Beginning, This Section

Part Two

Posted on Monday, 18 June 2007

Journal Entry Sixteen

It’s been two weeks since I last wrote. I’m not writing to mention another supposedly perfect day or anything, but to map out another character description of my soon to be brother-in-law, Zachary Robillard.

Zachary proposed, and Deirdre said yes! I’m very happy for them both and know that they’re quite perfect for each other.

My mother is absolutely beside herself with happiness and is busy making wedding preparations. You would think that it’s Mom’s wedding that’s coming up, rather than Deirdre’s.

Well, as to be expected, Deirdre and Zachary have decided to have a very large and fancy society wedding. He has many business associates, friends of his family, and such that they both wish to invite. Deirdre has always been a very popular person and has numerous friends of her own that she wants included. Mom and Dad have their own list of friends to invite - so all and all, there’ll be quite a few guests. The total, Dad has assessed, will be somewhere around a six hundred guests (give or take a few). Of course, not all of them will be able to fit into the chapel that they wish to use, so only the closest family and friends will receive an invitation to the actual wedding ceremony, and the rest of the guests will receive invitations to join them in their “wedding celebrations” at the Robillard estate.

Remember the one I visited off the lake? It’s a perfect setting for an evening wedding celebration.

Anyway, here’s Zachary’s description:

Name:
Zachary Antonio Robillard

Physical Appearance:
Tall, tan, brunette, pale blue eyes, muscular

In football terms he would probably be a cross between a quarterback and the punter. Football terms are a practice I picked up trying to explain people to my older brother, Ricky.

Personality Type:
In a word - loyal. I see Zachary as a very good person, one you can trust through thick and thin. He’s a person who sees the good in people and would have to have hard evidence against someone to actually believe anyone capable of evil. He’s a rich boy, with rich habits, yet so down to earth that you think he’s just a well-dressed boy-next-door. He’s a lot of fun, has a good sense of humor, and thinks my sister hung the moon. He’s also not afraid to get a little dirty and has been seen in public wearing a favorite pair of scuffed boots. Boots Deirdre has emphatically described as drop-dead sexy.

Zachary, as my father has learned through the wedding budget, has a lot of friends. Not just acquaintances, but friends. Everyone loves Zachary. He’s an honest person -an unusual trait in a successful business man. He has tact, class, personality, looks, and generosity. I’m really looking forward to him being my brother-in-law.

If there was a trait that I would have to choose as my least favorite about Zachary, I guess it would have to be his over-optimism. He not only sees the glass as half full, but soon to be filled because, of course, someone will come and fill it shortly.

I see why Deirdre was drawn to him, though. He’s the best person. I’m certain that Deirdre and Zachary will have a wonderful life together.

Now if only they’d quit discussing my love life, or lack of. Deirdre was bad enough, but now I’m afraid that since she gains a new life partner, she’ll also gain a fellow set-up-little-sis supporter and conspirator. Not a good thing.

It wouldn’t be so bad if they’d discuss my affairs solely between themselves, but recently I’ve become aware that they’ve talked about me to their friends and business associates.

Here’s the conversation that was relayed to me. I obtained this conversation, word for word, through much begging, threatening, and pouting persuasion.

Apparently Zachary and Deirdre were having a relaxing time at Zachary’s city flat with a friend and business associate of his named Jeff. They were sitting about and enjoying the wine Jeff had brought, A tasty cabernet sauvignon, I was told. Well, towards the end of the bottle, my Mr. Darcy came up in the conversation.

“Poor Ellie, I’m really worried about her, you know, what with this library person shafting her and all,” Deirdre said.

Zachary had agreed with her, “Yes, I’m thinking that this guy’s quite a strange person, to never say who he is.”

“Yes, it’s strange. And now she’ll never know his name,” said my sister.

Jeff inquired as to what they were talking about.

“It’s really quite romantic, in a sad sort of way,” Deirdre told him. “She is a librarian at the Collin County Library.”

Deirdre told me that he seemed impressed with my profession. I think she just added that to make me feel good and boost my ego.

“So anyway, this man began to come in and pay the library a visit every Monday and Tuesday,” Zachary chimed in.

“Yes and he and Ellie had a thing going,” Deirdre said.

“A thing?” Jeff asked.

“Yes, well, nothing really happened between them, from what I heard, but she really liked him,” Deirdre said.

“I’m not really sure if she’ll ever see her Mr. Darcy again,” Zachary had said and shocked both of them.

“Her Mr. Darcy?” Deirdre asked, shocked by his insider information even more than his pessimism.

Zachary answered her smugly, “Yes, I have been getting to know my soon to be sister-in-laws.”

“And Ellie told you that she calls him her Mr. Darcy?” my sister asked.

“No, Cass actually told me,” he told her.

I think Deirdre was momentarily silent because here Jeff and Zachary discussed why I called my library mystery man Mr. Darcy.

“Isn’t Mr. Darcy supposed to be handsome?” is where Deirdre began to listen in again. Jeff had mentioned that.

Deirdre told them that every woman’s dream man is Mr. Darcy, if they’ve read Jane Austen’s wonderful book.

Zachary, apparently, had begun to pout about Deirdre having a dream man other than him.

She corrected him and said that actually, she was a rare exception and had a Zachary dream man. Just when it was getting ridiculously sappy, there was something interesting said.

“Oh, Jeff, you’re an artist, perhaps you know who he is!” Deirdre recollected.

Zachary told her that not all artists know each other, and that since they live in a large metropolis, there must be many people who like to sketch and read now and then.

Then it happened - the juice, as I like to call it, of the conversation.

Jeff said, “You know, I think I know who this fellow might be.”

“Do you?” Deirdre asked, she was very hopeful, and later when retelling this to me, said that she just knew he would be able to help them.

“Yes, actually, I know a sketcher, as you called him, who exhibits at the same hall that I do. What makes me think it’s him, is that he mentioned recently that he’s been doing some random research sketching at a library.”

“Well, ask him about Ellie,” Deirdre said.

Zachary, thank heaven, butted in and said, “You don’t want to be so blunt. Be subtle, that should do it. Ask around, vaguely, and see if he takes the bait and then ask him if he’s Ellie’s Mr. Darcy.”

So there you have it - my Mr. Darcy lead. I’m not sure I’m quite happy about all of this, especially after having seen him recently with a woman at a restaurant, but if it works, I may be all right with it, as long as Zachary’s friend doesn’t mention my name and make me sound like some psychopath stalker. I’m quite certain that this will turn out to be just some wild goose chase anyway.

Journal Entry Seventeen

It seems as though everyone was in search of my Mr. Darcy. Well, all of my siblings, at least. Even my brother, Ricky, was looking for him. Or found him, sort of.

I’ll tell you all about it. Just a small reminder first, though – it’d been two and a half weeks since I’d seen my Mr. Darcy, stepping out of that restaurant with his arm around that woman, posing for that photographer.

Oh? Did I not mention his arm before? Or the photographer? Or the lovely blonde woman? I suppose that grief and sorrow overwhelmed me, but I’m holding nothing back now!!!

It all started when my brother came to my apartment on Saturday for some brother and sister bonding. Actually, we had some things to plan out. Having a sibling who’s marrying a rich man, requires that one must buy a nice gift, and one can buy a nicer gift (that is, more expensive) if one goes in with another sibling, so we are co-purchasing their wedding gift.

I get many magazines delivered, (Neiman Marcus, Horchow finale, Trifles, etc.) so my place is the best to do some catalogue shopping. I promised Ricky pancakes if we could start our browsing before noon, and he readily agreed after I promised fresh blueberry sauce.

I shop very rarely from these catalogues, as they are way out of my miniscule budget, but I like to look, just like the rest of the world’s catalogue shoppers, hence the abundance of high-end retail catalogues.

Ricky was sitting at my kitchen counter, on one of my bar stools, slurping up the last of his first stack of blueberry pancakes, when he told me.

“Angie, I have some news.” Ricky placed a few more pancakes on his plate and drizzled some sauce over them. “I’ve been dating someone rather seriously for the past couple of months.”

“That’s good news!” I said. The expression on his face told me that I was possibly incorrect. “No?”

“Well, Angie, it’s complicated.” He’s the only one who calls me Angie, shortened from my middle name, Vangeline.

“Complicated how?”

“She’s, well, engaged” he said, not meeting my eye.

“Engaged to whom?” I asked, rather shocked, but keeping my cool.

“Not me. That’s the only real important part of it. Well, that is until now.”

“What else is there?” I asked him, handing him a napkin and then another, after noticing his blue fingers.

“Well, she’s engaged to someone you know,” he told me while he poured some more sauce on his last pancake.

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense, now! Who is her fiancé?”

“Your Mr. Darcy,” he said and licked his blue lips, disregarding all my napkin attempts.

I rolled my eyes at him.

“No, believe me. It’s him. It has to be,” he said.

“How can you be so sure? You’ve never seen him!” I reminded him. Sometimes Ricky was just silly - kind, sweet and well-meaning, but silly.

“I didn’t have to, Angie, I saw you.”

He was just being ridiculous, and I told him so.

“He’s an artist, right?”

I told him that I had no idea who or what he was, just that he occasionally sketched while at the library.

“Well, I saw his latest piece at an art gallery last night.”

“Are you telling me that you think you know who my Mr. Darcy is because you’ve seen an artist’s latest sketch of a woman that you think resembles me?” I asked, trying not to raise my voice with my frustration, but failing slightly.

Ricky smiled at me. “Yeah. That’s it in a nutshell.”

“Oh Ricky!” I said, ruffling up his blonde curly hair. “You are the silliest person I’ve ever met, but I love you, you big lug!”

Ricky stopped my hand from messing up his hair and persisted in telling me that it really was me in the picture.

I nodded to him, just to get him to quit talking about it. He’s really a stubborn person sometimes.

“What I’m more interested in, at this particular moment, is this mysterious woman you’ve been secretly dating, who has a fiancé.”

Boy! He didn’t like it when the tables turned on him. He sat back on his stool and shifted uncomfortably - thinking up a cover story, probably.

“Well, it’s a long story, Angie,” he finally said.

“Let me hear it.”

“Okay, well, she’s rich, one of my clients.”

My brother works as a model part-time and personal security guard the rest of the time, so I assumed that it was the latter job to which he was referring.

“We met a few months ago. She’s in town because her mother is very ill.”

“Right.” This girl wouldn’t be getting any sympathy from me. I was quite sure that she was just stringing my brother along. He’s a good person, too good, and women often take advantage of gentle giants like my brother.

“Well, her mother’s dying, actually,” he corrected, “and anyway, she and this fellow, who happens to also be her mother’s godson, recently got engaged to make her mother feel at ease during her last days.”

“Ricky, this just sounds fishy!”

“It’s true - really, Angie,” he told me with the sweetest serious face. My big brother can be quite persuasive when he wants to look like a poor little puppy dog. His face made me pretend that I believed him - for now, that is. “So they’re engaged, only in name and only to their family circle. Everyone else is aware of the insincerity of it all, but they do have to occasionally appear in public together, just to keep her suspicious mother from finding out that they aren’t really planning to spend the rest of their lives together.”

“This makes absolutely no sense to me!” I said to him, finally, officially failing at my pretense.

“Well, I know it’s odd, but that’s just the way it is right now. The society people do things a little differently than we’re accustomed to. False engagements and things like that are almost commonplace in their circle. I’ve heard of this a lot, actually,” he told me.

“Tell me, have you ever met her fiancé?”

“No.”

He didn’t get my point.

“Has it ever occurred to you that you are the one she isn’t being honest with and that she really is engaged?”

“I know what I know. Let’s just drop the subject now, before you piss me off.”

“Okay,” I agreed, “just one more question, though.”

He didn’t respond to me, just looked up at me, through narrowed eyes.

“What’s this woman’s name?” I asked him, trying to find middle ground to lighten the atmosphere.

“You’ll like this, Angie. It’s Anne with an ‘e’.”

Anne with an 'e'...so the woman had one good trait - an L.M. Montgomery link. Perhaps she was a kindred spirit? Ha! Probably not!

Journal Entry Eighteen

Sunday was another family day at the old Spencer house. Ricky, Deirdre, Zachary, and my parents were all together for the weekly Sunday brunch ritual after church. Cass didn’t make it because she had been out late the night before with Claire and the band.

Mom made a tasty Sunday brisket, I brought my popular mustard potato salad, and Deirdre and Zachary brought loaves of bread from a fancy bakery under her apartment building. And Dad? He was roasting the vegetables out on the grill, giving them those yummy char marks. Ricky was there simply to eat, as usual. So the family was together, all accept Cass.

Ricky was alone, not surprisingly. I had agreed not to mention Anne, as long as he didn’t bring up the art person. The deal worked through dinner, but when dessert came around, well, our truce quickly dissolved.

I was helping Mom clear the dishes, when Deirdre brought up my mysterious man. She followed us into the kitchen with dishes.

“Jeff says he knows your Mr. Darcy. He must be that fellow artist, who displays his work at the same gallery as he does.”

“Oh? Wonderful,” I said quietly, hoping that being amiable about the subject would allow it to drop.

No, it didn’t work because Ricky had heard her.

“Artist?” he asked. “See Angie! I told you I knew who he was!”

“I hope you know this now means war,” I told him smugly.

He grinned at me and ruffled my hair. “Give it your best shot, Sis.”

I drew back my forces, after seeing Ricky’s sweet smile and decided not to burst his bubble in front of the family.

Deirdre and Ricky exchanged details while I sat back down at the table, completely defeated. I have to admit, I was not very excited about the prospect of this artist actually being my Mr. Darcy. He was just an incredibly gorgeous man who I had seen a few times, exchanged a few enjoyable conversations, and who I happened to drool over.

The point is, however, he obviously never thought much of me. How could he and then disappear forever like that?

“Elise, what is all of this about?” Dad asked me.

“Oh, you really don’t want to know,” I told him letting out a rather pathetic sigh. “I’ve just learned to not trust people with many details of my life.”

“I take it they are running away with information?” he asked quietly, through the buzz of conversation.

“Apparently, and I’m getting lost along the way. It’s really depressing to have your family think that you must be matched up with some stranger.”

“I recall not too long ago, you being quite smitten with this man, Ellie, and thought him rather handsome!” Zachary said.

“Yes, well, that was when I first knew him, for it has been several weeks now that I feel he is one of the least handsome men of my acquaintance!” I lied, twisting one of my favorite quotes to suit me.

My dad let out a chuckle. He was the only member of my family who actually “got” my mediocre and twisted quotes from Austen novels because he’s an English Lit professor at the state university. It’s his profession to know these things.

Zachary just looked confused. We didn’t bother to explain.

Ricky, Deirdre, and Mom came back in with the dessert tray and plates. Mom began to pass out the homemade rustic apple pie she had made.

Deirdre handed Zachary the first piece and told me, “Jeff wants you to come down for an exclusive shindig they’re holding next weekend at the gallery. He says the guy will be there, and that there’ll be such a large number of people, that if it turns out that he’s not your guy, or that you don’t want to talk to him, it won’t be awkward for either of you. You can sort of just observe him from afar, and if it’s him and you’d like to further your acquaintance, you’ll have the opportunity to do so.”

Ricky answered for me and said that I would go. I just sighed. I was too tired of the subject to argue. I knew that I could always follow "Greg Brady’s advice" and leave Deirdre a message while she was at work that “something suddenly came up,” and I couldn’t make it after all.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with Dad and me exchanging quiet conversations under the buzz of discussion about the exciting turn in my love life.

Entry Nineteen

I received a very strange phone call today at the library. The man who called claimed to have picked up a note by accident. He thought it was a bookmark, but it had a message printed on the back. It was apparently a note to a girl from a “G.D.W.” I told him to keep it, because whatever it was surely wasn’t very important, if it were printed on a little bookmark. He thanked me, because he rather liked the bookmark. Apparently he thought it was fancy.

I must admit to laughing, when I hung up the phone. I was currently cutting more bookmarks, and they were not very fancy in the least, just a plain black paper with the library name printed in gold. They matched my new theme for the library.

Oh! The theme! I went ahead with my black and white photography idea and had my own sort of art exhibit in the foyer. We set up a contest for the local photographers, and there was to be a prize for the best picture. I had no idea that there were so many talented photographers in our area! The prize was just a plaque, stating that their pictures were greatly admired by the city, so the library’s meager budget was not stretched in the least, yet it gave the photographers something to put on their resume. It was a great idea, and everything was going swell.

My days without my occasional dose of my Mr. Darcy were boring, but I was forgetting him, slowly but surely. At least that’s what I was telling myself at least one hundred times a day.

Journal Entry Twenty

I called Deirdre on Friday with the purpose of getting out of the Saturday night art exhibit plans. Fate was not on my side, though, because instead of being able to leave a nice quick message, Deirdre answered the phone. What was she doing home at this hour of day (wretched fate!)?

“Have you thought of what you are going to wear, Ellie?”

I told her no.

“Oh, sweetie, I’ll be right over then, and we can do some shopping! It’s a formal affair, you know. These things always are.”

We hung up and Deirdre soon came over. Apparently she and Zachary would be going too, and she had taken a half-day off on Friday to do some last minute preparation on her own formal wardrobe. The truth is Deirdre used any and every excuse to buy herself a new dress. She had half a closet full of formal and cocktail dresses and rarely wore any of them twice.

So we were off, heading for the downtown district to shop among the finest little shops which outfit such occasions. I needed a dress and shoes, Deirdre told me.

She did the driving, so I was pretty much a prisoner sentenced to do some shopping with my sister for however long she deemed necessary.

The first place we stopped at looked just as good as any of the others, so we parked and got out of the car. I saw a nice dress in the window of the store, but Deirdre nixed that idea.

“You don’t buy the dress from the window,” she told me in hushed tones. “Everyone will have seen that dress. You need something more original.”

I didn’t know that you weren’t supposed to buy the dress on display. That must be one of those “society rules”.

Deirdre and I separated. I was looking for something at least similar to the dress on display. Something simple, not too flashy. Deirdre was looking for something purple. I have no idea why. Perhaps she was in a royal mood or something.

Her dress was found quickly enough. It was a chiffon, spaghetti strapped dress that criss-crossed in the back. The skirt of the dress was frilly and moved as she walked. She tried it on and looked dazzling. She always looked dazzling. Her height made everything look elegant, and the shoes the saleslady brought for her to try with the dress gave her another two-and-a-half inches of elegance.

Deirdre walked over to me, or rather floated and did a twirl to get my opinion of the dress. I told her that I greatly approved. She looked lovely. Her dress was the darkest shade of purple I’d ever seen. The fabric had a shimmer to it that, when it caught different light, looked almost as if it were inlaid with silver. Quite lovely!

I was still looking for my dress when Deirdre joined me again in her regular clothes. The saleslady was wrapping her dress and shoes for us to take with us.

“Haven’t you found anything yet, Ellie?” Deirdre asked me. She began sifting through the dresses behind me, which I had already rejected. “What about this - this would be very nice,” she said holding up a long gown.

“Too pink,” I said.

“Well, of course it’s pink!” she said, “Your complexion always looks so fresh and sweet in pink!”

“I am not a pink type person, Sis,” I told her putting the dress back on the rack.

That is when I found it. The dress. The dress, I mean.

Entry Twenty-one

It’s Saturday evening (or rather Sunday morning). I have just come back from the art gallery exhibit gala thingamajig. I am finding the words very difficult to find. That didn’t make sense did it?

Well, I cannot easily describe my feelings. I suppose the best way to describe my present state is to say I’m shocked. Very shocked.

Zachary and Deirdre picked me up to ride over with them to the art gallery.

I caught a glimpse out the window of their limo pulling up in front of my building, and I immediately got an overwhelming feeling of dread. I was literally sick to my stomach, I was so nervous.

What if my Mr. Darcy was actually there? I had never seriously considered that idea before, and just the slightest chance of that happening drove my stomach into the most painful and severe knots.

I was so sick, I threw up. Luckily not too violently, so my dress wasn’t ruined. I answered the door, over the worst of it and greeted my sister and Zachary with a toothbrush in my mouth.

“Oh, Ellie, you look gorgeous!” Deirdre told me hugging me. She seemed genuine.

I gave her a foamy smile.

Even Zachary looked impressed with the way I looked. “You look amazing.”

“Let’s just hope he’s her Mr. Darcy,” Deirdre told him.

“It doesn’t matter, if he’s him or not. Your sister is a man magnet! I never noticed how beautiful you were, Ellie, in all of that Annie Hall tailored clothing you normally wear! You’re so pretty!” he said, encouraging me.

I felt very uncomfortable being observed like that and quickly rinsed out my mouth so we could get this evening over with. The sooner it began, the sooner it would end.

Zachary helped Deirdre and me into the limo, and we were off.

Zachary is apparently one of those people who is always fashionably late. When we arrived to the hall, it was packed. There were people everywhere.

Zachary left our side, and Deirdre and I made our way around the large room.

“Do you see him yet?” she whispered, while waving across the room at someone she knew.

To tell the truth, I wasn’t looking. I was terrified that I might actually see him, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to, or even what I’d do if I did. So I kept my eyes on my sister’s handbag and my shoes, which while not extremely interesting subjects, they made me feel much less nervous than looking at all of the smiling, talkative people around me.

“Oh, there’s Jeff!” Deirdre said pointing across the room.

I didn’t look. I wouldn’t know which man he was, anyway.

Zachary soon arrived back at our side, carrying three glasses of wine. I don’t know how he held them. He must have large hands.

“So has she seen him, yet?” Zachary asked. Deirdre silently told him no.

I told them to mingle, no need for them to be wallflowers on my account. They took the hint and left, and I took solace in observing the art instead of the people.

The art I was looking at was quite amazing. I was looking at a wall full of sketches. One picture in particular caught my eye. It seemed very familiar to me. It was perhaps so familiar because it was me!

“I call that one Eve,” a man said to me from behind.

I recognized his voice. It was him.

He walked up beside me, not looking at the picture. He was staring at me.

“This is my favorite picture that I have of you.”

“Oh?” was my only response. “I don’t recall you bringing in such a large support** to the library.”

“I drew this a year ago.”

“Sure,” I replied, not hiding the sarcastic tone in my voice. He hadn’t known me a year ago, and this picture was just like looking into a mirror, barring, of course, the lack of clothing on my shoulders - or her shoulders, the one in the picture, I mean.

“Why didn’t you call?” he asked me.

“Call?” I was at a loss for words.

“Yes, didn’t you get my note? I’ve been waiting all this time.”

“I…” I looked down at the floor. “What note?”

“Oh!” he said looking up at the ceiling, as if he had found something up there that answered him. “I wrote you a note, explaining that I wouldn’t be able to come by for a while. I put my phone number on there in case you…” he stopped.

“Yes?” I asked him, looking at him for the first time.

He looked amazing from head to toe, only he had a strange expression on his face - like he was worried about something. Could it be that he was just as nervous as I was? He was always so bold and sure of himself all of the times I’d seen him before.

“I wrote it in case you wanted to do something outside of the library setting. I thought we clicked or something. I want, well, I would like to… would you like to go out for coffee after this?”

“Yes.” I stopped myself, “I mean, no.”

“Which is it?” he asked me with a smile. If only he wouldn’t smile at me like that! Doesn’t he know that it makes me feel like putty in his hands?

It’s not necessarily a bad feeling, being putty, but it does make conversing coherently nearly impossible.

I was feeling mixed emotions. What made me say yes was that Deirdre, Zachary, and Jeff were right. What made me say no was that Ricky was right. This was the guy I had met in the library, and if he’s that guy, he’s also the guy who’s in some strange engagement to Ricky’s supposed girl friend.

“I’ve heard that you’re seeing someone. Why would you want to go out for coffee with me?”

“How would you know that I am seeing someone?” he asked me, a troubled expression began to show in his face.

“I saw you with a woman, outside of Pueblos.”

He stopped, and his ears turned red. He was blushing, or mad - one of the two. He ran his hand through his hair in a rough fashion and told me, “She’s sort of my fiancée.”

I didn’t want to hear any more. I walked away from him and out of the art gallery. I hailed a cab and made my way home.

Ricky was right, partially. My Mr. Darcy was engaged. Jeff was right, my Mr. Darcy was there. I was wrong, though. He looked like my Mr. Darcy, but he couldn’t be my dream come true. He was practically married. He was gorgeous, but engaged and certainly not for me. The two-timing, gorgeous snake…

I know that Ricky had a great explanation for all of that, but I wasn’t about to buy it! I had seen him with his arm around her, for goodness sake! What game were they trying to play on us? This is the 21st century, and people don’t get engaged unless they’re actually planning on getting married! What do they take us for, some kind of fools?

Entry Twenty-two

Sunday the phone rang off the hook, but I let it ring. I left a message on my sister’s phone the night before that I was okay and needed some time to myself. Evidently, she felt the need to call and see if she could get through. Several times.

I spent the entire day in the kitchen, making cookies, breads, and cupcakes. Baking always cheers me up - or it might be that eating the baked goods cheers me up, but whatever it was, I felt somewhat better than I had the previous night.

Also, I’ve failed to mention this: I found out what my used-to-be-thought-of-as-dream-man Mr. Darcy’s real initials are: GDW!!! He signs his art with a very bold GDW. Yes, bold as in passion, but the not-for-me kind of passion, unfortunately. So it must have been his note that the man had called about on that “fancy bookmark”. Remember? It was signed by a GDW.

Entry Twenty-three

Monday. I arrived at work on time. A car was waiting in the parking lot as I arrived, but luckily it wasn’t a silver BMW so I was safe. At least I originally thought so.

I got out my things and opened the library doors. I had just finished setting up the front desk computers when she came in. She, as in her.

“Hello,” My Mr. Darcy’s fiancée said sweetly to me, her hand outstretched, “I’m a friend of your brother. My name is Anne Bourgeois.”

Yes, I’m starting to realize that my life is dangerously paralleling a novel!

“Nice to meet you,” I replied and lightly shook her little hand. She was the tiniest woman I had ever seen. She was very small, shorter even than me, had dark hair swept into a loose twist, pale porcelain-like skin, and wore a dark mulberry suit.

It wasn’t really nice to meet her; it was actually quite a bother to meet her. I was sure that whatever it was that she wanted couldn’t be good for me or my brother.

“I understand you have met my pretend fiancée?” she asked me quite boldly.

“I guess so.”

“He seems quite taken with you,” she said, smiling sweetly at me. “I know you must feel strange about all of this, and I’ve come to try and explain things a bit.”

“You really needn’t bother,” I said simply.

“Well, I would at least like to try to explain for Ricky’s sake. He told me that you were understandably suspicious of our little arrangement.”

I was silent. I really had nothing to say.

“Well, first of all, I must apologize for meeting you at your work, but Ricky seemed to think that this was the best place to get hold of you. I hope you don’t mind too much.”

“Not at all,” I lied with a good attempt at a genuine smile.

“Good,” she replied sweetly.

It was really hard to hate someone who was trying to be so kind, and immediately, I felt myself softening to her. Cursed sweet smiles!

“Our engagement is only to please my mother in her last days. She is a very difficult woman to be around and has been set on this marriage between us since we were children. She is dying. Her condition is too far along to be helped by any medicines. All the doctors can do is give her morphine to ease the pain. She is very rarely conscious, but not long ago, she awoke when her godson and I were visiting her, and she got the wrong impression of us…”

She paused searching for the right words.

“Well, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that we weren’t a couple and allowed her to believe that we were newly engaged. She was so happy. She smiled for the first time in weeks, and I…” she pressed her eyes with the tips of her fingers, to stop the tears from coming. “Well, I know it’s very wrong, but it’s done now. This isn’t even a real diamond,” she said holding up her hand. She slipped the ring off her finger and handed it to me.

“But why act engaged when you’re away from her? That doesn’t make sense to me.”

“She is in and out of consciousness, like I said. My engagement is all that she speaks about when she is awake, though. The scene you witnessed with us exiting the restaurant was a publicity thing. We hired a photographer to catch us as we dined there. You apparently saw us leaving. Anyway, she asked for some pictures to put up in her room, to see us whenever she awoke. So I had a friend of mine take photographs of us together, being the couple that we’re supposed to be.”

“I’m so very sorry about your mother. Thank you for explaining the situation to me. I know that must have been hard for you,” I told her. I’m a sympathetic crier, and her teary eyes were almost too much for me. I patted my own eyes to squelch tears.

“So you forgive him?” she asked.

“Ricky?” I asked her just to clarify.

She shook her head.

“Oh! There is really nothing to forgive. We’re just casual acquaintances. In fact I don’t even know his name!”

“Really? When did you meet?”

“A couple of months ago.”

“Really?” she said with a look that told me she didn’t believe me.

“Why would that surprise you?”

“Haven’t you been posing for him for years now?” she asked me. I was beginning to wonder about her sanity.

“Obviously not, if I said I only met him a couple of months ago.”

“Hmm. That’s odd,” she said, reaching into her satchel and getting out a phone. “May I make a phone call in here?”

I motioned over to a corner of the library where she would have a little privacy.

Immediately, I wished that I told her to make the phone call at my desk, so I could eavesdrop on her conversation. Who would she be calling in the middle of our conversation! GDW?

Soon she returned with a smile on her face, and she asked me if I could meet with someone over the weekend.

“Who?” I asked her, “your fiancée?” hoping she’d take the bait and tell me his name.

“No, a woman. Please meet with her. She’s a very nice person, and I’ll arrange everything. Please, I know you’d regret it if you said no, for this is a fateful event, truly!”

I’m a sucker whenever the word fate is mentioned, so I agreed to whatever she had in mind. We arranged that Ricky would pick me up, and we would all go together to meet this mysterious woman. Who she was, and why I’d be so interested in making her acquaintance was beyond my comprehension, but I agreed. If Ricky was there, it would all be fine, I told myself.

“I’m glad I came. Ricky told me you were a wonderful person, and I’m glad to see that part of this mix-up has been resolved,” she told me.

“Yes, I am glad for Ricky’s sake. I was really worried about him. He’s a wonderful person, and I only want the best for him.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “he’s wonderful.”

I could tell she had it bad for my brother. She lingered for a few more moments, discussing how Ricky had made an impression on her, and as she left, I knew that she would soon be my sister-in-law.

I have a sixth sense about these things…

After she left the library became strangely busy. I had very little time to allow all of this new information to sink in. Only later did I feel terrible about fibbing that my Mr. Darcy meant nothing to me.

I’ve been kicking myself for not finding out what those initials stand for! GDW - What in heaven’s name could that stand for? Oh, why didn’t I make her tell me? Why did I let yet another opportunity slip away without finding out his name?

I’ve spent the entire weekend coming up with possible first names…George, Gordon, Gavin, Greg, Gabriel, Garret, Garth, Gallagher, Gideon, Gilbert, Glenn… Yet none of them seem right to me. I’m anxiously awaiting the weekend. I’m going to find out his name, if it’s the last thing I do!

Entry Twenty-four

Was I wrong to walk away from my Mr. Darcy and not allow him to explain things? No, there’s nothing wrong with following the way you feel, so I was right to go, but now I do feel bad. I suppose that there’s nothing to do but let things play out the way they’re meant to.

Apparently, my Mr. Darcy wasn’t able to come to the library anymore, or perhaps he just didn’t want to. Either way, it was best for me to just go on with my life as I had done before and think on him only as it gave me pleasure.

Each day passed slowly, giving me a lot of time for self-reflection. I thought about how I had met him and been swept away by his dream-like appearance, but I think there was more to it than that. I felt comfortable knowing he would come to the library those two mornings a week. We never had any lengthy conversations, yet I felt like I knew him. It was as if those days we had spent together, just comfortably going about our business near each other, were enough to touch my heart.

I thought about his current situation and how difficult it must be for him. Jeff told Deirdre that all of the artists displaying their work that night were invited to do another exhibition in a month, and that they were all scrambling around trying to set everything up so it would be a great success. I supposed that my Mr. Darcy was busy among them.

**support - The material providing a surface upon which an artist applies his medium (paint, graphite, chalk, wax, etc)

Journal Entry Twenty-five

I had agreed to meet Anne’s lady friend on Wednesday evening, and I certainly was glad that I did.

Ricky came to pick me up and on the way we picked up Anne. She was staying at an exclusive hotel, rather than a house or apartment, and quickly I realized just how much wealth Ricky had meant when he said ‘society person’.

We waited in the lobby for her, and she arrived bearing a large picnic basket.

“Are we going picnicking?” I asked her.

“We are,” Ricky answered, as she grinned mischievously.

“And I am included in that we?” I asked.

“No, sweetie, you are having dinner with my friend. We are just escorting you to her.”

“Oh, how convenient,” I said sarcastically.

Ricky made some sound of agreement that indeed it was convenient, and gave his sweetheart a kiss, before escorting her inside the passenger side of his car. I got to squeeze into the backseat of his Trans Am. Normally his backseat is spacious, but Anne’s basket took up more space than I did, and so left me squeezed next to my window.

I was beginning to truly regret my hasty departure from my Mr. Darcy Saturday night. How could he truly be engaged when it was obvious that Anne was head over heels in love with my brother? And if Anne was head over heels in love with my brother, could it be…? Could it be that he had feelings for me? Am I that fortunate??? Oh, I dearly hoped so, as we continued along the road.

My companions luckily left me to my thoughts during the drive. Anne and Ricky were playing a road game (an alphabet sign game, where not only did they have to follow the alphabet, but they had to use a descriptive word for each other using the letter they were on. I stopped listening after Ricky called Anne ferocious with a growl.).

I was grateful for the view from my window, for soon we found ourselves driving out into the beautiful countryside. Apparently, Anne’s friend lives on a ranch outside out the city limits, in a little town called Paris. I had never been there, but thought that the name of the town sounded wonderful. (Paris, USA—go figure!)

Soon Ricky pulled off of the interstate, and we began driving down a little red dirt road. A thick canapé of trees arched over our car as we drove along. Anne began to explain that all of this land is her friend’s for she owns a Peach orchard, and has a side interest in Pecan farming. The trees surrounding the outskirts of her property were Pecan trees. I was told that every year late in the fall, her friend sends all of her friends and acquaintances bushels of pecans to be shelled for the holiday baking season.

It really was an enchanting property: lush greenery, red dirt, rows of trees as far as one could see. Anne’s friend seemed very eccentric by her personal interests, her choice of her homestead, and more importantly by association with her society friend, Miss Anne Bourgeois, but she had excellent taste in homesteads.

Soon enough, I began to realize that Anne’s friend was actually of her same class, rather than the typical farmer that at first I assumed her to be. When we arrived at the entrance gates to her lawn, I got a glimpse of her house, which said anything but country farmer. This was a true estate-type property, complete with plantation-styled house, white-latticed pavilion to the side of the house—which was curtained with Purple fringed Wisteria vines, and an elaborate water fountain decorated the large circle drive to the front entrance. Her home was beautiful.

As soon as Ricky let me out of the backseat we were greeted by a casually dressed young woman, who told us that her Mother was around the back of the house. Anne introduced the young woman as Cecilia.

Cecilia smiled at me shyly and I could tell that it was difficult for her to not stare at me. I wondered if she didn’t get out much or something. But she was very nice, and sweet, and apparently had previously been invited to picnic with Anne and my brother. I learned that I was to dine with her mother, and I was overridden with nervousness.

Anne instructed Ricky to follow Cecilia into the kitchen to get them some beverages, while she introduced me to her friend.

We walked around the house, through a grove of half dead perennial flowers that were just past their prime growing season. That is when I saw her.

Just beyond a row of sculpted red photinia bushes, surrounded by a pack of miniature gray schnauzers, she stood, with a pair of clippers in her hand, trimming the dead foliage off of her rose bushes. Immediately the pack of schnauzers announced our arrival with a chorus of high-pitched barking.

“No, Precious. Back, Peaches. Pennie, you stay by my side. Good girl, Princess, that’s my little angel, lead by example!” she told her obedient dogs, as she made her way over to us. She had a brilliant smile on her face and stretched out her arms to me as soon she reached near enough. “Eve! It is so nice to meet you, at last!”

I went with the flow and gave her a tiny hug (You know the kind: pat, pat, pats to tell someone you aren’t the type of person comfortable with this sort of casual display of affection?) So we embraced, then it came Anne’s turn, who seemed much more accustomed to this sort of salutation, and she got a couple of kisses too! I was immediately grateful that I had only received a hug, but then I felt slightly jealous that she didn’t kiss me too! I wanted to be an affectionate-type person! Truly!!! I just need a bit more practice!

Anne introduced us formally, “Angie, this is one of the longest, dearest friends of my mother, Mrs. Williamson.” Then she did the unthinkable, and left us alone together!

I was incredibly nervous. First of all, I felt odd being asked to meet Anne’s mysterious friend, and even more odd, that this woman seemed to be quite familiar with me. Even calling me Eve, like that! No one had ever called me Eve before, but since I had so many nicknames already, I decided that one more wouldn’t hurt.

“You are wondering why I wished to meet with you?” Mrs. Williamson asked. I suppose you have been left in the dark completely?”

I nodded, so she continued, “Are you hungry? Shall we eat first before explaining too much of anything?”

I told her that whatever she thought best would be fine with me. I was rather hungry, being too nervous that day to eat lunch, and I never eat breakfast; so I was nearly faint with hunger.

She made a call to the house, and soon a small table was set for us in the pavilion. We ate a delicious meal of blackened chicken and mixed vegetables. I cleared my plate as she told me about herself.

She told me that she had been born into an exclusive society family, had married a little beneath her social status for love, and had moved out to this country estate on her own money. Her husband turned the numerous acres into a peach orchard, and they made a pretty penny off of his endeavors. Eventually her family acknowledged that she had made a good choice in husbands, but she had never questioned her judgment, even through the scrimping times. Her husband was out on business for the week, else I would have dined with him as well. She had one daughter, Cecilia, who was her father’s child, the exact image of him, I was told; and she had two boys. Each of the boys were the joys of her heart. She felt very close to each of them. The eldest schooled at Harvard, was a very outgoing personality, extremely handsome, and was a very successful businessman, going into business with his maternal grandfather. She rarely saw her eldest son, but heard from him often.

Her youngest son is who interested me.

“He has always been the more quiet of my two boys. He resembles Cecilia in that respect. He is equally as handsome as his elder brother, only doesn’t take advantage with his good looks or personality like his boisterous brother. My baby has always loved reading, writing, and poetry, but his truest love has always been his art. I will show you the gallery we have here at the house. It is amazing what he can do with a pencil, let alone an array of paints!”

It intrigued me to hear about her love for her youngest son, and something started to click in my head. Perhaps I am slow, and all of this is very blatant to you, reader, but I was beginning to realize that I was meeting the mother of my Mr. Darcy! And what was startling as I began to realize this, is that she seemed well aware of my situation, fears, and concerns about him. She even seemed to suspect that I loved him! Yes, love!!!

Soon enough dinner was finished and we left the pavilion with the intent to peruse her treasured art gallery.

It was on the second floor and consisted of the entire second story hallway, and led into a very large room. The hall was filled with paintings of his family. Many pictures were of Cecilia and the schnauzers. I learned that Cecilia and her mother bred champion schnauzers puppies, and kept their favorite bitches as personal pets. Each litter was a huge ordeal to actually allow another family to adopt their beloved schnauzers’ offspring.

Mrs. Williamson was featured in many of the paintings in many different areas of their property. She was painted among her prize-winning roses. He painted her sitting in a swing with his father. He sketched her reading her children a book. He drew her kneading some dough. It was almost as if a history of his favorite family moments were on display down that hallway.

Mr. Williamson and the eldest son were pictured as well, though not quite as often as the women of the family. Mrs. Williamson explained this phenomenon, “Geoffrey has always drawn women much more easily than men. I don’t know why, for he can certainly capture masculinity very well, but he has always had these tendencies. He once said that beauty enchants him, for it is something foreign to himself; though I would argue with him there,” she said smiling at me. “He is a beautiful person, though quite a man. Wouldn’t you agree?” she asked me, stopping in front of a self-portrait of the man she had been describing this past hour.

Yes, it was my Mr. Darcy, though now, I am realizing that I should start calling him Geoffrey. (Mrs. Williamson pronounces it Jshofray.) I suppose the admiration in my stare at his self-portrait answered her well enough and we moved on down the hallway towards the large room, where, she told me, his favorite pictures were displayed.

She opened the double glass doors, and asked me to prepare myself. I didn’t understand until I stepped inside the room.

I gasped for breath as I stepped inside. Mrs. Williamson, thankfully, had her arm around me, and steadied me as I regained my footing. I was quite overcome with shock!

What was on the walls, you might be wondering. It was me; and not just the present me, but almost a pictorial history of me aging over the past fifteen years!

I was amazed. He had grasped my every detail. The freckles on my nose were as if I was looking into a mirror. A painting of me, sitting in a chair displayed in the room, featured the stubborn bangs that always frizzed into slight horns on the side of my head. My hands had the same knuckles. Each hairstyle I had ever worn, and even a few I had never even dared to try, were displayed in the numerous paintings, sketches, drawings, and scribbles that covered every inch of wall space! It was almost scary; and immediately I wondered if I had a stalker, or something.

Mrs. Williamson saw the changed look in my face and answered my unspoken question, “No, it’s not that at all, dear.” And she gave me a hug from the side. “Don’t you understand? He has dreamed about you ever since this first painting he did when he was seventeen years old. One day an image of a girl came to him in the middle of a dream. He awoke in the middle of the night, and painted the young girl until she was complete. It took him four days of nonstop painting until he was finally satisfied with his new creation.” She drew me to a very large painted canvas that had been adorned with a very elaborate gilded frame. “Beautiful isn’t she?”

I stopped and looked at the young girl. Looking at her was like stepping into a magic time machine and viewing a mirror image of myself at the age of fourteen. A single tear dripped from my eye, and my hand was too late to catch it.

Mrs. Williamson caught it, and wiped it gently away. “He has a deep feeling for you. He told me when he first saw you in person at the library, and I advised him to be very cautious and careful with you. You see, he knew that you were his destiny, and was afraid that he might scare you away, once you knew all of this. He was afraid that you might think it strange, until he heard a little about your similar view of the situation.” She said smiling at me. “His middle name is Darcy, you know.”

I cannot believe that I did not faint dead away, knowing that not only had I dreamt up a real life person while reading a book, but he had also in turn dreamt of me. And as if that were not enough craziness: his name is Darcy, and I am his Eve!!!!!

I was unsure what to do or say. I just looked from picture to picture, seeing my smiles, my serious expressions, the way my hands fold in my lap with my fingers overlapping in that ‘Angie’ way. It was mesmerizing to see how diligent a young boy and then man had been in portraying an image that he had dreamt of! How did I inspire such admiration and diligence? How could he have been so fascinated by plain, simple me? But more importantly, how on earth had he dreamt up a real person; and then how had he found me? And then--how had I?

Mrs. Williamson told me that she thought I might like to let all of this information sink in, and I readily agreed to call it a night.

I probably should have stayed and asked her dozens of questions, but nothing came to mind when I had the opportunity. On the whole drive home I sat in the backseat, staring out into the black air, realizing that I had a glimpse of my destiny.

Journal Entry Twenty-six

I thought that Geoffrey might come to visit me at the library, or better yet, that he would get my phone number from Ricky or Anne and give me a call. However, none of these hopes came true though. I was beginning to wonder just what my future might be. You aren’t supposed to meet your dream man, and then part like this. Surely he wasn’t that busy! But I felt deep in my heart that I should trust in fate.

My workweek ended and I readied myself for Zachary and Deirdre’s engagement party his sister, Becky, was hosting for them Friday night. I was going to dress in the same outfit that I had worn to the art gala. I knew that Geoffrey wouldn’t be there, so it didn’t matter if I wore the same dress two weekends in a row.

I put on my dress and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked well. The dress was a two-piece (a smooth black skirt, with a matching black fuzzy top camisole). It contrasted well, I thought, will my short hair and fair skin.

I got in my car and drove out to Rebecca’s town house, where she was hosting the party.

She lived in a swanky district of remodeled classic styled homes that had been around since the turn of the century. I was quite impressed. She had excellent taste in neighborhoods.

I found her address, which was difficult because of the tons of cars parked on the street. Apparently she had invited many of their friends. This was a far larger turnout than I had expected.

I parked my car, and walked up to Rebecca’s home. It was very lovely and large. Everything looked perfect and grand. Deirdre had told me a little about Rebecca, and her house seemed to compliment that description. She was flashy and bold, dressed in bright colors, spoke louder than those about her, and laughed in such a way as to make the entire room turn their heads toward her. She loved attention, and got it for her home (which was actually lovely) and her whole personae. Here is her profile:

Rebecca Robillard

Physical appearance:
Tall, Dark haired, pretty (if you could get past her shrieking voice), dressed extremely well, and thought she was the most adorable thing on the planet. Large ego. She oozed with ego.

Jane Austen Character resemblance:
Caroline Bingley

Rebecca was at the entryway greeting guests when I arrived, and I met her immediately.

“So you are the little sister I have heard so much about!” she cooed when I introduced myself to her.

“Yes, I suppose I am.” Not having much else to say, I told her, “You have a lovely home.”

“This little thing? Oh, thanks.” Then she went to other guests who were just arriving. (I have never heard of so grand a home being referred to as ‘this little thing’ before.)

Deirdre found me immediately after I met Rebecca. I wondered if she had waited until Rebecca and I drifted apart before approaching me. It was just too convenient of her to happen upon me like that! “Ellie! There you are! You are late, why are you always late? Come here, Jeff has something very important he wishes to speak with you about.” Deirdre said, running up to me and dragging me off with her.

I managed to dig in my heels however, and stopped her, “No.”

“Pardon me?” she said.

“I have no wish to spend my entire evening with Jeff, discussing my Mr. Darcy, or Geoffrey as I now know his real name; and how I must have offended him, and how he never wishes to see me again!” I said, holding back the tears that were pricking in my eyes.

“Oh, Ellie!” Deirdre said with a pout. “You completely misunderstand! Come here, I insist that you allow Jeff to straighten you out about all of this!”

She then called over to Jeff as she dragged me by the arm beside her.

I was unfortunately wearing heels (which I never plan on doing again) and was keeping my eye on my balance rather than where we were headed, or who was heading toward us.

I looked up just in time to meet Jeff’s eye. It’s amazing how much a handsome man can explain with a look!

In case you didn’t guess, my Mr. Darcy, and my new Geoffrey, turned out to be none other than Jeff. The same Jeff who had listened to my sister and future brother-in-law prattle on about me and my crush on my Mr. Darcy; the same Jeff who conveniently failed to mention that he was in fact the one who I had been mentioning; the same Jeff, who nonchalantly told my sister about a supposed ‘fellow artist’ who fit my description entirely; the same Jeff at the art gala; the same Jeff who I now knew was involved in a façade engagement with his godmother’s daughter, the same person whom his mother so affectionately refers to as her beloved Geoffrey; the same Jeff who bears the uncanny middle name of Darcy. Geoffrey Darcy Williamson, or Geoffrey, or Jeff, Jeff, Jeff, Jeff, Jeff!!!!!

My sister left us in the center of the room, so we could “chat”.

My mouth apparently was open, and my Mr. Darcy , or my Geoffrey (I mean my Jeff, not my Jeff…yet!) gently touched my cheek, causing me to realize my mouth was wide open, and that we were standing in the center of the crowded room.

He smiled at me, gingerly kissed my forehead, whispered something about how lovely I looked this evening, and he led me to another room. He had a hold of my hand, and I was under the impression that he never intended to release it. Nor would I ever wish for such a horrible fate.

We walked into an adjoining room in complete silence, and he then led me through a pair of French doors and out onto a patio.

There was a bench on the patio that over looked Rebecca’s perfectly manicured lawn below. I could barely make out the green grass and flowers in the light of the moon; and as we sat down, I thanked my lucky stars that Deirdre insisted upon an evening party. The sky was magical.

A magical setting for a magical moment!

Jeff sat beside me still holding my hand, only now as we sat beside each other, he held my hand close to his chest. I could actually feel his heart beat as we stared out into the moonlit lawn, each of us trying to find the right words to start with.

I held his hand and we remained in silence for a few minutes. I was letting all of the new information sink in. First I had just come to grips with the realization of the depth of feeling that Geoffrey had for me. I realized that Ricky had told me the absolute truth, and no matter how silly or strange it appeared to me, their engagement was truly just pretend for her mother’s sake. I knew how strange all of the events leading up to this moment had been, but for once, I just went with the flow. I slowly let the latest information sink in, that Jeff had been my Mr. Darcy all along!

Eventually Jeff broke the silence saying, “I suppose you now know that I’m Jeff.”

“Yes,” I said to him. “I suppose I shall have to give up calling you my Mr. Darcy. Or even Geoffrey?” I asked with a sigh.

“My mother is the only person who has ever called me Geoffrey,” he said and almost looked embarrassed as he said his own name.

“Really? Well, I shall just have to join her and call you Geoffrey too!”

He looked at me then, and saw that I was teasing him. He smiled at me with his perfect and melting smile and said, “I will be very happy with whatever name you decide to refer to me as, as long as it makes you happy. I can be Jeff, Geoffrey, even Mr. Williamson, if that would please you, so long as you know that I’m not Jane Austen’s Mr. Darcy. That’s for sure.”

“How’s that?” I asked him. “You look an awful lot like him, you know.”

“Appearances aren’t everything,” he said and kissed my cheek. I could smell his strong musky scent then, and I closed my eyes enjoying the wonderful aroma. “Well, doesn’t Mr. Darcy at one time say the appearance of dishonesty is something he despises?”

“’Disguise of every sort is my abhorrence’,” I quoted for him.

He laughed softly and said, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” I said and looked down at my hand being held in his.

“But as I was saying, I kept the truth from your sister, and tricked you into coming to the gala.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“I already admitted it to them, and asked their forgiveness.” He turned me to face him. “I’m truly sorry, I just had to see you. Yet I was nervous of doing it any other way. I was afraid you didn’t want to see me after you hadn’t responded to my note.”

“Your note?” I asked.

“I believe you originally thought it a bookmark,” he reminded me.

I was in too much of an infatuated daze to think quickly.

He immediately moved his arm around me, and drew me close to him. “You can still call me your Mr. Darcy. It’s my middle name, you know.”

“Oh, yes, I know. And I think I will have to do that often, though I don’t mind calling you Jeff, too. It’s a nice name.”

“Well,” he began, “call me whatever, so long as you forgive me.”

“I forgive you.”

He looked at me, and drew me closer to him, “May I…” he asked.

I answered him with my lips.

Eventually we broke away from each other and I blushed into his collar. I just couldn’t look at him, I felt overcome with such a severe case of shyness.

“I never imagined that kissing my dream girl would be so,” he paused and found my lips again, and eventually finished his sentence, “Perfect seems not exactly the word, but perfectly, perfectly heavenly.”

“Dream girl? Are you teasing me?” I asked him.

“Not at all. I’ve been of you since I was seventeen.”

I giggled hearing him speak of what I had recently learned.

“My mother said she told you.”

“Yes, she did,” I told him and kissed his jaw, it just looked too yummy being there so close to me like that. Invitingly yummy.

He met my mouth with an anxious kiss of his own, and we told each other things words cannot express well enough. Our kiss was passionate, such passion that I had never dreamed existed, and it caught both of us by surprise, for a few seconds later, he broke away from me, with a deep intake of breath.

“We should talk,” he said and we stood in front of each other, as though standing would cease some aspect of our desire for each other.

I nodded, that I agreed we ought to spend some time talking. I suppose I was a little disappointed. I didn’t want him to be quite so gentlemanly, I wanted him to kiss me again, and I suppose it was obvious what I was thinking by the expression he saw on my face.

His resolve to chat was quickly thrown aside, and he trailed my hairline with mini-kisses, ending at my temple, and there he held me close to him. “My Eve, my destiny, my love,” he whispered.

I smiled and kissed my Mr. Darcy, telling him just who in fact he was to me.

Last Journal Entry (Twenty-seven)

As you can probably surmise from such a dream come true event as meeting your very own version of Mr. Darcy, you can hardly doubt the fairy tale ending.

I will go on to say that Zachary, less than three months later, became my very first brother-in-law. They moved into my sister’s city flat for workweeks and weekended at Zachary’s Lake property. For their first anniversary, Zachary surprised Deirdre with a trip to Colorado, where they stayed two weeks. At the trips end, Deirdre expressed a desire to return there often, and Zachary told her that that could easily be arranged, with the small exception that she agree to try for a baby. She of course agreed and they went after it, and in her fifth month she found out that she had been tricked because that cabin property had been in his family for years. She (several months later) gave him a daughter, a healthy eight pound baby, with fair hair like her mother and blue eyes like her Daddy. They named her Vangeline, after moi, and she is the apple of her Daddy’s eye and my sister’s best friend. They (mother and daughter) had everything in common, and spent every other weekend shopping until they dropped, and Deirdre even stood up with her at her wedding (many years down the road, of course).

Soon following Zachary and Deirdre to the alter was oddly enough not me, but my sister Cassadee and the base player in Anti-vertigo, Chase. They were in a hurry to tie the knot before the band went on its seasonal road trip. They never had children, never cut a real record deal, but survived on gigging, playing at events, and doing some studio work for a local advertising agency. Chase and Cass lived in town for most of their married life, but decided to retire in Australia, because Chase developed an allergy to some local pollen in the air here. They lived happily ever after, and taught music throughout their retirement.

Claire broke up with Rocky for good the year after Cass married Chase. Claire and Rocky’s relationship had gone down hill progressively since high school, so their breakup wasn’t very surprising. I suppose being around really in love couples (me and Jeff, Zachary and Deirdre, Cass and Chase, Ricky and Anne…) made her realize that what she had wasn’t love, but convenience. She left the music industry, and put herself through beauty school. She became a much sought after colorist, pampering the super rich of the area. A celebrity or two have even flown in to have her color their hair for a special event. Every month her hair decks a different shade of the rainbow, and probably forever will.

Ricky and Anne moved in together the weekend after her mother passed away, which was five months after I officially met my Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Bourgeois never knew the trick that had been played on her, and died with a content smile on her face. Ricky and Anne lived together in sin (as my Mother terms it) for seventeen years before officially tying the knot. They had two boys throughout that time; and Anne’s small frame oddly enough was able to bear both boys to full term weighing in at over nine pounds a piece. Anne’s handsome miniatures of Ricky walked her down the isle giving her away to their papa at their wedding. Soon after their wedding Anne discovered she had the same cancer that her mother had, but caught it early enough. She recovered after several months of chemotherapy, and they lived long lives caring after each other, their sons, two daughter-in-laws, and three grandchildren, which all turned out to be girls. Ricky continued modeling even into his old age. He is the suave gray-haired hunk, in the latest blue jean commercials. Even at his ripe old age he still looks as good as ever.

My parents lived long lives enjoying their large family of grandchildren and then great grandchildren. My mother colored her hair until her dying day, and we never saw a gray hair on her head. My father died the season after my mother, the doctors say of natural causes, but we think that it was of a broken heart, missing his life mate. It was a really hard year—losing them like that.

Jeff allowed me to call him Darcy whenever I felt like it (which was quite often). He usually called me Eve, but every now and then he found a new nickname for me. He seemed to call me every name in the book and even termed a saucy name to me that he only uses in the bedroom. I respond to everything he dishes at me, from love-of-my-life to Eve, from sweet cakes to angel. He even came up with an interesting name for our first grandson to call me instead of grandma: Chichi. Everyone in the room at the time of course nixed that name. When I told Jeff what Chichi meant, he added it to the other name he termed for me in the bedroom.

We married one year to date after our first fateful meeting in the library. In fact he asked me to marry him at the library. This is what transpired:

I was sitting at my library desk after printing off the past due book list, so that we could send the people who had kept the books for six months or longer a nice bill for the book they had stolen from the city. The list was long, as usual, so it left me with some wonderful MSN Messenger time with my Mr. Darcy, or Jeff as I now call him. I logged in as Eve Bomb, and sure enough, before I had even had the “logged in” screen, Jeff had messaged me…

Geoffreylicious says:
Hello, my wonderful love muffin.

Eve Bomb says:
Hey, I like your new name! Geoffreylicious…**slurp**

Geoffreylicious says:
Have I told you how much I love you today?

Eve Bomb says:
Yes, I think you did a couple of times this morning over the phone, and I got the sweet email when I arrived here this morning. All of this attention is going to my head! **please don’t stop**

Geoffreylicious says:
Well, I love you, love you, love you **needed to tell you on here, too** and I have a surprise for you over in the fiction department. I take it you haven’t checked our book yet? **mushy kisses**

Eve Bomb says:
Mmmm, those are yummy kisses. Wish they were real and not cyber kisses.
Brb
**going to check our book**

Geoffreylicious says:
k

I heard my messenger ding again as I left to go check out our book (the one where we had left those little notes in when we first met each other.

I found Son’s and Lover’s laid out on the book shelf, and there was something very thick inside. It was a thick note, that had a poem describing how much Jeff loves me. It was so sweet that it left me in tears as I went back to my desk (where I noticed a little box on my computer keyboard).

Yep, ring box; and I immediately searched the empty library for some sign that I was not alone, as it appeared. I knew that Jeff must be somewhere in there watching me; so I played along and opened the box as I clicked to view my latest message.

Geoffreylicious says:
I promise to cherish you and support you every day for the rest of my life and into eternity. I promise to be there for you, in every way. I promise to give you strength when you feel weak. I promise to try to make you smile when you cry. I promise to support you in all of your endeavors. I promise to be your hero when you need protecting. I promise to rub your shoulders when you are stressed. I promise to touch you and make you feel my love. I promise to respect you and treat you equally in every way. I promise to be a good listener. I promise to try and be as perfect as you are to me. I promise to love you for the rest of my life….will you promise me something?

Eve Bomb says:
Anything!!!

Geoffreylicious says:
Will you marry me?

Just as I had read the message I heard footsteps around the corner. I ran over to him, ran as fast as I could manage; and ran directly into his arms showering his face with kisses. After a few minutes of enjoying each other like this, we separated for a moment.

“So what’s your answer?” he asked with a teasing smile.

I laughed and pinned him against the wall. I kissed him very thoroughly, and then pulled away from him, just long enough to say a breathy, “Yes!

We were married five weeks later.

That library is still very special to me. It holds some very special memories for us. We often visit it, and Jeff insists that we spend part of every anniversary there. I think it’s sweet how sentimental my Mr. Darcy turned out.

I quit my library job, and became a young author/housewife/mother/grandmother for the rest of my years. Our lives were perfect together, with only a few episodes of “spice” as we like to call our little rare tiffs. Making up is always fun, so I often act saucy to him, and tease him with my impertinence. During these episodes, Jeff calls me Miss Bennet, in the most true to form Darcy impression I have ever heard.

Our daughter was born the month after my son Darcy’s seventh birthday. We considered calling our daughter Elizabeth, but thought that that would just be too weird having a Lizzy and Darcy as siblings, so we named her Juliet instead. Juliet married when she had just finished her English degree to a wonderful young man named Henry. Darcy married a lovely girl when he was twenty-six named Bridget. That was coincidence enough, huh?

My husband painted, sketched, drew me, quite often; and he once even molded an image in my likeness out of clay. He kept all of these life long creations in his “Eve room”, and from floor to ceiling, closet to shelf, I was there, everywhere in that room with him.

He taught me to paint after our children moved out of the house, and we painted and drew with each other often. He was a well-recognized artist throughout his entire life, and many of his creations deck the walls of the most distinguished families around the world. He never parted with an image of me, though. Those, even though often displayed at his exhibits, never had a price tag; and he once turned down an ungodly amount of money for one of my portraits.

I loved my Mr. Darcy from the first time I read about him in JA’s Pride and Prejudice entering a country-dance in Merryton when I was a little girl. I was fortunate enough to have met my real life soul mate, and I loved him more each day of our lives together. He was the man of my dreams, and I love him still.

Final Entry—Many years later

It is hard to think that he has been gone now one and a half years. Today is the sixty-fifth anniversary of our first meeting, and I sit in the library in a chair in the same fiction department that he first sat in. I read the first part of Son’s and Lovers this morning, and left my dear a note saying, “I will love you forever.”

I like to think that he’s somehow watching me even now, and can see that I am faithfully loving him still, yearning for the moment that we will be reunited. Until that day comes, I tell my great-grandchildren about him, and tell everyone for that matter, that one day they will come across someone, and if they look, really hard and close, and if they truly believe, they will meet that person; and they will be united with their soul mate. Whether they like to term him or her as their Darcy, Lizzy, Knightly, Jane, Evelina, Roger, Molly, Rose, Mac, Marcella, or Aldous—they are out there, all you have to do is notice.

I suppose that I should complete this with a character description of my Mr. Darcy; but only two words come to mind: my love.

THE END