Lambton Krafts and Music Fair
The singer had a cute butt. His voice was good too, but it was the butt that had drawn Lizzy's attention. She adjusted her shades, took another sip of her sangria and settled down more comfortably in the grass on the slope, listening to „Willy and the Poor Boys“.
„Lambton Krafts and Music Fair“ was a local institution, held on the last weekend of July. Artists and craftsmen and - women - from all around Derbyshire erected their stalls and bands from the area provided the musical entertainment. They had started in the afternoon with some newcomers but the men now playing - from what Lizzy had gathered from the introduction - seemed to re-assemble only once a year, for the fair.
Their name was rather telling, playlist heavy with CCR, some Blues Brothers stuff and English bands from the Sixties and Seventies. They were all in their thirties, the lead guitarist a smooth talking colonel from the army with a tendency to slightly over-long solos, the bass-player a chubby, curly blond fellow wearing one of these t-shirts one gets at parent's day in kindergarten, with lots of little hands printed on it, who couldn't refrain from dedicating every other song to his `angel´.
The band's singer - apart from the cute butt - sported faded jeans, a snug fitting, equally faded Glastonbury `91 t-shirt and if Lizzy could trust her eyes over the considerable distance, no shoes at all, sunglasses and a bandana. About the latter two, he was being constantly teased by his fellow musicians who called him an accountant in disguise.
The drummer hadn't said a word so far, but downed beers at an astonishing speed whilst keeping a steady beat. They played solid rock and rhythm and blues, with long time experience and - obviously stemming from no longer playing together regularly - boyish glee.
Lizzy could sing along with most of their songs, which she did.
---
The last few months had been hard for her. Her fierce and ugly quarrel with William Darcy and his subsequent letter had shocked her to the core. At first she had to deal with the overwhelming shame of having been taken in so easily by George Wickham, of harbouring petty prejudices against a man she hardly knew, thus marking her an easy prey.
Even though Darcy in his letter had assured her that a lot of people had fallen for Wickham's easy charm, his father being one of them, she found it very hard to reconcile with that.
Next a calmer review of all that had happened led to Elizabeth's acknowledgement that Darcy had really cared for her and that she had hurt him deeply. She had tried to banish that from her thoughts by throwing herself into work. The plan had worked for a while, then she had to increase her workload.
Therefore when her aunt Maddy Gardiner - being scarcely ten years older than Elizabeth and more of a wise elder sister than an aunt - had invited her along for a tour of cycling and viewing houses and gardens in the North of England she'd gladly accepted the much needed holiday.
Though aware that the Darcy family originated from Derbyshire, Lizzy hadn't expected that name to come up, and in such a magnificent house as Pemberley, the estate not five miles from Lambton they had viewed as last.
But the guide had told them that the family had long since turned the house over to the National Trust, giving Elizabeth the opportunity to pretend to herself that she had not hoped to encounter William on the lawn by the lake.
---
Laying back in the grass, lazily chewing on a sangria soaked piece of orange Lizzy felt she could relax for the first time in a while. The warmth of the ground, the smell of grass, the music - every little bit helped to soothe her and after a while problems and troubles that had been a burden to be dragged along, faded into proportions, sunk back to a size Elizabeth could easily deal with.
Save one.
That stuck out, asking to be dealt with immediately. The revelation must have been there for quite a while but now Lizzy could see it with clarity - if she was to regain her peace of mind concerning the wrongs she had done to William Darcy she would have to apologize.
And now was as good a time for that as any other.
Lizzy flipped open her mobile, pressing the „W“.
After having finished the call she felt a weight come off her shoulders and with the conviction of having done the right thing - even if it had been done rather inelegantly - she dozed off.
---
William Darcy congratulated his co-workers, their appointed task had gone rather well. They clicked their bottles and Will downed his beer. After chatting for a while they separated for the time being.
When Will turned on again his mobile he frowned. A missed call from an unknown number. That was unusual in itself because scarcely ten people had this number. For the spur of a moment hope surged up, hope that it would be HER. In a fit of anger and also to remove himself from the temptation of calling her Will had erased Elizabeth Bennet's number from his phone book, so there was a small chance that it could be her.
With a sigh however he conceded that it was far more likely Caroline Bingley, having yet again managed to wrangle his mobile's number from her brother. He pressed the button to hear the message.
„Hi Will, this is Elizabeth. Elizabeth Bennet that is. Er. - I am sorry it took me three months and half a pint of sangria to call you but, er, - What I wanted to say is, I am sorry. - I want to apologize, I never wanted to hurt you. - BEEEP! - Fuck! My battery - Listen, if - “
Fuck, why had her battery to go dead right now? How would she have continued?
„Listen, if that's all right with you I'd rather forget we've ever met?“
or
„Listen, if you agree I'd like us to start afresh, no past hard feelings?“
or
„Listen, if you don't mind the three month delay - yes, I'd love to go out with you, and yes, I wish you'd take me to your house afterwards for a night of unbelievably hot sex and yes, I'll marry you and be the mother of your children.“
Probably not.
Will replayed the message, straining his ears to catch the tone of her last words. Were they conciliatory, were they elusive…
Then it struck him. There was something oddly familiar about these background noises. Judging from the sound of it she must have been not too near the stage but nevertheless „Willie and the Poor Boys“ were easily recognisable, playing „Bad Moon Rising“.
Will decided not to take that song as a bad omen and began his search of the fair.
Where a lot of people had gathered, the sangria stall, he had to duck down several times to look under a broad brimmed sun hat but found no trace of Elizabeth. The tables of the tea shop, set up under the chestnut tree by the former smithy also brought no result. Will weaved his way through the masses in the craft fair and spotted several pieces of jewellery he felt she would like but not her.
Maybe his ears had betrayed him? He re-played the message. There was no mistake - his voice, Hurst's very laid back drumming and the beginning of Richard's solo. In his quest Will even passed by the queue in front of the toilet, trying to do so as inconspicuously as possible. Had she moved nearer to the stage? To get a better view of the audience he made up his way a slight rise on the left side of the stage. People were scattered now and there - talking, listening, smoking, making out.
Reaching the top he nearly stumbled over her.
Elizabeth was laying flat on her stomach, face partially hidden under a hat, but still visibly sound asleep. A slight smile graced her lips. She was dressed in loose linen trousers, a t-shirt, her bare arms tanned, sandals thrown off.
After a while of just looking down at her in wonder Will settled beside her. Sitting at first the atmosphere soon caught him - the music drifting up, the smell of the grass mingling with Elizabeth's scent, herself - wonder over wonder not only having called him but now sleeping peacefully not ten inches from him … He stretched out along side her, at first determined to stay awake, but soon dozing off as well.
---
When Elizabeth woke up a little later at first her sense of smell registered that something was not as it had been when she'd fallen asleep. She crunched up her nose, maybe that sensation was just a remnant of her dream about that cute singer of “Willie and the Poor Boys”, but it stayed there unmistakably - sweat, beer and a familiar scent she couldn't place.
Raising an eyelid she closed it again immediately. There was the singer! Laying on his back next to her, sleeping.
With her eyes firmly closed Elizabeth considered her options: First - either this sangria was a far stronger brew than she'd thought and she was having a hallucination, albeit a pleasant one. Or wishful thinking had more powers than she'd credited it with before. In any case she would have to open her eyes again, be it to grab her lunch or to at least enjoy this very vivid hallucination.
Elizabeth turned on her side, pulled her sun hat deeper into her face and took a good, long look.
She started at the bottom. He wasn't wearing any kind of shoes so his feet were dirty but otherwise - just perfect. Lizzy scolded herself for such a silly notion, having never given male feet a thought before. But then, if she ever would have, this would be her ideal feet on a man.
The sleeper's jeans were torn but not torn enough and in any case, Elizabeth's attention soon was captured by where his tee did not quite meet the waistband of his trousers. Drawing her eyes away from that sight was harder than cycling up the hill between Pemberley and Lambton. She examined the rest of his lean torso, glanced up his neck and - froze.
She knew that chin! Too often had it been stuck out at her in what then she thought to be haughty, at their last meeting in a defiant manner. Elizabeth blushed deep red. She had been busily looking up Will Darcy! It was a moderately warm day but suddenly she found the heat oppressive. Her first impulse was to flee.
Lizzy looked at Will again. The bandana really looked odd. Accountant! Well, one could put it that way, as he was professor of financial sciences at the LSE, and it was rumored that Gordon Brown phoned him now and then for advice. Elizabeth had found him handsome in somber suits, the very casual style he sported today made him irresistible.
The corners of his mouth were turned slightly upwards. Lizzy craned her neck to get a peak under his sunglasses. The sight of his dark lashes against his cheeks proved her undoing. They had fought, he had apologized, she had done likewise, he had found her - she could not run from him now.
Elizabeth tried to calm down. Hadn't she dreamed of an accidental meeting just the day before? And wasn't this much better than having him stroll through a meadow in regal fashion like in some TV - adaptation? Even a wet shirt could not show more than this tee.
If Will had guessed from the background noises in her message where she was and had gone looking for, her that meant he was at least prepared to talk with her. A small voice in Elizabeth's heart whispered that he even might have forgiven her, that he still cared for her.
That thought set butterflies loose in her stomach.
And so Will opened his eyes again to the sight of a blushing and embarrassed Elizabeth. He turned towards her enquiring
“Hi, did I say something awkward in my sleep?”
Her blush deepening Lizzy quickly considered whether to answer in a evasive way or whether to lay her cards open. She decided for the latter.
“No, you didn't. I, er, I have been busily admiring the, er, butt of “Willie and the Poor Boys” singer and only just now found out that he is, er, you.”
Will´s mouth stayed open for some seconds.
Just before Elizabeth was prepared to flee because of mortification he took pity on her.
“I think I can live with that.”
Being in a position to tease her was a chance not to be missed so he continued
“I cannot promise though that I might not get jealous from time to time.”
---
Louisa Hurst had indeed spotted the object of her sister's search but decided to give him a chance for escape. Her opinion about Will Darcy was torn. She gave him credit for always being a gentleman in turning down Caroline's advances (apart from that frog incident, but he had only been 17 then), an achievement not to be under estimated because he'd kept it up for close to twenty years now. But then he'd far too often judged her along with Caroline, without giving a single thought to her person.
Anyway, he was far better matched with Elizabeth Bennet whom he was smiling at completely lovestruck at the moment than with Caro, and if Ms Bennet gave him a set down or two Louisa would not pity him.
Therefore she drawled in her haughtiest voice
“Caro, you cannot be serious to look for William here. There's only a bunch of bums in a cloud of weed smoke. Besides, you make a spectacle of yourself in that heels.”
Elizabeth had to clamp her hand over her mouth at the sight of Caroline Bingley in what must be 4 inch high heeled strappy sandals. She was sticking out from the rise in a very awkward angle, like a small child would draw people walking up a hill.
Will had heard Louisa's voice, too, and acted accordingly. Caro hadn't spotted him yet, so he whispered
“Elizabeth, please hide me!”
Lizzy hesitated only a second, then leaned over him, hiding their faces under her broad brimmed sun hat. Under this cover she removed his glasses and whispered back
“I demand a reward for such a brave deed.”
“Take it.”
Tasting Will´s lips for the first time Elizabeth was feeling incredibly thankful towards Caroline Bingley.
---
“Hi Maddie, `tis Lizzy. I, er, I won't be returning to the inn tonight. Meet me for breakfast at (scratching noises, urgent whispering), hang on a second (more urgent whispering), er, for lunch at the tea room by the smithy. Bye.”
---
Louisa Hurst scanned the crowd for her husband after having safely deposited her sister at their inn. Sniffing the marijuana laden air she was of a mind to get her own very little stash and remind Hurst that there was a time when he hadn't been a red cheeked stock broker with a paunch and she hadn't been his stuck up, snobby Sloane suare wife.
---
Elizabeth Bennet found out that evening that the Darcy family had indeed turned Pemberley over to that National Trust but kept the Dowager House, tucked away in several acres of park and woodland, plus some gamekeeper´s cottages and a working dairy farm.
And she found out several other, more important things.
---
Harry Reynolds did not trust his eyes when he saw something quite unusual while walking his dog. A shadow flickered behind the drawn curtains of Mr Darcy's rooms and what looked like a man wiggling his behind, as if to show off his butt.
Now that could not be true. He had worked too long in the sun; Mrs Reynolds had been right, as usual.
The End