Elizabeth of East Hampton (For the Love of Austen #2)

Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

The rain had finally stopped and it was almost dark by the time Will turned onto Old Montauk Highway. His car flew past the low trees and brush silhouetted against the darkening sky, weaving its way down to the cracked asphalt as the road’s two lanes became an ambiguous one. He rolled down the windows, letting in the cold evening air. The sterile smell of the leather interior was lost in the overwhelming scent of ocean salt. God, he had missed this. He took a deep breath, and for the first time in an hour, felt his pulse begin to slow.

After leaving the bakery—and Elizabeth Bennet—behind, Will had debated going back to the city. But then his mind filled with a thousand obligations waiting for him there, and he could think of only one place he could go to get away from all of them.

The road ended abruptly and he turned right, down the private drive almost completely hidden by overgrown sumac trees and switchgrass. Despite knowing this journey by heart, he still turned on his headlights, dissolving the shadows left by the low branches on either side.

A slight curve to the left, a hard right, and then, there it was.

The scaffold that had surrounded the house for months had finally been dismantled last week, so the shingle siding, gray and weathered from years of exposure to sea air, made the house glow against the purple-and-orange sky. Two stories, with a sloped roof interrupted by a number of windows peeking out in all directions—one of which he’d broken when he tried to sneak out in eighth grade. Slate floors in the kitchen, with one loose tile in the far corner where his dad used to hide messages for him to find. A porch that wrapped around the back, facing the cliffside and the ocean beyond. It was a view he had loved since childhood, a permanent thing he assumed would be there forever.

It will be. Just not for you , a voice inside his head murmured.

He cut the engine and went inside.

The house was large—probably bigger than Charlie’s rental—but deceptively so thanks to low ceilings and a maze of cozy rooms spread across both floors. Will dropped his keys on the small table by the front door and passed the beadboard-paneled walls lined with family photos on his way to the living room. It was spacious, with a hulking stone fireplace along the far wall and a piano in the opposite corner. In the center there was a worn leather sofa flanked by two armchairs. They had been red once, but thanks to years of use and sun, they had faded to a muted pink. Behind them was a bookcase, his destination. His father had kept his liquor on the top shelf—a joke that he repeated to anyone who would listen—but Will had never been a fan of whiskey or gin, so it had been neglected over the past few years.

But not now. Right now, Will needed scotch.

He reached up and grabbed the first bottle he could find and poured himself a glass, then took a deep sip.

The taste of smoke and peat filled his mouth, and he swallowed before he could think to spit it out. Jesus, how the hell did people drink this shit? Then a vision of Elizabeth flashed through his head again, the look she gave him right before she kicked him out of the bakery.

He downed the rest of his drink and poured himself another before taking the glass and the bottle outside to the back porch.

Red cedar trees crowded the yard, but there was still a clear view of the cliff’s edge and the ocean below. It was dark now, too dark to see the waves, but he could hear them crashing along the beach. He was tempted to take his whiskey down the old wooden staircase to the water, but he could already feel the alcohol taking hold. If he went down now, he’d never find his way back up tonight, especially after the rain. So instead, he landed in one of the chairs situated on the porch and watched the branches of the trees sway against the dark sky.

He would miss this house. Birdie had been talking about selling it and the surrounding land for years, but suddenly the thought felt new and raw. He had always tried to control every element of life, to mitigate its ups and downs for everyone he loved. After his parents died, the desire had become all-consuming, so much so that it sometimes felt like pieces of himself were being broken off, limb by limb. But this house was more than a limb. It was the beating heart. The center of a life he had built himself around, that had built him. The last bits of his father, the last memories with his mother. All of it was here. Maybe that’s why he had insisted on renovating it this summer, a way to delay the inevitable.

Do you want to sell it? Elizabeth’s voice filled his head again.

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. How could she do that? With one question, one look, everything else in his tightly controlled world fell away. She understood the core of this. She understood him.

No. She hated him. He had to remind himself of that before he let his mind wander.

And yet…

She had still kissed him back today. She had wanted him, and for a moment, a single fleeting moment, it had been perfect.

But then her voice rang through his head again.

Being honest doesn’t excuse you for being a self-serving asshole, Will .

He took another sip of his drink and winced.

She was right; he was an asshole. And maybe it didn’t matter that his version of self-serving only meant putting the ones he cared about first, because in the end, someone she cared about was still collateral damage.

But Tristan… that was another story. How had that asshole found his way into her life? Was he truly interested in her, or was he using her to get to him? Will shook his head. Did it even matter? Regardless of the reason, Tristan was there, spreading lies and further cementing Elizabeth’s vitriol. Perhaps she even had real feelings for him. But if he was using her as a pawn in this…

Fuck it , Will thought, throwing back the rest of his drink.

If he couldn’t defend himself on the first count, he sure as hell would lay out the facts about the second.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and took a moment to focus on the screen before opening his browser. The Bennet Bakery website looked like it was stuck in the early aughts, with two pages not even loading properly. But Will finally found the contact information on the bottom of the menu page.

It was the whiskey’s fault that it took him four tries to tap the number. It was also the whiskey’s fault that he didn’t hesitate when his screen prompted him: Do you want to call?

He just tapped yes.

The phone rang three times before connecting. After a mechanical click, Lizzy’s voice filled the line.

“Hi! You’ve reached Bennet Bakery. We’re either busy or closed, but if you leave a message, we’ll get back to you when we’re not busy or closed. Thanks!”

He recognized her familiar tone, soft and uneven, like a cashmere sweater with a snag down the front. But it was different, too. Lighter somehow, and not just because she sounded slightly younger. It took him a moment to recognize why.

She was happy. The smile was evident in her voice, and at the end she even stifled a laugh. That was why it sounded so foreign—because she was never happy when she was talking to him.

It hurt, but the pain was usurped by a loud BEEP , the cue to start speaking.

“Hello, this message is for Elizabeth Bennet. Elizabeth, this is Will. Darcy. This is Will Darcy. I don’t have your cell number or I would have called you directly. I also don’t have an email address or I would have written to you. You really should have an email on your bakery’s website, or at least a contact form.”

Damn it . He was already messing this up.

He squeezed his eyes shut and powered on. “All that to say, my first choice wasn’t a voicemail. But you said you were the only one who checks this, and I don’t have any other way to contact you. I don’t do social media, and regardless…” He stopped himself, focusing on the words he needed to say. “I’m not looking to relive what just happened. I’m over it, as I’m sure you are, too. But you leveled some serious accusations against me. And it’s important that you know the truth.”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know how you and Tristan know each other, and I know you will say it’s none of my business, but I know him. I have known him since I was fifteen. We were best friends in high school. After graduation, I went to Columbia, but Tristan claimed he had to save up for tuition before applying to college, so I promised to help him find a job. I called my dad, and…” Will’s hand bracketed his temples, massaging away the memory. “My dad liked Tristan. He wanted to help. So he gave him a position at his firm, he mentored him. Gave him access to clients most people only dream of…”

He swallowed and closed his eyes. “Then, a few years later, my parents were in California, driving through the mountains. It was late and snowing… and… they got in a car accident, and I lost them both.”

He opened his eyes again and took a deep breath. “I took a leave of absence from work to help organize their estate. It was all so sudden; everything was a mess. So I took it all on. That’s when I found the emails, the credit card statements, the loans…”

He stood up again and began pacing the deck.

“My father was a good man. And Tristan manipulated that. Made up stories about his family, his situation, even about me, to get money from my dad. Hundreds of thousands of dollars that he spent on vacations and clothes and God knows what. Then he didn’t even come to my parents’ funeral.” Will stopped, taking a breath. “I confronted him afterward. And he just laughed it off. Like it was some sort of joke. He knew he hadn’t technically broken the law, so there was nothing I could do. And he was right. But I still had my attorneys lock all my father’s accounts, cancel his credit cards. If you don’t believe me, I can have them contact you. The firm is Page, Lefroy, and Brandon. They have everything on file.”

Will shook his head. “I don’t know what he told you, but that is Tristan Cole. He is a liar and he uses people. And if you had bothered to ask me about any of this, I could have told you the truth in person. We could have avoided all—”

BEEP , the answering machine cut him off.

“Damn it!” he bellowed, his head falling back.

Then he turned back to his glowing screen and pressed the number again.

Three rings. A click.

“Hi! You’ve reached Bennet Bakery. We’re either busy or closed, but if you leave a message, we’ll get back to you when we’re not busy or closed. Thanks!”

He glared down at his feet. “Hello, this message is for Elizabeth Bennet. Elizabeth, this is Will. My first message was cut off before I could finish, and I just wanted to say…”

His voice faded as he looked up. The branches were still swaying above his head, their leaves rustling together in a sound that seemed to mimic the beach break.

“I’m sorry if Tristan lied to you about me. And I’m sorry that I have to be the one to tell you.” Another moment before he continued, “But I can’t apologize for Charlie, or for finding a reason to keep him in New York after we left. He’s been hurt before, and he didn’t deserve that again. I’m just sorry if it hurt your sister. Or… you.”

The leaves rolled above him. He closed his eyes and listened, breathing in the smell of salt and pine as his mind swayed from the whiskey.

“I hurt you, didn’t I?” The words came at the same time as the realization. “And it doesn’t matter that you kissed me back. I called you a mess. I said I hated how much I needed you. I’ve been so focused on controlling everything in my life, that you… this… I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore.” He let his head fall forward again. “I know we’ll probably never see each other again. But I need you to know… you matter, Lizzy. You’re not just the redhead. And you’re not a mess. I wish I had told you that. I wish—”

BEEP , the answering machine cut him off again.