Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

I opened my laptop and clicked through the trades. It was time to take Fitz’s advice. There are no guarantees. Only regrets.

22

The Winter of Our Discontent

Will

The FedEx driver came to my house for the ten millionth time in a week. Today, Stella briskly swooshed away one rather large, flat box from my hands.

“I’ll take that, thank you,” she chirped merrily.

Stella had been a permanent fixture at my house since the day after Christmas. She was a spry force to be reckoned with in her winter years. The round-the-clock preparations for her charity event seemed to magically float into place by her tireless orchestration. A constant movement of elegant rental tables, tents, booths, stages, and rides were erected all over my house and lawns. I couldn’t tell you where most of my furniture had gone, only that my living room was transformed into a ballroom at the Ritz Carlton. A great tent extended beyond the back deck, and the front lawn was littered with carnival rides and even more tents and stages. Why did I ever agree to this? I supposed it was the sweet charm spread across Stella’s face when she asked me. Her organization had outgrown the venue from prior years, and I couldn’t resist those pleading, soft eyes. That woman could con a con artist with those baby blues. It made me wonder how many hearts she’d broken as a young woman.

“Wait a minute.” I caught the corner of the box to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me but after reading the address label, I let go as if it scorched my skin.

“Why is Elizabeth Bennet getting Bloomingdale’s deliveries at my house?”

Stella shrugged with her arms stretched around the edges of the package and smiled wryly.

“For the gala, of course. You wouldn’t expect the poor child to carry an evening gown in a knapsack all day. She’ll have to change into it before dinner.”

Why could I not escape this pixie girl? She was everywhere. Now, she was having evening gowns delivered to my house?

“Couldn’t you have found someone else to take Emma’s ticket?” I said with more aggravation than I cared to display. I would have preferred to avoid Beth for as long as possible before preview night at the Gardiner. She hated my guts. Plus, I couldn’t control my manners around her. My intellect reverted to caveman status whenever she was within a hundred feet from me. Her feisty wit and scrappy obstinacy were all that refrained me from clubbing her over the head and throwing her over my shoulder. The thought of her in my home, touching my furniture, using a guest room to slip into a slinky dress—at least I hoped it was a slinky dress—freaking A, I lost my train of thought.

Get a grip.

I stared at the offending box and willed it to contain a burlap sack. A burlap sack from Bloomingdale’s. That didn’t help. It just brought on more caveman scenarios.

Stella didn’t answer my question. She just grinned with a twinkle in her eyes and winked. This was all her fault. She flittered away with Beth’s seduction-in-a-box with a bounce in her step just as my cell phone went off in my back pocket. The caller ID displayed contact info for Catherine de Bourgh. Oh, how wonderful. Was this my day to be harassed by elderly women?

“William Martin Darcy,” she snapped without preamble, “I want to be sure I have a place for Anne and myself at the head table.”

She never did have patience for pleasantries, even over the phone.

“Hello to you, Catherine.” I, on the other hand, wasn’t above a cordial yet pointless greeting. “How may I help you?”

I learned long ago that the way to grate on her nerves was to either ignore her completely or be so sugary sweet, it would offend a dentist.

“I have donated a large sum for the honor of attending the gala, and I intend to be seated at your table.”

I decided to channel my inner customer care representative who doesn’t give a fig about your first world problems.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “You’ll have to take that up with Stella. She’s in charge of the seating chart.”

“That woman doesn’t answer her phone.”

“She’s been a little busy.”

I could hear a frustrated sigh on her end of the line.

“At least tell me who you have at your table,” she demanded.

My thoughts raced to Beth. Lovely Beth in a burlap sack from Bloomingdale’s. Stella already placed her name card next to mine at the VIP table. At first, I was livid, but now with Catherine yelping in my ear, Beth at my side sounded like a superior alternative to the De Bourghs.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, ma'am,” The customer service rep was getting cheeky.

Catherine was silent for a long while. For a moment, I thought she’d hung up. But then she said with resignation, “You’ll take Anne around to meet your colleagues. Wear a blue bowtie to match her dress.”

“I’ll make sure Anne has a wonderful time,” I promised. Honestly, I didn’t anticipate I would have time to show anybody around. The jobs Stella had for me to make sure the gala ran smoothly wouldn’t allow for it. But Stella assured me Anne would hit it off with a certain gentleman on the guest list. Maybe he’d wear a blue bowtie.

Once Catherine was done giving me sufficient instructions—from her preferred dinner music to the foods she had an aversion to—she hung up, and I looked all around me to make sure no other old ladies were in line to torment me. But there were none. The only tormenting going on was in my head. I wasn’t exactly heartbroken. That would imply Beth had accepted my heart long enough to shatter it. Downtrodden was more the right word. I was a miserable mess. I naively thought that if I could explain my feelings in a letter, she’d be at my doorstep, aching to kiss me again.