Rich reached over and swatted Darcy’s hand. “Quit playing with your food, young man.” He sat back, sipped his merlot, and waited for his cousin to make eye contact. “You’re doing this for her.”
“Of course, I am.”
“And fixing this will help her see you differently?”
“I think…I believe she already does,” he replied hesitantly. “That’s not my motivation. Helping ensure her book succeeds won’t change anything. She has priorities, and I don’t believe romance is among them right now.”
Darcy picked up his glass, took a sip, and continued. “I’m alsogoing to ensure that the bastard who led her into this mess gets his due. It’s long past time for Wickham to meet justice.”
“So, the athletes Wickham brought to Elizabeth are the same ones who used that clinic. It’s a tenuous connection, you know. He may or may not be implicated.”
“I understand that. But it bears investigation,” Darcy said firmly.
Rich realized that Darcy was thinking of his mother as well as Elizabeth. “Don’t let your guilt or anger guide you in this.”
“What? Of course, it’s going to fuel this. Wickham is a nasty piece of work, and he’s gotten away with far too much for far too long.” He cleared his throat. “I have an old classmate who works in the district attorney’s office. I hope to see him tomorrow.”
Rich signaled their server to come take their order. “Does Elizabeth know what you’re doing?”
“She wouldn’t accept my help.” Darcy gave the menu a cursory glance. “And the last thing I want is for her to know I had any involvement.”
“She seems a bit too smart to believe in serendipity.” He ordered steak tartare and waited for Darcy to decide on the salmon. “Isn’t she?”
For the first time that evening, Darcy smiled. “Far too smart. That’s why you’ll take the credit.”
His incredulous guffaw prompted Darcy to shrug and remind him who had hosted Elizabeth in the Yankees box. “You work at the UN. You can finesse this.”
Rich buttered a bit of bread and popped it in his mouth. “You have an interesting approach to getting a woman to fall in love with you, man.”
Darcy frowned. “I’ve already mucked that up, haven’t I?” He ran a hand across his face and rubbed his unshaven chin. “I’ve accepted that the odds are slim for her to reciprocate my feelings, but I can at least make her happy professionally.”
Rich stared at him, opened his mouth, and shut it. After a moment, he spoke up. “I think I need another drink.”
By midafternoon on Tuesday, Elizabeth had decided that Wisconsin was the nicest state in the country, at least if everyone there was like thesweetly hilarious seventeen-year-old brother of the speed skater she’d just landed for the book. The goofy kid who’d answered the phone was a soccer fan who enjoyed talking about the nationally ranked University of Meryton program, and he had been more than happy to provide his sister’s phone number, quickly texting her about her chance to appear in such a “way cool” book. After successfully vetting the skater and securing a meeting, Elizabeth’s next move was to research college gymnastics programs. Within an hour, she’d discovered a gold medalist from the former Soviet Union who now coached at a small Midwestern college and was producing Division I champions. Two calls later, Tim the intern was checking background details, and she was on her computer booking a flight for Chicago, renting a car, and digging up local photographers for the shoot. Though pleased with what she’d accomplished through her scrambling, Elizabeth knew the larger crisis had not been addressed. She’d lost her cover subject—her stars. She needed a superstar. Now.
She was jumpy from stress and worry and realized she hadn’t run since Saturday when she’d squeezed in a short, early outing at Pemberley. She changed into her running clothes, and she was tying her shoes when her phone rang—or rather, sang.Lydia strikes again. The girl liked to re-program ringtones on phones that did not belong to her.Who in hell was “Single Ladies”?Elizabeth glanced at the screen.Jane, of course. Only Lydia could be so obvious.
She let the call go to voicemail as she stared at the photo of Jane and Charles cuddling at the beach, which Lydia had set as Jane’s contact picture. Elizabeth clicked on photos, wondering what other treasures her stepsister might have left. The first image that appeared was a selfie of a vamping Lydia, followed by an unflattering shot of Mary with her mouth wide open as she bit into an ear of corn, her father snoring in a chaise lounge, Ava and Alex preening for the camera, and Caroline emerging from the bathroom makeup-free.
And then she came to Lydia’s crowning achievements of photographic stealth. Darcy, poolside, smiling at someone out of camera range. Darcy sitting next to Elizabeth, their heads bent together in conversation. Darcy bending over to pick up a fallen can.Nice zoom, nice bum.Elizabeth was both amused and horrified. Darcy lifting his glass in a toast to Jane and Charles. And finally, one of her distractedly gazing at Darcy as he looked off in the distance.
Oh God.
She stared, unsure whether to curse or bless the immaturity of thefugitive phone thief. She should delete them all. No, it was a gift horse; you didn’t look those in the mouth. Or whatever that meant.
Her phone. Thank God he hadn’t seen these pictures.She felt awful for snapping at him in the car. He hadn’t deserved that, not after he’d been so thoughtful, kind, and solicitous of her feelings when all hell broke loose. She could offer the weak excuse that she was groggy and panicked when she couldn’t find her phone—her lifeline to work and this stupid crisis she’d embroiled herself in.He was just being nice.Jane would have gone even further and turned it off, and I wouldn’t have yelled at her.
Her phone chirped. Jane had left a long voicemail.
“Hi! Charles and I are on our way home. We missed you. It was a lot less fun after you and Fitzwilliam left. Especially for Caroline. Oh myGod,I have to tell you about her and Lydia! Those two have claws… But later, I’ll tell you later. I’m worried about you. Is everything okay with the book? How did your meeting go with Mr. Philips? Charles and I want to help, sweetie. Call me. We’ll be back in the city around six, and I can come home tonight if you need me. Let me know. Call me back ASAP!”
Elizabeth tapped the screen, took a breath, and headed out the door. She needed to clear her head.
As she ran, her mind kept reaching back to the weekend. She hadn’t really let herself think about Darcy and the time she’d spent near him. She’d arrived back home on autopilot, caring about nothing but saving her project, her name, and her company. Now, while it wasn’t fixed, it might be salvageable.
Her thoughts drifted to what her father had said to Darcy about attending the UM game, mocking him as she had once done. The man she’d met that October day, wearing gloomy black clothes, enveloped in a gloomy black mood, and who had frozen when she’d touched his cuffs, was not the same man who crouched in the sand to show a six-year-old boy how to use a metal detector. Not the same man who debated the finer points of Tolkien with Mary or discussed naval history with Uncle Joe. Not the same man who reached for her hand when she was in tears. She realized, as she turned another corner and headed back to her apartment, that she’d never really known him at all until last weekend.
Two weekends. She’d spent two weekends in his company, a few dinners and parties, and a football game. And he’d fallen in love with her before they’d even sat down and talked, as they had last weekend,or spent time together learning about each other’s lives and likes, histories and personalities. Apparently, he’d learned enough about her at Netherfield—and told her enough about himself—to light the spark between them. She’d thought it was irritation she’d felt, but it turned out to be some kind of slow burn.
