Twenty-Three

BEING HOME, SLEEPING IN MY OWN BED, HANGING OUT with my old friends, gave me the centering I needed after the past few confusing weeks.

Even though I'd spoken on the phone with my parents every weekend, they acted as if they knew nothing of the past two and a half months. Over Saturday morning breakfast, they grilled me about classes, friends (they were under the impression that I had more than just two friends, and I didn't want to correct, or worry, them), the recital, and even the dreaded P-word.

"Isn't prom a big deal at Longbourn?" Mom asked. "I remember it from that brochure we had."

I shrugged. "Not really." I envisioned the majority of my classmates experiencing an unexpected shiver down their spine at my blatant lie.

"Do you want to look at dresses while we are in the city today?"

"No, that's okay."

Mom came over and hugged me. "I'm so glad you're home. I don't like you being so far away. This house is entirely too quiet without you and although I know how hard you're working, I plan on you playing that piano while you are here. I just had it tuned!"

Our piano was from my father's childhood, complete with ivory keys. It had family history, but it wasn't the greatest-sounding instrument. After playing the gorgeous grand pianos at school, it was always a shock to my system to play the upright. But it was what I grew up on, and I loved it regardless. It had character, and I had learned many times this past year that money does not buy character.

In the early afternoon, Mom and I headed into the city for the concert. I had butterflies in my stomach. I always walked by Carnegie Hall when I was in the city. That was the dream -- to play there. In the meantime, I would settle for this. Not only did I get to go to Carnegie Hall, but I was going to see one of my favorite pianists. I was still touched by Mrs. Gardiner's kindness -- this was her way of suggesting that my own break wasn't that far away. Which made going to Longbourn seem strangely worth it.

My pulse began to quicken as we approached the building. As we entered the main hall, my breath was nearly knocked out of me. The chairs on the stage were dwarfed by the high ceiling and ornate columns on the sides. I turned around and saw the balcony seating, which seemed to reach the sky. I looked up and could practically feel the glow from the oval set of lights that illuminated the hall.

An usher escorted us to our seats, which were in the fourth row on the aisle. I could see the keyboard on the grand piano that was commanding center stage.

"My goodness, Lizzie," Mom remarked. "You must be the perfect student in order to get such royal treatment."

I smiled. I was happy I could do this for my mom. She was the reason that I had first gotten into music. She loved it, but couldn't play. She tried but didn't seem to have the capacity for it. And since, at least according to her, I began banging on the piano when I was old enough to walk to the upright, she enrolled me in lessons by the time I was four.

When I'd run out of teachers in the Hoboken area who could challenge me, she'd started taking me into the city. She'd spent so much money on my lessons, I didn't want to disappoint her.

Music was our thing. We'd listen to albums together, I'd put on concerts just for her. And now I was able to take my mother to Carnegie Hall.

"Someday, Elizabeth, someday," she said to me as she squeezed my hands.

The lights went down and the orchestra members took their places, followed by the conductor. The spotlight lit up and Claudia Reynolds, beautiful in a black floor-length strapless dress, her hair up in a twist, approached the piano to an ovation from both the orchestra and the audience.

She graciously bowed before sitting down at the piano.

The orchestra started playing Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 24, K.491. The strings came in, followed by the wind instruments. As the music began to take over the space, I leaned forward in my seat, anticipating Reynolds's first notes at the piano. The piano melody, at first so simple, was beautiful. I could see Reynolds's eyes closed, her body swaying back and forth, her embrace of the music.

I closed my eyes and let the music take over. I felt moisture in my eyes from being overwhelmed by the setting, the music, the performer.

It was flawless. It was, in fact, so flawless that it didn't call attention to its own flawlessness. It was perfect.

The next piece was Chopin's Piano Concerto no. 2. Again, she took the entire audience of almost three thousand people on an emotional journey. I found, not surprisingly, that I had a smile on my face the entire time. Carnegie Hall was my equivalent of a candy store and I was on a sugar high.

After Chopin, there was an intermission. I was in awe of the entire performance. But when I looked and saw what was next, Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto no. 3, I was stunned. That was one of the most challenging piano solos and very different in tone from the previous two pieces.

We returned to our seats after the intermission and I was alarmed when I saw an usher waiting for us. "Miss Bennet?" he said as my mother and I approached our seats.

"Yes?" I had a feeling this was too good to be true. That my fairy tale of an afternoon was coming to an end and that we would be marked as frauds. You could take the girl out of Longbourn, but apparently not the sense of uncertainty.

"This note is for you." He handed me an envelope with my name scrawled on it. I opened it and found a letter inside that was on heavy, expensive, cream stock. I gasped when I sawengraved on the top with her address.



"Oh, my," Mom said as she read over my shoulder. "How on earth does she know who you are?"

"Mrs. Gardiner, I guess. I knew she had connections, but I can't believe she would do this for me." I sank down in my plush seat. Claudia Reynolds knew who I was, and was inviting me to her house.

"Can we go, please? I know we have dinner plans with Dad." My voice was near hysterics.

"Your father can starve as far as I'm concerned." Mom winked at me.

When Claudia Reynolds returned to the stage, I was even more mesmerized by her performance. The concentration she had while approaching the near-impossible runs was astonishing. I tried to keep track of her fingers, but they were flying. I wanted to absorb everything about her performance, to try to walk away with some understanding of how I was going to pull off the less difficult, but still challenging, Rhapsody.

When the last note faded, she received a well-deserved standing ovation.

I was in complete and utter awe. One of my idols was standing before me, after performing the most wonderful concert I had ever had the pleasure of attending. And she was inviting me to her house.

Thinking back on all the torture that I had endured at Longbourn, I knew at that moment that it had been worth it. That I could have more days with nasty taunts, but at the end of the day, I was a student that Mrs. Gardiner respected enough to give me this amazing moment. I may not have had the respect of many of the students, but they didn't matter. I was never going to earn any respect from the snobs, but to people who could see past such inconsequential things as money and status, I had the potential to be someone special.

After the concert, Mom and I walked slowly along Central Park to Claudia Reynolds's brownstone, which overlooked the park. My mind was spinning with what I was going to say to her -- if I could even get anything out. I was still shocked by her invitation and felt a panic come over me as we approached the address on the card. My pulse was racing and my palms were sweating as we ascended the steps to the front door.

The biggest shock of the day, however, didn't turn out to be the invitation. There were many people I anticipated to see when the door opened -- servants, maids, Claudia Reynolds herself -- but the person who greeted us was the last person on earth I expected.

Will Darcy.

Twenty-Four

I STARED BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN THE NUMBER ON THE side of the brownstone and the invitation in my hand, trying to see how I could've gotten the address horribly wrong.

"Mrs. Bennet?" Darcy smiled warmly at my mother. "It's so nice to meet you. I'm Will, Claudia's son."

My heart stopped. Will Darcy is Claudia Reynolds's son?

My mother shook Darcy's hand as she entered their main foyer. "Hi, Lizzie. Nice to see you," Darcy greeted me.

Mom was surprised. "Do you two know each other?"

"I go to Pemberley, Mrs. Bennet."

Before Mom could say anything, Claudia Reynolds rushed to greet us. "Hello, Elizabeth! Mrs. Bennet! Welcome!"

She hugged me and kissed me on both cheeks. "Oh, Elizabeth, I have heard so much about you and your playing. And you must be Elizabeth's mother!"

"Please, call me Judy."

I couldn't find my voice. I was stunned into absolute silence.

Ms. Reynolds ... Mrs. Darcy ... Darcy's mom ... welcomed us into the living room where a tower of scones, finger sandwiches, brownies, and cookies was waiting for us. While my mother asked about a painting that hung over the fireplace, Darcy leaned in.

"I can't tell if you're mad or surprised," he whispered.

"I'm shocked."

He smiled at me. "Elizabeth Bennet, could it possibly be that you're speechless?" He nudged me playfully.

I looked at him, truly looked at him for the first time in what felt like a long time. I noticed that there was something different about him. He was dressed in worn jeans and a T-shirt, his hair slightly messy. He seemed ... relaxed.

"Your mom ..." I tried to get out.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd take the tickets if you knew they were from me. The invitation here was my mom's idea. I couldn't bear to let her know --" He stopped abruptly. "I guess I didn't want her to know your opinion of me."

"Why didn't you ... the e-mail ... I tried to reply, I just ... I'm so sorry, I ..." I couldn't form a single thought. So much was racing through my mind. "Thank you for talking to Charles."

"It was the right thing to do. I should have done it sooner."

"Shall we?" Ms. Reynolds gestured for us to sit down. I looked around the living room and couldn't believe how comfortable it was. There were overstuffed couches and a chaise longue surrounding a glass coffee table. It was obvious everything was high-end, but it didn't scream pretentious or expensive, even though I was pretty sure the painting my mom was asking about was an original Pollock.

"Lizzie?" Mom prompted me. Apparently, Darcy wasn't the only one surprised by my silence.

I looked up and saw Claudia Reynolds smiling at me.

"Ms. Reynolds." I tried to find my voice. "I cannot tell you enough how much meeting you means to me. You are truly amazing. The concert was, and will forever be, one of the most incredible experiences of my life. Thank you." I bit my lip to stop it from quivering.

She smiled at me. "Thank you, Lizzie. Can I call you Lizzie?"

I nodded. She could pretty much call me anything. I wouldn't even be offended if Claudia Reynolds called me a charity case, bum, or hobo.

"So, please, help yourself." She gestured toward the food in front of us. "Will, can you pour the tea, please? I would like to take credit for this, but our amazing cook is from England and makes the best scones and clotted cream. We only have it for special guests or the cream wouldn't be the only thing that is clotted in this house."

Darcy groaned. "You're never going to get tired of that joke, are you?"

"Never," she said as she grabbed a scone.

"Georgiana, there you are!" She got up and gave the girl who entered the room a big hug.

Darcy's sister gave us a little wave as she was introduced to us before sitting down next to her brother. She was so tiny and frail, I felt sick to my stomach thinking about Wick.