Eliza gripped the thousand-pound bottle of vintage Chateau Lafite Rothschild that she’d taken from her father’s wine cellar and exited the town car.

The Austen’s impressive Tudor style home beckoned her, and she idly wondered if it had been in the family for the same amount of time as the business. Then, because she knew the state of the Austen’s company, she wondered how they’d managed to hold on to such a magnificent piece of property.

The invitation to Sunday lunch had taken Eliza by surprise, mostly because it was Wick who had called George and given her the details, while Lydia was still not on speaking terms with her sisters. Eliza debated on whether to attend, but after a long week at work—with yet more threats and posturing from many of the board members—and a new acquisition blocked by red tape, she felt the need to let off some steam. What better way to do so than by spending time with her little sister and her new family.

Eliza hadn’t admitted it to herself, but the thought of seeing Darcy again was the driving force behind her acceptance of the invitation. She hadn’t replied to his email, and she wanted to see how he would react to her in his world. Would he be the antagonising, judgmental man she’d initially thought him to be or the man who’d made her a sandwich and relaxed with her on a Las Vegas roof terrace?

She hoped to see the latter but fully expected the former.

The front door opened before Eliza had a chance to ring the bell, and an attractive, if heavily made up, older woman ushered her inside.

“How wonderful you could join us, you must be Eliza, for your sister Jane is already here with my son Bing, and Wick and Lydia have yet to arrive.”

The woman, who Eliza now assumed was Mrs Austen, barely took a breath. Before continuing, “Come in, come in. Oh, you have brought wine—” she grabbed the bottle from Eliza’s hand “—it looks old, and therefore expensive. What a marvellous choice and such generosity to bring me a gift.”

Eliza still hadn’t been able to get out a word.

“Everyone is in the parlour. Please make your way through, I must check on the caterers, they came highly recommended, but good staff can be hard to find as I’m sure you must be aware. Do you have many staff?”

Eliza blinked rapidly, unsure how to answer the question.

“Oh you must do, a busy woman such as yourself would not have time to run her own household. How many are in your employ, my dear?”

Eliza blinked again and settled on the answer, “About seven hundred and fifty thousand worldwide.”

Anne Austen choked on her next words and covered it with a cough.

“Well, that’s delightful, dear,” she dismissed in an appearance of nonchalance. “Now please do go and find my oldest son Darcy. I believe you are both here and unattached, and that you would do very well to get to know each other a little better.”

She leaned in as if telling Eliza a secret. “And he is very handsome.” Adding almost as an afterthought, “As are all my sons but Darcy has always turned heads and the others as you know are now spoken for. How fun it would be for our families to be joined with each sister to each brother.”

Mrs Austen walked away swinging the expensive bottle of wine about as if it was no more costly than a gallon of milk and giggling to herself, “Oh yes, how marvellous another two weddings would be.”

Eliza watched as Anne walked towards where she assumed were the kitchens and wondered if she’d stepped into an alternate universe. The Austen brother’s mother was a character, one she couldn’t reconcile with Darcy or Bing, and she didn’t know Wick well enough to judge.

Deciding that if she was in for a penny she was in for a pound, Eliza made her way to the parlour feeling decidedly as if she was in an episode of Downton Abbey. Once there, she stepped quietly into the room and observed the occupants for a few seconds before making enough noise to draw attention to her arrival.

Bing and Jane sat hand in hand on a small Chesterfield, totally unaware of anyone else, while an older man—one she assumed was Mr Austen senior because he bore an uncanny resemblance to Bing— sat in a wingback chair reading a newspaper, and Darcy sat in the opposite chair staring into the unlit fireplace.

On hearing her clear her throat, both Darcy and his father turned to see who had entered. The older man looked perplexed but smiled in greeting, while his son stared at her emotionless, and Jane and Bing remained oblivious.

“Mrs Austen directed me this way,” Eliza began. “She’s gone to check on the caterers.” Then she walked up to the older man, held out her hand and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Austen. You have a beautiful home.”

Claude Austen stood and took hold of the young lady’s hand before him. Unlike Bing’s Jane, who was all sweet niceness and easy grace, or Wick’s Lydia who was all womanly wiles and conniving smiles, Claude thought Eliza Bennet to be strong-willed, forthright and genuine. What you saw was what you got. The oldest Bennet sister reminded him a hell of a lot of Darcy.

“It’s a joy to meet you too, my dear. Thank you for accepting the invitation to dine with us today.”

Claude glanced over at Darcy and was surprised to see his son had stood to greet Eliza but was looking at everywhere else except her.

“You know my son, Darcy,” Claude introduced.

Eliza’s eyes blinked a few times, her smile now plastered across her face unmoving, and with a flick of her gaze to the eldest Austen brother she eventually replied, “Yes, we are well acquainted.”

That drew Darcy’s gaze to her, and something flickered in his stare.

“In vain I have struggled to forget you,” he began with a smirk, using Eliza’s words back at her. “But you are truly unforgettable, Miss Bennet.”

Eliza’s blood boiled at his attempt to bait her. She was about to open her mouth and retaliate but remembered she was in his family home, with his father smiling at them both as if he knew a secret they didn’t.

“Well, isn’t this a pleasant way to spend a Sunday,” Claude Austen said through his grin. “Darcy, be a good host and offer Eliza a drink.”

Eliza tilted her head and smiled at Darcy in a way that said ‘run along now.’ He returned her head tilt and offered back his own smirk. ‘I’ll get you a drink, but be careful I don’t poison it.’

The two of them stood locked in a silent altercation until finally Jane noticed that her sister had entered the room.

“Oh, Lize,” she called in surprise. “When did you get here?” Has Lydia arrived with you?”

Jane jumped up and embraced her sister with an infectious amount of joy. Eliza couldn’t help but let a genuine smile break free as she stood in her beloved sister’s arms.

Pulling back to look at her, Eliza replied, “No, I haven’t seen our sister since Las Vegas. I’m sure our reunion will be… eventful.”

Bing stood and came to greet Eliza, his body always seeking to touch Jane’s in some way, be it a brush of hands, a gentle palm to her lower back or a kiss on her forehead.

“It’s lovely to see you once more, Eliza,” Bing offered genuinely, his countenance as open and honest as Jane’s. “Can I get you a drink?”

Eliza smiled wickedly, her head turning to look at Darcy and her next words loud enough for him to hear. “No, you’re quite okay, I believe your brother is already attending me.”

“Could you grab Jane a refill too, please Darce?” Bing requested, handing his brother Jane’s empty wineglass.

Darcy took the glass and bowed in sarcastic deference. “It seems I am only here to serve.”

Then he left, but not before he gave Eliza one last look that had her feet itching to follow him if only to banter with him some more.

That damned man had gotten under her skin, and she needed to do something to get him out.

With that thought in her head, she turned to Claude Austen and said, “While we’re here for pleasure today, please forgive me for talking about business, but I’d like to make you an offer.”

* * *

The last thing Lydia wanted to do was spend more time with Wick’s family. Add to that the fact her sisters would also be there, and she could think of a dozen other more appealing activities—ripping off her fingernails with pliers, shaving her head bald—than spending her Sunday with these people.

But the problem was, she wanted Austen’s, and she was determined to get one over on Eliza. Wick had promised it to her, and he’d yet to deliver, so she was taking the situation into her own hands.

As the car pulled up outside Wick’s family home, she stared at the old Tudor mansion and wondered how soon it would be before they inherited this place or bought it out from under them. The house was ugly, but the land it stood on impressive, and she couldn’t wait to knock the thing down and put something more worthy in its place.

“We’re late. Did you really need that two-hour long massage?” Wick groused as he stepped out into the Sunday sunshine.

“I did,” Lydia confirmed. “If I must deal with your family again, I’ll need another two-hour long massage when we get back.”

Wick ignored the jibe and went over to his new wife to link her arm with his.

“I have the proposal for father. Let me give it to him. He’ll be more open if he believes it’s mostly my idea,” he stated smoothly, assuming Lydia would see the sense in his request.

“It’s my money, my proposal, my time. Why would I allow you to present it?” she countered haughtily.

They were by the oak front door before Wick replied, “Because sometimes, my love, you must swallow your pride and play to win.”

“Pride is not something I’m ever accused of swallowing,” she retorted tartly.

Wick’s eyes sparkled and he turned to look at his wife’s mouth.

“No, my love,” he rasped. “But you’ve gotten an expert at swallowing—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Lydia demanded with her fingers pressed to his mouth. “Our sex life has nothing to do with business. It’s time you learnt not to mix the two up.”

She stepped forward until they were chest to chest, her sky-high heels putting them at almost equal height, so her lips skimmed his.

“I own you, husband.” Lydia’s lips tipped up into a sly grin. “I own this.” She cupped his cock. “And I will own your business.” She squeezed her hand just enough to gain a hiss from Wick’s lips.

“I’ve told you we’d keep the Austen name. You’ve bargained your terms, and now it’s time for me to collect my dues. I will convince your father. You will observe. I lead, you follow. Do you think you can understand that, husband?”

Wick nodded his head, his hard dick throbbing in Lydia’s hand right where she wanted him.

She placed a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose, then stepped back as if nothing had happened between them and proceeded to ring the doorbell.

“Rearrange yourself, love,” she smirked at his erection as the door began to open. “Your subservience is showing.”