Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Elizabeth forgot she wasn’t alone. It wasn’t until Darcy sat down across from her and gently asked whether he could get her a drink, or a sweater, or her sister that she realized he’d been there the entire time.
He turned off the television. The only noise in the room was from her panicked breathing and Hurst’s deep snores.
Unable to meet Darcy’s eyes, she looked down and saw his fingers reaching for hers.
After she declined his offers of assistance, his hand fell away, and she heard him clear his throat.
Finally, she took a breath and looked up at him.
He was so near, his eyes full of concern.
He pressed a handkerchief into her hand.
“Please, tell me what’s going on.”
She stared at him. “Why?”
“You’re in tears in my house.” He gestured at the television. “And I know Stefan was your friend and he’s in trouble…”
After a few moments of silence, understanding dawned in Darcy’s eyes. “Your sports book,” he said simply. “He’s in it.”
She nodded and, in a dull voice, replied, “He’s not the only one. There’s another one, the skater.”
“And…they used banned substances while competing?”
“Yes. Apparently. Allegedly.” She desperately wanted him to go away. She wanted to be alone. She needed to go to her room, pack her bag, and head back to the city. She needed to check in with Mr. Philips and ruin his holiday weekend.
Oh my God. We’re scheduled at the printer in a month. The marketing campaign is ready to roll.
“I have to call my boss,” she mumbled.
“How can I help?”
“You can’t do anything. I screwed up. I should have known, should have asked better questions.”
“Elizabeth, I can listen. Talk to me.”
The gentle calm in his voice washed over her, and suddenly Elizabeth knew that having the ear of a highly intelligent, well-traveled man who happened to like sports and knew his way around a corporate boardroom might not be a bad idea—especially when he looked at her with such dark, sympathetic eyes.
Jane and Charles cared, she knew that, but this was their weekend, and she didn’t want to dampen their joyful enthusiasm.
Darcy wouldn’t make light of her situation as her father would.
Oh, how he’d skewer her. She might have once been the daughter most like her father but no longer.
Lydia, his stepdaughter, shared his sarcastic spirit and humor.
Elizabeth did not. Her eyes misted again. No. I will not cry.
Instead, she took a deep breath and told Darcy about the book and how the idea of asking sports heroes about the people who’d first inspired them was a huge deal for the marketing firm.
It was a way to get a foothold in the larger A-list world of sports marketing, and half the profits were earmarked for charity.
The project had been entrusted to her, but she’d failed by overlooking a major flaw in the “heroes.” If the allegations were true, they had used illegal substances to improve their competitive edge.
Their achievements—their records and their medals—were hollow ones.
Darcy gave her a fierce look. “You didn’t fail. Did their coaches notice? Or were they in on it? How could you know? Did Stefan even know what he was doing was illegal?”
“Still…I listened to the wrong people and didn’t ask the right questions.”
“Wrong people?” He looked confused.
Oh, this was the moment. George Wickham, the man who’d tried to smear Anne Darcy, whom Darcy hated and had warned Elizabeth about, was the sports agent she’d entrusted to connect her to athletes. Oh, how Fitzwilliam Darcy would cringe in revulsion. Oh, how she needed to leave.
“Elizabeth, you have time. The print run was held up—didn’t you say that? For some pop singer’s biography?”
“Uh-huh.” Thank God for stupid pop singers and their trail of broken hearts and overdoses.
“Perhaps you can swap out the bad actors? Cut them from the book?”
“You mean find some new scandal-proof skaters and gymnasts?” She shook her head. “No, I think I’m tapped out.” Not to mention tainted by association with cheaters and liars.
Darcy rubbed his chin and looked at her intently. “Your connection to Stefan and the others: Is that who you mean by ‘the wrong people’?”
She swallowed and looked away. “George Wickham, sports agent extraordinaire. I couldn’t have been more wrong.”
His soft expression dissolved. She felt a chill as his face went blank.
She needed to call Mr. Philips. She needed to cry. Most of all, she needed to get away from Fitzwilliam Darcy. “I should get my phone. It’s charging in the kitchen.”
But she didn’t move.
Jane and Charles, with dry clothes but wet hair, stopped in the doorway, hands clasped together. Spotting her sister and Darcy, Jane tugged on her fiancé’s hand, holding him back.
“Look, Charles,” she whispered, staring at the pair sitting closely together on the sofa. “They’re getting along swimmingly.”
Charles nodded, a broad smile on his face. “Told you so. They’re both stubborn as can be, but I knew they’d hit it off eventually. Maybe they can share a sundae, eh?”
They walked into the room. “Hey, can we hide out with you guys? There are some very scary sisters hovering about,” Charles joked.
Elizabeth looked up at him, her face stained with tears.
“Lizzy!” Jane ran toward her sister. “What happened?” She threw her arms around Elizabeth and gave Darcy an odd look.
“It’s okay. Long story about a stupid girl who might have blown up her marketing career.” Elizabeth gave the couple a watery smile. “But you know I’m just doing it to pay the bills anyway, right?”
Voices were heard in the hallway, and Jane threw Charles a panicked look.
“There’s a back staircase,” Darcy offered. He stood and walked to a door behind a tall potted plant. “The Fitzwilliams were big on playing sardines and hide-and-go-seek.”
The women fled upstairs. Charles glanced at the recumbent form of his still-snoring brother-in-law and turned to Darcy. “What the hell is going on?” He narrowed his eyes. “Please tell me Caroline didn’t have anything to do with it.”
Elizabeth sat numbly on the bed, certain she was living the longest afternoon of her life.
Nothing had ever compared to the sense of doom hanging over her—not as a child, listening to her parents and their endless fighting over money; or as a college student, sitting in a doctor’s office waiting to find out whether she could ever play competitive soccer again; or just a few weeks ago, staring at her apartment walls and wondering how she could have so misjudged Fitzwilliam Darcy.
She had made a horrible mistake in working with and trusting George Wickham, putting her employer’s long-in-the-works, make-or-break book at risk.
And Philips/Hill had basically paid for her master’s!
Oh. Her reputation as a writer, a researcher, a college-educated woman was imperiled. I am an idiot.
She half-listened as the rest of the party continued without her.
The nappers snoozed, the sunbathers roasted, the bookworms read, and the swimmers frolicked, all oblivious to her stupidity.
Lydia took Elizabeth’s spot aboard the raft for pirate wars, and Mary stood, life jacket strapped on and whistle hung around her neck, ready to zing buccaneers with penalties for unsportsmanlike conduct.
No amount of complaining from Lydia that all pirate conduct was unsportsmanlike would sway her.
An hour or so later, Elizabeth headed downstairs, phone in hand and feeling her fate was sealed.
Hearing shrill voices in the kitchen, she headed to the living room where she found Darcy in the corner talking with her aunt and uncle.
She pondered that for a moment until her aunt looked up and gave her a small smile.
She returned it and walked over to the huge sofas by the windows where Jane and Mary sat playing a board game with Ava and Alex.
“I’m meeting with my boss tomorrow at his house,” Elizabeth said softly.
“You have to leave?” Jane groaned. “Is it so bad?”
“It’s fine. It will be anyway. I’ll take the Jitney.”
“I’ll drive you,” Darcy said quietly.
Elizabeth jumped and turned around. He was standing behind her. When did he get here?
His offer was met with Jane’s protests and Elizabeth’s silent stare. “Really, I should get to my office,” he explained. “I hadn’t planned on a weekend away, and I’ve been out of town quite a bit lately.”
Mary craned her neck and looked up at him. “What’s going on?”
Jane glared at her and shook her head. Mary narrowed her eyes and thrust the dice into her sister’s hand. Jane smiled tensely before her expression lightened. “Oh, is it my turn?” she asked Ava sweetly.
Darcy leaned over and spoke in low tones. “I promised to take the children sailing in the morning, but we can leave right after that.”
Elizabeth knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer—not on this anyway.
“I understand you’re leaving us tomorrow.” Ted Bennet leveled a steady eye at his second daughter. Elizabeth looked up from the sand where she was watching Charles and Joe dig a pit for the clambake.
She nodded. “A girl’s gotta make a living.”
Ted closed his book and chuckled. “You didn’t bring your car, did you? I suppose you need one of us to stir from our sun-baked perches in paradise to drive you back to the city? Or will you be riding the Jiminy Cricket?”
“Jitney.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “No, your seat in the south-facing chaise is safe. I have a ride back.”
“Oh?”
She tried to sound nonchalant. “Mr. Darcy offered. He needs to get back to the city.”
Lydia snickered. “I hope you brought some earbuds. He’s so stodgy he probably only listens to opera. Good hair and a tight butt gone to waste. You know, we’re here at the beach and it’s hot, and he never even takes off his shirt!”
Elizabeth, appalled, glimpsed the subject of Lydia’s rant turn away and disappear into the kitchen. Please tell me you didn’t hear that.