Beginning, Previous Section, Section III

Part XX

It was the second time in a week she'd been struck dumb, speechless, unable to move with looking. And all because of William Darcy.

Not him, something his company did, she told herself sternly. Just because it's Pemberley doesn't mean it's William...

"Lizzy?"

Jane's voice, from a great distance, and from its concerned tone it had probably spoken her name several times already. Elizabeth shook her head.

"What is it?" Her sister came and stood behind her shoulder, just as she stood behind their aunt's, and looked at the screen. "Oh," she said surprisedly; and then looking at her sister, "O-h-h-h."

"'O-h-h-h?'" demanded Elizabeth. "What does 'O-h-h-h' mean?"

"Nothing." Jane glanced away, but Lizzy caught her growing smile. She looked down to see it mirrored on her aunt's face.

"It can't be," she said desperately. "You have no idea--"

"What's going on?" Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gardiner spoke in unison, then each took his turn at the computer screen. Her father, like Jane, looked at the words, at Elizabeth, and away; but Mr. Gardiner saw the sentence and grinned directly at her.

"Well, Lizzy," he said. "It appears your Mr. Darcy came through."

"He's not my Mr. Darcy," she snapped. Everyone in her office seemed to be either smiling or trying not to, and she was glad for the annoyance because it kept her from having to think what those words actually meant. "He's never been my Mr. Darcy, he never will be my Mr. Darcy." He's Moira Bellingford's Mr. Darcy, but she pushed that thought away as well. "And we have no proof whatsoever that he had anything to do with it, so I suggest you banish that thought immediately."

Mrs. Gardiner regarded her niece with a mixture of amusement and astonishment. "Why else could you imagine he would want to rehire George?"

"Any number of reasons," Elizabeth said, then promptly couldn't think of any. But she was acutely aware of all the reasons he wouldn't have hired George for her, reasons none of her family knew and which she didn't feel like telling them. "Perhaps he needed to reduce profits in order to get tax breaks. Perhaps he needed to test the igloos and picked someone he wouldn't mind freezing to death." Everyone laughed, which had not been her intention. "It's a subsidiary, remember -- why should he take any interest in their personnel at all? Maybe they just needed a slimeball for whatever reason and happened to find George. He has become rather well known of late."

"Or Occam's Razor, Lizzy," said Mr. Bennet, leaning forward. "Mr. Darcy took George on because he's in love with you. You had a wonderful time on his boat, didn't you?"

Elizabeth drew herself up with as much dignity as she could muster. "When I get back, I'd like to know where you got that information, since you're not supposed to know anything about it." She glared at her aunt and uncle, who looked only slightly abashed. "In the meantime, I suggest you schedule a board meeting, call PR, and tell Lydie and Mom about it -- gently. I'm going to the airport to find George. William has nothing to do with this, you'll see." She realized her slip when her father mouthed "William?" at Uncle Gardiner, who nodded. Their pleased smiles disappeared under another glare. "Goodbye," she almost snarled, and stalked from her office.

The door slammed shut. The Gardiners, Jane, and Mr. Bennet looked at each other.

"She's got it bad," said Mr. Gardiner; and four identical smiles spread across their delighted faces.

Elizabeth started her car and flicked on the radio to fill up the emptiness, spare her thinking. Nat King Cole's voice immediately flowed out of the speakers:

I love you
For sentimental reasons
I hope you do believe me
I'll give you my heart

She flicked it off again hurriedly and began the half-hour drive to the airport.

He might have done it for her... but that made no sense. "And I'd especially like to thank the lovely and incredible Moira Bellingford." "Nice work if you can get it, and you can get it if you try." There had to be a logical explanation. Social Relations. George was good at that, cruising a room, and he was obviously excellent at spotting financial opportunities. If they could actually get him to work, he might prove very useful. "I gather it's on again just recently." "We have time." "I don't mix business with pleasure." That was why the Fitzhugh sounded familiar... Did George know he was working for William again? "Let me decide what I want." "Whatever my personal feelings might be... in a different situation..." Surely not. He wasn't that stupid, especially where money was concerned. "I've got you under my skin." George. She had to talk to George. "Moira Bellingford, to whom I owe not only this wonderful evening but all my current happiness..."

She reached the airport in record time and checked the departures board. The only flight for Anchorage connecting through Reno left in twenty minutes and of course was at the other end of the terminal. Elizabeth swore under her breath and set off at a run.

When she came to the gate, they'd just announced the first boarding call. She saw him in line for first class. "George!" she called. "George, wait!"

He turned; and upon recognizing her, his expression grew half triumphant, half wary, as if afraid she harbored some intention to drag him back to Bennet Development forcibly. "Liz. You got my message."

"I did." She leaned against a pillar to get her breath, and he came reluctantly out of line to meet her. "You're leaving without saying good-bye?"

"I thought it would be easiest that way. A clean break, you know."

"Sure. Alaska, huh?"

"Yes."

"And Hutton Fitzhugh Kittredge Corporation?"

"That's right."

"That's a pretty cushy salary they're offering you."

He shrugged. "It's an improvement."

"What about Lydia?"

"I'm tired of being compared to Leonardo DiCaprio. She's a child, she'll get over me."

You mean your charm is fleeting? I'm grieved -- shocked. "Don't you think you should at least tell her yourself that you're leaving?"

"She'll take it better from someone who loves her," he said heartlessly.

"Did you ever?"

"Love her?" He tilted his head. "Love is such a subjective term."

"As compared to objective money?" He shrugged again, and Lizzy restrained the urge to throw her cell phone at him. "I didn't know you were a philosopher, George. Do you mind telling me how you got this job?"

"They offered it to me." The attendant pronounced the second boarding call.

"So they contacted you?" He nodded. "When?"

"Oh, a couple days after that board meeting."

"And when did you settle it?"

"About a week ago."

"So long?"

"Well, they didn't start out that generous, and I wanted a guaranteed contract." He watched her closely. "With William Darcy I wouldn't get anything else."

She didn't react. "Very smart of you."

"That's what I thought."

"But you got them up to five million a year?"

"Yeah, it took some talking."

"With William?"

"A couple times."

"In person or on the phone?"

"In person. Hey, isn't Moira Bellingford a friend of yours?"

She maintained her expression. "We're old acquaintances."

"I saw her with William at Fuji's one night."

To his disappointment, she still didn't react. "So you went to New York?"

"Yeah, William flew me in. I remember when they first started going out, fifteen years ago maybe? They were a hot item then -- and it doesn't look like the flames have cooled," he added slyly.

Elizabeth nodded. Though she knew to accept his information for exactly what it was worth, the idea still hurt -- but she would not be dissuaded from her purpose. "Why would he want you back?" she said carefully.

To her surprise, he straightened almost proudly. "I asked him that too, and he said he was ashamed he'd ever let someone of my caliber go to another company, that my true character and value hadn't been given proper publicity, and that people like me belonged in a business that could handle our work and give it proper appreciation." He looked nearly as reverent as Mr. Collins speaking of his employer Catherine de Bourgh. "Those were his exact words."

Elizabeth thought she saw what William actually meant and couldn't repress a smile. "You certainly have a greater regard for his opinion now than you did earlier."

The reverence dropped away. "Well," he said cheerfully, "the world loves a sucker." The final boarding call rang over the loudspeakers. "Gotta go, Liz."

"George, wait!" she called again. He turned back impatiently. "Your wallet, please?"

"What?"

"Your wallet. Give it to me."

Now more puzzled than wary, he pulled it from his back pocket. Elizabeth opened it up and fingered through the various slips of paper -- among other items, he had an entire directory of women whose first names ended in "i" -- until she found the sheet with the Bennet account numbers. Handing the wallet back to the astounded George, she folded the paper in half, tore it, folded both halves, tore them again, and repeated the performance until nothing but confetti skittered about their feet.

"You're too stupid to have memorized it," she said, and walked away.

But as she went, her smile faded. Ashamed he'd ever let someone of his caliber go to another company. His true character hadn't been given full publicity. A business that could handle his work and give it proper appreciation. Only George could take those words unironically, but looking at their true connotation, she saw very well what must have happened. Out of respect for old Mr. Wickham, William had failed to publicize the younger Mr. Wickham's extravagances; and when the younger gentleman had taken advantage of Bennet Development -- with considerable assistance from her own family, she must admit -- he felt sufficiently responsible to remove George to Pemberley. It was indeed her logical explanation; and if it omitted the personal motive, while again proving William's superiority to every other man of her acquaintance, Elizabeth admitted her disappointment only to herself.

He'd gotten around her independence, she'd give him that. Bennet was as staunchly alone as it had been at the beginning of this mess. But he'd extracted the mess, taken it all on himself, and done it so quietly she might never have found out. And now that she had found out -- what? There was nothing she could do about it, nothing she wanted to do about it; she could only be grateful to William for his actions, and hope someday to repay them. And as for why he'd taken them -- was that really as important as the fact that he had?

It was a thoughtful and different Elizabeth Bennet who drove away from the airport, knowing that she did not know fully the motivations or money behind George's departure, but also knowing that her lack of knowledge wouldn't hurt her, that she could let go. For whatever reason, George was gone, and William had done it. And it was all right.

She parked behind the Bennet building and walked up the stairs. "Any messages, Mariah?"

"No, but Mrs. Gardiner brought this by for you." She handed her employer a sturdy padded envelope.

"Thanks." Lizzy went into her thankfully empty office and sat down at her desk before tipping it open. Five white rectangles and a notecard slid out.

My dear niece --

Earlier today you pointed out that your father shouldn't have known anything about William's boat. You apparently forgot that Edward and I shouldn't have either. Do you remember the lovely new telephoto lens I brought with me to Pemberley Island? Well, I had it with me on the beach that evening when I saw this beautiful sailboat anchored in the bay

She dropped the card, seized by a sudden foreboding about those five white rectangles, which, she now saw, had "KODAK" printed neatly on their backs.

in the bay. I only meant to test the lens out, but once I recognized you and William I couldn't resist -- you both looked so charming and happy, I knew then that you two would get together. Given the events of this morning, I thought these now belong in your keeping. Please forgive me if I have been very intruding, or at least do not exclude me from the celebration: since I've taken your first pictures together, I ought to take the ones at the wedding.

Yours, very sincerely,

M. Gardiner

Five black and white prints, a little grainy but not bad for the distance. The boat lit by the last rays of the sun. Her in the dark sundress she hadn't worn since, leaning against the railing, smiling into the wind. Him in the white shirt, just as he'd worn at the Regency, raising a glass in toast. Both of them laughing, heads close together; and each in the other's arms, dancing cheek to cheek.

Elizabeth looked at the pictures for a long time, looked again at her aunt's note. She could still feel the warmth of his hands on her back. She looked at her computer, the bright Bennet Development logo scrolling across the monitor; when she moved the mouse, it switched into Netscape, that amazing sentence still at center screen. Carefully she opened Eudora, hit Control-N for a new message. Carefully she typed "wdarcy@pemberley.com" in the TO: line, left the subject line blank.

In the message box, two words:

Thank you.

Then before she could think any more about it, she pressed SEND.

And the next morning, when she checked her e-mail, from wdarcy himself:

You're welcome.

Part XXI

Dear Ms. Bennet,

Please forgive the interruption, but I have a small request to ask of you. The architectural firm of Ash, Bailey & LaMotte recently opened an office near our headquarters, and as I understand you worked together on the Purvis Valley location, I hoped you could offer a testimonial on your experience with them. If it would be too much trouble, please do not bother.

With many thanks,

William Darcy

Elizabeth glanced at the clock. It was five-thirty Friday evening; she needed to get home and prepare for her concert. She'd had this message all day, and he would think she didn't want to talk to him if she didn't respond. But she was simply petrified of responding in the wrong manner... After five more minutes ticked away and she had typed and deleted "Dear Mr. Darcy" for the twelfth time, she gave up, wrote a message, and pressed SEND.

Dear Mr. Darcy,

It is no trouble, and indeed a pleasure to recommend the firm to you. Ash, Bailey & LaMotte have always designed to specifications, charged reasonable rates, supervised the work closely, and met all deadlines (unlike any other architectural firm I know of). But avoid the head draftsman, Ronald Mitchell: he resembles the Pointy-Haired Boss from "Dilbert" a bit too much for comfort.

Good luck,

Elizabeth Bennet

She rose from her desk and began gathering what she'd need for the weekend -- her briefcase, last month's earnings report, six rolls of blueprints, a map of ------ City. When at last everything was together, she shut the blinds and went back to her computer. Already she had a new e-mail.

He resembles the Pointy-Haired Boss from "Dilbert" a bit too much for >comfort.

:)

Thanks for the warning.

William

Elizabeth reached over and clicked the computer off. "Just William," she said aloud; and after a moment, she smiled.

"Lizzy?"

Elizabeth dropped the star necklace on her dressing table and turned around. "Jane! You startled me."

Her sister came in and flopped on the dressing room couch. "Sorry. I just wanted to let you know Charles is stuck in St. Louis and he doesn't know when he'll get here."

"That's awful. What time was his flight supposed to arrive?"

"Right about now."

"Oh."

"He says he'll charter a plane if necessary. Just--" She smiled tiredly. "Make the concert last as long as possible, okay?"

Elizabeth held up three fingers and crossed her thumb over her pinky. "Girl Scout promise. Even if I have to sing 'The Wheels on the Bus.'"

"I'm sure you'd do it with style." Her sister started to laugh. "Or you can sing that one about the dentist that you did at the senior talent show."

"Now, Jane, that's a perfectly clean song about the importance of regular checkups."

"Or that's what you told Sister Margaretta." She sat up. "I love that dress."

Elizabeth spun in a cloud of pale gold chiffon to show off the deep back and the empire waist. "Isn't it lovely? I picked it up in a '40s consignment shop a long time ago."

"It's gorgeous. What are you wearing with it?"

"Just my ring and these earrings."

"Not the star?" Jane asked innocently.

"I hadn't decided yet." She felt herself blushing, much to her disgust, and hurried to change the subject. "How's Lydia doing?"

Her sister's knowing smile disappeared. "Not well. I learned some new words this afternoon when I tried to talk to her."

"About George?"

"Mostly. Some of them about you for driving him away."

Elizabeth sank into a chair. "She's the only one of us who thought there was more to him than greed."

"She and Mom."

"I forgot Mom. How's she doing?"

"Worse, if possible. She just lies in her room with her gel eye mask, listening to Deepak Chopra."

"Did you tell her Charles was coming?"

"I tried, but she said she had to concentrate on Deepak. He relaxes her nerves."

"Moonlight Madness at Saks this weekend will probably cure them completely."

"Probably." Jane stretched and stood up. "I should get back to my table -- you've got about five minutes."

"Where are you sitting? I'll keep an eye on you."

"Back table near the door. Oh, and Lizzy?" Jane tossed her a grin. "Wear the necklace -- William might be here." She closed the dressing room door.

But although Lizzy's heart thumped unmercifully as she walked onstage, no William Darcy met her quick scan over the club, nor her more prolonged study as she settled into the familiar rhythm of a concert. The Regency -------- City had no dark corners like that which had served her so well in New York, and other than a few regulars and Jane at the back, she saw no one she knew.

The program, as promised, was almost entirely happy. "The Way You Look Tonight", "Ain't Misbehavin," "Unforgettable," "When I Fall in Love" -- it was a song list designed for Jane and Bingley, except the latter half of the duo wasn't there.

At last Lizzy said "This ought to be my last song of the evening," and smiled at the groans from the audience. Her eyes, however, focused solely on Jane, still sitting alone at the back table. "But... I may be able to be persuaded into an encore." The Wheels on the Bus, here we come. "We'll see. But thank you for coming out to the Regency tonight--and remember, we have Jay McShann tomorrow night, and Kevin Mahogany in a week. Again, thank you all."

Kenneth played a few quiet chords, and Elizabeth began:

It seems we've stood and talked like this before.
We looked at each other in the same way then.
But I can't remember where or when.

Charles entered quietly from the back. Jane turned at the rush of warm air.

The clothes you're wearing are the clothes you wore.
The smile you are smiling, you were smiling then--
But I can't remember where or when.

When his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, he looked around, then down, and directly into Jane's eyes. Slowly, he smiled.

Some things that happened for the first time
Seem to be happening again.

She rose, equally slowly, and smiled in return; and for a moment they stood like that, oblivious to the room or the music or anything but one another.

And so it seems, that we have met before --
And laughed, before --
And loved, before --
But who knows, where or when
Who knows where or when...

As Kenneth wafted the closing arpeggios, Charles slipped an arm around Jane's back; and Elizabeth's blown kiss was answered by the door's soundless close.

The engagement between Miss Jane Bennet, Vice-President of Human Resources at Bennet Development Ltd., and Mr. Charles Bingley, President of the Netherfield Location Group, was scarcely less interesting to the financial pages of the newspaper than it was to the social ones. The bride's announcement that she intended to pursue her J.D. in family law at the university in the city where her groom's headquarters were located was regarded as a convenient escape from dueling family business pressures, despite the news that she would retain her newly-regained seat on the Bennet board of directors; but rumors that the two companies would again consider a merger received an immediate squelching from Elizabeth Bennet: "Instead of a relationship, we've decided to be just friends," as she was quoted in the -------- City Star.

"It's really quite a nice article, Lizzy," said Jane as the two sat at lunch Tuesday morning. "They weren't too rude about my return to school, and they only mentioned George once."

"Once too many," Elizabeth said dryly. "When is Charles coming back?" He had returned to St. Louis to inform Caroline and Louisa in person.

"Tonight at seven, then we have an appointment to look at silverware. I know it's early," she said defensively, in response to her sister's incredulous look, "but it's gotten Mom interested in life again. Lydia even wants to come, if it doesn't interfere with her kickboxing."

"Kickboxing?"

"I forgot she isn't talking to you. She heard one of Mom's Deepak tapes and decided her anger needed a positive outlet."

"I'm glad to hear it." A comfortable silence settled across them briefly. "Are you looking forward to going back to school?"

"I really am. I've never been fond of business, all that cutthroat winning and losing -- seriously, Lizzy."

"And you won't have that problem with law cases?"

"But at least then I know I'll be right."

Elizabeth smiled. "That is a consolation." She leaned forward and hugged Jane. "Oh, I'll miss you when you're in St. Louis. You must come back and visit us -- visit me often."

"If you're not in New York," Jane said impishly. "You did wear that necklace Friday night, didn't you?"

Elizabeth nodded and looked away.

Pointy-Haired Boss indeed. The man is Dogbert in human form. -- William Darcy

He once tried to convince me that sheet rock was mined in Montana. Ratbert, maybe. -- Elizabeth Bennet

No, Ratbert is the middle manager with the single tuft of hair. You were right, Mitchell is the Pointy-Haired Boss, and the office manager Valerie is Dogbert. -- William Darcy

Who's Catbert then? -- Elizabeth

It remains to be seen. Speaking of HR directors, congratulations to your sister. -- William

Jane is the least evil person on earth, because anyone as happy as she and Bingley have no time to plot. They're too busy picking out china patterns. -- Elizabeth

Yes, Bingley asked me which I preferred, Royal Doulton or Lennox? I thought they were cows, so I answered Royal Doulton. No offense intended to Jane. -- William Darcy

None taken. I said Lennox. -- Elizabeth

From wick33@hfk.com:

HI LIZ. THOUGHT YOU'D BE PLEESED 2 KNOW I ARIVED SAFELY HERE IN ALASKA. GLAD I DECIDED TO RUN WITH THE BIG DOGS. THE JET IS SWEET. SAY HI TO THE FAM 4 ME. GOTTA GO. GEORGE.

...So that's Haye Park. How's the Las Vegas project coming along? -- Elizabeth

Quite well. The Haunted Abbey section is almost finished, we have all the English country dance instructors engaged, and I understand the last bellperson has just been fitted for her redcoat. -- William

Regency England isn't a typical theme for Vegas. -- Elizabeth

It's not really Regency so much as the 18th-19th century Britain -- there's the Haunted Abbey wing with secret passageways, a Romantic wing where you can order claret served in a (fake) monk's skull*, a Victorian wing where only married couples will be allowed, etc. We felt it would appeal to an intellectual clientele not usually drawn to the city -- we already have the 1999 Modern Language Association conference, for instance. And for the rest of the time, it's the only place in town where you can witness reenactments of both Nelson's victory at Trafalgar and Napoleon's defeat at Waterloo. It has an elegance and historical sense largely missing from other attractions, and in Las Vegas, vive la difference. -- William

Where will the card tables go? -- Elizabeth

Why, in the Drawing Room, of course. :) -- William

G-r-o-a-n. :) -- Elizabeth

*One of the many notable dissipations of George Gordon, Lord Byron.

"Elizabeth?"

She looked up. "Mary. Come on in." Her second sister sat down nervously in front of her. "What's going on?"

Mary took a deep breath. "Elizabeth, I've been thinking, and if you'd let me I'd like to take a larger role in the business. I got my MBA last year from ------------ University, and I've been taking accounting and computer courses at night." Her carefully prepared speech lasted a good deal longer than Elizabeth's interest in the subject, and concluded neatly "I know the company's history very well, but I want to be involved in its present."

But her monologue had given her sister time to weigh the situation amd prepare a possible answer. "Did you have a particular job or role in mind?"

Mary brightened. "I thought perhaps with Jane's leaving I could take over Human Relations."

"Jane has certain -- people skills -- you need a little more practice with," Elizabeth said carefully. "But with your accounting experience, you could be very useful on the financial side of things, especially in the recent mess with George and Lydia." She indicated the huge pile of computer printouts by her side. "I'm getting next year's budget ready now. Would you like to work with me on that?"

"I think I would," said Mary thoughtfully. "Numbers never display immoral behavior."

"And Fitz Doors was a math major," acknowledged Elizabeth with a straight face.

"You're right! Can we start now?"

"How about later this afternoon? Three, perhaps?"

"Thanks, Elizabeth." She felt sufficiently moved to come around the desk and hug her; and Elizabeth, although surprised by this display of affection, was pleased to reestablish this connection with her sister, and find another rational family member besides.

Do you have the music to "Cottage for Sale"? I've got the recording but need the sheet for Kenneth -- EB

It's back in my apartment. Fax it out to you tonight? Great song for a real estate magnate, btw. ;) -- WD

815-555-2264. Thanks so much. This cottage is something of a fixer-upper, but would be simply perfect for a nice young couple just getting started... -- EB

Trade you for 'Embraceable You.' -- WD

You have 'Cottage for Sale' but not 'Embraceable You'? -- EB

I come from a strange musical background. -- WD

Speaking of which, I never did learn the name of Georgiana's band. -- EB

I'm sorry, the Communications Decency Act of 1997 states that it is a violation of federal law to use that kind of language in an e-mail. -- WD

Tuesday morning, 10 a.m.

Elizabeth was smiling over the latest dispatch from Pemberley when her private line rang. "Hello?"

"Lizzy?"

"Eddie! How's it going?"

"Good, good. Listen, I need to ask you a favor."

"Shoot."

"This isn't easy for me to do, but we've been friends for such a long time -- I gave you your first break, you know? You remember that marquee? Tonight on Stage, New York Debut, Lizzy B --"

She could hear him working into one of his monologues. "The favor, Eddie?"

He sighed. "I need you to drop your shows this weekend."

"What?"

"Listen, Lizzy, the club hasn't been doing so hot. I mean sure we're packing 'em in -- you should have seen the numbers for Cassandra Wilson last night -- but with that Disney stuff down there on 42nd, it gets harder and harder to draw a crowd, and these property taxes, good grief, Giuliani's putting us through the roof--"

"You've got somebody better lined up."

"You don't miss a thing, do you, kid?" he said admiringly.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Who is it?"

"William Darcy."

"What?"

"You saw him, he's dynamite on the piano. And he's performed here, what, three times? Already the man has fifteen sites devoted to him on the Internet -- all these women gushing about his 'magical hands' and 'manly physique.'" Eddie snorted.

They don't know the half of it. She tried to banish the vision on Pemberley beach and get back to business. "Has he agreed to this?"

"He's available this weekend."

"Does he know he's replacing me?"

"Nah, why should that matter?" He went on before she could respond. "I'm sorry to do this to you, but we really could use a couple of big nights around here and, you know, you've been off for over two months... We'll reschedule later, like a Thursday sometime?"

"Proving myself all over again, huh?"

He chose not to hear that remark. "Great, I'll call you. Hey, I saw you got rid of that no-good brother-in-law of yours."

"Yeah, George is probably serving as pooper-scooper on the Iditarod by now." She tried to sound nonchalant. "By the way -- is William still seeing Moira?"

"I dunno. She hasn't been around much -- business has really picked up the last week or two. I think she said William was doing a lot of the recommendations, though, and she was at his last couple of shows..."

"Does she have anything to do with my replacement this weekend?"

Eddie laughed. "Hey, what's a little creative nepotism? Take up with Joey and you get any weekend you name." She could hear Joey yell 'All right!' in the background. "Nope, William's coming in solely for box office. C'mon, Lizzy, you're not like one of these Internet chicks, are you?"

Elizabeth blushed, as she had just that moment run a Hotbot search on William Darcy. 2398 matches -- or 303 more than the last search she had run on him. But Eddie's tone was jovial, and the question almost certainly innocent. "Of course not. Just looking for some good gossip, that's all."

"Glad to oblige. I'll be in touch."

"See you, Eddie."

She wouldn't tell him, she decided, just append a postscript to her next e-mail.

P.S. Heard you're performing at the Regency this weekend. Break a leg! -- E

Thank you. Are you on anywhere? -- W

Here at home Friday and Saturday. Thanks for the song; I'm using it in honor of Lydia and George. -- E

Immediately after she sent it she realized what, or rather who, she'd referred to. Their correspondence had touched on personal matters -- Jane and Bingley, Georgiana, tennis, music -- but then one of them made a joke or asked a business-related question, steering it into safe waters, keeping the line between friendship and intimacy clearly marked. William gave no indication he wanted it otherwise, and Elizabeth was too proud to open her soul to a man whose heart might belong elsewhere. Her allusion was the first claim on that tenuous personal link since the "Thank you" and "You're welcome" a hundred e-mails ago; and she wondered what he might write next, or if she'd even hear from him again.

But he said nothing about it in his next message. Nor the one after that. Nor the one after that.

Part XXII

Author's Note: Of all of "Pemberley Inc.," this section stays closest to Jane Austen's original dialogue and quotes from it directly on occasion.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. She and William traded quips, forwards, bad puns, Fitz Doors jokes, and occasionally serious messages; she and Kenneth met Thursday to run over the program, which she hoped didn't sound too lonely: "Make Me A Present of You", "I Get Along Without You Very Well", "Cottage for Sale", "Can't Help Lovin' That Man", and "Stardust". She added "The Lady Is A Tramp" as an antidote. There was still no Ellington.

The show went over well enough Friday night, and afterwards Lizzy descended from the stage to meet her regulars as usual. Some of them were old friends from high school or before; some requested songs for the next night or mentioned a particular standard she'd sung. The post-concert interaction was one of her favorite parts of performing. But tonight, she'd barely reached the second row of tables when she felt an imperious rap on her shoulder; and she turned to see the equally imperious visage of Mrs. Catherine de Bourgh.

Elizabeth's surprise was great, for Catherine very rarely left New York City -- very rarely left her corporation headquarters-cum-condominium, for that matter, unless she felt someone needed her advice, which someone almost always did. Although de Bourgh Development suffered setbacks when Lewis de Bourgh's sister Leona Helmsley had been sent to jail, it made a forceful recovery after Catherine won in fact the title of CEO she had held secretly for years. The company was now the second-largest owner of private property in New York City. Because of this, the rivalry between Catherine and Donald Trump had achieved epic status in the development world; just that morning Charlotte had sent Elizabeth a bootleg copy of a Trump-de Bourgh "Deathmatch." Though "The Donald" had more mass, "de Borg" (a nickname earned for her ability to assimilate real estate over all resistance) wielded her famous brass-knobbed cane to good affect, and concluded the event with one foot on Donald's chest, arms raised in haughty victory. It was this brass-knobbed cane that delivered the sharp knock to Elizabeth's shoulder; and she rubbed the sore joint gently as she considered her visitor, wondering how she could ever have found any similarities between this grande dame and her nephew William.

"Mrs. de Bourgh," she said. "How nice to have you here."

"Miss Bennet, I demand a word with you at once."

"I'm speaking with some friends right now. You'll have to wait a moment."

"I am not accustomed to waiting."

"That will make your situation at present more pitiable, then." Elizabeth smiled and turned back to her guests, inwardly amused at the lady's stunned expression. As she moved about the club, she was conscious of Mrs. de Bourgh's upright and impatient figure standing right where she had left her; but only after the last patron departed did she return to the elder woman's side.

"Now, how may I help you?" she said composedly.

Catherine glared at her. "You have not kept me waiting --" the glare transferred briefly to her watch -- "seventeen entire minutes in order to feign ignorance with me, young lady. You know why I am here."

"I'm afraid I don't, unless you wanted to hear some jazz."

She snorted. "If I wanted jazz, I would sing it myself. Natural proficients like I can manage your little songs very well. No, I am here on business. Let us sit down." They did so. Catherine rapped a waiter wiping down a nearby table and ordered a sherry; though the bar was technically closed, Elizabeth nodded to indicate he should fill the request. After Catherine received her drink, the glare resumed. "Miss Bennet, I have ever been celebrated for my sincerity and frankness in business dealings, and in a case of such importance as this I shall certainly not depart from it. I want you to end your pursuit of my nephew immediately." Elizabeth colored. "You have flirted with him, sung to him, even -- what is it called -- e-mailed him; and as I will not tolerate such outrageous behavior, I have come to this outpost of humanity to make my sentiments known to you."

"You certainly take on a large responsibility in managing your relatives' private lives."

"When they are deprived of their reason by vicious fortune-seekers, I view it as my duty. Yes, fortune-seekers, Miss Bennet, for I know all about your company's recent financial troubles; and I am ashamed to think that a bright girl like you would sink as low as this. It is most disappointing. When de Bourgh Development was having difficulties, I--"

"Are you implying that I am only interested in William because I want him to buy Bennet Development?"

"I am not 'implying' it, I am stating it. And you should know that as a fifteen-percent shareholder in Pemberley Inc., I will never let any such purchase go through. You may drop that idea this moment."

"Tell me," said Elizabeth coldly, "do you insult all of your nephew's female friends in this manner, or am I the only one so favored?"

"Oh, he's had gold-diggers around him before, but you've been uncommonly obvious about it. Uncommonly successful as well -- William has been an absolute imbecile for well over five months now, though I learned you were the temptress only yesterday."

"May I inquire where you came by such wrongheaded information?"

"A sweet young lady named Caroline Bingley provided the news."

Elizabeth restrained the urge to roll her eyes. She had slipped up a few nights ago with Jane and mentioned that William sent her e-mail; and of course Jane had told Charles, and Charles had told Caroline, and Caroline, being the "sweet young lady" she was, skipped off to have Wrathy Cathy put a stop to it. "So that's where you've gotten this ridiculous theory. You might check your sources better next time."

"I have," Catherine said smugly. "I was at your office this afternoon (when you were not, by the way)--"

"I was inspecting a building site."

"And I spoke to your secretary -- a very thin little child, you don't pay her enough. She confirmed that you've been receiving a considerable number of e-mails from William." Elizabeth felt a flash of mixed pity and annoyance for poor quaking Mariah. "How do you answer that?"

"Only that my messages are my own business, and certainly none of yours."

"But when they are designed to interfere with my nephew's business, and succeeding, mind you, they become my business. He contracted some architectural firm nobody's ever heard of for his next office complex. I asked him where he got the name. 'Ms. Bennet recommended them,' he said. If the complex fails, I shall hold you personally responsible, and so will my lawyers, I'll see to that."

"That is perhaps the least rational thought I've heard -- well, since your assertion that I'm chasing William for his money."

"What are you chasing him for then?"

"I'm not chasing him at all!" cried Elizabeth exasperatedly. "Mrs. de Bourgh, I have not seen your nephew in nearly two months--"

"You were there that night!"

"What night?"

"The night he made his debut, in the club in New York. I saw you, don't think I didn't.

She collected herself. "Then you also heard him dedicate his performance to Moira Bellingford."

"What difference does that make?"

Her lips tightened. "I should say it makes a considerable difference when he says he owes her all his current happiness."

"Oh, that," Catherine dismissed her sleepless nights with a gesture. "That was because she'd just helped him hire your worthless brother-in-law -- what was his name?"

"George Wickham," Elizabeth whispered.

"Yes, Wickman. You didn't think William would sink so low as actually speaking to him again, did you? You really thought your power to be that strong?" But she could say nothing, not that that was noticed. "He was only happy because it would make you happy, or some such sickening thing as that. He spent five million dollars on that idiot Wickman, and all because he is in love with you!" Catherine spoke with a distaste normally reserved for welfare recipients, environmental activists, and Democrats. "Your arts and allurements -- your black magic, as you put it there onstage -- apparently deprived him of any sense he once possessed. Temporary insanity (and I assure you it will be temporary) is the only excuse for his recent behavior. Why are you smiling?"

She hadn't realized she was. "I beg your pardon."

"You had better beg my pardon -- that was almost a smirk. Well, Miss Bennet? Do we understand one another?"

"I'm not sure, Mrs. de Bourgh," Elizabeth said slowly. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to promise you will drop all contact with him at once."

"No."

"No? Is my position not clear to you? I will not have you hunting my nephew like-- like-- that Lewinsky girl with the President!"

"I promise you I have no intention of interning at Pemberley Inc." In the midst of this very serious interview (for who knew how Catherine might represent it to William?), Elizabeth felt a bubble of mirth rising up in her chest. She tried to push it back down with rationality. "Madam, I am not to be intimidated into anything so wholly unreasonable as abandoning my relationship with your nephew, a relationship I think we both enjoy greatly. I am not 'pursuing' him, nor is he 'pursuing' me; and if I did sink to Caroline Bingley's level, I assure you business would be the furthest thing from my mind. Lastly, even if William granted you the right to direct his affairs, which I doubt, you have no right to direct mine."

"Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. Even if your interest in him is purely personal, which I doubt, where can you expect it to lead? His other aunt is a Rockefeller, he has Forbes cousins. Someone with his parentage wouldn't settle for a nobody from ------- City. You have five country radio stations out here -- you can barely call it civilized."

"If William does not object to my connections and civilization, or lack thereof, you can hardly do so in his place." She was suddenly tired of the conversation. "I have nothing further to say, and the club is closed. I'll see you out."

She waited while Mrs. de Bourgh gathered her voluminous handbag, hat, gloves and cane, and while she dialed the beeper to summon her limo. She did not offer to pay for her drink. At last Elizabeth followed her to the door, where the elder lady turned back for the final word. But before she could proclaim it, her attention was caught by something else.

"Where did you get that?"

"What?"

"That star."

Lizzy looked down at her necklace. "Pemberley Island, of course."

"Only Darcys own those. Who gave it to you?"

"Why, William did," Elizabeth said calmly, keeping back a smile. "Good night, Mrs. de Bourgh." She shut the door on Catherine's horrified face and leaned against it, half expecting a knock from that barbaric cane; but none came, and she sank exhaustedly to the floor. She was almost shaking -- with rage, with indignation, with laughter, with joy. All his current happiness was for me. For me! The old cadaver's insults barely stung against the sweetness of that knowledge.

But with it came bitterness, of course: if he did love her, why hadn't he said so? But then the nineties were an age of equality -- why hadn't she said so? There was the specter of Moira Bellingford, removed at last; but more importantly, she was afraid of risking their wonderful friendship, developed in time they didn't have on Pemberley Island. The contact with him had become as important to her as her daily conversations with Jane. On the other hand, Jane wasn't built like a Greek Adonis. Elizabeth smiled involuntarily when she thought of Pemberley beach.

Catherine was right in a way: the first commercial flights out of --------- City Airport wouldn't leave until 8 a.m., hardly the mark of a major metropolis. (De Bourgh Development had its own plane, naturally.) It was a five-hour flight to New York; William would be performing at nine. If she went, she would have to miss her own show, which she hated to do -- her Regency needed money as badly as Eddie's did. And she and Mary were scheduled to meet at ten that morning to put the finishing touches on the budget, and she and Jane were going out at one to preview wedding dresses, and she and her father planned dinner at six before the concert. Elizabeth realized that she had entirely too many relatives; but her commitments were made, and she hesitated to break them for an equally hesitant situation.

The National Association for Female Executives held its annual conference next week in New York. She would e-mail William tomorrow morning and suggest a meeting... maybe the Tiffany Room in the Metropolitan Museum, or a nice dinner at Minnetelli's. If he responded positively, she would take the risk, tell him everything she felt and how grateful she was.

And she'd tell Kenneth to add Ellington for tomorrow night.

Part XXIII: Conclusion & Epilogue

Posted on Monday, 27-Jul-98

His answer to her query arrived ten minutes after Elizabeth sent the message.

>BTW, I'll be in New York next week for a conference.
>Care to get together for dinner or a drink? -- E

 

>Yes, please, definitely! More later. -- W

More never came, but what he had sent was enough to ensure her good mood for the rest of the morning, despite the balance books' best efforts to the contrary. When she went home to prepare for her shopping trip with Jane, she actually printed his e-mail out and tucked it in her dresser mirror, behaving exactly like one of the lovesick romantics in an old Gershwin musical -- and enjoying every second.

Ella Fitzgerald's "Best of the Songbooks: Ballads" asked to be played on her stereo. She obliged it. A soft red dress yearned to be bought and worn for that night's concert. She took pity on it. A piece of cherry cheesecake was heard to challenge "Elizabeth," and the only response was, of course, surrender.

Her heart felt so delightfully light that when her father mentioned William's name over dinner that evening, expecting her habitual amusing embarrassment, she laughed without the slightest hint of a blush. "William's quite well. He's performing at the Regency New York this weekend."

"Is he?" Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow. "I understand his aunt was in town yesterday."

"Oh?"

"Yes -- Collins wrote to inform me of the honor we must have felt as she graced our fair city, quote unquote. It appears she even came by the Bennet building, though I never saw her. Did you?"

"She was at the club last night."

"Well, that shows better taste than I expected." He took a bite of his barbecued chicken. "Did she speak to you?"

"About nothing of any importance."

"That's back to normal," he said with satisfaction. They ate in silence for some time, then he continued, "Collins also mentioned a rumor floating around New York -- apparently William Darcy never leaves his computer, as if he's conducting some torrid affair via e-mail. Do you know anything about that?"

"'Torrid' is a bad adjective." Elizabeth wiped her lips with a napkin. It contrasted nicely with her blush.

Joy settled into a bright serenity by the time her concert began, bubbling up again only when required: "'S Wonderful," "Make Me A Present of You," "If I Were A Bell." There was also a certain inappropriate merriment in "It's Only A Paper Moon" -- Elizabeth was thankful she hadn't chosen "I Cover the Waterfront," as the audience would probably want her happy little self to fall in by the song's conclusion. But "How Long Has This Been Going On?", "The Lady Is A Tramp" and "Nice Work If You Can Get It" each benefited from her glorious mood, and she went into the set break knowing she had never sung better.

She opened the second half with a song she'd avoided like Wickham himself the last six weeks, only to add that morning.

When they begin the beguine
It brings back the sound of music so tender
It brings back a night of tropical splendor
It brings back a memory ever green

I'm with you once more under the stars
Down by shore an orchestra's playing
Even the palms seem to be swaying
When they begin the beguine

To live it again is past all endeavor
Except when the tune clutches my heart
And there we are swearing to love forever
And promising never, never to part

What moments divine, what rapture serene
Till clouds came along to disperse the joys that we tasted
And now when I hear people curse the chance that was wasted
I know but too well what they mean.

But the chance has been redeemed, thought Elizabeth happily. She remembered her first impressions of William, when he was either haughty and disapproving when he came with Charles to the office or upright and unreadable as he watched her at the club. If anyone had told her then that she should be singing this song about him... Prepared to sigh over his absence and in delicious expectation, she looked toward his formerly accustomed table.

And there sat the other half of her "we," smiling at her with all their memories in his eyes.

Her hand came instinctively to rest above her heart, and astonishment and embarrassment struck her suddenly silent; after a quick surprised glance, Kenneth continued to play. The crowd shifted uncomfortably in its seats. William's happy expression had faded with her voice, but knowing her eyes were still fastened on him, he lifted his hand to his throat as a signal to resume the song. Still dazed, her fingers crept upward to imitate the gesture; and when they met a hard curve of shell from the necklace she never took off, she remembered where she was, and what she was supposed to be doing -- and why he surely must have come.

His smile returned in full brilliance as her voice rang out stronger, richer, and more inviting than even before:

Oh yes, let them begin the beguine, make them play
Till the stars that were there before return above you
Till you whisper to me once more, "Darling I love you"
And we suddenly know what heaven we're in
When they begin the beguine
When they begin the beguine

Though the audience released a collective sigh of relief, Elizabeth felt the sudden tension of anticipation -- not only for what might come after the show, but for everything she had left to perform. His presence added confession to "I Could Write A Book," a new dimension to "Love Walked In"; it meant the weather was already gorgeous as she sang "When the Sun Comes Out." She adapted "Our Love Is Here To Stay":

The Internet, and fax machines,
And e-mail that we know,
Are all just passing fancies
And in time may go

But oh my dear
Our love is here to stay
Together we're
Going a long long way

In time the Rockies may crumble
Gibraltar may tumble
Baby, they're only made of clay
But our love is here to stay

"Come Rain or Come Shine" was a vow, "All of Me" another surrender; and then only one song remained. Despite her uneven heartbeat, she spoke easily into the microphone. "I'd like to thank everyone for visiting the Regency tonight. It's been our pleasure having you here, and we hope you get home safely and return again soon." They responded with a forceful wave of applause. "Thank you again. I'm going to close tonight with one of my favorites…" She couldn't look at him. "This is Duke Ellington's 'Prelude to A Kiss.'"

If you feel
A song in blue
Like a flower
Crying for the dew
That was my heart
Serenading you
A prelude to a kiss

If you hear
A song that grows
From my tender
Sentimental woes
That was my heart
Trying to propose
A prelude to a kiss

Though it's just a simple melody
With nothing fancy, nothing much
You could turn it to a symphony
A Schubert tune with a Gershwin touch

Oh how my love song
Gently cries
For the tenderness
Within your eyes
My love is a prelude
That never dies
A prelude to a kiss

Their gazes met and held as she repeated the closing lines.

Yes, my love is a prelude
That never dies
A prelude to a kiss

The last notes of the piano dropped into quiet, and for a moment she heard only perfect stillness, saw only his dark eyes. Then he disappeared from view as the audience rose in a collective standing ovation -- and then he was there again, applauding steadily with the rest, beaming at her across the crowded room. Elizabeth smiled back, waved, bowed, blew kisses, and promised herself she didn't have to do an encore.

Only hell or high water could have kept her onstage, but she hadn't counted on the horde that enveloped her the moment she stepped past the footlights.

"Lizzy darling, you've never sounded more terrific!"

"Ms. -- Bennet, is it? My name's Joel Bernstein, and I'm with Atlantic Records..."

"Would you mind signing this for me? 'For Al Jorgensen' -- Jorgensen with an 'e' --"

She was helpless to reach William, and remembering his previous behavior at her concerts, half-afraid he might have already left. A gap in the crowd afforded a glimpse of him, and he nodded slightly: he'd wait. Reassured, she responded in kind, and dealt with her admirers with a buoyant (if not entirely patient) heart.

At last only the Regency staff and they two remained amidst the gathering of tables and chairs. He rose at her approach.

"Elizabeth."

"William."

"You sang beautifully, as always."

"Thank you." She hesitated. "Weren't you scheduled--"

"I called Eddie and told him I couldn't make it. May I buy you a nightcap?"

He was rewarded with her smile. "I have a better idea. Follow me."

She led him up the stage steps and through the back curtains to a tall spiral staircase. A few words determined that he'd arrived just before the set break; she did not inquire further. She unlocked a door at the top of the stairs, and they emerged into a room lined with bookshelves and carpeted with a thick Oriental rug. Couches and chairs arranged themselves in easy groupings; a grand piano gleamed faintly by a window. Through one door, William saw a laptop computer surrounded by papers, and through another, he spied a bed piled high with pillows. An unearthly yellow glow from the vertical "REGENCY" sign outside rendered all further lighting unnecessary.

"This is your apartment," he said in surprise.

"Yes, indeed," she answered lightly. "My father brought me here to see Ella Fitzgerald when I was seven, and twenty years later they were planning to tear the old place down. This was the first building I ever bought just for myself. I hired someone to reopen the club downstairs -- Matthew Bellingford, actually -- and I took over the apartment here." She turned away, suddenly shy under the intensity of his gaze. "Can I get you something to drink? White wine? Red?"

He released her from the look. "White would be fine, thanks." She went to the kitchen, and he wandered the room, examining the items on her shelves. Pictures of her parents, the Gardiners, she and Jane as kids on the beach. CDs: Sophisticated Ladies. Sunday in the Park with George. The Complete Ella Fitzgerald Songbooks. An answering machine. A brass miniature of the Eiffel Tower. Books: Jane Eyre. Gaudy Night. Their Eyes Were Watching God. A squat wooden metronome. A Little Princess. William smiled at that one, then his eyes were caught by a black-and-white photograph resting against an autographed portrait of Lena Horne.

"Have you seen Charles? He's in town," Elizabeth called from the kitchen.

He swallowed. "No, I came straight from the airport." His voice sounded relatively normal, and after a last long look at the clasped couple in the photograph, he moved slowly away from it. By the time she entered with wine and cake, the 1932 Steinway in the corner of the room occupied all his attention; she had to clear her throat twice in order to alert him to her presence. He looked up with an abashed smile.

"For someone who doesn't play the piano, you certainly have a beautiful instrument," he said.

"This was the musicians' quarters in the original Regency -- the owner was a real cheapskate and didn't like to put them up at hotels, so they stayed here. When I bought the building, his heirs didn't want to pay to move the piano, so I bought it too." She set the tray down and came to stand beside him. "It's been played by Count Basie, Thelonious Monk, maybe even Duke Ellington."

He touched a key reverently. "Shouldn't it be in a museum?"

"It's promised to the Jazz Hall of Fame when they reopen in 2000. Until then..." She slid onto the piano bench and tossed him a mischievous glance. "I have learned a thing or two."

Upon saying which, she executed a simple but perfectly satisfactory selection from Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue." It was a great improvement over her one-handed performance on Pemberley Island, and William clapped enthusiastically upon the piece's completion.

"Thank you, thank you." Her fingers glissaded up the keys. "I have lessons three times a week with a lady downtown, and I've started harassing all the pianists who come in -- I just about drove Marian McPartland insane last Tuesday." She grinned at him. "What do you think? Any requests?"

"How about 'Heart and Soul'?" he said softly.

Emotions crossed her countenance with rapid-fire intensity: awareness, pleasure, embarrassment, shyness, love. At last she spoke: "I'll need your help."

He sat down next to her, but rather than bringing his hands to the keyboard, one slowly rose to cup her cheek. She pressed her face into his palm, breath warm on his fingers, and lifted her eyes to his. Both gazes closed together as they leaned inward --

Just then, the phone rang.

The situation so exactly resembled that on Pemberley Island that after a second's shocked disappointment, they both burst out laughing. "Perhaps this isn't meant to be," said Elizabeth.

"I wouldn't say that," he answered, smiling at her.

"Neither would I." She returned the smile. "I'll let the answering machine get it."

As soon as she heard the voice, she wished she hadn't. "Lizzy? Lizzy, this is Lydia." Her sister giggled. "I'm at this frat party" (in case she couldn't tell) "and I've been talking with this guy here -- what did you say your name was? Oh yeah, Peter -- and telling him all about George and everything, how you were so mean to him and drove him away, you know? Anyway, he says I ought to forgive you because that let me come here and meet him. Isn't that sweet? I think so. Omigod! Stop that!" she shrieked at someone off the phone, presumably Peter. Then she giggled again. "Anyway, I wanted to let you know I forgive you and I'll see you soon, 'kay? Oh, and if I could borrow your black velvet jacket tomorrow night that would be really cool. Talk to you then. Bye!" A beep signalled the message's end.

Elizabeth rose, walked to the answering machine, and pressed Delete. She could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen. "There's one good thing about Lydia's calling," she said steadily to the bookshelf. "It reminded me that I wanted to thank you in person."

"It isn't necessary."

"But it is." She faced him; or his back, rather, as he was still turned to the piano. "You don't know how much easier it's been since he left -- not only financially but mentally, as I -- we -- don't have to plan for the next disaster, the next budget overrun, how else he might trample our reputation into the mud. We can look outward now--" She broke off at the passion in her voice and continued in a quieter tone. "You did so much, took on so much... Please accept my thanks."

He pressed a note on the piano, and she had to strain to hear his words. "They're accepted."

"Thank you," she repeated, and then, while her courage was high, "But one thing's puzzled me about the whole situation." She struggled to keep her voice light. "Why did you do it?"

His hands drifted down the keyboard; and she didn't recognize the song until he was singing it, and singing it just for her.

Living for you
Is easy living
It's easy to live
When you're in love
And I'm so in love
There's nothing in life but you

I'll never regret
The things I'm giving
They're easy to give
When you're in love
I'm happy to do
All that I do for you

For you
Maybe I'm a fool, but it's fun
People say you rule me with one
Wave of your hand
Darling it's grand
And they just don't understand that

Living for you
Is such an easy living
It's easy to live
When you're in love
And I'm so in love
There's nothing in life
But you...

The last notes dimmed into silence, and William turned around. He had said -- sung, rather -- what he had come to say; and though he thought he knew how she felt, though the photograph and her music and his aunt's words had given him the resolution to reveal his own feelings, the next move was hers to make. Elizabeth still stood by the bookshelf across the room; but as their eyes locked, she took one step towards him, and then another and another. He stood up with equal slowness. When only a foot remained between them, her hands lifted to clasp his face as his arms fitted around her gently: and then, at last, their lips met in the sweetness each had dreamt of for so long.

When they parted, it was only enough to put their music into words.

"I love you," she said.

He smiled. "Do you know when I realized I loved you?"

"When?"

"The night you sang 'I Didn't Know About You' -- not at Pemberley, but here last April. It was the same day I asked you to dinner--"

"And I refused, because I thought you wanted to gather more incriminating data to use against us with Charles, and I delighted in spoiling your plans."

"I wasn't thinking about Charles."

"Look how much I've missed!" She linked her hands behind his neck. "For me it was 'I'm Beginning to See the Light.'"

"That's always been one of my favorites."

"It's a lot like 'I Didn't Know,' the same unexpected discovery..."

"An unexpected pleasure," he said softly.

"Yes -- speaking of which, what brought you here at last? My message this morning?"

"And one you unknowingly sent last night."

She soon learned that they were indebted for their present good understanding to the efforts of his aunt, who had fled back to New York early that morning and descended upon him just as he read and hastily responded to Elizabeth's e-mail. Catherine then spent four hours lecturing him on her failures as businesswoman, performer, and general human being. "She has a wonderful memory for what she sees as other people's mistakes, so she could recite her entire conversation with you. I especially liked the part where you said that if you pursued me, it would have nothing to do with business." Elizabeth reddened slightly under his grin. "They were the worst four hours of my life, because I was ready to come here after she described your concert -- I sang 'After You' last night too -- and I felt I couldn't leave until she had finished."

"A good nephew," she teased.

"It was the least I owed her after what she told me -- and I did end the conversation when she mentioned this." He traced the ethereal arcs of her pendant with his finger. "It allowed me to hope, as I had never let myself hope before; and then I came as soon as I could, dearest, loveliest, Elizabeth."

They spoke of the evening he had given the necklace to her, and she learned that his resolution to remove the Wickham problem had been formed two days after she left Pemberley Island, when Georgiana presented him with the Wall Street Journal article on the "Bennet battle." His feelings soon moved from bitterness to admiration to at last understanding. "Not," he said lightly, "that I regretted asking you to marry me; but I thought I saw, at least, why you couldn't accept."

She stumbled over her words, trying to explain. "I didn't know you well enough yet -- I felt strongly about you, I always have, and the feeling was certainly more positive than before -- but had I married you then, I felt I might almost have been doing what your aunt accused me of, taking you for financial reasons only. I'd always have the weight of that obligation between us, that you married me because my company needed money--"

"That's not why I proposed," he interjected.

"I know that, but you did propose then because I was about to leave, because of business. We ran out of time on the island, and afterwards I could hardly imagine you'd want to hear from me again."

He waited a moment before prompting her to continue. "And now?"

She, too, paused a moment, thinking of what he had come to mean to her. "These three weeks of e-mail... I feel like I know you better than I know anyone else -- not so much your personal habits, but the way you think, the way you express yourself and let me express myself. My first reaction to anything has become 'I can't wait to share this with William,' did you know that? It's made the time we needed." His arms tightened around her back. "Still, more personal contact wouldn't be a bad thing," she concluded.

"I agree completely," he said. "With everything you said, but especially the last -- and so I want to ask you this now, before one of your sisters calls." She laughed. He took a deep breath. "Elizabeth, will you--"

"Wait." She put her hand over his mouth, and his eyes looked back at her, confused and hurt. "It's not that," she assured him. "Only it's my turn to ask the question. William Darcy, will you marry me?"

He said nothing, but his kiss spoke an unqualified assent.

Eventually they settled together on the sofa, and though they discussed their future or that of their companies and families, they returned often to the past, the history of accidents and interruptions, mistakes and music, that brought them to their present passionate peace.

"Where did you get that picture?"

"Which one?" He nodded toward the shelves. "Oh -- my Aunt Madeline is an amateur photographer, and she happened to have a very good telephoto lens with her that night."

"We'll have to go farther out next time."

"She's already asked to take the wedding pictures."

"Your family knows?"

"Yes. Aunt Maddie showed that picture to Jane, Uncle Edward and Dad before she showed it to me, and their minds work very rapidly -- a few songs, a little dancing, you take Wickham, we're engaged."

"But isn't that the way it's gone?" he asked innocently.

She gave him a look. "Not exactly. Moira Bellingford?"

"I deserve that. Moira's been a good friend of mine since we were in school together. We dated steadily for eight months -- I even thought about marriage once or twice. Then she came down to the island."

Some long-ago words of Señora Renaldo's sprang to Elizabeth's mind. "And?"

"She hated it -- not anything personal, it's just that she's a New York girl through and through. I took her out on the boat, the Georgie Dee, and she was seasick the entire time. So I let her go back after two days, and I decided I would wait for someone else." Neither needed to say or hear that they were glad he'd waited.

"I was in the audience that night, you know."

"Actually I didn't know till afterwards, when Aunt de Bourgh informed me 'that Bennet girl' had been there. I didn't know what to do -- I was afraid I'd given you the completely wrong impression about my relationship with Moira, but I didn't know how you felt about me, and I didn't know how you were going to feel when you found out about George, after I'd done everything you told me was none of my business -- literally." He laced his fingers through hers. "I've got my best accountant monitoring his expenditures, and the moment he spends a dollar more than necessary..."

"He'll be in jail in a year."

"I give him six months."

"Let's visit him and see him suffer," she said with relish.

"I didn't know you had a cruel streak."

She grinned at him wickedly. "I guess we need a tennis rematch, then."

Later the conversation turned to their individual concerts: she praised his playing and stage presence, while he protested that he'd learned all he knew about performance from her.

"What did you sing?"

"When?"

"In those three concerts I missed. I want to know how much you suffered," she teased. "What did you sing?"

"Your cruel streak again, I see. Okay, 'I'll Only Miss Her When I Think of Her,' 'Willow Weep for Me,' 'Darn That Dream,' 'I Let A Song Go Out of My Heart'--"

"That will do nicely."

"Your turn." She listed her last several programs, finishing with "Can't Help Lovin That Man."

"I am neither slow nor lazy," he said, in a mocking shadow of his old hauteur, "so I fail to see how that song applies."

"Well, you once accused me of singing off-key."

"Did I?" Elizabeth sang the offending verse of "They Can't Take That Away From Me." He apologized, then continued jestingly, "Perhaps we ought to rely on speech rather than music from this point forward."

"Or perhaps," she said, suddenly serious, "we ought to work more closely together." He looked up. "Kenneth has wanted to go solo for some time, and I've been thinking about this almost since the time I received your first e-mail." She outlined her idea for a possible pairing, where each would perform individually for one-third of the show, then unite for the grand finale. "I can't quite accompany you yet on piano, so it wouldn't be entirely equal; but I think our work and our pleasure might find some common ground here if anywhere."

He nodded. "I like it. Very much."

"Then..." She let out her breath and smiled at him. "What shall we call ourselves? Lizzy and William? Billy and Liz? That will never do... a Darcy Duo?"

"Actually," he said, "William isn't my real name. My name is really, well, um..."

"Yes?"

"Fitzwilliam. It's another family name, like Georgiana," he added hastily. Her expression hadn't changed. "I never use it, and it certainly wouldn't be appropriate for performance, but I thought you should know..."

"Fitzwilliam Darcy?" she said at last. He nodded. "I can't marry you then."

"What?"

"Just can't do it. Can't marry anyone with a 'Fitz' in their name."

"You can't?" He actually sounded crestfallen.

"Yup. Turned down JFK Jr., you know, a couple of years ago. That silly Fitzgerald."

"You didn't," he said, still with a note of uncertainty.

"Really, I did. Caroline Bessette -- she's his rebound, absolutely." She stole a look at him, which he unfortunately caught.

"You didn't," he repeated, and pulled her back into his arms in order to show that, even if she had dated JFK Jr., the former Sexiest Man Alive had nothing on him.

"Well," she said some moments later, "if you can kiss like that, I may just have to change my policy."

"I'm glad to know you approve, since I accept your offer."

"That's right, I did make it, didn't I?" Elizabeth tipped his head so he looked into her eyes. "But not my offer. Nor my proposal -- isn't it odd that all of this is in business terms? And this has nothing to do with business."

"Only with pleasure," he agreed. "Your hand, then? May I accept your hand?" He lifted her hand from her lap and kissed it gently.

"Yes, you may have my hand." She moved it to his face, ran her fingers thrillingly through the dark springy mass of his hair. His eyes were almost black in the light. "After all this, you may have my hand." A slow smile crept across her face. "It had to be you," she sang softly. "It had to be you... I wandered around, and finally found, somebody who--"

He took up the melody. "Could make me be true, and make me be blue." They both smiled -- they could smile, now that the blues were past. "And even be glad, just to be sad, thinking of you."

"Some others I've seen, might never be mean."

"Might never be cross, or try to be boss--"

Her voice curled in with his. "But they wouldn't do."

"For nobody else gave me a thrill
With all your faults, I love you still
It had to be you,
Wonderful you--"

"Overly proud you," said Elizabeth.

"Too stubborn you," he returned.

"Ungentlemanly you."

"Independent you."

"Damn sexy you."

He laughed. "Back at you." They shared a look, promising laughter and more, and finished in perfect harmony:

"It had to be you."

Epilogue

"Can I come up now?" Elizabeth called.

"Not yet. I'll let you know."

"Now?" she called a moment later.

"Are you standing on the stairs?"

"Yes."

"And coming up them, despite what I told you?"

"Yes," said she, with laughter in her voice.

"Mrs. Darcy, I'll thank you to remain below deck."

"And Mr. Darcy, I'll thank you to hurry up." Nevertheless, she turned around and descended back into the warm darkness of the Elizabeth Darcy's cabin. Despite his use of her hours-old title, she had decided to keep her maiden name for business and performing purposes, but Mrs. Darcy, at last! She could hardly believe it.

They had been married that afternoon on the Pemberley beach, attended only by friends and family: Jane and Charles, Georgiana, the Gardiners, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia, Charlotte and Mariah Lucas, Jane Lambton, the Bellingfords. Señor Aviaguas ferried all the guests between Florida and the island, and Señora Renaldo had orchestrated every detail down to the bride's white orchids. Aunt Gardiner took the official pictures. Afterwards they'd had a merry wedding dinner, during which the bride and groom dueted on "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off"; then the whole party sent them down to the ship for the honeymoon, where "neither of us is to even think the word 'business' for three weeks, under penalty of walking the plank," as Elizabeth had solemnly told her then-fiancee five days earlier.

William glanced at her thoughtfully. "Well, you know, I haven't gotten to see you wet yet..."

Thankfully, the engagement had lasted only as long as was necessary to make the arrangements for their time away. Georgiana would head Pemberley Inc. in William's absence, and Mary had stepped up to fill Elizabeth's place, with close supervision from her father and the Gardiners. The boat had one cell phone, to which only Mr. Bennet, Jane, and Georgiana had the number. The engaged couple had unequivocally vetoed a fax machine.

"All right, Elizabeth." He came to the cabin doors and took her hands. "Close your eyes."

She let him draw her up into the twilight sky, then opened her eyes ... and saw everything laid out exactly as it had been the first night she'd come aboard the Elizabeth Darcy. White Christmas lights haloing the mast and railings -- a table set with dessert for two -- a single red rose in a vase on the table --and her husband standing there, which was itself more than enough.

"William," she breathed, "you did it again."

"And this time," he said, "I remember the music from the beginning." He pressed a remote control, and suddenly violins swelled.

As he took her in his arms for their first dance as a couple, they had no idea of the things to come. They did not foresee Pemberley's stock split five years later, making William Darcy the second-richest man in the United States. They didn't envision their first major-label album "I Didn't Know About You" rushing to number one on the jazz charts, or Bennet Development's Greenpeace award for land use. They may have had some idea of the conception of Ella Elizabeth Darcy-Bennet three years in the future, and of her brother Edward Charles two years after that; but at that moment, with Etta James's voice surrounding them and in one another's embrace, they thought nothing of their business, and only of their pleasure.

For they were together, with all the time in the world, at last.

At last
My love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song

At last
The skies above are blue
My heart was wrapped up in clover
The night I looked at you

I found a dream
That I could speak to
A dream that I can call my own

I found a thrill
To press my cheek to
A thrill that I have never known

You smiled, you smiled
Oh and then the spell was cast
And here we are in heaven
For you are mine
At last

The End

Extended Epilogue

Recommended Listening, Notes and Acknowledgements