Chapter Thirteen
She hesitated. Was he talking to her? Shock had even stolen away her voice. Her eyes fixed on his hand, trembling slightly as it offered her a second chance.
Will’s face softened. “Please, come.”
Game over. She could no more have refused that entreaty than she could have commanded her heart to stop beating. She placed her hand in his, relishing the warmth as his fingers curved around hers. People in the crowd around her yelled and cheered—and filmed with their phones.
Will pulled her gently into the interior of the limo, bringing her from bright sunshine into abrupt dimness. He gestured to the seat next to him, and she fell onto it gratefully. A man in a suit—a Secret Service agent?—swung the door shut behind her and then spoke into his phone; the limo lurched forward.
Will turned toward her, giving her a slight smile for the first time. “Hello, Elizabeth. What brings you here?”
***
Darcy’s day had not improved. The short flight to New York had been uneventful, but that hadn’t eased his throbbing head. Bing had briefed him on the latest threat to nuclear non-proliferation, and Darcy had spent much of the plane flight wrangling on the phone with two difficult congressmen who seemed determined not to support the administration’s position. By the time he finished the second call, he was nauseated, irritable, and tired.
The presidential limo, nicknamed “the Beast,” was extremely secure but, surprisingly, rather cramped on the inside—with only two seats facing forward and three seats facing back. Today the close quarters irritated him more than usual. Perhaps sensing this, Bing and Fitz had tried to lighten his mood with jokes and banter, but Darcy had growled at them until they fell silent. Now, half listening to Bing’s report on flooding in Mississippi, Darcy kept his temper in check by dreaming about a cool, dark room at Pemberley.
When the gates of Pemberley loomed into sight, Darcy had been overwhelmed with relief. He just wanted the sanctuary of his private suite and a respite from the scrutiny—even the well-meaning concern of his friends.
The only thing between him and his sanctuary was the usual crowd of gawkers clustered at the gate, baking in the July sun and holding signs either cheering or condemning him. Darcy steeled himself, knowing he would need to wave and smile at the crowds; if he didn’t, a local paper or cable news station would report how he was unfriendly to the voters, or it might launch rumors that he appeared ill. Never in his life had Darcy felt less like greeting random strangers, but he plastered on a grin and managed a feeble wave.
When he first saw her, he dismissed her as a hangover-induced hallucination. “Elizabeths” had popped up all over Washington for weeks; upon a second glance, they were always revealed to be women with dark hair who bore almost no other resemblance to the actual Elizabeth Bennet.
But the resemblance didn’t fade upon a second look; it grew stronger. Another second of staring confirmed that he was, in fact, viewing the actual Elizabeth Bennet. She met his eyes unflinchingly and with a wide smile, but her blush suggested an endearing touch of embarrassment.
What the hell is she doing here? What did her presence mean?
Taken off guard, Darcy’s smile and wave faded. He could only gape at her, twisting his head to keep her face in view until she was out of sight. Everything he’d dreamed of saying to her—the apologies and explanations—flashed through his mind. How could he leave them unsaid when she was so close?
Elizabeth wouldn’t have trekked all the way to Pemberley if she still cursed his name. She had smiled and waved, hadn’t she? If he didn’t talk to her now, he might not get another opportunity.
Darcy hit the intercom button. “Tucker, stop the car,” he ordered the Secret Service officer who was driving. As the limo abruptly halted, Kinski, the head of his security detail—who sat opposite Darcy in the back of the limo—was instantly on alert. “Is there a problem, sir?” His hand was already reaching under his suit jacket for his shoulder holster.
Shit. How did he explain this? Darcy held up his hands. “No, nothing like that. I…um…recognized someone in the crowd…”
Kinski hadn’t removed his hand from the butt of his gun. “Someone who’s been in other crowds?” The Secret Service was always alarmed when people showed up too frequently at presidential events, fearing a potential assassin awaiting an opportunity.
Darcy sighed. “No, no. It’s Ms. Bennet, the woman who hitched a ride on Air Force One back from Paris.”
Beside Kinski, Bing sat up straighter. “Elizabeth is out there? Is Jane with her?”
“I didn’t see her.”
Now both Fitz and Bing were craning their necks to catch a glimpse of Elizabeth out of the rear window. Kinski murmured into his phone, no doubt explaining to the rest of the detail why the presidential limo had stopped so unexpectedly. He lowered the phone. “There’s probably a reasonable explanation for Ms. Bennet’s presence,” he said in a clipped voice. “I’ll send an agent to question her.”
Darcy waved his hand impatiently. “Good Lord, no! She’s not a suspect! I just want…I want…” Bing, Fitz, and Kinski gawked at him, awaiting the end of the sentence. What do I want? “I just want to talk with her.”
This is that chance I said I wanted. I can apologize. Show her that I’m not proud and difficult—at least not always. Demonstrate my affection…
Kinski’s scowl deepened.
Darcy could continue on as if nothing had happened, maybe calling her later. But the very thought was utterly intolerable. His eyes met Fitz’s, recalling the multiple bourbons from the previous night. He would do almost anything to avoid that feeling again.
“Back up. I want to give her a ride,” he told Kinski.
The agent nearly fell out of his seat in shock. “Sir, we can’t—the presidential limo doesn’t pick up hitchhikers!”
“Back. Up,” Darcy said firmly.
Kinski was still bug-eyed. “She hasn’t been cleared—!”
“She’s wearing a sundress.” A quite fetching sundress. “There’s no place for a concealed weapon.”
Kinski shook his head emphatically. “Sir, you don’t know—shoes, purses, weapons could be anywhere.”
Darcy rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t want to kill me.” Shout at me, perhaps. Kill me, no.
“I can send an agent to collect her—”
That would be logical…but she might refuse to go with an agent. Then Darcy would lose track of her again. He might be setting himself up for heartache once more, but it was better than certain despair. “No,” Darcy didn’t raise his voice, but he was very firm, “I want her in the limo. Now.”
Kinski’s face was quite red, and he appeared on the verge of a stroke. Bing had gone bug-eyed at Darcy’s uncharacteristic behavior, but Fitz’s eyes danced with merriment.
“Sir, you cannot simply—”
“Reverse. The. Car. Now,” Darcy said in his best leader-of-the-free-world voice.
They locked eyes for a moment; then Kinski, muttering curses under his breath, took out his phone and gave the order.
The car reversed. When it stopped, Kinski pulled out his gun, ready to jump out of the vehicle if necessary. But Darcy only had eyes for Elizabeth—and her shocked expression as they opened the limo door. He extended a hand to her. “C’mon. Get in!” Her mouth hung open, and her hand was at her throat. She didn’t move. Had he misinterpreted her presence at the gate?
Oh God, he didn’t want her to refuse. He needed her in the limo beside him, teasing him about being stiff. “Please, come.” He didn’t even care that the words sounded completely desperate.
Then—with excruciating slowness—she placed her hand in his and gave him a tentative smile. Darcy’s heart melted, followed by the rest of his body. He pulled her into the limo with an arm as limp as a wet noodle. Once inside the vehicle, Elizabeth glanced around dazedly. Fitz quickly vacated the seat next to Darcy, and she slid into it just as Kinski slammed the door shut and the limo started moving again, gliding past the gates of Pemberley.
Only then did Darcy allow his gaze to linger over her. She was here. She was actually in his limousine. “Hello, Elizabeth,” he said. “What brings you here?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Her mouth fell open as she perused the inside of the Beast.
Kinski scrutinized her from head to foot, but her thin sundress and flip-flops didn’t leave a lot of options for concealed weapons. The agent reached over and gently pulled Elizabeth’s small purse from her hands; she surrendered it with only a slight widening of her eyes.
As the agent examined the contents, Elizabeth noticed the other occupants of the limo. “Hello, Elizabeth!” Fitz waved cheerfully to her.
“Um, hi, Fitz,” she said slowly, blinking.
Bing stretched his arm across the space between them to shake her hand. “Good to see you again.”
Her jaw tightened as she shook his hand. Darcy couldn’t help remembering what she had said about her sister.
Kinski returned the purse to her, evidently having failed to discover any pipe bombs or Uzis.
What now?
Darcy hadn’t thought much beyond getting her into the car. To be honest, he hadn’t thought much beyond “Elizabeth. Want. Now.” His lips itched to kiss her silly; they hadn’t done nearly enough kissing. But, he recognized reluctantly, that might not be her plan, particularly in front of an audience.
Now he could conceive a hundred reasons this might be a bad idea. Maybe she’d come to Pemberley because she was still angry. Maybe she hadn’t read Darcy’s letter at all and still believed Wickham’s lies. Maybe she had read Darcy’s letter and still believed Wickham’s lies. Maybe she was dating Wickham. Shudder.
Maybe she was traveling with a friend who wanted to show support for the administration’s environmental policies, and she hadn’t wanted to come to Pemberley at all.
He took a deep breath to slow his racing thoughts. He could only learn her thinking by talking to her. Earlier today I was pining away for an opportunity to apologize to her and set things right. Now is my chance. And damn the audience.
Their eyes locked. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said simultaneously.
He blinked in confusion while Elizabeth jerked her head back.
“You’re sorry?” he asked. “What are you sorry for?”
“I believed George Wickham’s lies. I misjudged you. I made assumptions that weren’t true,” she said in a simple, matter-of-fact tone.
He shrugged; her sins were nothing compared to his. “I’m sorry I was arrogant and condescending and rude. I was so certain you would leap at the opportunity to date me that I made assumptions and started kissing you without—”
“It’s okay,” Elizabeth said hastily.
Darcy was acutely aware of the limo’s other inhabitants. Staring intently at his phone, Bing was doing a good imitation of someone who wasn’t overhearing a painfully intimate conversation. On the other hand, Fitz was watching them frankly, his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face. Kinski stared out the window—as his job demanded—but he was clearly fighting a smile.
“You weren’t that bad,” Elizabeth demurred.
“Yes, I was,” Darcy insisted.
“No, really, you weren’t. I wasn’t that offended.”
“Yes, I was.” He wasn’t about to let himself off the hook.
Her eyebrows knit together. “No, you weren’t.”
“Yes, I was.” Why couldn’t she acknowledge it so they could move on?
“No, you weren’t—”
Fitz gave an exasperated sigh. “For crying out loud! Will you two get over it already?”
Elizabeth laughed. “I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree on that point.”
The limo had stopped in front of Pemberley’s main entrance, but no one had exited the vehicle. They were waiting for Darcy. Perhaps they should continue the conversation in a more private setting. “Elizabeth, can I give you a tour of Pemberley?” he asked.
“I would love that.”
Darcy had won the election as President of the United States. Why was today the day he felt like he’d won the lottery?
***
Nowhere did the gap between Elizabeth’s childhood and Will’s become more evident than in Pemberley. The Bennets were in the upper echelons now, but her upbringing had been solidly middle class. That had never been true for the Darcy family.
The estate was lovely, of course. Pemberley was far enough from the road that it was a world away from the crowd at the gate. Elizabeth knew the Hamptons weren’t that big and the real estate wasn’t cheap. How many acres did the Darcy family own here? As they climbed out of the limo, she could see another house not too far away, so the property couldn’t be too large.
“Who are your neighbors?” she asked Will, pointing to the house. “Anyone I know?”
He coughed. “Um…that’s the estate’s guest house.”
Well…shit, it was big enough to be another mansion.
The initial exhilaration of being with Will again was beginning to fade, and a kind of queasiness was replacing it. Everything at Pemberley was tasteful, beautiful, perfect…and completely overwhelming. The exterior of the house was weathered shingles, giving it a seaside New England appearance. But the size was far beyond any fisherman’s house. The circular drive had deposited them at a white-columned portico that easily accommodated three additional cars from the motorcade. More columns adorned a porch that ran the length of the house. The house appeared to be three stories and stretched dauntingly in both directions.
Elizabeth glanced at Will’s patrician profile as they approached the front door. Maybe she could get a tour, stay for an hour or so, and then discreetly depart.
The double doors were tall enough to admit any small-to-medium giants who happened to be in the neighborhood. As they approached, someone—a waiting servant perhaps?—opened one side so Will and Elizabeth could enter, followed by Bing and Fitz. The two-story, marble-clad foyer featured twin staircases and an understated yet elegant chandelier. The paneling was exquisite, a light-colored wood that Elizabeth couldn’t identify, which contrasted nicely with the gray marble of the floors. “How old is the house?” she asked.
“A little more than one hundred years,” Will replied. “It was designed by the renowned architect Stanford White, and I had it renovated and modernized ten years ago, not long after my parents’ death.”
“They did a very nice job.” That was a stupid understatement. “It’s exquisite.”
“Thank you,” he said simply.
People flowed into the house around them. Secret Service agents bustled into different rooms to secure the building. One agent appeared to be setting up communication equipment in a corner of the foyer. Staffers carried luggage up to the second floor. Bing hurried up the stairs, with Fitz following more slowly. No doubt they had visited many times before.
Will led her through the doorway between the two staircases. “Let me show you my favorite room.”
Elizabeth gasped. Two stories tall, the room boasted windows—well, not really windows so much as a wall made from glass panels—that provided a stunning view of the ocean. Tearing her eyes from the scenery, she noticed that the room had dual conversational areas with all-white chairs and sofas grouped around two antique stone fireplaces. Her parents had a large living room but nothing on this scale. Balconies crafted from simple ironwork ran halfway up three of the walls, revealing entrances to second-story rooms. As if reading her mind, Will said, “That door leads to the master bedroom suite”—he pointed—“and the other side has doors to two of the bedrooms.”
Elizabeth drank in all the details so she would be able to describe them later to Jane. The décor wasn’t at all ostentatious; in fact, it was the very simplicity and understated elegance of the room that made it so appealing. It was big, but not nearly as grand or formal as the White House—and consequently it felt much more like a home.
Will observed her intently as if her reaction to the house was terribly important. “It’s…um… magnificent,” she said in awe. The word was completely inadequate, but he appeared very pleased nonetheless. “It just—it takes my breath away, Mr. President.”
His brow furrowed. “I thought we were past the ‘Mr. President’ stage.”
“Are we?” He’d said something to that effect on Air Force One, but she hadn’t taken it seriously.
“I just picked you up by the side of the road. Surely that counts for something.” His lips twitched. “I would like to believe you don’t get into cars with strangers.”
She laughed. “I don’t. I turned down the previous two presidential limos that happened by.”
This sally provoked a broad grin—the equivalent of a full-belly laugh for this man. “Would you like to see more?” he asked.
“Of course.” His posture was still painfully straight, but his pride in the house was so sweet she couldn’t help but find it charming.
The next stop was a kitchen Elizabeth’s mother would drool over, with a “breakfast nook” bigger than her parents’ dining room (which itself was not small). The nook had another spectacular water view. “How big is the house?” she asked Will.
“The main house is eighteen thousand square feet, and the property is twenty-eight acres. I’m very grateful for every acre right now since it provides some much-needed privacy.”
Elizabeth tried to wrap her mind around such scale. “I would guess so,” she said.
He led her into another room. Wait, when had he started holding her hand? Her hand felt so comfortable in his that she hadn’t noticed.
The sight of the next room pushed all other thoughts from her mind. It was a two-story library filled with thousands of books. “Wow. I could stay here for days and never leave.”
Will gave her a relaxed smile. “A woman after my own heart. I holed up here frequently as a child.”
Elizabeth imagined a serious, dark-haired boy curled up in one of the armchairs near the huge limestone fireplace. It was a cozy image but also rather isolated. “Did your family live here in the winter?”
Will fondly surveyed the room. “Technically Pemberley is a summer house, but my mother didn’t care much for New York City, so we usually lived here year-round, venturing into the city frequently to stay with my father in our penthouse. Georgiana and I had tutors until we were old enough to attend boarding school.”
Tutors. Boarding schools. Penthouses. His experience was so alien to her that he might as well have been from another country. By the time Mary, Kitty, and Lydia had been in high school, their parents had been able to afford a local private day school, but Elizabeth and Jane had gone to public school. Pemberley was lovely to admire, but every room reminded her that she didn’t belong here.
It would be best for her own emotional well-being if she simply thanked Will and left, but the very thought hurt her heart. His every look in her direction gave her goosebumps. If she left now, she felt strongly that she’d be missing out on something vital and important.
Darcy brought them back to the grand foyer, which was now empty except for a somber Secret Service agent posted near the front door. Darcy glanced up the stairs. “Would you like to go upstairs and select a bedroom?” he asked. “I’m afraid Bing has the one with the best view and Fitz has the one with the biggest bed, but there are twelve others to choose from. And each has its own bathroom.”
She regarded him blankly.
“Or would you prefer to stay at the guest house?” he asked hurriedly. “Some of the Secret Service agents are staying there, but plenty of rooms are unoccupied. And it houses the pool table and home theater.”
She swallowed. “I’m staying here?” Her heart pounded against her ribs, but she didn’t know whether from fear or anger.
A line formed between his brows. “Yes, of course…I thought…”
“Were you planning to consult me on your plans for my day? Or did you just assume that once I got in your limo I’d put out for you?” She said it with a smile, but a brittle edge of sarcasm in her voice.
The agent near the door made a choking noise. Will glared at him, and the man swiftly averted his eyes.
“I climbed into your limo for the sole purpose of apologizing to you,” she continued, pointing her finger at Will. “I received your letter and regretted misjudging you. This visit is not about becoming your love toy!”
The agent snorted.
Will ignored him. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. It appears I made another assumption.” He rubbed his hand over his face, taking a deep breath. “I was hoping you could stay tonight so that you could have dinner with us—and meet my sister, who is arriving in the morning.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “My intentions were not…dishonorable. I didn’t expect you to—I mean, I thought you’d stay in a guest room. There’s a lock on the door and everything.”
The energy drained from Elizabeth’s body, leaving her feeling weak and more than a little ridiculous. He had offered a guest room or even the guest house. Certainly, he wouldn’t plan to seduce a woman ensconced in another building surrounded by federal agents. Why do I always jump to the worst conclusions with Will?
It was all so implausible—the idea that he just wanted her company and conversation. “Why me?” The words burst out before she could censor them. “I’m just an aid worker from an annoying nouveau-riche family.”
Will gaped at her. “Why you? I-I”—he pushed a hand through already unruly, dark locks—“God, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.” He shook his head in wonderment. “You’re the woman I’ve been waiting for: smart, beautiful, funny, well-spoken…the whole package.”
The Secret Service agent was assiduously studying the flower arrangement in the corner.
Elizabeth took some time to absorb these words. Her hand went to her throat in surprise. “W-Wow.” Her voice trembled. “I-I didn’t know.” His admission was so much more than she had expected.
Taking both her hands in his, he drew them to his chest, pulling her closer. “Do you believe me?”
How could she disbelieve such a declaration? She swallowed thickly. “Oh, yeah.” Now her hands shook for an entirely different reason. She forced herself to examine her feelings unflinchingly; there was no denying she viewed him differently from anyone else she had ever met. Even when compared to men she had dated. And didn’t that give her pause?
Will stepped closer, his eyes on her mouth. He must have resolved to ignore the Secret Service agent. He wants to kiss me again. Her lips tingled at the thought.
But just as he bent his head to hers, the sound of rapid footsteps echoed across the marble floor. Will raised his head, dropped his hands, and stepped away from her as Bing skidded to a stop beside him. “What is it?” he demanded, his eyes still fixed on Elizabeth.
Bing cleared his throat. “Um…we got a call from the agent down at the gate. There’s…there’s a woman who—well, she claims the President of the United States kidnapped her niece.”
***
I’m having the strangest day.
After clarifying the Gardiners’ identity to Will, Elizabeth—mortified that she hadn’t thought of them in her whirlwind tour of Pemberley—spoke to her aunt on the phone. Aunt Madeline’s late-60s radical consciousness had been reignited by her encounter with the Secret Service agents, whom she referred to as “jack-booted thugs.” However, a five-minute conversation with Elizabeth allayed the older woman’s fears that her niece was being held in a secure government facility. And the Gardiners readily accepted Will’s invitation to visit Pemberley, which Elizabeth relayed.
The lead Secret Service agent, a stone-faced guy named Kinski, had opposed the idea. Elizabeth was a known quantity, having attended previous events with the president and traveled on Air Force One. But Kinski had insisted he would need at least 24 hours to thoroughly vet her relatives.
Will, who’d never struck her as particularly spontaneous, surprised Elizabeth by firmly informing Kinski that the Secret Service had an hour to check out the Gardiners before he had them admitted. Will might have been influenced by Aunt Madeline’s threats to apprise the lurking reporters that her niece had been kidnapped by the president.
The whole situation made Elizabeth squirm. She was loath to cause Will any more trouble, particularly after making such egregious assumptions about his intentions. Relations between them were proceeding smoothly for once, and she was eager to enjoy more of his company.
Will’s condescending, abrupt side hadn’t appeared at all, except when the Secret Service agent had pushed him too far. Being on vacation in familiar surroundings made even the most type-A president more mellow. Experiencing this side of him was revelatory; this was the Will who had written the letter that made her regret her anger on Air Force One.
Of course, all that friendliness might dissipate when the Gardiners arrived. Will hadn’t been particularly patient or understanding with Elizabeth’s immediate family. Although the Gardiners had far better manners than the Bennets, they were solidly middle class. Their encounter with Will might yield stilted conversation and snide remarks that would quickly send Elizabeth scurrying back to the Gardiners’ rented cabin.
Elizabeth paced the living room floor, watched the front door, and tried not to bite her nails as she awaited her aunt and uncle. When the doorbell finally sounded, the Secret Service agent admitted the Gardiners, and Elizabeth rushed into the foyer to receive relieved hugs.
“I thought you were past the age where we had to worry about you getting into cars with strangers,” Aunt Madeline joked.
Elizabeth’s cheeks heated. “I’m sorry! My mind was…elsewhere, and I didn’t think about how worried you would be.” Truthfully, she’d been so wrapped up in Will she hadn’t given her relatives a thought.
Aunt Madeline gave her a cheeky grin. “I can’t be too upset. I’d be distracted, too, in your place.”
Her uncle shook his head at Elizabeth. “Next time, don’t leave the house without your phone.”
She nodded sheepishly; leaving her phone behind plugged into the wall charger was a particularly bad habit.
As Elizabeth led the Gardiners into the living room, her aunt gaped at the majestic view through the windows. Fitz, Bing, and Will had just emerged from a meeting in the study, so Elizabeth made introductions. Fortunately, the Gardiners handled the august company with far more aplomb than had the Bennets.
Uncle Thomas shook Will’s hand. “Thank you for inviting us, Mr. President. It’s an honor. This is indeed a beautiful house.”
Will smiled genially. “Thank you. I’m pleased to have the opportunity to demonstrate that your niece is safe.”
Aunt Madeline laughed nervously, and Uncle Thomas patted her hand. “Maddie worries, you know. We don’t have our own children, so our nieces are very dear to us.”
Her face heating again, Elizabeth stared at her feet.
Will was unfazed. “Your concern for your niece is admirable. Would you join us for lunch?” He gestured toward French doors opening onto a flagstone patio.
The Gardiners immediately accepted the invitation, and soon everyone was settled on the elegantly appointed patio. As with the interior of the house, all the patio furniture was white. Elizabeth couldn’t help wondering what they would do if children visited. Cover everything with plastic? White upholstery was practically guaranteed to draw tomato sauce, apple juice, or grubby fingers.
A casually dressed maid appeared out of nowhere to serve everyone iced tea and sandwiches. The hot, late morning weather had given way to cooler temperatures and a mild sea breeze. It was the kind of day that could make a person vow never to return inside again. Although Elizabeth usually preferred southern beaches, she understood how someone could fall in love with this place.
Conversation had been desultory, mostly limited to comments on the food and weather. But once everyone was settled, Will turned his attention to the Gardiners.
“Where are you folks from?” he asked.
Uh-oh, this is where the wheels fall off. She didn’t know how Will would handle the information that the Gardiners weren’t any kind of riche—nouveau or otherwise.
Uncle Thomas answered, “We’re originally from Virginia, but now we live in New York City.”
Will nodded pleasantly. “And what do you do for a living?”
Elizabeth managed not to wince. The typical D.C. question: the most important thing about anyone was their occupation.
“Maddie and I own and operate a beer distributorship,” her uncle replied.
Elizabeth watched Will’s face closely. If he thought food on a stick was declasse, selling beer had to be practically criminal. Although the Gardiners were successful, their world was decidedly more blue-collar than anything Will had likely encountered in his life.
“Really,” Will said, exchanging a glance with Fitz.
Here it comes. She was surprised at a touch of regret. Against all reason, she had hoped that Will would like the Gardiners. Why? Had she actually fooled herself into believing they could have something together?
“Do you sell microbrews?” Will asked.
Huh?
“Indeed we do!” Uncle Thomas smiled expansively. “I love to help small businesses get off the ground. We supply 23 percent of the restaurants in the city, so our distribution can make a big difference to some of the craft breweries.”
Both Will and Fitz leaned forward with avid interest. What the hell?
“My cousin, Fitz’s brother, has started a microbrewery,” Will said, “but he’s having trouble finding a distributor in New York City.” They had her uncle’s complete attention now. “Would you consider it?” Will asked.
Uncle Thomas regarded the president for a long moment. “Do you have any beer that I could sample?”
Will frowned, but Fitz laughed and slapped his thigh. “Good man! My brother wouldn’t want to do business with someone who would sell just any beer.”
“We have plenty.” Will gestured to Fitz. “Can you find whatever we have on ice?”
Soon everyone was sampling five kinds of One Eye Jack microbrew and debating the merits of the different varieties. Fitz and Uncle Thomas were deep in a discussion of hops and yeast while Will talked to Aunt Madeline about branding and marketing strategies. Elizabeth had another dizzying moment when it felt like a bizarre dream.
Bing leaned toward Elizabeth, the only other person not involved in a conversation. “Er…how is Jane?” He finished off the beer in his glass.
Sudden dryness in her mouth caused Elizabeth to gulp her beer. She didn’t want to have this conversation with Bing. Or, indeed, any conversation with Bing. Will had made some wrongheaded and hurtful assumptions about Jane, and his opinion had no doubt influenced his friend’s, but Bing was a grown man and responsible for his own decisions. “Fine…she’s doing well,” Elizabeth muttered. Inwardly she cursed herself. Could she have sounded less convincing?
“Good…that’s good…” Bing squeezed his glass so tightly Elizabeth feared it might shatter. “I-Is she…er…seeing anyone?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Elizabeth said through gritted teeth.
Setting his glass on the coffee table, Bing leveled his gaze at her. “You’re right. It isn’t my business, but I still want to know.” His voice shook. “Is she seeing anyone?”
Perhaps now was the time to describe Jane’s torrid affair with a race car driver or international spy, but Elizabeth’s eyes were drawn to the trembling of Bing’s hands. She sighed. “Jane’s had a few dates. But I don’t know that there’s anyone special.”
Bing blew out a breath and sagged back into his chair. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that. Would Jane be angry? Bing rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you think she’d…answer if…I called her?”
Elizabeth answered without thinking. “She deleted your number from her phone, so she probably wouldn’t know it was you.”
“Shit.” Bing winced. “You don’t pull any punches.”
“Why should I?” Elizabeth asked. “You hurt her, dumping her like that without any warning. At a party! I don’t know why she would give you a second chance. I don’t know that she should.”
Bing shot a glance at Will. “You’re giving Darcy another chance.”
What the hell? “I am?” she spluttered. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but we had an argument. I wanted to apologize. So did he. That’s the reason I’m here.” Had Will implied something else to his friend?
Bing raised one perfect blond eyebrow. “You apologized in the limo. So why did you stick around? I doubt it’s so you could score some free microbrew.”
Elizabeth’s gaze dropped down to her mostly empty glass. Why was she still at Pemberley? She’d lived her whole life without William Darcy, but then a month without him had felt interminable. It could be months until she saw him again—if ever—and some impulse she preferred not to examine too closely demanded that she soak up every moment in his presence. The feelings were deeply unsettling, which should have prompted an intense desire to leave Pemberley. Yet she felt the opposite.
How could one man be so confusing?
When Will concluded his conversation and stood, he naturally drew the eyes of everyone on the patio. “I have to say the ocean looks awfully appealing,” he said to Elizabeth with a relaxed grin. “Would you like to join me for a swim?”
Elizabeth exchanged glances with her aunt. “We don’t have swimsuits.”
Will waved a negligent hand. “I can send an agent to the Gardiners’ rental house to fetch them. You’ll need some things for tonight in any case.”
“You’re spending the night?” Uncle Thomas asked Elizabeth.
She folded her arms over her chest and glared at Will. “It’s customary to invite someone before planning on their acceptance.”
“You’re not staying the night?” Will appeared so crestfallen she almost felt guilty.
Fitz laughed. “What my socially inept cousin is trying to say is that we would love the honor of your company at dinner tonight and would be thrilled if you could stay overnight.”
“What he said.” Will pointed to his cousin. “I would like to introduce you to Georgie tomorrow.” His eyes pleaded with Elizabeth. Why in the world was it so important to him? “Of course, I’d love to have your aunt and uncle stay as well,” he added hastily.
“We have plans,” Elizabeth said quickly. Her aunt regarded her skeptically. “But we might be able to change them,” she added.
Aunt Madeline gave the group a somewhat frozen smile. “Please excuse us for a minute.”
She pulled Elizabeth from the patio and into the glorious living room; Uncle Thomas trailed after them and closed the French doors. “We have plans for this evening?” Aunt Madeline asked Elizabeth. “Did it slip my mind?”
Elizabeth stared at her flip-flops. “We discussed trying that new restaurant that was reviewed in the paper.”
“The one where we didn’t even get reservations?” Her aunt snorted. “I think we can forgo that pleasure for an opportunity when the President of the United States invites us to his house for dinner.”
“Of course. It’s fine,” Elizabeth said hastily. She was half appalled and half thrilled at the idea of remaining at Pemberley.
Uncle Thomas stepped toward Elizabeth until they were face-to-face. “Lizzy, has something happened with the president? Has he made you feel uncomfortable? We won’t stay if you think he’s a creep.”
“It’s nothing like that.” The words tumbled out of Elizabeth’s mouth. “I…he…he and I…” She blew out a frustrated breath and started again. “We never seem to be on the same wavelength. He’s so proud and acted like such a snob when he talked to my family, but at times like these he’s trying so hard to be pleasant. I don’t understand why his behavior changed.”
“I can guess a reason or two why,” Aunt Madeline said with a small smile. Elizabeth was certain she didn’t want to know what her aunt was thinking. “I would like to stay. Goodness knows we won’t get an opportunity like this again.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, my dear,” Uncle Thomas said enigmatically.
Elizabeth returned to the patio and informed Will that they’d rearranged their plans so they could stay for the night. She didn’t believe she’d ever seen him smile so broadly.
Afterward, things happened quickly—which probably wasn’t unusual around the president. He had an agent drive Aunt Madeline to their rental house to pack up clothing for everyone. Elizabeth chatted with Fitz and her uncle while Bing and Will attended to some presidential duties. By the time her aunt returned, everyone was more than ready for a couple of hours at the beach.
***
The beach at Pemberley was one of Darcy’s favorite places in the world, and he was thrilled to share it with Elizabeth. Her aunt and uncle were very pleasant company and a great addition to the party.
Darcy had been eagerly anticipating the sight of Elizabeth in a swimsuit, but his own reaction overwhelmed him. Her bikini was blue and covered more skin than many such suits. Still, it left little to the imagination, and Darcy had spent many hours imagining what he was now able to see. Time and again he resolved to sit back in his beach chair and enjoy the vast cloudless sky and rhythmic sounds of the waves, but his eyes were drawn back to Elizabeth’s bikini; he was helpless in the face of such an alluring sight.
It wasn’t just her incredible hotness in the bikini that drew his attention. She was so clearly enjoying herself, alternately floating in an inner tube or splashing with her aunt and uncle. Her eyes sparkled, and she laughed with abandon. When she swam, she cut through the water with a blithe lack of self-consciousness. If he joined her in the water, could she teach him that kind of spontaneity? Could spontaneity even be learned?
Darcy’s board shorts were not loose enough to completely conceal his…reaction to her presence. He was compelled to place a towel over his lap—and still couldn’t avert his eyes from her form. Hopefully her aunt and uncle were enjoying the beach too much to notice his stares; otherwise, they might worry the danger of kidnapping hadn’t passed.
Caroline had arrived a couple of hours ago and was stretched out on the beach chair next to his. Her designer bathing suit consisted of a complicated set of straps that would surely become hopelessly tangled if she actually attempted to swim. Of course, the suit’s true purpose was to show off her slender figure, which it did very well. Nevertheless, Darcy’s gaze was never drawn to her.
Behind her oversized sunglasses, Caroline observed Elizabeth frolic in the surf as well. “You would think her family could afford a more flattering swimsuit for her,” she sniffed.
“I think it’s quite flattering,” Darcy said mildly.
Caroline rolled her eyes. “Puh-leeze! It’s at least two years out of date. And look how brown she is; I bet her skin will be dry and wrinkly before she’s forty.”
“It’s just a light tan. I think it gives her a healthy glow, don’t you, Bing?”
On Darcy’s other side, Bing glared at his friend, not happy to be dragged into the discussion. “I suppose,” he replied noncommittally.
Caroline settled back into her chair with a moue of displeasure. “I don’t see why you invited them to spend the night,” she complained. “They’re nice enough people, but we don’t know anyone in common. Her family has some money I suppose; the danger of bankruptcy seems to have passed for now. But they all went to public school, for heaven’s sake. What on earth will we find to talk about at dinner?”
Darcy managed to hide a grin. “I’m sure we’ll muddle through.”
“I don’t see the appeal.” She regarded Darcy over the rim of her sunglasses.
Darcy gritted his teeth. “You don’t need to. They’re my guests, Caroline.”
She huffed and shook her hair back from her face. “Maybe I’ll see if Fitz would like to go for a walk.” Rising gracefully from the chair, she stalked over to the towel where Fitz had fallen asleep while sunbathing and prodded the man with her toe. Soon the pair was strolling down the beach.
Naturally, Darcy’s attention returned to Elizabeth like a homing pigeon. Bing chuckled and Darcy sighed, watching her push her aunt around on the inner tube. “I can’t help it.”
“She is very attractive.”
Darcy deliberately misunderstood his friend. “Bing, she’s married and at least twice your age.”
“Ha, ha,” Bing said. “Even Caroline noticed your…attraction.”
Darcy’s fists clenched on his thighs. “Yes, Elizabeth is attractive. Too damn attractive.”
“Why’s that?” Bing asked. “Does she have a boyfriend?”
What a horrifying thought. “I don’t think so, but she…I just don’t think she’s into me.”
Bing leaned closer to Darcy. “Why do you say that?”
“There’s the whole ran-screaming-from-me thing.”
Bing raised an eyebrow. “I thought she didn’t scream, and it was a fast walk.”
“Whatever you call it, she fled my presence.”
“But she sought you out today.”
“To apologize.”
“That might not be the only reason,” Bing said. “You wanted to apologize to her, but that’s not all you want.”
“Hmm.” Darcy was mesmerized as he watched Elizabeth playfully splash her uncle.
“She blushes when you look at her.”
“She does?” Darcy gave Bing a sharp look. “But she argues with everything I say.”
Bing chuckled. “Isn’t that part of her appeal?”
“Huh,” Darcy considered. “Maybe.”
Bing squinted at his friend. “You like the woman. She’s on your beach. Why are you sitting here like a dead horseshoe crab? She keeps glancing this way.”
“She does?”
“Yeah.” Bing chuckled. “Why don’t you go play in the water with her?”
Darcy snorted. “Do you know how long it’s been since I ‘played’ in the water?”
“I’m guessing you could have counted your age in single digits.”
Darcy nodded. Why had he wasted his time going to college and learning about politics? Obviously playing in the water was a vital life skill he had grievously neglected.
“I bet it’s like riding a bicycle,” Bing said, clasping Darcy’s shoulder. “You’ll remember once you get started.”
Darcy eyed Elizabeth wistfully. It did look like fun. Could he simply wade into the ocean and join in the splashing? Oh Lord, I’d probably look like an idiot.
Darcy slid down in his beach chair. “Maybe later.”
Bing gave him a long look. “You know,” he said slowly, “I think what you need is a strategy.”
“A strategy to play in the ocean,” Darcy echoed.
His friend’s eyes glittered. “You need the proper tools…and I happen to have water guns in my beach bag…”
Hmm. It would be easier to join the fun with a water gun in hand, although it wouldn’t be exactly dignified.
“It’s a high-powered gun…with pump action and a scope for accuracy…” Bing’s voice tantalized him.
Elizabeth’s musical laughter traveled over the waves. Ah, screw dignity.
“Yeah,” he heard himself replying, “I want to borrow it.”