Chapter 14 #3
Darcy glared at his cousin. Sometimes Rich’s sense of comedic timing was off, and sometimes he was simply a prat. Before he could respond, Darcy’s desk phone buzzed. He pushed the speaker button.
“Mr. Darcy?”
“Yes, Sara?”
“Mr. Bingley called. He left you a message because he says you’re ignoring his texts.”
“Yes, Sara?” Darcy ignored his cousin’s guffaw.
“He says not to forget ‘the box’ on Saturday night. And be there by six o’clock.”
“Thank you. And please, head home. I’m finished here.”
Darcy sat back and looked at Rich. He raised an eyebrow and smiled at the expression of indignation on the other man’s face.
“You jackass! You’re already busy Saturday night, and you made me beg you for your assistance as a male escort?”
“‘Solitary man?’ Really, Rich?” Darcy scoffed. “You need to stop listening to your mother’s Neil Diamond records. And tell Jeter to stick to his models.”
Fashionably late was not in either Elizabeth Bennet’s or Fitzwilliam Darcy’s social vocabulary. Punctuality was, however, and both walked into the Empire State Building three minutes early. It took all of thirty seconds for them to lock eyes at the elevator banks.
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
They flashed their special entry cards at the security guard and walked to the elevator set aside for private events. Half a dozen other people, members of the band and the catering staff carrying garment bags and guitar cases, joined them. Elizabeth and Darcy moved to the back of the elevator.
Darcy glanced over and saw that she was engrossed in a message on her phone.
He sighed softly. He’d spent the day trying not to think about seeing her tonight.
He hadn’t seen her since Memorial Day weekend.
Six weeks, five days and too many hours remembering little nuances: the way she put an ice cube in her coffee, wrapped a Band-Aid on his finger, looked in her swimsuit.
The latter was not a healthy thought to be having while she was standing inches away in a little black dress, and he could glimpse a silk bra strap. It was pink. Shite, man. Focus.
Why was all of this still so difficult? Hadn’t they talked, smiled, and laughed at Pemberley?
He’d sat with her, listened to her fears, and driven her home.
And now, all these weeks later, it was as though none of that had happened.
Was it the book fiasco? That was fixed. He’d made sure of it—as much as he could.
Still, it was a case of before and after that night at Netherfield.
Any chance he’d ever had to know her, to really know Elizabeth Bennet, had been destroyed by his unthinking ignorance, by his being smart and pushing her away because “he didn’t do this.
” His stupidity and arrogance would never stop haunting him.
Darcy’s brow furrowed as he mulled over possible conversational gambits in a small box surrounded by strangers. “Would you eat them in a box?” flashed into his brain and he smiled. Green Eggs and Ham. Georgie had proudly, and very slowly, read it to him after he’d had his appendix out.
His smile did not go unnoticed. Elizabeth—relieved by the absence of a certain blonde despite Jane’s declarations that Darcy wasn’t seeing anyone—relied on meaningless text messages and e-mails to absorb her attention and keep her eyes off the man standing close beside her in his bespoke suit and perfectly trimmed sideburns.
The subtle scent of his aftershave brought back unbidden memories of when he’d held her, shirtless, at Netherfield.
But somebody had to say something. Here we are, both so very punctual and so very dateless.
How politely inconvenient. No, she corrected herself, how nice an opportunity. Carpe diem. She took a breath.
“Come here much?” she asked, a small smile on her face. He looked so gorgeous in his gray suit that she couldn’t make eye contact. She had to avoid looking at that little curl of hair that needed tamping down. His tie, a muted swirl of blue and purple, held her attention.
Darcy ducked his head and laughed softly. “Um, no. Should I ask you what your sign is?”
Elizabeth laughed. “Did you remember ‘the box’?”
“Yes.” He then sheepishly admitted that he’d almost forgotten to bring along the all-important Tiffany’s box containing engraved his-and-hers key rings for the couple’s new apartment—Charles’s engagement gift to Jane.
Thoughts were canvassed on the lovely weather, the party venue, and the possibilities of tonal disaster from the collision of Charles’s bent for electronic music and Jane’s love of gentle love songs.
A minute or two later, the elevator doors opened, and the pair followed the others out to the minimally decorated party room.
“Wow,” Elizabeth murmured as she scanned the walls of windows looking out upon Manhattan and beyond. “Who needs tissue garlands and flower pots when you have this view?”
“Brilliant views of the sunset,” Darcy agreed.
They spotted Charles and Jane huddled in the corner. He was pointing to the menu, and she was shaking her head. All they heard was the groom’s panicked complaint: “Caroline can’t eat scallops. She’s going to go ballistic if she thinks one even touched the other foods!”
Taking advantage of the amused look that fell across Darcy’s face, Elizabeth laughed. “Will she blow up like a puffer fish?”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t think her figure is threatened. I believe it’s her complexion.”
Elizabeth nodded knowingly. “Ah, and here I was hoping for a full-out Violet Beauregarde.”
Darcy laughed out loud, capturing the attention of Jane and Charles. He quickly stopped, and a guilty expression crossed his face.
“Sorry…can’t take me anywhere,” Elizabeth mumbled. She walked over to her sister, hugged her, and gave Charles a kiss on the cheek.
I’d take you everywhere, Darcy thought.
“If this is what passes for an engagement party these days, who needs the wedding and reception?” Barbara commented.
Her husband snorted. “Those who can, spend. Those who can’t, hope for an invitation.”
Elizabeth stood nearby with Mary, watching Lydia whirl around the floor with yet another of Charles’s friends.
Only a few partygoers, including an energetic Charlotte and Bill, were taking advantage of the small dance floor; most were happy to lean against a high-top table with drinks and small plates and chatter away.
Charles and Jane floated from group to group.
Many of the guests were business associates and tenuous social acquaintances who would not be invited to the more intimate wedding.
Bill Collins, through his apparently happy association with Charlotte, would grace both events with his jujitsu-like dance moves.
At least he fit in better than he had a few months ago, Elizabeth mused.
He’d lost a few pounds, some new luxury shampoo had lent heft and body to his thinning hair, and without his glasses, his large Bambi-like eyes were almost charming.
They were fixed exclusively on Charlotte as he catered to her every need.
Geez, even Charlotte looks prettier than she used to.
Guess they drank the same love potion as Jane and Charles.
She glanced at her watch: nine thirty. Her father had said they’d be leaving for Queens before ten o’clock, but his ex-wife had yet to make an appearance. Elizabeth wondered whether Sylvia had contacted anybody to confirm her arrival.
“Elizabeth, might I ask…is everything all right with you? With your book and with work?”
Elizabeth started. She had been quietly watching Darcy over the course of the evening and had made sure to compliment him on his graceful and funny toast to Charles and Jane.
Although she’d noted with satisfaction that he’d never made an appearance on the dance floor, she hadn’t realized he had joined their small family group.
She turned toward him and smiled softly.
“Yes, thanks. Somehow, it’s all come out all right.
Not to jinx it, but I think the book is even better now than it was before. ”
“Really? Fantastic.”
“After I lost Stefan”—she peered at Darcy to see whether the name registered with him—“I was able to find some great replacements. In fact, once the company made it clear that all profits were going to charity, athletes contacted us! We even expanded the folio for extra interviews. Reggie Jackson,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “Derek Jeter and Mia Hamm.”
Darcy looked down at the floor and then met her eyes. “Well done. If I dare hazard a guess, Ms. Hamm is one of your personal heroes?”
She nodded.
“She was a Tarheel, right?” He smiled at her, his eyebrows raised.
Her eyes widened. Like his mother.
“The poster is still on our bedroom wall.” Jane stepped up from behind her sister and threw her arms around her.
Elizabeth blushed.
“That’s fantastic,” Darcy said. “I’m thrilled for you.”
Jane, giddy with love, excitement, and perhaps a few too many mojitos, burst out with more news. “And you know what? This book is all great and amazing, but Lizzy’s real book is even better.”
Elizabeth, slightly entangled in Jane’s vise-like hug, laughed nervously. “That’s a huge maybe. The agent that George had connected me with stopped taking my calls and blocked my e-mails after George was arrested.”
“Oh,” Jane murmured. “You never told me that.”
“I’m hoping that, when the heroes book comes out, I won’t be so toxic anymore,” Elizabeth added, her cheeks flaming. “There are four or five publishing houses that might be interested. I just need one.”
“I’d be interested in reading it,” Darcy said. “It’s a fascinating topic.”
Lydia stumbled over, pulling off her heels. “Ugh, you’re talking about books? Lizzy is so boring. Her boyfriends are boring.”
“Lizzy hates men,” Mary intoned.
A crimson-faced Elizabeth turned to her sisters. “Neither of you know a thing about my personal or professional life, and for good reason.”
“Now Elizabeth, that’s unnecessary—” Barbara began. There was a sudden eruption of voices behind them.
“Going to the chapel and they’re gonna get married… going to the chapel of love…”
Elizabeth froze and looked over at Jane, whose mortified expression matched her own.
Dear God. Sylvia Bennet-LaRue had arrived, and she was a vision.
Her blonde hair was piled up at least a foot in Elizabeth’s estimation, and the neckline on her electric-blue dress plunged at least the same distance.
“Girls! Come give your mother a hug!”
Darcy took a step back, nearly bumping into Charles, who was clearly alarmed by the squealing and by the shocked, open-mouthed stares of Mary and Lydia.
“Is this Charles? I’d recognize that surfer hair anywhere,” Sylvia enthused in an uneven Southern twang. “Oh, look what a pair you two make. Your babies will be cherubs!”
Darcy managed another step back before Sylvia caught sight of him. “Oh my Lord!” She fanned herself dramatically. “Look at you, all tall, dark, and handsome. You truly are the best man. Are you with Lizzy? If you’re not, you can be with me.” She reached out and grabbed his arm.
Glancing away, Elizabeth saw Caroline’s horrified, mocking expression. She cringed when she caught sight of Darcy’s mortified face. She’d seen him trying to move away from her mother and saw how disgusted he was by it all. And this time she couldn’t blame him.
Suddenly Maddie and Joe appeared and hustled Sylvia off to a corner table for a quieter, alcohol-free reunion. Ted and Barbara packed up their annoyed, protesting daughters for the drive back to Queens. And Elizabeth watched Caroline pull a still shell-shocked Darcy onto the dance floor.
Kill me now.