Chapter 6
I squeezed the bridge of my nose and did my best to disguise a heavy sigh. I didn’t mind Charles so much, but now that any invitation to Charles included Jane, I’d be happy to never see the man outside of working hours again. And we’d been friends since primary school!
Then, there was Caroline. Had Charles mentioned the party or had Jane invited her? That was one question I hadn’t quite figured out, not that I needed to. She was here whether I liked it or not. For the record, the answer was “not.”
Georgiana, at least, seemed happy. She’d plastered herself to Liz’s side from the moment her friend had walked into the penthouse and hadn’t moved. My sister’s ease with her was noticeable to everyone and had earned more than one sneer from Jane and Caroline. Georgiana was happy to have a friend there, but I had offered for her to invite her friends from Julliard. Liz had commented at the bakery that my sister often came in with a regular group, so why would Georgiana refuse to invite them?
Ugh! How I wanted to drop my head to rest against the back of the plush sofa. The light in the room had dimmed since the sun had set, and I hadn’t mentioned turning the lights in the room brighter in an effort to save myself from my current torment; a feeble attempt to ward off the pounding now rattling my brain.
“Here’s the cake!” Mrs. Reynolds placed the creation on the table with the candles lit. Caroline, with a grin that made my muscles load as though readying for escape, began singing Happy Birthday. I moved my mouth along while I tried to fake that I wasn’t dying a slow and painful death. Hadn’t anyone ever told Caroline she was tone-deaf?
I took a large sip of my Scotch as Georgiana blew out the candles.
Mrs. Reynolds held out a knife to Liz. “Miss Bennet, if you’d cut it since you’re the artist who created it?”
“Artist?” Caroline gave one of her tittering laughs. “It’s a cake. No one will be putting it in a museum.”
“It takes time, a careful hand, and talent, Miss Bingley,” said Mrs. Reynolds. “Whether or not you believe it to be art or not is irrelevant, since beauty and art are in the eye of the beholder.” That voice was all too familiar. I’d heard it anytime I’d spoken out of turn as a boy. Mrs. Reynolds was also right.
Caroline may have considered herself an artist, but as far as I was concerned, the jury was still out on that label. She made sculptures out of found objects, more specifically dismembered baby dolls. Charles had once begged to stop by Caroline’s during a ride back from lunch, and as much as I’d tried to refuse, he’d insisted I come up to say “Hi.” I swear I walked inside as though walking into a minefield. Caroline’s studio was boxes and crates and tables full of baby doll hands, baby doll feet, baby doll eyes. I shuddered. Between those and her sinking those pointed blood-red fingernails into my arm, I’d had nightmares for a few weeks where I was being dragged by blood-red talons and drowned in a huge vat of baby doll hands. A shiver went down my spine.
“I’ll fetch the plates,” said Mrs. Reynolds. Without another word, she hurried from the room.
“Richard,” said Liz, “I’ll take that Scotch now if you don’t mind. I believe I saw a bottle of Aberlour over there; two fingers, neat, please.”
My cousin stood. “I like your style, Lizzy.” He’d offered her a drink an hour ago. I wasn’t shocked she’d suddenly decided to take him up on it now. Anyone with a sane mind would’ve sought oblivion once they understood how trying tonight would be.
Liz plated slices of cake, which were accepted by everyone but Caroline and Jane, who declined due to watching their figures. Both could be mistaken for toothpicks and had no need to restrict their diets, but it wasn’t worth it to argue. Instead, I let my plate rest in my lap while Liz took a bite of the confection, her plump lips wrapping around the fork in a way that made my pants tighten. When her tongue peeked out to lick a bit of the frosting from the corner of her mouth, I had to grip the handle of my fork not to jump over the coffee table and lick it off for her.
Good Lord! Where had my self-control gone? I’d never experienced such a reaction to a woman. I cleared my throat and took another larger drink from my glass.
Georgiana glanced at me and narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong with you?” she mouthed.
I gave a curt shake of my head and took another sip.
A low laugh I knew well came from beside me. When had Richard sat there? Last I’d looked, he was following Liz around like a lost puppy.
“A little hot under the collar, cuz?” he asked me by my ear.
“Shut your gob.”
He laughed harder. “I haven’t heard you say that since you first returned from Eton. She’s really got you bothered.”
Thankfully, Charles was recounting some ridiculous story or another. I couldn’t tell which one. He had a million or so of them, all designed to make himself look good in some way. In other words, no one had heard Richard’s comment.
Another torturous hour later, Liz stood. “I should be getting home. I need to be up early in the morning for work.”
Tomorrow was Sunday. Didn’t she take a morning off?
I stood, as did Georgiana, who hugged Liz and whispered something I couldn’t hear into her friend’s ear.
“Let me grab your coat, then I’ll show you out.” I was going to take the reprieve from the room and run with it! After grabbing Liz’s coat from the closet, I walked with her to the door and held it out to help her put it on. My finger brushed the soft flesh at the neckline of her dress and goosebumps shot up my arm. I needed to learn to control this response—not that I ever expected to see her again.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Did you have a purse?”
“No, my keys and phone are in my pocket.” She patted the bottom left buttoned flap on her coat.
“Ah, well, thanks for coming. . .and the cake. Both made Georgiana’s night.”
She tilted her head. “Can I ask you a question?”
I gave a small jolt. “I suppose.”
“Why do you call your sister Georgiana?”
My hands shoved their way into my trouser pockets. “Because that’s her name. It’s what I’ve always called her. Why do you ask?”
“Well, she introduced herself to me as Gigi. Even Richard calls her “Gi,” but you don’t use that name. I was just wondering why. Have you ever asked her what she wants to be called?”
My back stiffened. I’d been my sister’s guardian since my parents’ deaths. I’d always ensured she had everything she needed. How dare Elizabeth Bennet come in here and—?
“Feel free to ignore me; I was just asking. If it was someone I cared about, I’d seek their opinion. It would matter to me. Anyway. . .” She held up a hand. “Good night.”
Without waiting for me to open the door, she left.
“Before you get all hot and bothered, she has a point.”
When I turned, Richard stood leaning against the wall, holding a fresh drink in one hand.
“Just because Georgiana has her friends call her Gigi, doesn’t mean she wants or needs me to do it.”
“No,” said Richard, “but as Lizzy just pointed out, have you ever thought to ask?”
“Did you?”
He nodded. “Yes, and she told me she’d understand if I didn’t, but she’d prefer to be called Gigi. I get her name has meaning to you because it was an ancestor’s name as well as a mix of your mom’s and dad’s names, but she thinks it’s old-fashioned and would like something more modern.”
I rubbed my temples. Was Gigi truly more modern? To me, it sounded like a bad name in an old French film.
“Ah, the Caroline headache rears its ugly head,” said my cousin with a chuckle. “I bet it’s twice as bad with Caro’s little protégé out there. I can’t believe Jane and Lizzy are sisters. They don’t look much alike, and their personalities couldn’t be more different. That said, I’ve always thought your type was more along the lines of Jane Bennet’s figure and looks, but low and behold, who knew you had a bent toward curly black hair and a siren’s figure?”
“Shut up, Richard.”
He sipped his drink while he regarded me so intently, I had to walk past him. His free arm across my chest prevented my escape. “If you’re that attracted to her, why aren’t you acting on it? She’s the real deal: gorgeous, talented, has a good sense of humor, and your sister loves her. Moreover, Lizzy seems to genuinely care for Gi, which makes her even better.”
“And she owns Novel Books and the attached café, the Buttercream Beanery.”
His eyes widened. “Novel Books—as in the bookstore on the Upper West Side you’ve been salivating over for the past five years?”
“Yep, that’s the one.”
“How’s that acquisition look for you?”
“Well, her business is thriving, especially the café and bakery.”
He kind of tilted his head back and forth. “If that cake she made for Gigi is anything to go by, I can see why. I’ve never had a better gluten-free cake. Gi has been raving about the food from there for the past year.”
“She and her friends from school go there regularly to study and have coffee.”
“Elizabeth’s businesses have an amazing social media presence. Whoever does their Instagram and TikTok is a genius. I’d love to steal them from her.” If Richard was complimenting her online marketing expert, they had to be incredible. I avoided anything related to social media. That was why I needed Richard. He oversaw all our online marketing and had hired those who headed up the different platforms.
Once again, I tried to escape while I had the chance, but Richard grabbed my shoulder and stopped me. “Hey, so what if she owns Novel Books. Pemberley doesn’t have to take over the world. You could ask her out, and if the two of you hit it off, then you never discuss your business plans unless you can separate your own interests from hers and give her your impartial opinion.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” He couldn’t be serious, could he?
“Easy—you stop living Pemberley Books. You run it, but you don’t eat, breathe, and sleep it every single day. Eventually, at the rate you’re going, you will burn out, and that won’t be a pretty sight.”
“My father ran Pemberley Books for thirty years. He never burned out.”
“Your father prioritized your mother, you, and Gi. From what my parents have said, the moment he set eyes on Aunt Anne, she was his world. Yes, some days, when it was necessary, he worked late, but you work in some capacity every evening and every weekend, even if it’s from your study here. You take time for little but Gi, and I’m glad you do that or you’d have already run yourself into the ground. You don’t date—”
“I’ve dated.”
Richard dipped his chin. “Not really. You’ve taken women with no substance to events if you had to, and I know you’ve had a few friends with benefits arrangements.”
I flinched. I tried like hell to keep those under wraps. Not only did I not want Georgiana to ever know of them, but they were usually women I met through work—publishing reps, an agent or two. No one I had any power over and never to close a deal. Just two people who hooked up from time to time for sex.
“Richard—”
“As I recall, you had a year-long arrangement with that woman from Calvert Publishing.”
“That was five years ago,” I said in a low tone. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Darce, you’re thirty-two. You started college at seventeen and completed your business degree in three years and were almost twenty-three by the time you started working with your dad at Pemberley. When your father died and you took over the company, you were twenty-seven. You’ve never stopped pushing yourself.”
“That’s not true.”
“When was the last time you took a vacation—even took a day off? I’m not kidding, Darce. Gi’s friends want her to move into an apartment closer to school, but she’s terrified to leave you. She knows that if she didn’t ask you to watch a movie with her or have her here to eat dinner most nights, you’d never stop working.”
“That’s not fair, Richard.”
“No, it’s not fair to her at all.” We stood, gazes locked for a moment, before I stepped back.
His hand fell to his side. “Think about it. It’s all I’m asking.”
I exhaled, nodded, and returned to the living room. As I entered, Caroline’s high-pitched titter sent a jolt of pain down my spine.
The most pressing issue at the moment wasn’t Georgiana or Elizabeth Bennet. I needed to get Caroline, Jane, and Charles out of my house, or I wouldn’t be responsible for the carnage I’d inflict. A jail cell was looking better by the moment!