Charles’s Story (Pride & Prejudice & Potions)

Chapter 1

I was a single man in possession of a good fortune, so naturally I was in want of a wife. But I couldn’t even get a girlfriend, or at least not the one I wanted.

I huddled under an umbrella, failing to keep myself dry from the chill February sleet that pounded against the cobblestones. Morning rain showers had been the norm for the past few weeks, my umbrella becoming a permanent accessory anytime I left the house.

Darcy had flown into Vienna a couple of hours ago.

He was my future king, but more than that, he’d been my best friend and confidant since we were children.

We were both tall with athletic builds, but in almost every other way we were opposites.

He was dark-haired, regal, and always wore a serious expression that was sometimes mistaken for a scowl.

I, on the other hand, had turquoise eyes, red hair as bright as my sunny disposition, and a smile I never could seem to wipe off my face.

Nervous energy buzzed through me. We were meeting here at Stephansplatz because Darcy said he had something important he wanted to talk to me about over breakfast. What did he want to discuss?

Darcy was returning from Austen Heights, and I couldn’t help but be envious of him. That’s where Jane lived.

So many memories came rushing back: dancing with her at Club Merryton, healing her at Netherfield, solving a murder with her in New York City.

I'd fallen hard, but Jane hadn't felt the same way.

Darcy had been the first to see it; he'd warned me that I was in over my head. And he’d been right.

In the end, Jane and I parted as friends. And that was that.

Rain dribbled down my neck. In my musings I’d allowed the umbrella to slip.

The morning rush crowded the plaza despite the poor weather. I turned my collar up against the chill. Darcy approached, wearing a black business suit, silk tie, and gray overcoat.

I frowned at the absence of a security detail. He was the crown prince of the fae and ought to have at least one bodyguard with him. But outside of magical havens like Austen Heights, we glamoured our pointed ears and none of the Unmarked, or non-magical people, knew who we were.

Darcy reached out to shake my hand like he always did, and I pulled him into a hug instead, like I always did. He smiled. “It’s good to see you, Bingley.”

I led him to the cafe I’d previously scoped out. I’d moved from being the head of his personal security to taking a job as the CEO of one of his companies, but old habits died hard, and I was always watching for threats when I was around him.

The cafe was charming, though clearly catered to tourists with its big wooden tables and large edelweiss paintings. We settled into a small table and I ordered hei?e liebe, a berry tea flavored after one of my favorite desserts. “How is Netherfield?” I asked.

“Wonderful. Thank you for letting me stay there.”

“Anytime.”

“Did you see anyone while you were in town?” He had to know I was asking about the Bennets.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “That’s actually the reason I wanted to talk to you.”

I straightened. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s fine. There have been a few developments. Lydia and Wickham eloped.”

My eyes bulged. “Wickham!” He and Darcy had a complicated past. “Maybe marriage will be good for him,” I tried optimistically.

Surprisingly, Darcy didn’t resist my attempt to give Wickham the benefit of the doubt. “I think so. He and I had some time to talk. I believe he’s going to be good to Lydia. I misjudged him in a lot of ways.”

The server brought us our tea. “Vielen Dank,” I said and sipped the hot liquid. It warmed me almost as effectively as Mrs. Bennet’s warming hot cocoa. “You and Wickham working things out—I never thought I’d see the day. But I’m pleased.”

“So am I,” Darcy said. “I’ve come to realize I’ve been wrong about a few things. Maybe a lot of things.” He took a drink of his tea. “Bingley, are you happy at Haven Corp?”

“Happy?” I echoed, confused.

Darcy expelled a short laugh. “Don’t look so worried. I’m not about to fire you. I just want to know if you’re happy.”

I wasn’t as relieved as I ought to have been. “I appreciate the opportunity to work at Haven Corp,” I said carefully.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Things have been hard for me since the murders,” I admitted. In November, three of my employees were killed while we were at a convention.

“Understandably,” Darcy said. “I hope you know that none of that was your fault.”

“I do,” I said, telling a half truth. Jane and I had solved the crimes, but I still felt guilty about not having prevented their deaths in the first place.

“You’re very good at your job,” Darcy continued. “You’re fair and honest and hardworking. You’re exceptionally good at fostering a company culture that people want to be a part of. And your empathy inspires loyalty.”

“But?” I asked.

“But I wonder if you’re happy here.”

“Of course I am. I’m always happy.”

Darcy smiled. “I know you are, and I admire you for it. But I need to ask for your forgiveness.”

“For giving me a job?”

“Yes. You were happy in Austen Heights, and I encouraged you to go away. And then when I saw you and Jane spending time together in New York, I sent you even farther away. I shouldn’t have interfered.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “You were just trying to help. And Jane isn’t interested in being with me, anyway.” I tried not to let it sound pathetic; I was fine, after all.

Darcy drained the remainder of his tea in one long drag before he spoke again. “I was worried that the Bennets were after your money and that Jane wouldn’t be a good match because she’s half-witch.”

I’d never shared Darcy’s concern about Jane being after my money—but there was no denying her parentage.

I thought of my sister, Caroline, who’d been disowned for no more than falling in love with a non-fae.

What would my parents have done if I’d continued pursuing Jane?

Birth and status had never mattered much to me, but being a high fae was my lot in life, and I tried to live up to it most of the time.

Darcy was the model fae, and it had served me well to follow his advice.

“But I was wrong,” Darcy said.

It took me a moment to register the words; they were so contrary to my own thoughts. “You were wrong?”

“I told you that she didn’t care about you.”

I thought of how I’d put my heart out there when we’d last parted, and her answer: I can’t do this again.

Darcy steepled his hands. “I have reason to believe that she does care about you.”

Conflicting feelings crept up through my body as his words sank in, hope and despair in equal measure. But he couldn’t be right about this. I gripped the table. “When I saw her last, I told her that I cared about her. I even kissed her. But she ended it.”

Darcy furrowed his brow. “You told her you cared for her and were leaving for Europe in the same breath. And had no intentions of coming back?”

I stilled. Yes, that was exactly what I told her. I nodded miserably.

Darcy shook his head. “It was the situation she was rejecting, not you.”

“Then why didn’t she say so?”

“Why would she declare her feelings with you halfway out the door?”

I pressed my fingertips to my temples. “How could I have messed that up so badly? I’m the absolute worst with women.”

“I think I might be worse than you,” Darcy muttered.

“So what do I do?”

“What do you want? I’ve already meddled enough. You’re going to have to figure this out for yourself.”

I groaned.

“Take some time off,” he said. “Go back to Austen Heights if you need to. We’ve got plenty of employees who can look after Haven Corp.”

“I thought you said you weren’t firing me,” I teased.

He smiled. “I can, if you want me to.”

An offer made in jest shouldn’t have been so tempting.

The walk back to my apartment was a haze. When I stood in front of my door, I couldn't even remember if I’d said hello to the doorman. I peeled off my damp coat and leaned my head against the door for a long moment before dragging myself to the kitchenette to put the kettle on the stove.

Caroline would have absolutely hated the complete lack of personalization in the room and how everything was gray—the walls, the floors, the furniture, even the formica countertops.

I’d rented it because of its convenient location and the fact that it was already furnished.

The only thing I’d purchased for it was an immersion blender.

It felt strange to be here during the day. I’d kept myself so busy I’d barely spent any time here, and certainly not during daytime hours. I glanced at my watch. It was only 10:00 a.m. What was I going to do for a whole week?

I plopped onto the couch, Darcy’s words spinning around in my mind. What did I want?

What if I hadn’t followed the path of least resistance that led to a corporate position my parents could be proud of? What if, instead of coming home to a lifeless apartment, I was going home to Netherfield Park?

I dared to let myself imagine a step further.

What if I were coming home to Jane? A series of images flashed before my eyes—the two of us sitting down for a meal, then laughing as we washed up together before settling onto the couch to watch a movie with one bowl of popcorn and one blanket. And then one bed.

I banished the sudden, fierce longing for the life I might have had if I’d been bolder and less easily persuaded. It was too late. What would my family think if I were to give up this position as CEO of Haven Corp? What would they do if I told them I wanted to marry a witch?

The morning stretched long, and I busied myself by checking off tasks I’d been meaning to get to.

I pulled the caulk out from around my bathtub with a pair of needle-nose pliers and applied a fresh seal.

I cleaned the dust from the kitchen vent hood and changed the air filter.

All the while, my thoughts sang a chorus of “what if?” and “what next?”

I was considering moving the fridge to clean behind it when the ringing of my phone startled me from my musings. I glanced at the screen. It was an unknown number, but the area code was from Austen Heights. My heart hammered in my chest as I answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Charles Bingley?” a feminine voice asked.

“This is he.”

“Charles, I’m Brittany Slate, the director of the animal shelter in Austen Heights.” Her voice was clipped, as though she was already impatient with me. “I’m calling to let you know we have your dog.”

“My… my dog?”

“Yes, Jaro. He—”

Her voice cut off as she had a muffled conversation with someone in the background. She cleared her throat. “I’m so sorry, I’ve just seen the back side of this note. Your friend Jim Maes left Jaro to you in his will.”

I racked my brain. Jim Maes… “I’m sorry, but are you sure you have the right person?”

“I think so. Are you Charles Bingley, of Netherfield Park?”

“I am.”

“Well, I’m sorry that Jim’s executor hasn’t been in touch with you. He just dropped him off at the shelter and made him our problem.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” And I was. It sounded like there was a bit of a history between her and Jim’s executor. She felt ill used; it was the least I could do not to make it worse.

She sighed dramatically. “That’s okay, it’s what we’re here for. He left you a letter, I can text you a picture of it.”

“Okay, thank you, that would be helpful.”

“No problem.”

She ended the call, and a moment later my phone pinged with a text notification. I clicked on the image of a sheet of stationary covered in tidy cursive and zoomed in to read the text.

Dear Charles,

I realize that even though you made quite an impression on me, you might not know who I am.

Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Jim Maes, and I’ve lived in Austen Heights for eighty-seven years.

We met in September, in Regency Meadows park.

You were jogging on the path behind me when I fell and broke my hip.

You ran over to me, healed my injury, and eased all the aches and pains that are part of the daily life of an octogenarian.

I appreciated your ministrations more than I can say.

But even more impressive was your kindness.

You sat with me until I had my bearings, offered to call someone for me or escort me to my next location, and made me feel like assisting me was the most important part of your day.

I’ve left most of my estate to my son, but he and Jaro aren’t a good fit for each other.

As I was pondering who to trust with him upon my death, your name kept coming to my mind.

I don’t know the circumstances of your life or if you even want a dog, but if my instincts are right, you and Jaro will get along spectacularly.

Best,

Jim Maes

I reread the letter three times. I remembered the man I’d helped. He’d been kind, and it had felt good to help him. I loved using my magic to heal.

Goosebumps rose on my arms. This had to be kismet. I still didn’t know what I was going to do about Jane or my job or any of it, but I’d been wishing for a reason to go back to Austen Heights, and here it was. Maybe I would find answers there.

I picked up my phone and texted Brittany.

I can be there tomorrow evening.

Her text came back quickly.

That works for me. We close at 5, but we have an after-hours meeting tomorrow, so we’ll be there until 7.

Perfect. See you then.

I took a deep breath. I was going back to Austen Heights.