Posted on Thursday, 24 October 2002

Mr. Hurst sauntered into the drawing room at the Darcy townhouse, where several of his friends were already assembled, looking down his nose at all of them with an expression of smug satisfaction. His entrance however, went unnoticed and he walked into the same old squabble between Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"Do you ever stop whining?" Darcy was asking, "you are a very minor character you know, nothing more than a plot device really, just a way for Elizabeth to find out about my involvement in separating her sister from Bingley," he paused to give his beloved wife an apologetic look, "you appear in what three, maybe four chapters?"

"Eight! My involvement in the story spans eight chapters."

"Yes, but are you in them all?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared defeated, "no," he said quietly.

"What does it matter?" asked Bingley, "look at me, I'm in most of the book too, and I still live in your shadow," he said to Darcy, "my biggest admirer is a man."

"You keep bringing that up," said Fitzwilliam quietly, "it's not something I would brag about."

"Right," said Bingley, sitting back down beside his adoring angel who proceeded to console him by whispering into his ear how much she preferred him over any of the other characters, as Nicholls fed him white soup to raise his spirits.

"You don't even have a first name!" continued Darcy to his cousin, "and the only reason that you get as much attention as you do is because these dwiggies like the looks of that fellow who played you in the movie. That and there are so few eligible young men in the novel."

"Excuse me," said a voice in the back of the room, "what about us?" All eyes turned to a cluster of gentlemen in the back of the room consisting of Mr. Morris, Mr. Robinson, Mr. Haggerston, and Mr. Jones.

"Actually," said Darcy, with undisguised wonder at their presence, "the book does not indicate whether any of you is married or not." All four gentlemen had to acknowledge the truth of the matter and, looking wistfully at the several single girls in the room, they returned to their own quiet conversation.

Darcy returned his attention to his cousin, "As I was saying, I don't see anyone begging for YOUR appearance in that 'novel hopping' story! But they sure have been asking for me."

"Well, if you'd spend less time in the servant's quarters at my house, . . . ." began Hurst.

"What?" asked Elizabeth.

But she was foreclosed from pursuing the subject by Colonel Fitzwilliam, "Oh yes, the great Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. There can be no story without you in it! But is it really you they love? Because the last time I checked, all the modern stories and even some of the Regency stories feature a William Darcy, but no Fitzwilliam Darcy." He stopped here to chuckle, then added, "there are some advantages to not having a first name, you know!"

"Stop it!" cried Darcy.

Mr. Hurst cleared his throat, but no one noticed him. He cleared it again, more loudly, and again there was no reaction. Finally he delivered a full cough and his wife said, "do have a glass of wine, dear." At this Hurst walked to the center of the room, and as everyone expected him to collapse ungracefully on one of the sofas, his failure to do so did get their attention at last. When all eyes were finally on him, he smiled devilishly and brushed his nails against his lapel as he said, "it seems there is a knew star in our virtual world."

"Really?" said Darcy, trying to hide the concern in his voice.

"Yes, it appears that the spotlight has finally come to rest on the fashionable yet unfortunate Mr. Hurst. I am no longer to be ignored. I have waited nearly two-hundred years to be acknowledged and now, my time to shine is at hand. Finally, my history, my thoughts, my opinions are being written. My relationship with my wife is being explored. I finally got to laugh at my ridiculous sister-in-law!" Miss Bingley grunted in response, "and you would be surprised, my dear Caroline, by the sheer number of vegetables you can resemble." She was about to reply, but he silenced her by raising his hand, then continued, "I have existed in unreality for all these years without ever knowing, until now, which young woman might have caught MY eye at the Meryton assembly," then turning to Mrs. Collins, he added with a wink, "and I do have good taste," she smiled prettily back at him, as he bellowed, "I am no longer one-dimensional!"

"Capital," said Sir William, clapping his hands, as his wife looked on smiling.

"Is this true?" asked Darcy, looking about the room, "is it possible . . ." he gulped, ". . . that I am being replaced? And by the likes of . . . him?" he pointed to Hurst as he said the last.

"Do not worry, my friend," added Mr. Hurst, "I understand that your calves are still an object of admiration."

"Really?" asked Darcy, looking appraisingly at his own calves, as Lizzy gave him a look of reassuring approval. Lydia and Kitty had started giggling at the mention of Darcy's calves, as Denny, Pratt, and Chamberlayne snickered at each other. Mrs. Forster joined in the flirtatious laughter, as her husband looked on without seeming to mind his wife's silliness.

"What are those officers doing here?" asked Darcy, but no one answered him.

Meanwhile Maria Lucas had colored slightly when she realized that Mr. Hurst had overheard her brazen comment about Mr. Darcy's legs, and her sister gave her a reproachful glance, "what?" she asked innocently, "I don't write the stuff."

"In that case, Mr. Hurst," said Mr. Collins, "do you think that you might be able to persuade one or two of these authors to make me a bit more desirable in some of these stories. Ever since that movie came out everyone has had such an unfavorable impression of me."

"Right, blame it on the movie," said Elizabeth under her breath.

"How come you never asked for MY help with that?" asked Darcy.

"Well, I didn't think you'd be inclined to assist me, after all I did propose to Elizabeth, but never to Louisa," Darcy nodded his understanding, "and you are one of the most illustrious personages in the land, while I am a mere vicar, though, I flatter myself, . . . ." Darcy was rolling his eyes.

"What will I get out of it?" asked Hurst, interrupting Collins' lengthy speech.

Collins nodded towards his wife, in a manner that he thought was discreet, and winked.

Hurst understood. "I'll see what I can do Collins, maybe we can arrange something. Perhaps if you get to be more desirable in a story, Miss Elizabeth will like you, and that will leave Mrs. Collins available, of course, Louisa would have to die . . . ."

"MR. HURST!" came the shrieking voice of his wife.

"Sorry, my dear," said Hurst.

"Wait a minute, Collins can't get Elizabeth," said Darcy.

Meanwhile Jane had begun to cry and Elizabeth moved to console her sister. "Why do they have to kill me?" asked Jane, "I know sweetness and goodness are boring, but do they have to kill me? Bingley gets to live and have other relationships. Has anyone considered that I might want to try being with someone else?"

Bingley looked at her in astonishment, his pain evident in his eyes.

"Stop it Bingley, you're getting Georgiana because Jane's dead, you can't blame her for preferring to be with another man over being dead!" said Elizabeth with feeling. Bingley just sat back down, sulked, and ate more white soup.

"Mr. Collins," began lady Catherine, in her regal voice, "there is absolutely nothing wrong with your original character. You were perfectly written. And SHE," Lady Cat shot Elizabeth a dirty look, "would have done well to accept your offer." Elizabeth stuck her tongue out at Lady Catherine in response, which only incensed the old woman, "why you impertinent, ungrateful, disrespectful, insolent girl! I am most seriously displeased."

"Well, I think Lizzy made an excellent choice in refusing Mr. Collins," said Mrs. Bennet.

"There was a time, Mrs. Bennet," chimed in her husband, "when you felt quite differently about Lizzy's refusal to marry Mr. Collins."

"But that was before she snatched Mr. Darcy!"

"Quite so," added Mrs. Phillips, nodding her head vigorously.

"Darcy, Darcy, Darcy . . . I thought this was about me," said Mr. Hurst.

"Mrs. Phillips?" said Darcy incredulously, just noticing the vulgar old woman's presence, as well as that of her husband sitting next to her.

"Though Mr. Collins could have moved on to Mary," continued Mrs. Bennet, "she would have been prevailed upon to accept him, it says so in the book. Oh my poor nerves," she added, as Hill administered smelling salts and the two Longbourn housemaids, Sally and Sarah, made Mrs. Bennet more comfortable; while the two Johns (one of Hunsford and one of Gracechurch Street) looked on admiringly at the two maids.

"Quite so, mother," said the middle Bennet daughter, "but I do get him quite often enough as it is, whenever our benevolent authors wish to save Charlotte. Does anyone ever think of me? NO."

"That is only because they believe you would be happy with him Mary," added Jane.

"I don't know why your daughters should be getting all of the marriage proposals," said Mrs. Long to Mrs. Bennet, as her two nieces nodded their agreement.

"Exactly what I say," said Mary King, with a wistful look at Wickham, as her uncle looked on sternly, "I never get a proposal and I have ten-thousand pounds!"

Pen and Harriet Harrington, along with Miss Webb, added their expressions of indignation that the Bennet girls seem to get all the attention from gentlemen.

"Who are they?" asked Darcy of his wife, as he pointed to the three young maidens

Lizzy only smiled, then asked Mr. Collins, "was there not a story in which you were written as a likable person?"

"Only one, but it was not even finished!"

"It is no wonder," said Anne, "it is an impossible task."

"Anne do you dare express an opinion adverse to your own mother's?" said Lady Catherine, as Mrs. Jenkinson nodded vigorously and felt Anne's forehead, "have you no sense of family loyalty? Do you believe I do not know that you secretly play the piano, harbor tender feelings for various young men (none of whom is Darcy), and yes, even look out windows!" Dawson quickly brought her mistress a glass of wine to ease her distress.

"Oh my," whispered Lady Metcalfe to Miss Pope, in response to her friend's outburst.

"Um, excuse me," said Hurst.

"Making me likable cannot be any more difficult than making Mr. Wickham GOOD!!" replied Collins with feeling.

"Well, considering that I was already likable, all charm and grace . . . " began Wickham.

"WICKHAM?!?!?! What in bloody hell are YOU doing here?" asked Darcy, just noticing Wickham's presence, "and what is this about you being good? You're NEVER good. If you're good, then I have to be bad, and I'm NEVER bad."

"Well you do act like a jerk in the beginning," said Elizabeth, Darcy acknowledged the truth of it with a bow.

"Hellooo . . ." said Hurst.

"Actually, Darce, in this particular story, we're friends," said Wickham.

"Darce? What is that? Don't call me that. And you and me will NEVER be friends."

"Look," said Kitty, pointing out the window, and everyone was silent as all eyes in the room watched a flock of pigs flying by.

"I told you about that the other day, Darcy," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, "do you read ANY of these stories?"

"Can we talk about me now?" asked Hurst.

Darcy sank into his chair. "Our internet connection has been down," he sighed.

Elizabeth corroborated it with a bow.

"Still," said the Colonel, "you are IN almost all of the stories, in fact, you are usually the main character, . . . "

"Ha, not anymore," gloated Hurst.

". . . you ought to know what's going on," finished the Colonel.

"I can't keep all the stories straight," admitted Darcy.

"I love a man who can admit his faults," said Elizabeth dreamily. Darcy kissed the tips of his fingers and blew atop his hand in the direction of his wife. Elizabeth snatched the air in front of her and then placed her hand gently against her cheek. Everyone else in the room rolled their eyes and made gagging motions or noises.

"Oh the woes of being in such high demand," said the Colonel, sarcastically.

"You are every bit as good as your cousin," said Colonel Fitzwilliam's mother soothingly.

"Better, for you are son of an earl!" said his father.

"But only second son," added his brother.

"Uncle, Aunt, Cousin!" said Darcy in surprise, "what are you doing here?"

"Well, if we can have dinner at the Hurst's we can certainly condescend to make an appearance at your house, nephew."

"I even had an Earl over for dinner!" said Hurst.

"Perhaps if Darcy and Wickham had been friends, I might not have lost my job," mused Mrs. Younge.

Darcy whirled around to face the woman in bewilderment, she gave him a shy little wave and he sighed in exasperation, "I'm not even going to ask."

Mrs. Annesley gave Mrs. Younge a disapproving glare, which was supported by looks from Mrs. Reynolds, Darcy's steward, and the Pemberley gardener.

Just then the door to the drawing room flew open and a handsome young man was shown in, by a servant who also happened to be the waiter at the coaching inn in Hertfordshire. "Mr. Henry Tilney" was announced into the room, as all the ladies raised their eyebrows and stretched to get a look at the newcomer.

"Oops, sorry," said Tilney, "wrong novel," just before he turned and left the room.

"Don't I know him?" asked Darcy.

"He was in a story with us, dear," said Elizabeth, "oh, and I recently danced with him in 'novel hopping' but you wouldn't know, since you're not in that story yet."

"He's not even in our novel!" yelled Hurst, "can't we talk about MY stories now?"

"You danced with him?" asked Darcy.

"Certainly not," said Hurst.

"Not you, Elizabeth," said Darcy, exasperated.

"Only once, and I did not really care for him," replied Elizabeth.

"Oh can it Darcy," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, "it was just a dance, she's done a lot more than dance with me, in several stories!" Elizabeth blushed. Darcy fumed. Everyone else looked shocked, except Lydia and Wickham, who were too busy kissing to notice anyone else. That is until Lydia noticed Wickham making eyes at Caroline and Charlotte, and went off to sit on the lap of William Goulding, as his family looked on in disgust.

Just then, the door swung open again, this time by the chambermaid from the Lambton Inn, and a beautiful, dark haired, elegantly attired woman sashayed into the room. All the women sneered in her direction, while the men just stared at her with their mouths gaping open. The mysterious woman walked right up to Colonel Fitzwilliam, stood directly in front of him, crossed her arms and started tapping her foot. The other men were both jealous and curious.

As no one else seemed inclined to speak, Mrs. Bennet, feeling the threat to her two yet unmarried daughters with such a rival for the men's attention in the room, stood and said, "I believe you must be in the wrong place, Miss . . . ?"

The woman looked at Mrs. Bennet, appraising her from head to toe, and then said, "Rowland, Emma Rowland."

"Right. Emma. Different novel altogether. Run along now dear."

"I am in the right place, madame, I assure you," she replied turning her attention back to the colonel.

"Hi," he said, tugging at his cravat.

She raised her eyebrows and looked at him expectantly, still tapping.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Elizabeth clone?"

"Oh, that . . . um . . . well, it's true."

"Look I may be new to this little group . . . "

"Little?" said Darcy, looking at the scores of people around him.

". . . and I will probably never be heard from again, once the story I'm in is finished, but I am not an Elizabeth clone."

Elizabeth stood up and walked over to the young woman, looking at her smugly, "admit it honey, you're a clone; and by the way, only permanent characters are allowed to whine. The temps meet in the barn, but not very often as no one ever sticks around long enough to organize things."

"I thought you were my friend!" said Miss Rowland.

"Obviously," said Elizabeth, "you haven't been around long enough to distinguish between fiction and unreality. I'm only your friend in the story. Do you think I don't know that you wanted my husband first?"

Miss Rowland sulked off to the barn, as the gentlemen watched her go, reluctantly.

"Is that true?" asked Colonel Fitzwilliam sadly.

"Well, you wanted Elizabeth first," Darcy reminded him.

"Not even the clones like me better than you," replied Colonel Fitzwilliam in a dispirited tone.

"Well, I am much better looking, although they tend to be kinder towards you in the stories than your description in the novel."

"Okay, back to me," said Hurst.

"How come no one ever wants to clone me?" asked Caroline.

Darcy looked at Wickham, "aren't you married to her?"

"Only in one story," he replied.

"Oh, you paid attention to that one, didn't you?" said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"Maybe you should do it more often," said Darcy to Wickham, ignoring his cousin.

"Nope, too dangerous," replied Wickham.

"I have two words for you," said Georgiana to Caroline, everyone gazed at her with stupefied expressions due to the fact that she was speaking more than a monosyllable, "Amy Larson."

"Oh yes, that's right" said Caroline happily, "thank you."

"Hmph!" said Miss Darcy, as her friend, Miss Grantley patted her hand in understanding.

"Who?" asked Mr. Gardiner.

"We're not in that one, dear," said his wife, as she forestalled a young Lucas who was handing glasses of wine to all four of her children.

"Mr. Gardiner, Mrs. Gardiner?" said Darcy as he stared at the couple in disbelief. "Is the entire novel here?" he finally asked, looking at his wife.

"Not quite," said Elizabeth mysteriously.

Just then, a man hurried into the room unannounced, "Mr. Stone?" said Darcy, "of course, I should have known."

"Um, hi, sir," said Stone. Then he looked around apologetically, "sorry I'm late," and returned his gaze to Darcy, "but actually, ah, I really don't know why I'm here, should I go?"

"No," said Elizabeth a little too quickly, "you never know when we might need you to stand in for Darcy."

"Stand in for me? I don't think so," said her husband as he observed the look she was giving Stone.

"Of course not," said Colonel Fitzwilliam bitterly, "no one could fill your shoes."

"Hey, I've got shoes of my own," said Hurst.

Ignoring both gentlemen, Darcy added thoughtfully, "well, maybe he'll do for that one story in which I'm not even allowed to kiss my own wife."

"But I'm not your wife in that one, dear," Elizabeth reminded him.

"Not yet," replied her husband, menacingly.

Soon, everyone became bored and began filing out of the drawing room, ignoring Hurst's pleas to remain for a discussion about his new found fame. As the last of the guests began trickling out of their house, Darcy gazed intensely at Elizabeth with his dark, green (with amber specks), gray, chocolate, honey, hazel, brown, eyes; raked his fingers through his unruly, unkempt curls; and, pulling his wife to him, growled, "shall we go upstairs, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth?"

"Oh yes, Fitzwilliam," she replied huskily.

Once their hosts had rushed off, the Hursts were the last ones left in the drawing room. "Do you think my new popularity is just a fad, Ousie?" Hurst asked his wife.

"Of course not, my dear," she replied, settling into his lap. Then she patted his stomach and said, "you are twice the man that Darcy is."

He gave her a satisfied smile and kissed her soundly. Then he threw back a drink, propped up his feet, and dozed off on the sofa.