Beginning, Section II, Next Section
"What are you doing here?" She asked, feeling each word lodge in her throat like a bitter pill before the dropped out of her mouth into the night. The dream she'd had about him came rushing back and she wondered what his hands would feel like on the small of her back.
"All work and no play would make me a very dull boy indeed, Miss Bennet," he replied, taking a nonchalant sip of Scotch neat.
She took a deep breath to steady herself, feeling a bit of Madame Impervious' cool demeanor slip in. Her eyebrow slipped up in a perfect arch, silently demanding that he tell her the truth of his sudden appearance. In return, a lopsided grin spread over his face while his brown eyes glittered mischievously in the moonlight.
It was the same grin from the dream. She felt her heart skip a beat. For a moment, she wanted to pitch herself into his arms and taste his lips. Her mind searched for viable excuses of mistaken identity that she could use and came up with none. She bit the inside of her lip, letting the pain keep her focused.
"My sister, Georgiana, has photos in the show."
"Small world," Elizabeth replied. "My sister's best friend runs this gallery."
"Ah, yes. She of the Blue Hair. Miss O'Connor has quite an eye for the unusual."
Elizabeth shrugged and turned to look back over the city. She couldn't look at him much longer. If she did, she would either have to resign the job because of sexually harassing the boss or go mad. Neither option looked pleasant.
"Lovely up here, isn't it?" He leaned over the railing to gaze along side her. "When I see the city like this I'm reminded of how very old she is and how much has happened here."
"Me too. I love this city," she added quietly. "She never tires. She never fails to surprise me."
"I wouldn't have thought you would be one to enjoy surprises, Elizabeth."
"I don't. Not normally."
"You are such a puzzle. Just when I think I'm getting to know a bit of you, I find out something about you that I never would have figured."
"I hope you don't expect me to apologize for that," she said, her voice crisp like an autumn leaf. "I don't pretend to be simple or complex. I don't pretend at all. I would wager a guess that neither of us perform to strangers."
He chuckled. "Quite right, madame. I see people tip-toeing around me day after day because they want something from me. Money, time, fame. It's all the same. I came to the conclusion a long time ago that if people couldn't show me their real faces they wouldn't get a false one from me. I don't have the time or inclination to play games."
Elizabeth looked at him out of the corner of her eye as they stood leaning on the high balcony. She was just as surprised as he was by the giggle that escaped from her and peeled off into the night.
"What?" He asked.
"Well, I expected to see bizarre art, have a couple glasses of wine, and maybe chat with somebody who never quite got over the loss of Sid Vicious, but never did I expect to hear heartfelt confessions of a billionaire on the balcony tonight."
They stared at each other for a moment, some quiet understanding passing between them, then laughed again.
"You know, you're right. Why is it there are some people you can just meet and feel comfortable with right away?"
"I don't know, William." She titled her head back to take in the last of the wine and stumbled as a wave of dizziness washed over her.
In less than a second, she felt his arms wrap around her to steady her as she leaned against his chest. Quickly, she gained her bearings and pulled away from him. He held out his hand, shadowing her until he was sure.
"Elizabeth, are you all right?" He touched her shoulder again, feeling how small it was beneath his hand. He watched as her cheeks fired to a bright red and, without thinking, his put the back of his other hand against her forehead. Heat seemed to radiate from her as if she were burning from the inside out. He pulled the hands away slowly like he wasn't sure if she'd burned him of not.
She leaned against the balcony and closed her eyes. For a moment, he was bewildered. Why did he feel so protective of this woman when just over a month ago he disliked her? Why did he think about her when she wasn't around? Something about her tugged at the corners of his mind.
"Too much wine," she whispered. It was a lie. Annabel had always accused her of being a terrible liar. She hoped that this one time she could manage it gracefully.
"Perhaps I should take you home," William suggested. "It would be my pleasure and a legitimate excuse to escape the ashes."
She blinked at him quizzically. "The what?"
"Artists of SoHo. ASH's. I've never been a big fan of modern art and these people are ripe with it."
"I don't mind it, but I really am only here for Katey. She couldn't find a date and didn't want to walk in alone. If you want to make an escape, I'm ready now," she added, pushing away from the railing slowly and taking a couple of steps. She wondered fibbing could be a talent that grew as one aged because she was pulling it off nicely.
They found Kate and after a quick introduction, Elizabeth informed her that she was leaving with William. The look on Kate's face indicated that Lydia had not bothered to keep her promise and told Kate everything Elizabeth had made her swear not to tell. Elizabeth made a mental note to never confide in Lydia again for any reason.
When they stepped outside, William helped her with her sweater as a valet brought a custom built BMW Z3 roadster to a stop before them. In the moonlight it gleamed a sharp gun-metal grey. The engine hummed as if it were happy to be alive.
The valet got out of the car and looked at it like a man in love then started around the car to open the door for Elizabeth. William waved him away, handed him a generous tip, and handed her into the car himself.
She inhaled the scent of the leather on the inside as he walked around and slid inside.
"What happened to the Humvee?" She asked. On their third trip to Pemberley, he had finally driven. She had gasped in horror at the huge "sport utility semi" and the way he drove it in the city. She had said that if it were allowed, he simply would have driven over anything in his path including infants, old ladies, and kittens.
"You never drive like this when you drive Addie," she had remarked.
"Addie wouldn't let me drive over infants, old ladies, or kittens. I don't feel aggressive when I drive Addie."
She had snorted. "Well, don't think, sir, that I shall ever part with her."
Now he stared at over across the small space. "You said you'd never let me have Addie and I'm very good friends with the CEO of BMW. I ordered this after that first ride."
Elizabeth's jaw fell open as she gazed around the interior. The material beneath her fingers was the softest kid leather she'd ever felt in her life and the dash was trimmed with real cherry wood. He put his index finger under her chin and pushed her mouth closed. He leaned into her so that he was close to her ear.
"Wanna drive?"
Her mouth and lips were suddenly very dry. She tried to swallow, but there was nothing to swallow.
"This car must have cost a fortune," she whispered.
"I'll never tell."
He looked at her expectantly and she shook her head. She would be too afraid to wreck a car like this.
"What if we take her out of the city?" William asked. He could feel her excitement. This was something they shared, this love of freedom brought on by speed. He wanted to return the favor of driving Addie those many times they'd gone to Pemberley since that first day. He suspected (correctly) that nobody else was allowed to drive her. "Please, Elizabeth."
Inhaling slowly, she shook her head. "But I've had too much wine."
"You're a bloody liar. You were playing coy to get out of that party." he scoffed. "Elizabeth, drive her and then help me name her."
She looked at him. He never took his eyes of the road. With a quick glance at her surroundings, she could tell they were headed out of London anyway. Elizabeth leaned into the plush seat and nodded.
"Since you're kidnapping me, I suppose I don't really have much of a choice," she muttered, "But only after we get out of the city."
William gave her a smile and his heart yelped in victory.
Her red hair whipped around her face like frothy bits of flame. She didn't have a scarf or ribbon to tie her hair back from her face. The moment they had hit the open road, William had taken the top down against Elizabeth's vehement protests. After a while, she just gave up the fight of trying to hold her mass of curls and let the wind snap away.
William marveled at the way she faced the road head-on. He was sure that the top would have gone up when she took the wheel, but it had stayed down. She had one had lazily on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, which was very close to his knee.
She stared straight ahead, taking a curve at fifty, expertly guiding the car to hug the pavement. "She drives like a dream."
"Yes," William replied. He couldn't take his eyes off her.
Neither of them noticed that they were driving toward Pemberley. It was a route they had taken so often that to go anyplace else seemed unnatural. In the month that they'd been working together, William had made every effort to go to Pemberley whenever Elizabeth had deemed it necessary to go. On one of the first Pemberley excursions, they had found the hideous settee that she adored and insisted belonged in the east morning room. He had started to argue with her, but when he saw the look on her dust-smudged face, he couldn't say no.
In the subsequent trips, he had made excuses to go with her and ignored the ever-present sarcasm in Laurelen's voice with each "clear my calendar" order he gave her. Elizabeth didn't treat him like she wanted something from him. In fact, he got absolutely no special treatment from her at all. She would scold him for being short at a restaurant where they stopped for lunch without thinking he would fire her. She didn't let him have his way in everything, like the settee. Mostly, he was happy because he felt Elizabeth genuinely enjoyed his company.
When thinking how easy things were with Elizabeth, though, his thought inevitably turned to Clara. Things were definitely not easy with Clara. Since that night in her office, he'd said no more than a few sentences to her. They had continued to pass each other like strangers, though they shared a bed. She kept to her habit of writing at night and sleeping during the day, something that he'd been only vaguely aware of when she'd lived in her flat.
Richard had been right in guessing that Clara's move was financial. He last book had not done nearly as well as she'd hoped and the advance that her publisher gave her was paltry compared to the one she'd received previously. Her father, never very impressed with her, had kept her allowance the same as it had been when she'd been at school, apparently thinking that what had covered dates with girlfriends and outings to the movies was sufficient for an adult living on her own.
It had taken major convincing on William's part to get Clara to see that living with him and Georgiana would be the most plausible course of action, but now, with all the distance between them, William was beginning to think that his begging had been a mistake.
He loved her. He couldn't remember a time in his life when he hadn't. She'd had her endearments back when they were in school, but things were different now. She didn't make his pulse race or his heart pound. The thought of her didn't inspire him anymore.
And when he thought of inspiration, he thought more and more about Elizabeth Bennet. She was lively where Clara was dull. She was brash where Clara was sensible. She was there when Clara wasn't. And, he'd found recently, that more often than not, Clara wasn't there at all.
"Guinivere?" Elizabeth asked.
"Pardon?" William shook his head clear.
"It helps, William, in a conversation if you pay attention," she smirked. "I suggested Guinivere."
"Doesn't seem quite right."
She rounded another curve and sped up to take a fifteen mile straight-away. They'd only seen one other car out on the road and that had been ages ago. The speedometer needle tickled eighty. William's tie fell victim to the speed and thrashed about his neck. He loosened it and slipped it off, shoving it into the glove compartment.
Suddenly, Elizabeth hit the break and veered off the side of the road onto a grassy patch. The roadster slid along the grass, stopping after a few seconds.
"What the bloody he*l?" William demanded, twisting to see if there was anything in the road.
Elizabeth jerked the car into park and fumbled out of the car.
"Oh, sweet Jesus," she cried and rushed back to the road. "I thought I missed it."
William pulled himself out and saw the deer lying mangled on the road. He hadn't felt any kind of impact with the vehicle so he returned to the car and inspected it.
"You didn't hit it," he called to her after looking over the front of the car. There wasn't even a scratch on it. He joined her at the side of the road. "It must have already been injured."
Her bottom lip trembled. "I can't tell if it's dead or not."
"I don't see it breathing."
"We can't leave it out there in the road like that."
William could tell by the sound of her voice that she was crying. He glanced at her and her tears glittered as they rolled down her cheeks. Even in her sorrow for an animal that she didn't harm, she amazed him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she buried her face while she sniffled.
After a few minutes, they checked the deer again and found that, indeed, it was dead. It had been hit much earlier in the evening, but the injuries had been internal. There was no blood other than a tiny bit on its nose.
"The people who hit it must have damaged their car," Elizabeth said. She had tried to help William pull the carcass to the side of the road, but he wouldn't hear of it. Not when she whimpered every time she looked at it.
Several minutes later, William returned to her side, sweaty and smelling of the animal. They both looked at the car and thought the same thing.
"Wouldn't do to replace new car scent with dead deer," William muttered. He opened the trunk and pulled out a blanket. Elizabeth followed him as he walked in the opposite direction of the corpse and the car. He spread the blanket down on the ground then sat down. "Perhaps I can air out."
They settled onto the blanket, with Elizabeth upwind. The car was in view, but the deer, thankfully, was not.
"I'm sorry about that. I just didn't want to hurt it."
"Elizabeth, it's fine. We're okay, and I heard you say a prayer for the deer."
"Silly, isn't it?"
"Not silly. Sweet."
She looked away from him. "It's just ever since my parents died, death bothers me a lot more than it used to. I'm overly sensitive about death."
"I wouldn't say that," William said, hoping his voice sounded comforting.
"Advertisements on the telly bother me. I can cry at the drop of a hat, William." Her tone was bitter and unhappy.
"That doesn't make you a bad person, Elizabeth. It just makes you human. My mother died when Georgie was three. She doesn't have many memories of Mum, but she feels her absence acutely. When Father died, our lives stopped for awhile. We both shut down.
"It's bizarre how things change when you realize that you're an orphan," he concluded.
She didn't say anything for a long time. As William lie back on the blanket he watched the stars while trying to ignore the shuddering in her shoulders that suggested she was crying again.
"I hate that word. That bloody word is horrible," she spat finally.
Tentatively, he put his hand on her back, rubbing it, to comfort her. To his surprise, she let him. Moments later, she turned to look at him.
The moon was getting lower in the sky and the stars were dim. He had a hard time making out anything on her face but the tear stains against her white cheeks. He brought his hand down to his stomach and stared up at her. Without a thought, he put his hand behind her neck and pulled her down.
Their lips met softly, not quite sure that what was happening was real or right then any care about that seemed to slip quickly out the back door so as not to blamed later for any fallout which might occur. His grip on the nape of her neck tighten and crushed her mouth to his.
She tasted sweet, like milk and honey, and he filled his lungs with the scent of her. She was a dream that he'd be willing to stay asleep for the rest of his life. This was what he was missing in his life. This passion that was awakening inside him because of her nearness. This raw need for adventure that only seemed real when Elizabeth was there.
He could feel her pulse pound like mad beneath her skin as she nibbled at his lip. This kiss was real. There was something happening between them that couldn't be denied.
Gasping, Elizabeth pulled away.
"What?" William asked, suddenly concerned that he'd crossed a line that shouldn't have been crossed.
"We can't. I can't. You have Clara at home and I'm working for you. There are so many reasons why we can't and very few reasons why we could."
She stared at him, her eyes close enough to his to see the longing she held behind them. She touched his cheek softly and stood.
"I think we should probably get back to town. And it would probably be wise if you called Maddy Avery in the morning," she whispered and started for the car.
"Elizabeth, wait."
The tall, dry meadow grass seemed to part before her, trying to avoid the crush of each rapid step she took away from him. She didn't stop at the sound of his voice, but kept walking, perhaps even a little more quickly. It was like she was trying to walk to another world where the beautiful, passionate moment they shared could be erased, forgotten with a wave of her elegant hand.
He couldn't bear the thought of that.
"Elizabeth!" He called again, not caring that desperation seeped into his voice.
Her stride never even faltered.
William snatched up the blanket that they had been lying on not so very long ago. Suddenly, he felt anger boil up inside. Couldn't she have the common courtesy to listen to him? Couldn't she swallow her wounded pride just long enough to let him tell her what he wanted? He ran, catching up with her just as she made it to the car. Before she could open the door, he was standing in front of it, blocking her way.
"William," she whispered, her voice shaking. Then she repeated his name. Her voice was stronger and decidedly cooler than the kiss they had just shared. "Please get out of my way."
"Never."
She broke eye contact with him and seemed to stare at his ear for a very long time. She closed her eyes and sucked in a slow, shaking breath. This couldn't be happening. Elizabeth Bennet was more professional than this, more refined. How could she have allowed herself such a lapse in judgment? When she opened her eyes again, the answer, with his dark, piercing eyes and rich, chocolate curls, was standing before her. His arms hung at his sides, giving the impression that he was relaxed, but she could nearly smell the tension wafting from him. (Or was that deer?)
Elizabeth sniggered at the little joke, but quickly stopped when she saw that her companion was not amused.
"How can you walk away from me like that?" He demanded. "In case you didn't notice, I kissed you."
"Yes, you did. That doesn't matter, though, William. In fact, it makes it worse."
The confusion swept over his face like wind over dusty ground. She choked down the lump that seemed lodged in her throat. She didn't want to hurt him. God, that was the last thing she wanted to do. It didn't matter that she wanted to press her lips against his until they bruised, or feel the stubble beneath her fingertips as she held his face. It didn't matter that she wanted to know what it was like to wake up in his arms. It didn't matter, because she couldn't have it.
"William," she whispered as she felt tears moisten her eyes. "Clara."
He looked sick, like somebody had delivered a sharp blow to his stomach. He had forgotten Clara. Not just disregarded her or acted out of selfishness because of the way Elizabeth made him feel, but he had forgotten her like she was a ghost from a life that he'd lived ages ago instead of just that morning.
"Jesus, what you must think of me," he muttered, the self-disgust evident on his face. "I'm a scoundrel."
"No, you're not. People make mistakes. That's what this was. A momentary lapse in judgment."
It didn't feel like a mistake or lapse in judgment to either of them, though. It felt natural and right and good. It felt like it was meant to be. Something meant to be that couldn't be.
He put his hands on her shoulders and something flared between them again. She tried to squirm away, but he held firm.
"This job is too big for you to quit. I won't let you walk away from this, Elizabeth," he said, the tone of his voice ardent and determined. "I know what Pemberley means to you, professionally and personally. You love it. I want somebody who loves it to do the job."
"Sir-"
"No. You are not allowed to revert to that. Nothing has changed."
But it had, she wanted to protest. Everything had changed now.
"William, how-"
He cut her off again with a finger to the lips. He pulled away quickly as if touching her mouth burned him and let the hand return to her shoulder. Perhaps it had. William shook his head, partially to clear away the thoughts that were invading it and partially to keep her silent.
"Please. Elizabeth, I am begging you. Stay on. Not for my sake, but for Pemberley and yourself. Tongues will wag because people will want to know why you left me- I mean- the job." He cursed himself for the slip he made and continued quickly trying to recover. "It will damage your reputation as an architect and designer if you just hand the project over to Madeleine Avery or anybody else.
"I can't let that happen. Not when I have the power to stop it," he finished. He let go of her shoulders and took a step back.
"How do you propose to finish this project then? We can't work together now." She looked at the ground as she said the last bit, trying to blink back tears.
He noticed the sadness in her voice. This was all his fault. If he were more noble, more dedicated to the woman at home who loved him, this mess would never have happened. But, part of him was glad he had kissed her, glad he had tasted what her bow of a mouth was like beneath his own lips.
"Georgie. My sister can supervise you."
"Isn't she planning a wedding? Won't she be busy?" Elizabeth asked, her voice tiny.
"I trust your judgment. Georgie will just be a go-between. If there are any major things you need, go to George and she'll take care of it. Okay?"
Elizabeth nodded silently. Inside her chest her heart hurt, ached with all that could never be. All she wanted now was to go home and cry. Cry for all the pain in her heart and the way her lips held on to the memory of how his felt. Cry for being stupid enough to fall in love with a man whose heart belonged to another. Cry for allowing him to know her in a way that nobody had known her since- well, since a long time ago. And she didn't want to think of that right then. She had to digest this new hurt before she relived the old pain again.
They stared at each other another moment and got into the beautiful car which now housed their grief and their dirty, little secret.
When he finally pulled into the garage of the townhouse, William Darcy sat in the stuffy, inky blackness for a long time after he'd turned the car off. He didn't want to go into the house and hear the distant click, click, click of computer keys as Clara worked through another night away from him.
He had forgotten her and he had almost completely lost Elizabeth from his life. He knew which was worse, but to admit that it was losing Elizabeth made him feel even more like a cad. He had to admit to himself, then, that Elizabeth, or pursuing what might be with her, had come to mean more to him than extolling the great effort of loving Clara.
"I shouldn't have to work so damn hard at loving somebody," he muttered into his audience of shadows. "It shouldn't be so bloody one-sided, right?"
The shadows didn't answer him. He fancied that they thought him crazy (he felt mad for talking to shadows, anyway) so he didn't deserve their council. He banged his hand against the steering wheel hard enough to make him flinch in pain.
He recalled the pinched looked on Elizabeth's face during their long, silent, torturous drive back to London. She fought tears all the way to her curb. When she looked at him, they were shining bright in her eyes.
"Good-bye, William," she had whispered. It felt like she was saying good-bye forever.
The bitterness rose in his throat. He barely made it out of the garage and into the small bathroom off the kitchen when he vomitted. There wasn't even time to turn on a light.
After he was through, William stood before the sink. He flipped on the light and saw his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were tired and red, his hair was considerably mussed. He looked like a man who had been out catting around. He looked guilty.
And there was a faint stain of Elizabeth's dark rose colored lipstick on his mouth. He touched the trace of color and wanted her so badly his whole body shuddered at the thought. He felt guilty.
She was a grand idea, a vast sweeping dream. William wanted to throw his loyalty to Clara aside and pursue the future he suspected was there with Elizabeth, but he had to make sure that this was more than just desire. More than just wanting to touch her and look at her. More than him just being a man with an itch to scratch while his lover neglected him. He wasn't sure how he was going to do it, but William Darcy determined to find out if he was in love with Elizabeth Bennet.
And, if he was, just what was he prepared to do about it?
"She's been so sad lately. I have no idea what's bothering her," Lydia said to Jane as the elder Miss Bennet worked on her needlepoint. "She goes to work in the morning like a zombie and comes home looking as if she's sobbed all day long. Not to mention she reeks of cabernet."
"Perhaps she's trying to become Bridget Jones," Jane suggested, pulling a stitch through the cloth.
"Janey, that isn't funny. I'm serious," Lydia placed the book she'd been reading in her lap and stared into the small flames that licked the firebox. They held her gaze for a long time as she thought about all the moments she'd spent in this room throughout her short life.
This chair had been Thom Bennet's chair. The blue and green plaid cloth on it was worn and beginning to fade. Jane had thought about reupholstering it, but Lydia had begged her not to. Sometimes, she imagined, she could still catch a bit of her father's scent from the chair; the way the aroma of his pipe hung in the air or the smell of his after-shave. It was the place he sat every evening, asking his five girls how their days had gone. Inevitably, she and Elizabeth would end up sitting at his feet.
Jane had gotten the house after the accident. Elizabeth had had no objections as she'd wanted to be as far away from those memories as possible. At first, she'd even been hard-pressed to accept Addie. And, while Elizabeth now drove Addie as a way to honor her father, she very rarely visited the home she'd known as a child. In fact, Lydia had literally dragged her to the last Christmas dinner the sisters had gathered for. She'd not been back since.
Lydia, on the other hand, was always happy to spend time at Longbourn. Visits with Jane and Kate were always happy for her. She took delight in learning the goings-on of the neighbourhood, and was glad, deep in her heart, to know that there was a place she could always call home. And home was a place where her mother and father's memory still thrived.
Jane set aside her needlework to give her full attention to Lydia. She missed Elizabeth, sometimes desperately, but she was over the "trying to help her mend" phase. She was a firm believer in the old adage that you can only help one who is willing to help herself. Since Thom and Franny's death, Jane and Elizabeth had led separate lives. There was no animosity, at least none on Jane's behalf, but the sisters were not nearly as close as they had once been.
In a way, Jane was jealous of Lydia's relationship with Elizabeth. She also envied Elizabeth's life in the city, which seemed glamorous compared to her own life as a teacher in the country. But, Jane mused, these were the lives the Bennet girls had chosen, if only with a little help from fate, and it was too late to trade up now.
"What would you have me do, Lyddy?"
"I don't know. Talk to her? You used to talk all the time...before."
Jane bit her lip. "I know."
"She'd just tell me not to worry, but I can't help it. When she does manage to fall asleep, she wakes up screaming. However, she sleeps less and less. How can I not worry, Jane?"
"Lizzy hasn't really slept well since Mum and Dad's accident."
"And since school," Lydia added.
"A lesser person might have chucked it all and given up," Jane said. She'd always been astounded by the quiet inner strength her younger sister had had. When the events at school occurred right after their parents' death, Jane had watched Elizabeth closely.
"Not Lizzy," Lydia replied, rubbing her eyes with one hand. She felt much too young to be having such a serious discussion. She wished, not for the first time, that her parents were around and that she could be a normal teenager who was crazy about boys and dreaming about the future. Not that she would have, but she still would have liked the option to be open.
"I'll talk to her Sunday then when I drop you home."
Lydia smiled at Jane. "Thank you. You're the best Janey ever."
The note the Elizabeth had left on the counter for Lydia told her not to wait up for her, she would be at her office late. Jane knew that Elizabeth spent more hours there than she did at home and she worried about how it affected Lydia. Lydia seemed fine and happy and she maintained excellent marks in school, but Jane sometimes wondered if Lydia needed more.
She held her tongue, though. There was no need to start arguing over the situation. Yet.
"You'll still talk to her, won't you?" Lydia asked, her voice worried. Jane was reminded of how very young her baby sister still was.
"Yes, I'll go to the office."
Lydia returned the favor with a hug. She just wanted things to be normal again. She'd heard the sobs coming from Elizabeth's room late at night and decided that she couldn't not do anything. If she had the power to help, then she would. Regardless, of how angry Elizabeth, independent, proud Elizabeth, would get.
The atmosphere in the flat that she shared with her sister was as sorrow-filled and black as it had been at Longbourn just after the accident. Not only was that bad for Elizabeth, it was bad for Lydia. She didn't want to walk around like she was on eggshells anymore. She couldn't. And she didn't want to leave Elizabeth alone in her present state, but if she couldn't be talked to, Lydia would return to Longbourn in a heartbeat.
The Bennet girls had each dealt with their grief in their own way. Jane had kept her head about her to take care of the business of putting her parents to rest, but had raged violently in private. Elizabeth, by far being the most contained yet most passionate of the five girls, raged openly, spending several weeks nursing a bottle of brandy.
Mary, on the other hand, gave Elizabeth reproach for her vile and irresponsible ways while delivering mind-boggling theological rants, much to the dismay of her sober sisters. Kate immersed herself in her art and churned out several paintings, all depressing.
The most desperate grief, however, belonged to Lydia, who watched her family shatter from afar and was powerless to stop it. She observed the bond between Jane and Elizabeth evaporate like a rain on pavement after the sun returns. She saw Mary, who was never very close to begin with, drift ever-further away. She witnessed Kate, newly minted as an individual after testing so many identities, trying to find
her new place in a new world. She was a quiet witness to her personal apocalypse and there was nothing to be done about it.
Now she saw the signs of grief in Elizabeth again. Elizabeth, whose torment had been the toughest to watch, was teetering on the edge yet again, but, this time, Lydia had no idea why.
She walked Jane to the door and saw her out. As her sister drove away, she offered up a prayer knowing that Jane was going to need all the help she could get.
Elizabeth's office was dim. Jane peered into the room, looking for any sign of her sister. She saw stacks of paper, fuzzy and grey in the dark, piled on the worktables and patches of cloth lying about here and there. Knowing very little about the massive job that Lydia had excitedly told her about ages ago, Jane had to admit she was impressed by Elizabeth's undertaking.
"Lizzy!" She called.
There was no answer. She stepped further in, trying to adjust to the nearly non-existent light. She blinked.
"What are you doing here, Jane?" Elizabeth asked. Her speech ran together in a rapid mumble.
Jane jumped at the sound of the voice that barely sounded like that of Elizabeth. She walked in the direction of the question and finally saw Elizabeth. She was sprawled in a dark, overstuffed chair with a wine glass in one hand and a huge bottle in the other. Cabernet indeed.
Her skin shimmered a grim white in the darkness. She was dressed in a dark tank top and loose khaki pants and her feet were bare. Even without light, Jane could see that Elizabeth was staring at her with the same disturbing, empty look she'd had after the accident and after Annabel left, a look that whispered to the world that she had died inside and was waiting for her body to follow suit.
"What are you doing here?" She repeated. Her voice sounded like a snarl. "I'm in no mood for Jane Bennet heroics."
Jane felt tears sting at her eyes. Even at her worst, Elizabeth had never been like this. She had never been mean for the sake of being mean.
"Lyddy was worried about you. She asked me to talk to you because you've been moping about for a couple of weeks."
"Oh, really?" Elizabeth drawled.
"Lizzy, you look terrible. What's wrong?"
"Why should anything be wrong, dear sister? Because things have certainly always gone right for me? Is that it? Because Lizzy Bennet, daughter of Thom and Franny, who were inconsiderate enough to die on me, leads a charmed life, free of worry?"
"Lizzy, I didn't mean-"
"What didn't you mean, Jane?" The bottle slipped from her hand and landed on the hardwood floor with a heavy thud. Nothing splashed out. The bottle was dry.
"Stop it! This isn't you, Lizzy!" Jane cried.
"How the hell would you know? You're not around anymore. You've better things to do than call on Lyddy and me. You're mistress of the manor now." There was such bitterness, such venom in her voice that Jane took a step back. "You're off living like a princess in Mummy and Daddy's house. It doesn't even feel like home anymore."
"Liz-Elizabeth. I-I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt that way."
"For God's sake, Jane, we all feel that way!"
Jane felt something swell inside her. Anger, sorrow, confusion. It was all there. She knew she had to leave before she said something she would regret, something that could never be taken back. She couldn't fall back on drinking as an excuse to behave abominably like Elizabeth could. It would be best to hold her tongue. Throwing a glance at Elizabeth, Jane turned to leave. She hadn't gotten more than two steps when Elizabeth's voice, no longer vehement but full of grief, stopped her.
"I kissed my boss. I'm in love with him, but he has a lover. She lives with him."
Jane faced her again. "And that's what's so bad? That's the reason you've turned into death on a stick?"
Elizabeth shuddered and started crying, which gave Jane cause to feel like a complete and utter heel. At first, it was just soft whimpering but it gained momentum quickly and, then, her whole body was wracked with gut-wrenching sobs. Jane led her to the bathroom and wiped her face as Elizabeth keened for some lost soul.
When she finally began to calm, Jane took her face in her hands and looked into her puffy, red eyes.
"Lizzy, what's all this about?"
"The day after I kissed William I got a phone call from George."
"Wickham? George Wickham?" Jane asked, incredulous. Nobody, even Mary, had spoken George's name in Elizabeth's presence since Annabel had left.
"Yes, Jane," she whispered, her voice trembling as the tears began to well again. "She's dead. Annabel's dead."
"Oh, God," Jane breathed.
"All those times I meant to call her, to tell her that I truly wanted them to be happy. I'll never get that chance now."
Jane gathered her sagging sister in her arms as a whole new wave a tears splashed forth. Annabel Wickham was dead and all Jane could do now was wait.
George Wickham had become a zombie. He felt like the skin he was wearing was not his own. Surely, smart, confident George Wickham didn't belong in this husk that seemed to fit very ill. His mind spun with the nonsense of it all then stopped quickly when it understood that it wasn't nonsense but fact. It was worse when he looked at Elie, a small but exact replica of Annabel with her ink black hair and sharp blue eyes. He knew that he should be strong for her, take care of her, because he was all she had left in the world.
How could he do that, though, when the mere sight of her felt like a tidal wave breaking right over his head to drown him in a fresh wave of pain and grief? How could he continue when she looked at him through her mother's eyes?
She was too young to understand why her mother wasn't going to ever come home or why her father's heart broke with every word she uttered. Elizabeth Lee Wickham only knew that suddenly Mummy was gone and Daddy was very sad and that she couldn't fix it because he looked hurt when he looked at her.
George's best friend, Neil, had taken care of everything in the last two weeks. From funeral arrangements to travel arrangements, Neil and his wife, Ivy, had put their lives on hold for George Wickham's family. They planned to attend the funeral, but had to catch a later flight. So now, George and Elie were on their way to London from Upstate New York.
He had never thought his daughter's first trip to his homeland would be to bury her mother.
She slept in the seat beside him, oblivious to how dire her father's state was. She looked peaceful and it sent shards of ice through George's heart when he thought that his wife would have the same expression on her lovely countenance for the rest of eternity.
"Jesus, George, get a grip," he snapped to himself, trying to put himself in his daughter's place. "She doesn't realize that this is how it's going to be for the rest of her life."
He had to forget about Annabel for a moment. He had to forget that he'd never hear her tinkling laugh again or see the way her pixie nose would crinkle when he cooked bratwurst or a million other things that he loved about her. Instead, George tried to focus on what it would be like to be home.
Home. Such a strange word now that England wasn't really home anymore. They'd been happy in the States. George owned his own construction company and Annabel had chucked her degree in favor of starting a catering business. She'd loved it and worked until Elie had been born. That was when Annabel discovered her true calling in life was motherhood.
They were living the American dream complete with dog (Snyder) and cat (Boots) in their own home in a quiet neighbourhood. There were pretty flowerbeds that dusted the lawn like bright squares of silk and two cars in the garage. They had a family room full of photos and VHS movies and a kitchen with matching canisters. They had two bathrooms and a sign that said "The Wickhams" on the front door. Life was as near to perfect as two people could get.
They had Neil and Ivy, who were like family and dozens of friends that they loved.
But for all that they had, something was missing from their lives as surely as it was a given that the paperboy would inevitably throw the paper beneath the rosebush. George and Annabel didn't speak of it often, perhaps not even at all, but it was always there.
Elizabeth was missing from the equation.
In school, the three of them had been inseparable. Where there was one, the other two would eventually appear. It never occurred to anybody, especially George and Annabel, that it would ever be any different. They had assumed that after college they would move to a suburb of London and Elizabeth would marry and live on the same block and they would spend evenings going to dinner and when they got older they would play bridge.
Then Elizabeth's parents were killed in a plane crash and things quickly went to hell in a handbasket. Elizabeth, in her grief, suddenly realized how short life was and that George had no idea that she was in love with him. The problem with that, though, was Annabel and George had recently discovered their mutual admiration to one another. They had been one precisely one real date and Elizabeth, in her grief and anger, sulked away like a beat dog.
She seemed to avoid them as best she could after that even when they tried to help her with what they thought were emotions brought about her parents' deaths. She wouldn't talk to them or hang out with them. Except for the last "coffee cram" before graduation, Elizabeth Bennet had become a rare sight for her two best friends.
Right after graduation and Annabel's rash acceptance speech, Elizabeth disappeared altogether. For three weeks they heard nary a word. It was as if she'd fallen off the face of the planet. Jane wouldn't tell them where she was. She didn't answer when they called the new flat that she'd just moved into. Elizabeth was gone.
George caught her in pub one night as he happened by it. It was a rather seedy pub in a less than reputable neighbourhood. There was a record shop that George liked there though and the pub was not four doors away from it.
Through the window, he saw a large, burly man talking to her. He watched her repeated attempts to ignore him. Out of loyalty and love for his friend, George stalked inside to help Elizabeth.
"Liz!" He called. "Darling, I've looked all about for you!"
He noticed the visible cringe Elizabeth gave when her called her 'darling,' but didn't think much of it until later.
"Go away, George," she muttered. She downed a swallow of her Scotch neat.
Burly-man took this as his cue to act gallant. He stood up from his stool, his massive frame towering over George.
In the mirror behind the bar, George noticed that his normally radiant friend was a shadow of her former self. He couldn't believe he'd not noticed her appearance before, but then he reminded himself that he'd not really seen her in weeks. Dark circles had staked claim beneath her formerly sparkling eyes and her normally luminous skin had become dull and pasty.
"Lizzy, let me take you home. You shouldn't be here," George pleaded. He took a step closer and put a hand on her shoulder.
The concern in his voice made her look up from her drink. She began to cry then and started to remove herself from her own stool when Burly-man intervened on her behalf. At least, that's what he told the police later.
Even if now the scar above George's eye where the lout had struck him made for an interesting story at cocktail parties, the end result wasn't worth it. There had been no happy ending in the story.
That night, in the emergency room where George received seven stitches, Elizabeth confessed her love for George just as Annabel entered the room. An ugly fight ensued where orderlies were called and three friends' bond was undeniably damaged.
Elizabeth pretended to give them her blessing, but sat in the back pew of the church to make a quick escape instead of being Annabel's maid of honor. When the Wickhams left England for the States, Elizabeth was the only person who didn't call or come to see them off.
Despite her assurances that she wanted them to be happy, it became apparent to George and Annabel that she just didn't want them to be happy around her. So, after awhile Annabel stopped trying, but never stopped hoping.
Now it was too late.
"Daddy?" The single word snapped George from his thoughts.
"Yes, Spot?" George asked, using his pet name for his daughter.
"I think we're supposta get offta plane now," she stage whispered.
George looked around and saw that people were indeed leaving the aircraft. He undid Elie's seatbelt and gathered up his tiny doppleganger into his arms to begin the dreadful walk through the corridor to the terminal.
"Where are we going, Daddy?"
"We're in England now, Spot. Remember what I told you about England?"
"Princesses and villages and it's where your mummy and daddy live."
"Very good, my dear," he said, kissing her forehead. "And where Mummy's mummy and daddy live."
"Will they like me, Daddy?"
"They'd be fools if they didn't love you, Spot."
The little girl gave her father a smile and he felt his heart warm for the first time in weeks. He could see the gate coming up quickly and a few steps later, George Wickham and his daughter were officially home for a funeral.
His eyes scanned the terminal, wondering if his parents would meet him here. However, his eyes fell on the most unexpected sight. Elizabeth.
The moment he saw her he began walking, not even thinking about his parents or his luggage or the coffin being unloaded from the plane. He just wanted to be near somebody who understood his suffering.
Within moments, they were standing before one another and then they hugged, crushing Elie between them.
"Hey!" The girl wailed.
Elizabeth pulled back, staring at the child. It was uncanny how much she looked like her mother. They even had the same dimple. She took a moment to pity George for the paradoxical hell he would live taking care of a living portrait of the wife he'd loved so dearly.
"What are you doing here?"
"I called your parents to ask if there was anything I could do to help." She looked down at her shoes. George looked nearly the same as he had the last time she saw him. Maybe a little more grey and a few more lines, but his hair was still the rich brown-black and his eyes were still a clear (if a bit tear-stained) green. It was the face of her first love, a face she would always cherish.
"Thank you, Lizzy."
"George." It was all she could think to say. It was at that moment that every memory of Annabel chose to stampede through her brain. When the slideshow was over, she gave the remaining Wickhams a brief smile. She focused her gaze on the girl. "So, my dear, why don't you tell me your name."
"Lizardbreathly," the child replied promptly.
George shook his head, trying to stifle a smile. "What did your mother tell you about introducing yourself, miss?"
The young girl had the grace to look guilty. Then, in seconds, the confidence that was obviously a trait from Annabel surged forth. "Lizbiflee. That's my name."
"How funny," she managed, choking on the swell of a sob that formed in her throat. "Elizabeth is my name too."
She looked at George. She hadn't know they had named their daughter after her. Shame showed plainly on her face. The Wickhams' daughter was named for a friend they weren't even sure they had. Elizabeth knew that 'Lee' was for Annabel, who had been named after the poem by Poe. Two friends, separated by stupid, childish mistakes, were forever bound together in one's daughter. She drew a deep breath and managed to swallow the lump in her throat.
"Thank you, George."
They went for the bags and Elie gladly went to Elizabeth when George spotted their luggage. While he went to meet a bag coming off the belt, Elie studied Elizabeth.
"Are you going to be my mummy?"
Elizabeth shook off the shock when she remembered how very young Elie still was. "Heavens, no. I'm a friend. Nobody could ever replace your mummy."
"Good," Elie replied. "Any mummy of mine will have black hair."
Elizabeth didn't know what to say to that so she remained quiet. George returned with a baggage cart and they went directly to the lot. Elizabeth had asked Georgiana if she could borrow a company car to pick a friend up from the airport. She pointed out that their was hardly enough room in Addie for two people. With a smile, Georgiana asked if Elizabeth was sure she didn't need a bus.
The company car turned out to be a black Mercedes sedan. When George saw it he chuckled.
"You've done quite well, Lizzy."
"It's borrowed. I still drive Addie."
George nodded. They loaded the luggage and Elie into the car and didn't speak except to answer Elie's constant flow of questions from the back seat. As they drove to Wickham's parents' home, Elie seemed to require an explanation as to the breed of every cow they passed or the type of every blade of grass. By the time they reached Adam and Sydney Wickham's front door, Elizabeth's head was pounding.
Despite the family's grief, or perhaps, in part, of it, because of it, little Elie was swept away by her grandparents from the moment she entered the house. George retrieved aspirin for Elizabeth then fetched his bags.
After they were brought in, he found Elizabeth in the kitchen, sipping tea that Sydney had made. She wasn't sure how George's parents would react at seeing her again. They knew the reasons she hadn't been around and, she was sure, they thought that she saw Annabel's death as a convenient way to finally win their son's heart. They had been pleasant enough to her, but Elizabeth could tell they were wary of her.
"I want to thank you again."
"I needed to do it, George. For Belle. I was so horrid and I don't deserve to even be here right now."
"She always loved you, Lizzy. We both did."
"I couldn't see that then. There was so much going on inside me. I was drowning then and I couldn't save myself. How could I expect anybody else to?"
"She never gave up on you."
Elizabeth looked into her cup. "But I gave up on her. And you. And now she'll never know that I really did love her."
"She knew. Don't fool yourself for a moment. Annabel knew that you loved her, even if you couldn't show it."
Elizabeth smiled at him gratefully and stood. She walked over to him, standing before him, then put her hands on his face. "If you need anything, I'm here. Call me anytime. The number for my mobile is in your coat pocket. I can't make up the past, George, but I can do something about the present." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm truly sorry that she's gone."
"I know." He hugged her quickly in return then stood.
"I should get back. Lydia had a test today. I want to see how it went."
George walked her to the door. As her car drove away, he felt the tears sting his eyes again. Suffering his wife's death was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but lying to Elizabeth came a very close second.
Richard stared at William over the vast mahogany desk that separated them. William had been staring at the marketing report Richard had given him for nearly an hour without saying anything. Richard was glad to have the time to read through his newspaper and drink two cups of coffee, but now he was getting bored. Staring at William, he suddenly deduced, wasn't as much fun as it had been when they had been children. It had irritated William a lot more then.
However, Richard now had time to notice that the line's on his cousin's brow had deepened of late and his mouth seemed to have been specially fit with a rather uncomplimentary scowl. For some reason, out of the blue, pleasant, jovial William Darcy had become full of sour grapes.
"May I-" Richard began, removing his newspaper from his lap and placing it on the desk.
"No," William snapped, not breaking his gaze from the report he clutched in his hand.
"What? I was going to offer to get you some coffee. Might put some pep into that lethargic bum of yours."
"No. No coffee. No sandwiches. I'm perfectly content with my big glass of," he paused, looking at the glass on his desk, which was empty. "My big glass of nothing."
"Uh-huh. I see. Well, since you seem to have plenty of nothing, why don't you tell me why you've been skulking about like death on a stick for the last couple of weeks."
William rolled his eyes.
"Not getting any action, eh?" Richard asked, winking. A lopsided, lecherous grin broke out over face.
"You're impossible," William muttered. He threw down the report and the pen he'd held in the other hand. He took off his reading glasses to toss them down. They thumped down to the desk pad dully.
"Not impossible. I just hate seeing you walk around in this stupid manner. God, it's almost as if you weren't rich enough to just go out and buy happiness. Have you seen the cars you own? The property? Why Pemberley alone is fit for a king, assuming we the present monarch ever kicks the bucket and a male ascends the throne."
Richard picked up on the tension that spilled out of his cousin the moment he mentioned Pemberley. It was now or never and, Richard decided, there was no time like the present.
"That decorator still giving you fits?"
"Her name is Elizabeth, Richard."
"I knew you were a leg man!"
"You've not even met her!" William exclaimed, a little too loudly. He ignored the smirk that suddenly appeared on Richard's face.
"Bingley said that even a dead man would look at Miss Bennet's legs."
William stood, turned his back on Richard and went for the window behind his desk. London was going about its business; shoppers shopped, students studied, men and women played out office politics, bedroom politics, and, sometimes, both on the stage the city had set for them. Travelers were departing and arriving. That was where his thoughts lie. With the travelers.
Somewhere out there, Elizabeth Bennet was driving a company car to pick up a friend at the airport. William thought about this friend a lot. She hadn't given Georgiana any particulars and he couldn't exactly fish for information if she had, but, at some point, the pronoun 'he' had been used.
Was He (as the friend had become in William's mind) an old friend or a new friend? Did that even matter? Was He tall? Handsome? Was He fun? Had He ever held her or kissed her or smelled her hair when it glittered in the sunshine? Had He ever noticed how talking about patina got her heart racing?
The questions about He piled into his head like schoolboys in a callbox. Every time (all right, all the time since thoughts of Elizabeth rarely stopped) he allowed himself the luxury of recalling the taste of her lips beneath his, he inevitably imagined He also being allowed the same privilege. William was mad with jealousy and the freight trains running through his head only made things worse.
"It isn't just her legs, Richard," William said. Somewhere in the midst of all the tortured scenarios his brain gave daily matinees to he realized that his suspicions regarding his feelings for Elizabeth had been confirmed. "I've fallen in love with the whole package."
From his seat, Richard clapped his hands and rubbed them together excitedly. "Can I tell Clara?"
William spun around. The look on his face, a combination of rage and panic, was enough to instantly wipe the glee from Richard's person. It was at that moment that Richard realized the situation wasn't good.
"What's the matter, Will?"
"I can't kick Clara to the curb. She's nearly penniless."
"You're too noble for your own good," Richard muttered. "Her father won't take care of her because he knows you will. I've half a mind to go and lay it all out for Mr. Horatio Ludlow."
"That would be Lord Boyer to you," William said dryly. "It wouldn't matter. He barely acknowledges that Clara exists."
"Sort of how it is at home. With her not seeing that you exist."
William rubbed his eyes. Four nights earlier, Richard had stayed to sup with his cousins and Jeremy. It was one of the few times that Clara had decided to join them. She'd gotten up early enough (5pm) to make the evening meal that had been prepared.
There had been tension in the room from the moment Clara had sat down. Georgiana and Jeremy had strived to keep the conversation going, but when she mentioned Elizabeth and the reason she wanted to borrow the company car things became immediately quiet. William had pushed his plate away and Clara quickly finished her meal and vanished, presumably to her office.
"Does Clara know about your feelings for the architect?"
William shook his head and gave a half-smile. "Her name is Elizabeth."
"I know. I just think it's cute that you turn all pink when you say her name."
"I could still throttle you, you know."
Richard shrugged as if the whole conversation suddenly bored him. He could see that his cousin was being good and noble for Clara's sake and he admired him for that. Really. But when good and noble left you without the one thing you wanted (and deserved) most in the world then they had to be thrown out the door. Or, in William's antiquated state of nobility, politely shown the nearest exit. If William wasn't going to take charge, then Richard would.
"You didn't answer me, by the way."
"No, Clara doesn't know about Elizabeth."
"Is this why Georgie is now your liaison on the Pemberley restoration? Because you're fighting your feelings, rather poorly, I might add, for Miss Bennet?"
William thought for a moment. He was being honest with himself for the first time in weeks. Could he be that honest with Richard too? Could he tell him about the million little things that had caused all this to happen? Or the one really huge thing that had driven Elizabeth away?
"It was quite unexpected really. I certainly didn't intend for this to happen. But, Richard, that first trip we took out to Pemberley was amazing. I truly saw her for the first time that day. She looked so...at home.
"She doesn't coddle me. She doesn't want anything from me. She just wants to make Pemberley beautiful. I think she'd do it for free if I let her."
"Easy way to save a pound or two," Richard interjected cheekily.
William shook his head. "You can mock me all you want, but it doesn't change the fact that Elizabeth, or rather the absence of her, has made me realize how very much in love with her I am."
"Well, then, mate, I'd say you're in a bit of a pickle. How do you pursue a lady without getting rid of the first one? Any suggestions?"
"You're so bloody crass."
Richard rolled his eyes. It wasn't the first time that William had said that. He suspected that it wouldn't be the last. Over the years, Richard had assumed the roll of William's conscience and that had led William to make some of the most important decisions of his life. With Richard's help, he'd decided between business moves that were wise or foolish, which property purchases would be ideal, which designer in England would be the best for Pemberley. Richard had been there through it all.
The only time Richard couldn't act in good faith was when it came to Clara. It had become a moot point between them. Richard always knew that somebody better was out there for William and he always knew that Clara Ludlow wasn't good enough.
The recent dinner at the Darcy's had made that blindingly clear to him. So, even if William wasn't prepared to put the wheels in motion to win Elizabeth's heart, Richard Fitzwilliam was.
He stood, throwing a glance at his cousin. He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "You, cousin, with your dull, petty problems, bore me. I am quite ashamed of you. I expect people of my blood to be more interesting, but never more interesting than me."
William rolled his eyes. "You can dismiss me all you want, Richard, but it is still my office. By the way, your impression of Aunt Catherine is coming along nicely."
Richard grinned his best schoolboy grin. "Aw, shucks," he beamed with a perfect American accent. "You say the nicest things!"
With William's confession still hanging heavy in the air, Richard left to start on the list he'd made in his head; enlist Georgiana and put in a call to Bennet Building and Design.
For the first time since that terrible year when Elizabeth's life fell apart, she asked Jane to stay with her in London. Realizing that it could be the last chance she had to reclaim her place in her sister's heart, Jane canceled her classes and took some personal time. There came a point when you either sacrificed for what was right or you walked away. Retreat wasn't and option for her and, in her heart, Jane Bennet knew what was right.
Her sister's broken, tender heart needed mending and, this time, Jane would be there for her and take care of her.
Jane was minding the office in Elizabeth's absence. She had never pretended to understand Elizabeth's fascination with everything old or her obsession with lines and angles. It was strictly something that drove Elizabeth, who never understood what drove Jane to teach children who would go out to become idiots regardless of whatever Jane did. The sisters' choice of profession often led to an agreement to disagree.
She glanced through books and sketches and got an idea of the scale of the job that Pemberley was. She saw photos of the house that caught her sister's fancy. Try as she might, though, all Jane saw was an old house. Elizabeth had talked of magic and presence, but Jane saw a worn facade and dirty windows and nothing of magic.
"Hello, there!" A man's voice rolled up the stairs and caused a tiny bit of thunder in the spacious office of Bennet Building and Design.
Elizabeth's office was the second floor of what had formerly been a dance school. She had left the bars and mirrors up and not bothered to touch the hardwood floor, but she had knocked out a couple of the walls to make the area larger.
The shop downstairs sold showpiece furniture and was run by an old gay couple, Albie and Clayton. Elizabeth tried not to frequent the place because she thought that the furniture was "grotesque and seriously lacking in style," but every once in a while she got a client with the "taste of a lump of coal."
Elizabeth had told Jane that Albie and Clayton were worse that mother hens and always asked her about the state of her love life. They offered many times to set her up with men, but, she asked Jane, how do you trust to old queens to pick your Mr. Right? Elizabeth suspected that they merely wanted to set her up with a man they wanted to spend a lot of time looking at.
"Up here!" Jane called. She went to the top of the stairs to meet her guest and was caught off guard by a handsome man with a boyish smile.
"Miss Bennet?"
"Yes," Jane replied automatically.
"Richard Fitzwilliam. I believe that you're in my cousin William Darcy's employ?"
Jane blinked in confusion for a moment, distracted by the thick wave of blonde hair that flopped over the man's forehead and the bright blue-green of his eyes.
"Miss Bennet?" He asked again and, Jane noticed, looked at her legs.
"You must mean Lizzy," she said, quickly.
"Pardon?"
"Elizabeth Bennet. She's my sister. I'm Jane."
He stopped looking at her legs, which were incredible whichever Bennet she happened to be, and met her eyes. They were as wonderful as her legs as they were like two pieces of sky chipped from the heavens. She was staring at him with a bemused smirk. He felt himself grin sheepishly.
"My friend, Charles, has also hired your sister. Raved about her attributes," he added, stealing another shameless glance at her legs. Her skirt was just short enough to cause traffic accidents, he surmised. "Ahem. Is she here?"
Jane, who felt she should be offended but found that she was too charmed to be, shook her head. "Lizzy's out on personal business. Would you care to leave her a message?"
Richard took a step forward and then passed Jane to walk around the office of Bennet Building and Design. Enlisting Georgiana could wait, but he couldn't. He'd wanted to see the woman who had so captured his cousin's fancy. Examining the space, he made a snap judgment about Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Whatever other qualities she possessed, she had absolutely nailed style and grace. The air in the office seemed to glow with feeling and knowledge. She was in the office even when she wasn't.
"Does Miss Bennet work here alone?"
Jane stepped back a bit and narrowed her eyes as she inspected Richard. She felt herself slipping into older sister mode and wanting to protect Elizabeth from this man who was fascinated by her, though he had obviously never met her.
"Is there something I can help you with?" Jane asked, purposely evading his question.
He didn't seem to care or notice. "Actually, there is," he replied, turning back to face her once his inspection of the office was over. "What do you know of Miss Bennet's relationship with my cousin?"
Jane bit her lip (in a way the Richard found most disarming). She had never seen this man before in her life. Why should she tell him anything? It didn't matter that he was more than handsome or that merely asking the question that he'd asked implied that he had prior knowledge of something which had happened between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth.
"I understand your hesitation, Miss Bennet," Richard said, smiling his most devastating smile. "I come barging in on a sleepy afternoon to see your sister about relieving my cousin's misery and I, instead, hurl questions that you couldn't possibly answer in your general direction. My most sincere apologies."
"She kissed him," Jane blurted, stupidly. Before she even finished the sentence, she was mentally kicking herself in her own backside. Elizabeth would show no remorse as she killed her, she was sure.
"I see," Richard thoughtfully replied.
He had clearly flustered the pretty blonde before him. Sometimes, he thought wickedly, being so charming was bloody unfair to those around him. He watched as she drew herself up and took a deep breath while she regained her composure. She went to a table, picked up a pad of note paper and a pen, and handed them over to him.
"Would you care to leave her a note?"
Richard took the pad from her and quickly scrawled something. He handed it back to her, graced her with another incredible smile, and let himself out. Once he was gone, Jane couldn't help herself from reading the note. When she looked at the paper, her mouth fell open.
It read:
"Miss Jane Bennet:
We have much to discuss
regarding the future happiness
of certain parties. Please
join me for dinner.R."
His telephone number was scratched along the bottom of the note.
"Sly old devil," Jane muttered. She pretended that she was throwing it away as she shoved it into the pocket of her sweater.
Elizabeth didn't go home. She went to Pemberley.
It seemed like the one place on earth where she could think. It was ridiculous, she knew, to go to someplace that was filled with memories of him to think about how she couldn't think about him anymore. However, she'd spent a great deal of time there recently, trying not only to not think of him, but to absorb Annabel's death and everything it had made her feel.
Mostly though, Pemberley was about William. They had shared so many little moments there, moments that had led her to fall in love with him so hard and so fast that she was still trying to catch her breath.
After seeing George that morning, Elizabeth came to understand how very big her past mistakes truly were. She had loved George, that wasn't an issue, but he had never made the ember of passion flare into a white hot flame the way William had. The realization that she could love a man other than George and love him more made Elizabeth feel even more guilty than she already did.
"Evening, ma'am," Tate said as Elizabeth entered the kitchen. "'e's in the east morning room."
"Pardon?" She asked.
"Mr. Darcy, ma'am, is in the east morning room."
Her feet were moving before she could tell them what to do. She hadn't seen him since the night they'd kissed, not physically anyway. He was a permanent resident in her thought, much to her chagrin. They carried her through rooms and corridors and up a staircase to where he was, lying on the settee and facing the fire, looking as if he'd never had a friend in the world.
To see that much pain on his face made her heart ache, but she just wanted to look at him. After a few moments, Elizabeth realized that he was asleep. She felt sick at the thought that his dreams were torturing him. He so deserved to have happy dreams.
Without thinking, Elizabeth entered the room to stand near him. She watched his face twitch and twist at the visions that were playing in his head.
"I would hope that your dreams are sweeter than mine, my darling William. Mine have become visions of hell," she whispered.
A lock of dark hair slipped forward and Elizabeth put her hand down to push it back. She gasped when William suddenly grabbed her wrist.
"What are you doing here?" He demanded. "Why can't you just stay away?"
Elizabeth bit her lip as tears stung her eyes. She tried to wrest away from him, but it was as if he had a death grip on her. She kept trying until his eyes opened and his gaze settled on her.
"Clara!" He called out. Then his voice dropped lower and he growled, "What have you done?"
When she realized that he was still asleep, she choked back another sob. She finally managed to free her wrist and her shoulders shook in relief. Elizabeth looked down at him again and saw that tears had stained his cheeks, but his eyes were again closed.
His dream seemed to confirm her worst fears. He was panicked at the thought of something happening to Clara. He really did love her and Elizabeth would again suffer love from afar.
Drained and on the brink of despair once again, Elizabeth's emotions swelled into a giant wave and came crashing down on her. She bent forward and kissed his forehead, knowing that it would be the last time she would ever kiss him.
"I love you, William," she said gently, caressing him with the admission as she tried to hold back another shudder from her body. With that, Elizabeth turned and quickly left Pemberley, wondering how in the hell she was ever going to survive this.