’s not.” She had to admit, he had more than piqued her interest.

The instructor clapped to get everyone’s attention. “Not bad. Not bad, people. Now we’re switching it up. Offense will take the defensive stance and vice versa. Take it slow, now.”

“Finally,” Chase said as he raised his sword. “I get to attack you. Are you ready?”

“Of course I’m ready.” She parried his attack. “I’ve been fending off men like you my entire life.”

He aimed for her left shoulder. “I’m not like the other men.”

Their swords resounded with a click as she parried his thrust again. “Guilty until proven innocent.”

“I see. Just like in eighteenth-century France. Harsh. But I would expect no less from an Amazon princess.” He aimed at her right shoulder, but she missed a beat and didn’t block in time. He stopped just short of her neck but held his sword there for a second. “Maybe you’re just afraid to let your guard down. Even a Wonder Woman like you can be afraid of getting hurt.”

He was right. How had he managed, so quickly, to find her weakness?

He pulled the sword away from her and leaned on it.

They did another round with him on the offense, and then the last one with her on the offense. It was choreography so it felt like a kind of dance, more of a dance, even, than the minuet with Julian.

After the workshop ended and they were in the hallway, making their way through the werewolves, manga characters, and even a few other Wonder Women, Vanessa stopped, recognizing a Jane Austen Society conference program that had fallen on the floor. A guy dressed as Iron Man called out to Chase and they chatted for a minute.

She picked up the mangled program and noticed the back of it had a giant footprint on it and a Jane Austen quote:

I consider a country-dance as an emblem of marriage. Fidelity and complaisance are the principal duties of both.—Henry Tilney,
Northanger Abbey
, by Jane Austen

Dancing analogous to marriage? She may have to quibble with Austen on that one, or at least read this quote in context.

Once Iron Man had walked away with Jessica Rabbit, Vanessa and Chase made their way through a crowd of Trekkies waiting in line for a photo op with William Shatner. “So how about lunch? My boat is waiting and lobster and champagne will be served.”

“I’m afraid it’s going to be my laptop and a box lunch for me, followed by an afternoon lineup of Jane Austen lectures and a book signing for Julian. But I will be attending the Jane Austen happy hour before the promenade.”

“I have to put in a few hours of work myself, and I’ll be a little late, but I’ll make it to the ball. How about a spin around the ballroom?”

“I hate to keep turning you down, Chase, but I won’t be dancing. The only Regency dance I—barely—know is the minuet, and Julian and I will be opening the ball with it. Dancing is not really my thing. Wish me luck!”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll buy you a drink afterward.”

He made her smile. A lot. “I’ll take you up on that. I’ll probably need it to drown my mortification. The things I do!”

“Are you doing it for Julian or for your aunt?”

“For my aunt, of course.”

And that was partially true.

C
hapter 7

H
ad she consumed too much port at the Jane Austen happy hour before the ball or did Julian look more handsome and appear more congenial than ever? He stood at the hotel lobby doors, greeting everyone right alongside Aunt Ella, and Vanessa grew wistful at the sight of it.

She stood far enough away—he hadn’t seen her yet tonight dressed in her gown—and she thought for a moment about keeping it that way.

The conference attendees were gathering near the doors, hundreds of them, for what was sure to be one of the most embarrassing moments of Vanessa’s life. Aunt Ella had strongly suggested that Vanessa, as Julian’s leading partner, head up the “promenade” with him. All the attendees of the ball were to walk in a procession to Michigan Avenue, cross over, walk down to Adams Street, cross back, loop up Michigan Avenue, and then walk back up Wacker Drive to the hotel.

Vanessa had never imagined she’d be in a gown, putting herself on parade through the city, but what was a modern girl swooning for a Mr. Darcy to do? And she did have a really fabulous time with her aunt getting ready for the ball. Nothing could take that away from either of them. No, not even the Alzheimer’s. Vanessa had set up the video tripod and recorded the whole thing and even turned her phone off.

She lingered in the background, taking in the oddity of the moment. Everyone wore full ball regalia: the women, from their ballroom slippers to their elaborate headdresses, and the men, in their tailcoats and, with some exceptions, badly made and incorrectly tied cravats. Yet they all wore their plastic conference badges on lanyards. It wasn’t nineteenth-century England, after all, but modern-day Chicago, and conference workers had to verify entry to the ball with the distinctly twenty-first-century American conference badge.

The costumed crowd looked completely at odds with the sleek hotel lobby. Some of them were texting, or perhaps even posting on social networks, while others took pictures with their phones. All of them were being admired or stared at, depending on how you looked at it, by the other people in the hotel, many of them in costume for Hero Con.

Julian smiled and chatted with a swirling mass of people about to squeeze through a few lobby doors to the street. She felt the urge to post something, to reach for her phone, but for the first time in a long while, she had no idea what to say.

She didn’t feel like herself in ballroom flats, curls cascading from her forehead where her blunt-cut bangs would be, and a foot-long feather that bounced with every movement of her head. Her gown stretched to her ankles, covered her tattoo, and softened her. Her black polish had been hidden by white gloves that extended beyond her elbows and spoke of a certain innocence she did not possess. Did she ever possess it?

She was some sort of imposter in silk. Everyone else looked more natural in their gowns and seemed at ease in their costumes. “All ease and friendliness,” as she had heard Julian quote from
Pride and Prejudice
.

Women stood in circles, laughing, fanning themselves, taking pictures. Couples stood together, smiling, chatting. The whole thing made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t used to such milling around, that was it. Yeah, she needed a task, or multitasks. Multitasking was her friend. Maybe even her best friend. Speaking of friends, where was Sherry?

Vanessa had thousands of friends on her social media sites. Why couldn’t she make a few friends at this Jane Austen thing?

She needed, perhaps, another shot of that port or the Madeira she’d sampled at the happy hour lecture to steel her nerves for this evening, even though she now knew that these were men’s drinks and off-limits to women of the Regency era. Sweet punches such as ratafia, negus, or claret cup would be served to a lady such as herself at a ball.

Interesting to think of a world so divided into male and female, right down to the drinks, the hobbies, and even the clothing. Today a woman could wear breeches and cravats if she wanted. She could sword fight if she preferred that to quilling.

But didn’t such clearly defined roles make life infinitely less complicated? Imagine if you woke up and merely had to choose a gown color instead of: skirt? dress? jeans? dressy slacks? casual slacks? shorts? Granted, this was a first-world problem, but a problem nonetheless.

Lately, Vanessa had been stupefied in the breakfast cereal aisle or the bread aisle of the grocery store, completely baffled by the sheer number of choices. Certainly, looking for “fiber” narrowed it down, but more than once she’d walked away from the store with nothing, overwhelmed and confused by what should have been a simple decision. She had solved the problem by ordering from an online grocery delivery service so she could order the same things every week, with the added bonus that she no longer needed to deal with the people who worked at the cash register.

Against her aunt’s wishes, she pulled her phone out of her little silk purse that Aunt Ella called a reticule. The thing was so small she had to sacrifice all kinds of necessities like lipstick and her emergency tampon in order to get her phone in there, despite promising she wouldn’t touch it except strictly for work tonight.

Surely her aunt couldn’t object to her capturing the moment, so she took her phone camera and zoomed in on Julian, watching and clicking photos. Zooming in on his cravat, she saw that yes, he had tied it in a perfect ballroom knot. Panning back, she had to admire his black cutaway coat, his crisp white shirt, and his strong calves in white stockings. Stockings? Since when did she find stockings on a man attractive?

A glint of silver caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

It was Chase’s sword catching the light as he leaned up against a column, dressed in a showy black velvet pirate coat, a white shirt, and dark pants tucked into boots. He stared at her with his arms folded, an uncharacteristic slight frown on his face.

He had been watching her watch—and photograph—Julian.

Despite the awkwardness of it, she walked over to him, relieved to see him.

Her throat went dry and she could hardly speak. “I’m looking forward to a drink with you.”

His phone beeped with a text message. “Yes, yes. Likewise. Excuse me, though,” he said. “I have to respond to this.”

He keyed something in while she stood there, and it hit her how often she had done this to other people but rarely had been on the receiving end of it.

“That was Lexi.” Chase pocketed his phone. “She’s asked me to dance and she’s waiting for me right now by the escalators. But let’s grab a drink when we can, my lady.” He tipped his hat and sauntered off.

Two young Janeites, probably thirteen-year-olds, in their gowns, stood watching. They weren’t too young to understand Vanessa had just been completely blown off by a . . . pirate! They gave her a pained, then sympathetic, look.

“No need to feel sorry for me,” Vanessa said to them. “I’m opening the ball with Mr. Darcy tonight.”

They giggled. “You are?” one of them said.

“That pirate was totally cute, though,” said the other.

Vanessa smiled and began to skirt the mass of people to make her way to the front where she belonged. This was a business gig, first and foremost, and she’d best start treating it that way and less like a high school dance.

“Vanessa! Vanessa!” It was Sherry, dressed in a baby blue gown and sparkling tiara, waving a white fan. When Sherry leaned in to hug her, Vanessa could smell the bubble gum.

“Wow,” Sherry said as she stepped back to look at Vanessa. “That gown looks smokin’ on you. Me-ow.”

Of course, this was Sherry talking. “Come join me up front, Sherry,” Vanessa said.

Sherry linked her arm in Vanessa’s, something this crowd seemed to be fond of.

“Should we ask my Ask Mr. Darcy app just how gorgeous you look?”

Vanessa knew better than to deny Sherry a chance to shake her Mr. Darcy Magic 8 Ball on her phone.

“Mr. Darcy says, ‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’”

The word “ardently” struck her like an arrow. Mr. Darcy’s words were really getting to her. How soon could she read
Pride and Prejudice
?

“Are you going to be walking in the promenade with—him?” Sherry asked.

“With Julian, you mean?” Vanessa laughed. “Yes. Want to join us?”

“Oh, no, no, I couldn’t do that.”

“Of course you could, Sherry.”

“Oh, no! You two are the lead couple of the evening! But have you checked your Twitter feed? You set something off out there and now something’s brewing.”

Vanessa stopped in her ballroom-flat tracks and her gown brushed up against an ATM. “What’s going on?” She whipped her phone out.

It took her all of about a minute to realize that she had whipped up more than a frenzy with her competition to open the ball with Julian. It seemed that someone in the group was upset about not being chosen and they’d incited the wrath of the local Brontë Society. The Brontë fans were rallying to gate-crash the ball?

“Vanessa!” Aunt Ella’s tone of voice said it all.

Vanessa squirreled her phone away in her reticule.

“It’s time to lead the promenade, my
dear
.” She flashed her laser eyes on Vanessa’s reticule, making it more than clear that the phone was off-limits.

Paul stood by Aunt Ella’s side and linked his arm in hers.

Julian was scanning the lobby for someone, looking past the semicircle of women surrounding him, and when he found Vanessa he locked eyes with her.

Had she been holding up the promenade? She hoped not.

“Excuse me, ladies,” he said as he broke through them and gave Vanessa a deep bow. “You look—exquisite.”

How much of this was for show? Vanessa couldn’t say.

“The lady might simply accept the compliment,” Julian said.

It took a moment, but Vanessa mumbled, “Thank you.”

He did seem to have a hard time taking his eyes off her, and she noticed his eyebrows rise up in a quick flash.

She remembered reading something about body language years ago, when she was having trouble decoding the mixed signals her serious boyfriend at the time kept sending her. When a man raised his eyebrows at you quickly, almost unnoticeably, it was entirely subconscious on his part, but if you saw this flicker of a move, it meant he was extremely interested. In. You.

Or he could just have something irritating his eye.

She fumbled a curtsy.

In her head she rattled off the short list of body language clues that indicated a man’s attraction to a woman:

His feet pointed toward you in a crowd. Check.

His body acted like a shield, blocking other people. Check.

He touched you frequently. Check. Check. Check.

He adjusted his tie—or (ahem) cravat—to preen. Check.

This only meant physical attraction, and maybe he just enjoyed seeing her in this gown. As soon as they were on the road tomorrow things would be back to normal because she’d be in her jeans and T-shirt.

This was business, not a dance. He was a client, not a prospect. And she had a job to do here.

She linked her arm in his and hardly said a word as they sallied forth into the city, where, like in a silent film, people pointed and smiled, but Vanessa was too absorbed in her own thoughts to notice. She had to rack her brain on how to thwart this impending Brontë mob, until, right there on Michigan Avenue, she had a better idea:

Embrace it. This gate-crashing could be the best thing that happened to Julian and his book. In fact, why the hell hadn’t she thought of alerting the Brontë Society herself? She really was losing her edge. Still, she would make sure it got on the news—if only she could tip off the media soon enough!

“Miss Roberts.” Julian broke into her rapid-fire thoughts as they walked toward the hotel. “You’re not being your usual self. Could it be that you’re actually enjoying the Jane Austen festivities and you’ve become a convert? That you’re a changed woman in a floor-length gown?”

She needed to sneak off somewhere to use her phone, but where and when? Respond to Julian, she told herself. Respond.

“I think it would take more than a gown to change me,” she said. “Don’t you?”

“Well, frankly, yes, I believe it would take infinitely more.”

She glared at him. He didn’t have to go that far!

“But silence is so unlike you.”

Vanessa laughed and looked at him, trying to find something to take a jab at. “I like your tights. Where did you get them? I’m in the market for some white ones like that myself.”

“Excellent. You’re still in there, somewhere. They’re not tights. They’re men’s stockings made out of the finest silk, and you would know this if only you’d have bothered to watch my entire presentation.”

Ah, but she
had
watched his entire presentation. Little did he know, she had watched the entire thing on video. Twice.

How soon could she bolt to the ladies’ room to use her phone? She looked behind her to gauge how long the procession was and how long it might take all these people to settle into the ballroom, because she had to be back in the ballroom before the last straggler was in or Aunt Ella would have her head faster than Henry VIII.