Chapter 11 #3
Ted, a Cheshire cat smile gracing his lined face, stared at Darcy. “You too, Mr. Darcy? Despite all the plebeian accoutrements such as orange hats, sweatshirts, and fan paraphernalia?”
Elizabeth wanted to strangle her father. And kick herself for her loud criticism last fall of the snobby Brit who complained about American football fans.
Darcy met the older man’s eyes and gave him a crisp nod.
“Despite all the years I’ve lived in America, it was my first visit to a big college football game.
It was an enriching experience, especially for our happy couple here, but one that I, too, enjoyed.
” He reached for his own glass and took a long sip of lemonade.
Uncle Joe came to Darcy’s rescue and asked him about a model ship he’d spotted in one of the bedrooms. Darcy explained a bit of Fitzwilliam family lore, and the two men settled into a discussion of Horatio Hornblower novels.
Elizabeth said a silent prayer of thanks for her observant, always thoughtful uncle. Growing up as the younger brother of Sylvia Gardiner had given him a thick skin and a watchful demeanor, as well as a healthy sense of humor.
“What?” Jane cried.
Elizabeth glanced at her sister, suddenly pale and wearing a horrified expression.
“I said your mother should be calling in a few minutes.” Ted looked at Elizabeth. “She wants to say hello to Jane and Charles.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth replied, her face red. She stood and began stacking dishes. “I’ll get started on these.”
Darcy entered the kitchen carrying a few empty glasses. He handed them to Elizabeth, and she gasped. “Are you bleeding?”
He looked at his fingers, and sure enough, blood was seeping out of one bandage. He pulled it off and grimaced at the red, swollen cut.
Elizabeth grasped his hand and peered at his finger. “That’s from changing the tire?”
He nodded.
“Did you put anything on it? You need some antibiotic ointment and a clean bandage. Are they in the powder room?”
“Yes, Doctor Bennet.”
She led the way to the powder room and dug out first-aid supplies.
Glancing at Darcy’s fingers, she noticed the wound was on his right hand, and he was right-handed.
No wonder he’d done such a miserable job of sticking on the bandages.
“Here, I’ll do it for you,” she said as she took his hand and began cleaning the cuts.
The hydrogen peroxide elicited a sharp intake of breath.
“You can dish it out but you can’t take it, Nurse Darcy?
” she teased. She felt him stiffen, and she froze. Nurse Darcy. Did I really say that?
“I’m fine,” he said hoarsely.
She managed to finish without any further embarrassing references to their past. He smiled softly and suggested they leave the rest of the kitchen cleanup to the caterers.
“Maybe Lydia can assist,” she suggested. “She has endless energy to burn off.”
When Elizabeth emerged from the house a few minutes later, she found the families scattered around the pool.
The kids were in the shallow end playing with boats and Barbies while their parents looked on.
Louisa and Herb gave the appearance of napping under a giant umbrella.
Caroline was talking quietly with Jane. Ted had his nose in a book, and Barbara was applying sunscreen to Mary’s neck.
Lydia, buds in her ears and iPhone in her hand, was swaying around the deck. When Darcy sat in a chaise, pulled out his phone, and began checking his e-mail, she plopped down next to him. “Hey.” She pulled out one earbud. “Are you allergic to the sun like Mary and the redheads?”
He looked at her, one eyebrow raised.
“Your shirt? I mean, seriously, you don’t look like you have anything to hide.”
“Lydia Kowalski-Bennet! Mind your manners!” Barbara cried.
“You people can’t take a joke. Sorry,” Lydia said to Darcy through gritted teeth. She stomped off and sprawled out next to Mary on an oversize chaise.
Elizabeth looked at Darcy still staring at his phone, his face flushed but blank. Always under assault, isn’t he? Gathering her courage, she walked over and sat next to him. She felt him stiffen and immediately regretted her decision.
“Sorry about that,” she mumbled. “Lydia was born without a filter, and good or bad, it all comes out.”
“It’s fine; she’s a teenager,” Darcy said softly. “I don’t usually think about it, but with the children here”—he nodded toward Ava and Alex—“I thought it best not to prompt questions about…” He looked at her carefully and lowered his voice. “Do you remember, I have some scars on my shoulders?”
Prompted by an impulse she couldn’t regret, Elizabeth squeezed his wrist. “Yes, I know. I’m sure they’re not so terrible that you couldn’t explain them away with some tale of a pirate battle.” She winced, feeling insensitive and stupid.
“Yes, that could work.”
“I’m just sorry you can’t be comfortable in your own home.”
“Is it so obvious that I’m not good in large groups?” he asked, gracing her with a small smile.
“Seeing as how you apparently run a multinational corporation and do all these big and important things, I guess it depends on the makeup of the group.” She pretended not to notice that she was still gripping his wrist. He didn’t appear to mind.
“This is a nice, energetic gathering. But, as with any business meeting, I think it best to keep my shirt on.”
“Well, there you go. Another sound business decision. I see why you’re the guy at the top of the flow chart.
” He laughed, and when she pulled her eyes away from his, she saw that Jane and Charles were watching them.
As was Caroline, wearing a pinched, calculating expression under her gigantic hat.
Elizabeth stood and walked over to the pool, sat down on the edge, and dangled her legs into the water.
“Eliza, whatever happened to that well-built man who was squiring you about town a month or two ago?” Caroline purred. “Or that other one, the biker?”
Elizabeth flushed. “Those were friends, business acquaintances. I’m sorry—I didn’t realize you wished for an introduction.”
Caroline’s expression shifted from calculating to angry.
“Lizzy, when is that book with all the hunky jocks coming out?” Lydia cried. “I can’t believe you never let me meet any of them except for that lunkhead who came for Christmas Eve.”
“It was scheduled to hit the stores for Father’s Day sales, but now it looks like it will be out in the fall,” Elizabeth replied, frowning.
“Well, that will definitely affect its sales prospects, won’t it, dear?” Ted commented.
“It couldn’t be helped,” Jane said, gazing thoughtfully at Elizabeth.
“Did you miss your deadline? Or compromise your sources?” Caroline giggled.
“No, but wouldn’t that be rich?” Elizabeth replied coolly.
“Even in our digital age, a long-scheduled press run can be delayed when a fading movie star suddenly dies or a boy-toy singer and his pop-star girlfriend break up. You can put the blame squarely on the public’s demand for cheaply compiled, tell-all biographies. ”
“And capitalism and greed,” Mary intoned balefully.
“Ah, so that’s what made you angry enough to write that other book, is it?” Ted asked, chuckling quietly.
Even the eyes that had not already been focused on Elizabeth shifted to her. “I’m not angry.”
“Yeah, who cares about a bunch of commies?” Lydia asked. “Why are you writing that anyway?”
“You’re writing a book about communists?” Caroline sounded as if she’d smelled something bad.
“Damn reds. Socialized medicine will ruin scientific inquiry,” Herb huffed.
“Well, Lizzy?” her father tipped his Mets cap back on his head. “You have been rather secretive. Communists? Of which variety?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, furious that her family knew—and quite deliberately misunderstood—what she was working on.
They’d been less than understanding about her desire to pursue her master’s, and even her father’s encouragement had waned when she’d focused on creative writing rather than Roman poetry or German philosophy.
Darcy’s voice, soft and measured, broke the tense silence. “This is the book you mentioned about the Red Scare and the Hollywood blacklist?”
A bit dumbfounded by his knowledge, she turned to him and nodded. “A novel about the American government’s investigations into the private lives and the long-ago decisions that affected thousands of citizens—and destroyed hundreds of lives.”
Her uncle nodded grimly. “Joe McCarthy. He was a nasty piece of work.”
“What a fascinating idea for a novel!” Maddie exclaimed. “I can’t wait to read it.”
“They went after Lucille Ball!” Barbara snorted. “I think her grandfather went to a meeting once, and they tracked down the records.”
“Awful stuff,” her husband agreed. Ted smiled at his second daughter. “Clever girl. Bringing home musclemen to cover up your own enigmatic interests.”
Charles laughed. “Ted, I hope you’re including me in that group of Queens-bound musclemen?”
Jane squeezed his biceps. “Oh, honey, these ‘guns’ are registered to me and me alone.”
A collective chuckle went around the pool.
Elizabeth looked at Darcy and found his eyes still on her.
She wasn’t sure how he knew what she’d been researching, but she was grateful to him for his polite, timely intervention.
She smiled at him, hoping to convey that emotion, and she was happy to receive a warm smile in return.
Darcy’s mind churned as he stared at her.
The spot on the chaise where she’d sat next to him still bore her imprint, and he was sorry she moved away.
He tried to process what it meant that she remembered his back was scarred.
Did she only remember what they’d done at Netherfield, not what they’d talked about?
Why was she so surprised he knew about her book?
How soon before they could be alone and talk again?