Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Elizabeth Bennet, welcome to the cheap seats!” Richard caught Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her into the wood-paneled luxury lounge. Charlotte followed, eyes wide as she took in the vista.
And I thought UM’s boxes were nice. This is how the other half lives.
Elizabeth thought Richard had said box seats, not box suite, but when she and Charlotte handed their tickets to the gate attendant, they were guided to a private elevator and found themselves up here.
This was amazing, like sitting in a stunningly furnished penthouse with a million-dollar view of the ballpark.
Make that a multimillion-dollar view. Wow!
She sank into one of the thick leather armchairs and gratefully accepted a glass of wine from the server.
“Hello there. I’m Richard Fitzwilliam. You must be the BFF?” He smiled at Charlotte, who was watching him with a bemused stare.
“That’s me. Charlotte Lucas, BFF slash fashion advisor to Elizabeth Bennet.”
Elizabeth elbowed her. “Fashion advisor? Try financial tyrant.”
“Prepare to be shocked, Richard. I’m an accountant.” Charlotte popped a chip in her mouth and winked at him.
Rich burst out laughing. “Oh, thank God! A normal person. I’d die happy if I never met another tortured artist or blogger who knows how to make amazing gluten-free pesto and set up a working peace plan for the Middle East.”
“Oh dear, it sounds as though you’ve been reading my tweets,” Charlotte said. She didn’t miss Rich’s raised eyebrows.
“This is amazing. I wouldn’t have thought the UN had a box.” Elizabeth gazed at the small groups of people in their seats or milling about in the exterior area who were speaking a smattering of languages indecipherable to her untrained ears.
“No, it’s the Fitzwilliam box. Or the Darcy box. Depends on who you ask.”
Sweet Mother of God. They own this? Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Darcy? Why would an Englishman have a box at Yankee Stadium?”
“It was his mother’s box,” he replied, sipping his beer. “She was an American and loved baseball. She used to take us to games at the old stadium. If Darcy weren’t out of town, he’d be here today. He hates missing opening day. Lucky for you and me, he’s not here, so you’re in his seats.”
Baseball, hmm. He didn’t appear to like college football.
Not highbrow enough, I suppose. Elizabeth was happy Darcy wasn’t there.
The flowers he’d sent to apologize for his behavior at the gallery had been staring her in the face for a week, an unwanted reminder that was too beautiful to throw out.
She just wanted to enjoy this beautiful April day, and figuring out his cousin was enough of a challenge.
Although amused by Richard, she was a bit wary of his bonhomie and couldn’t quite gauge his interest in her.
She found it odd he’d invited her and a plus one to this game.
After all, he seemed like a guy who already had a world of friends to invite to opening day at Yankee Stadium.
Her father would be appalled at her betrayal of his long-ingrained allegiance to the Mets, but—she assured herself—this was business.
And here she was, despoiling Darcy’s sainted seats.
“He gets in tonight. We’ll likely get together tomorrow with the dogs.”
“Princess Coconut?”
“You’ve met her? Sweet dog.”
“It’s nice he let his sister name her,” Elizabeth said. “Or is Coco her dog and he’s just the dutiful brother?”
Rich paused and took a sip of his beer. “All of the above,” he said slowly.
After a moment, he glanced at their fellow suitemates.
“Quite dutiful, actually. It would’ve been good for him to be here, and not just because his French is better than mine.
Other than work, I’m afraid he’s been at loose ends lately.
I’ve been a bit busy with my girlfriend—or was until last week.
Separate ways. New avenues. New interests and all that. ”
“How diplomatic you are, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
Rich had the decency to blush. “Michelle and I had a lovely time together, but she’s been posted to Mumbai and neither of us does the distance thing well.”
“You’re a diplomat; doesn’t that automatically qualify you as a frequent-flying jetsetter?” Elizabeth thought he looked more like a human GI Joe doll.
“I’m a city boy at heart,” he confessed. “Darcy’s the one who’s always jetting around. Mostly London, but he’s in Berlin and Paris quite a bit.”
Elizabeth sipped her wine, wondering whether she should ask a few of the questions she’d had since meeting George. She plunged in. “Your cousin’s from London originally, isn’t he? Hence the accent and the manners?”
“You mean the strange affectation of using flatware and drinking tea?”
Elizabeth reddened at that gentle reminder of her teasing his cousin.
Rich noted her pink cheeks and continued, “He’s been here for years. Still has the houses there but he prefers the anonymity of New York.”
“Houses?” asked Charlotte.
“Anonymity?” asked Elizabeth. “Is he a member of the royal family or a fading Brit pop star we’ve never heard of?”
It took a minute for Rich’s laughter to die down.
“My, you do have spunk. The Darcy lineage is ancient…been there for centuries.” Noting that both women were listening intently, he explained, “My father’s little sister, Anne, left America behind after college, took a job in London, and met and married Arthur Darcy.
It was love at first sight, according to family folklore.
A love match, as were my parents. Quite a challenge for their children to live up to. ”
“You believe such a thing is possible? A perfect match?” Elizabeth asked doubtfully. Didn’t George say Darcy’s mother was a party girl?
“Yes, for some.” Rich rubbed his jaw. “After one’s sown one’s wild oats, that is.
Darcy might settle down if he met the right girl.
The perfect girl. Like Charles and ‘his angel.’ He’s getting serious, says she’s the one, but Darcy’s a bit worried about it; she isn’t anything like Charles’s usual girlfriends.
Darcy’s warned him to be careful.” Rich shook his head.
“He’s a cautious one. Always worried about consequences. ”
Charlotte stole a look at Elizabeth, whose narrowed eyes and clenched hands seemed to be holding in her anger.
“Hey, shall we move outside?” He gestured to the high-backed cushioned seats filling up outside the box. “They’re singing the national anthem.”
During the fifth inning, the women found their way to the plush restroom.
Charlotte, an inveterate collector—or kleptomaniac, according to her friends—was thrilled to pocket a tiny bar of Yankees soap to add to the mints she’d already slipped into her purse.
She still mourned the demise of signature matchbooks.
“Wow, he’s a chatty one.” Elizabeth leaned against the sink and watched Charlotte fix her contact lens. “How did Mr. Loose Lips ever make it as a diplomat in the foreign service?”
Charlotte blinked and examined her eyes in the mirror. “Oh, I don’t think he ever says anything unintentionally, Lizzy.”
“Right. He rambles on and on about his cousin. Just what the hell is that? Is Darcy trying to break up Jane and Charles? As if she isn’t good enough?” The Bennet girls aren’t good enough for him or his friends? Consequences? Oh yeah, he’s definitely worried about those.
She shook her head as his words came back. “This is wrong. We can’t do this.”
“Richard didn’t say that! He just said Charles hasn’t always been realistic in his relationships and Darcy wants him to be cautious.
” Charlotte leaned toward the mirror and smoothed down a cowlick.
“Besides, it sounds like Darcy has reason to be cautious. Houses? Ancient family lands? A Yankees luxury suite?”
“He’s a player! He sent me flowers because he insulted me and now he’s determined to add me to his little black book. I guess he thinks I’m easy.” Elizabeth crossed her arms and glowered. “Darcy’s the sleazy one. He slept with George’s fiancée. He better not screw with Jane and Charles.”
Charlotte turned and stared at her friend. “Think about it, Lizzy. Richard might be a chatty ginger, but he’s a sweetheart. And he and Charles are awfully protective of Darcy. He can’t be all bad, right?”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes.
“You liked the flowers. And why is this George guy the font of all wisdom? He must be flawless. If you’re not going to date him, introduce him to me. My mother is on my case about grandchildren.”
The thought that perhaps Darcy wasn’t so very bad lingered in Elizabeth’s mind throughout the next few days.
He was kind to animals and helpful when she hurt her ankle.
Charles liked him. And the flowers he’d had delivered after his rude comments at his cousin’s horrible art performance were a nice gesture.
But he was a snob who slept around, and he had an emotional on-off switch that he flipped far too easily.
What Elizabeth knew of his parents and what she had observed of his cousins could explain his moodiness and arrogance.
Moneyed privilege had its price. But not everyone had deep pockets; some people had to just deal with what life handed them.
She’d emerged unscathed from her mother’s virtual desertion and her father’s preoccupation with his new family—right?
She was emotionally healthy and good at forming solid relationships—right?
It didn’t say anything about her social life that her last kiss, perhaps the best kiss of her life, had been from Fitzwilliam Darcy. No, it did not.
On the following Wednesday morning, she told George about the Yankees game. George’s face turned cold then angry upon hearing of her afternoon in the Darcy box. His expression softened when he explained why none of his calls to his friends in the Yankees organization had been returned.