“Hey Rich, fetch us another beer. I need to tell you a story.”
Jane missed her calling by going into the insurance industry. Elizabeth knew her sister was focused on long-term career stability, but she thought Jane would’ve done quite well by starting a Get-A-Hug franchise. Ever since Elizabeth reluctantly explained her melancholy sighs and less than boisterous behavior, giving Jane the barebones versionof her “relationship” with Darcy, Jane was in full-bore mother hen mode.
Elizabeth told her only that Darcy had asked her out at the Seaport and hadn’t been very nice when she declined. She didn’t tell her about what had happened at Netherfield. She couldn’t. Jane would feel guilty, Jane would feel responsible, and Jane would feel uncomfortable. And with Jane’s future as Mrs. Charles Bingley looking ever more likely, she didn’t need to know that his best friend was a man who had peeled off her sister’s shirt before leaving her high and dry on a Chesterfield sofa, only to show up months later and offer up his heart on a platter to be sliced, diced, and put through a grinder. Elizabeth’s eyes stung every time she remembered his face and the words he put on paper.
“I don’t know why you thought I rejected you or didn’t care about the events between us at Netherfield. That night was an epiphany for me. That rawness of feeling and need was a first.”
No, Jane didn’t need to know any of the nitty-gritty details. Nor did Elizabeth think it was her place to fully reveal his family history. When Jane mentioned that Charles told her Darcy doted on animals because his sister had died when she was young, Elizabeth shut the door on shading in the details. It was horribly sad, and she was a horrible person for not remembering that hehadtold her. Sheknewabout the accident, but she still managed to misjudge him. And yet, even now, she couldn’t recall much of what either of them had said that night. But she did remember feeling the scars on his back and his pulling away when she’d asked.
What a hypocrite she was, writing a novel about the blacklist half a century ago. While quietly working on her pet project about American citizens who were judged as communists and traitors and lost their jobs, their friends, and their reputations based on their intellectual curiosity, a long-forgotten signature on a political petition, or unfounded allegations, she was guilty of judging one man based on his social interactions, another man’s word, and her own foggy memories. She was an idiot.
“Please know that, although I had a short period of stupidity in my life, and I did indeed experience the so-called walk of shame a few times, such regrettable behavior is years in the past. The hours we spent together at Netherfield meant more to me than any of those occurrences.”
Darcy had only a short period of stupidity in his life while hers seemed destined to stretch on and on. But at least an idiot like herselfcould show up for work, tap out press releases, and set up focus groups. Elizabeth could go running, sharpen her cooking skills, and immerse herself in bad television. What she couldn’t do was focus on writing her novel.
Her old haunts betrayed her. She didn’t want to see George. What she’d learned about him from Darcy’s letter sickened her, and she was afraid she’d let on what she knew. He did call, but when she told him the book was delayed, she didn’t hear from him again. She went to Blackie’s with a few friends and was grateful he wasn’t there. Charlotte and her brothers persuaded her to join them at a Mets game, but it felt like a letdown after the luxury suite at Yankee Stadium—another thought to keep to herself. Elizabeth could fill a notebook with unspoken regrets, secret musings, and spiteful words she’d like to take back.
And then, a week after receiving Darcy’s letter, Elizabeth bumped into George at Starbucks. It was clear that he, familiar with her workday routine, had been waiting for her.A liar, lying in wait. She decided it was best to play dumb and pretend their friendship continued. He was not a good man and perhaps a dangerous one. She reluctantly agreed to share a table and catch up on the goings-on with the book, his recent travels, and other day-to-day happenings. After about ten minutes, George put down his coffee and looked at her beseechingly.
“You know, I’ve barely seen you since Darcy attacked me at the gallery, and then you went off to Yankee Stadium with his cousin. Have you thrown me over for those two? Perhaps a ménage à trois? Or is it just one of them?” He quirked an eyebrow and leered at her.
Elizabeth smiled uncomfortably and shook her head. “You’re deranged. Trust me, I’m not only off the market, I’m boycotting men. No dating for me.”
“You’re a beautiful woman,” he purred. “Sounds as though you’ve had your heart broken and lost your trust in men.”
“Hardly,” she muttered. George’s seat-of-the-pants psychoanalysis made her uncomfortable. It was hitting too close to home, and he was sitting too close to her. He made her skin crawl.
“Hmm…you play it safe with me. Coffee, never dinner. And I saw you with Darcy.” He looked at her closely. “You know him far better than you led me to believe.”
She bit back her anger.I knew nothing about him when you saw us talking. Now I know too much, you nasty little man.
“Do be careful, Liz. Don’t get too close, or he’ll toss you aside just like all the others.”
Elizabeth could take no more of his false attacks on a good man. “Oh, I’m an independent thinker. I like to delve deep and come to my own conclusions. So as much as I appreciate your smearing of Darcy’s name and reputation, I’ve concluded he’s a pretty good guy.”
“Have you now?” George leaned back and eyed her speculatively. “Delved underneath that mask he wears? Maybe he’s giving you a peek inside to hurt me because he knows you and I are so close.”
Elizabeth pushed back her chair and stood. “Actually, George, you and I are not that close.”
He grabbed her hand. “We could be.”
“No, we couldn’t. I don’t date liars. In fact, I’m not even friends with them.” She yanked her hand away. “Goodbye.”
Her legs shook as she strode out the door. The angry mortification on George’s face was well worth the uneasy fear she felt all afternoon. It was almost a relief to feel anger at him instead of her self-directed regret and sadness. She thought it odd to have discovered a late-blooming talent for leaving good-looking men shocked and ashen.
Although spring had passed slowly and painfully, as the temperatures rose and early summer dawned, even Elizabeth’s mood lightened in the face of Jane’s overflowing happiness. Elizabeth Bennet might have kicked a good man to the curb, she might have one book sitting stalled at the publisher’s and another one shoved into the back of a desk drawer, and she might have gained three pounds from her culinary experiments, but her sisterly affection could override all of the bad stuff. How could she not smile and laugh when Jane came home with a five-carat engagement ring? If any Bennet was going to be happy and make a wonderful marriage, it was Jane. Elizabeth could even feel optimistic when, late one night, unable to sleep and still feeling the effects of too much wine at her tell-all confessional dinner with Charlotte, she recalled her friend’s half-drunk warning: “If you’re maid of honor, then you know who is going to be best man. Can you handle that?”
An autumn wedding was months away.Ages.She’d be fine. She and Darcy would both have moved on. They’d both have dates or be in serious relationships by then, right?Right.Yes, Elizabeth was justfine, right up until the moment when Jane and Charles announced that they were inviting both families to Darcy’s house in the Hamptons over Memorial Day weekend to celebrate the news…and that Sylvia Bennet-LaRue wanted to sing at the wedding.Perfect. The mother who flew the coop now wants to command center stage.
Even as she reeled from the double-whammy impact, Elizabeth couldn’t help but beam at Charles. “I’ve always wanted a brother. But you haven’t yet met your future mother-in-law. If she scares you off, I’ll have to hunt you down and hurt you.”
Even happier than his usual ebullient state, Charles laughed and said he knew all the best hiding places at Netherfield and a few good ones at Darcy’s house. “If you are a very nice sister, I might show you some of them.”
Noting the shadow that crossed Elizabeth’s face, he leaned over and casually mentioned Darcy wouldn’t be joining them for the weekend. Work, of course. He added that Darcy was dealing better with Coco’s passing. He’d been freed up a little, and he was traveling more. The previous month, when Charles told her Coco had died suddenly a week after she’d practically spit in Darcy’s face, she’d sobbed quietly in her bed and then managed, finally, to write him a long overdue apology. Looking back, she couldn’t recall a worse moment in her adult life.
Jane assured her that Darcy had offered his beach house for a family celebration but had personally begged off due to a business trip.So,I will be surrounded by the man, immersed in all things him, but he won’t be there.She sagged in relief but still felt disappointed. “Howishe, really?” she wanted to ask Charles. But she didn’t. Charles, the most transparent person she knew, had been oddly evasive on the subject of his friend.Does he know what happened between us? Does he know what I said to Darcy?Elizabeth finally asked Jane about it during a sisterly moment at the nail salon.
“Did you tell Charles about Darcy and me?”God, I sound like a five-year-old.“Or did Darcy?”
