10
How frequently Mr. Darcy’s eyes were fixed on her. —Pride and Prejudice
I am so mortified; all I can do is look ahead and smile. Colin is worse than a disaster. He’s such a strange mix of nerd and bro. And Liam is eating up my humiliation. His mouth might be set in a serious line. But every chance he gets, he looks over at me with mocking eyes. I would be annoyed, except on some level, I appreciate his sardonic glances. They’re extremely validating, even if our only date ended catastrophically. But even that feels, in its own way, like a shared inside joke.
As we join the rest of the party still mingling with drinks and appetizers, Darcy introduces me to his mom.
“Of course, I remember Lettie,” she says in her kind but aloof voice. “I met her at the holiday party, and you took her to the hospital fundraiser. How was that?” She studies my face, waiting for a response.
“Um . . . it was . . . ” I glance at Darcy. He gives me a better-you-than-me smile. “It was . . . ” I hedge. “. . . memorable.”
“I bet you met some big names. I heard the governor was there.”
“Yeah, he’s taller in person,” I say.
“He is tall,” says Anne Darcy. “Almost as tall as Liam.”
“Almost,” I say with a smile. Even if Liam Darcy might be the most infuriating man I know, it’s clear that his mom adores him, and looking at him through her eyes, I can see why. What other man throws an engagement party for his best friend? I’m certain his mom helped, but I heard from Jane, who heard from Lydia, that Darcy was very involved in planning the event. I also heard that Lydia was super disappointed in how professional he was and that he didn’t respond to any of her flirting.
“Everything is so lovely,” I say to Anne Darcy. “I especially love the flower arrangements. Did you make them?” I recognize some of the blooms from the orchard.
“Yes, with Liam’s help. He’s got an eye for flowers.”
“Is that right?” I ask with surprise.
“Certainly, wasn’t me,” says Caroline. “I’m hopeless with flowers.”
Again, my eyes go between Caroline and Liam. On our “tour” of the orchard, she made it clear that she spent plenty of time at the Darcy home, hinting heavily that she and Liam are now an item. But watching them together, I’m not so sure. Maybe I’m imagining it, but his eyes are more often on me. And walking back from the orchard, he walked beside me, not Caroline.
Colin and I are seated at the table of awkward misfits, including Priscilla Bennet and Lydia, Charlie’s dad and his much younger wife, and two of Charlie’s friends from UCLA rowing. I’m stuck between Colin and Priscilla.
“Lettie, how nice to see you,” my old boss croons. She’s wearing a peasant blouse with a multi-tiered skirt and a sheepskin vest. Her hair has been cut short for the summer and bleached blonde with purple tips. “We’ve missed you at work. Do you think you’ll come back now that the semester is over?”
I answer with a vague, “We’ll see.” I’m hesitant to share my plan with Priscilla or anyone. I’m scared someone might talk me out of it.
Priscilla knows nothing about my writing career, and I intend to keep it that way. To begin with, she’s my inspiration for a couple of characters that my readers love to hate. I don’t want her to read my book and recognize herself. But mainly, I don’t want her to know about the books I write under the name Collette Best. I want to keep my privacy, and there’s no way Priscilla Bennet could keep my pen name a secret, or any secret. I already regret telling Jane. I worry she might tell Lydia. Those two have become closer now that they share an office.
Across from me, Lydia, sitting between two rowers, does an excellent job of flirting with both at the same time. I could take pointers as I struggle to carry on a conversation with Colin; thankfully, my boss seems to agree with Colin that he’s God’s gift to women.
After listening to him for about 15 minutes, in which he repeats the same monologue he gave me on the drive here about his job, hopes for future income, and, of course, his Cybertruck, she turns to me. “This one’s a keeper,” Priscilla whispers in my ear. “I mean, since you flubbed it up with Darcy. I should be angry at you for that. I think you’re the reason they canceled Blossom Days.”
“Didn’t that have something to do with Anne Darcy being out of town?” I ask.
“That’s the stated reason. But we all know it’s because he couldn’t bear to see you again.”
“I’ve already talked to Liam several times tonight. He’s fine.”
“Ah, that’s because he’s finally moved on. I have it on good authority that he and Caroline are practically engaged.” Priscilla says all of this in a stage whisper, and I want to disappear. Mr. Bingham, Caroline and Charlie’s dad, sits across from me. I glance over and am relieved to see he’s busy talking to a server, but I’m sure his young wife (Carmen, I think?) overheard everything. To stop Priscilla from saying anything more embarrassing, I speak up.
“Forgive me, I’m terrible with names. Are you Carmen?”
“Yes, you’re Lettie, right?”
“Wow, you’re good with names.”
“It’s kind of my job. I work with HR for Pemberley Almonds.”
“Do you really?” Now she has my attention. I wonder if Noah’s complaint went by her desk. Then again, after agreeing to come tonight and canceling at the last minute, I wonder how much, if any, of Noah’s story is true.
“I do. And I love my job. I’ve worked in HR for 20 years.” 20 years, huh? I mentally readjust this woman’s age. If she’s been working in HR that long, she must be at least 40, and I had pegged her in her early 30s. Dang, she looks good for her age. “Pemberley is by far the best company I’ve worked for,” she says with energy. “There’s true work-life balance, and people’s concerns can be voiced without fear of recrimination. And I’m not just saying this because we’re at Liam Darcy’s house.”
“Do I look skeptical?” I ask.
“More than a little,” she answers with a warm smile.
“Normally people complain about their boss,” I say. “Or keep their mouths shut.”
“Not Carmen, she’s always talking about her boss,” says Mr. Bingham, his eyes crinkling the same way Charlie’s do. “She’s got a bit of a crush on him.” Carmen’s face turns serious.
“As the head of HR, I find that joke in bad taste.”
“You do gush about him.”
“Of course, I do. There aren’t many bosses out there as good as Liam Darcy. His father, Will Darcy, was the epitome of a benevolent boss, but Liam is even better. He’s given me the authority and funds to run my department the way I want.”
“His aunt, Dr. Debourgh, is a most exemplary surgeon,” interjects Colin. “I’m a favorite of hers. She told me often that she’s never seen anyone tie sutures quite like I do.” He turns to me. “Would you like to see me tie some?” He pulls a length of silk thread out of his pocket. I’m trying desperately not to laugh, I barely hold in the water I just sipped in my mouth. I gulp it down and excuse myself to the restroom.
Lydia gets up and follows me. “I bet you wish you were smart like me and hadn’t bothered bringing a date tonight.” She fans her face dramatically, the same way her mom does. “Such hot men. I got both their numbers, and you’re stuck with the snake charmer.”
“Your mom was congratulating me on dating such a fine young man. She might try to set you up with him.”
“Not likely; I already got the numbers of those rowers. I like tall men.”
“I thought you like short men?”
“I do; I like all men.” Lydia laughs her carefree laugh. And it’s clear to me why she’s never without a date. She’s not kidding when she says she likes all men, and they sense it. I, on the other hand, am highly skeptical of most men. And they can tell that—except Colin, who is hopeless.
I mull this over while I wait in the hallway outside the bathroom. I let Lydia go ahead of me since I don’t need the toilet, I just needed an escape. Not only from self-absorbed Colin’s conversation but from watching Liam and Caroline eating together. I can’t say why I feel jealous. I don’t like Liam. I mean, I absolutely do not. But it’s only natural to be jealous of anyone tonight whose date is not a pompous bore. A short-haired brown and white dog scampers up to me, wagging its tail.
“Hello there, darling.” I pet its head.
The dog looks up at me with soulful brown eyes. I ruffle its ears, then read the tag. “Fitz. I like your name; it fits you.” I giggle at my own joke. Deep laughter rumbles behind me. My heart quickens. I turn around, almost smack into Liam. “How does anyone as big as you sneak up on me?” I ask.
“How does a clever writer make such corny puns?” He’s full-on smirking, leaning against the wall in his linen suit.
“Hey! Fitz liked my pun, and he was my intended audience.”
“He certainly likes you.” Liam’s voice takes on an extra softness when greeting his dog.
“What type of dog is he?”
“An Australian Cattle Dog.”
“Like Bluey?” I ask.
“No, Bluey is like Fitz. Fitz came first.” He pets a very happy Fitz.
“How long have you had him?”
“Nine years. He’s an elderly dog.” He kneels beside Fitz, whom I’m still petting, and for a moment, our faces are dangerously close.
I stand and step back.
“I wanted to apologize.” He stands. Fitz looks between us, wondering what happened to all the delightful petting and ear scratches.
“Liam, you don’t need to . . .”
“Helloooo?” Lydia steps out of the bathroom and looks between us, her eyes wide, her face delighted. “What do we have here?”
She turns to Liam. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”
“Caroline is a friend of the family.” Good to know. I’ve always dismissed Lydia as a bit empty-headed and boy crazy. But tonight, she’s coming in clutch.
She turns to me. “Everyone knows that you and Colin aren’t an item. So... ” She waves her hands at the two of us. “Have at it.” She pivots and walks down the hall. Her hips swaying in her tight black pencil skirt.
“She’s certainly something,” Liam says.
“Have at it!” I say, waving my hands toward her retreating figure.
“She’s not my type.”
“What about Caroline?”
“That’s never going to happen,” he says.
“Why not?’
He hums. “She’s not what I’m looking for?”
“Oh... and what are you looking for? Wait, let me guess, someone who would impress your aunt. Maybe a doctor or someone with a PhD. Bonus if she’s related to a senator.”
“No. More like someone who stands up to my aunt.”
“Oh!” Is he talking about me? The way he’s looking at me; I think he might be. I’ve totally forgotten to hate him.
“You’re silent, Lettie. That’s not like you.”
“I believe,” I begin slowly. “You said something nice about me. That’s not like you.”
“Lettie, Lettie, I have so many nice things to say to you.”
“And I have so many insults for you.”
He barks a laugh that rumbles through my core, filling me with an on-edge expectant feeling, like hearing thunder in the distance.
“I’m aware,” he says. Aware. The perfect word to describe him. Alert, aware, keen. He studies my face, and I feel the force of his gaze, which terrifies me. So, I do the only thing possible. I excuse myself and hide in the bathroom.