So the president didn’t want her talking to George? Maybe he shouldn’t have used Elizabeth to score political points. Elizabeth gave George a bright smile. “Would you like to dance?”
He glanced in President Darcy’s direction. “I’d love to. But I have two left feet.” He leaned closer to her. “I was actually thinking of touring the grounds. The music is rather loud.”
The silence outside would be a balm for her ears. “That would be wonderful.”
With a pleased grin, George held out his right arm—Lydia still had possession of the left—for Elizabeth to take. They promenaded awkwardly, three abreast, toward the exit as Lydia cozied up to the congressman, allowing her breast to brush his arm.
Elizabeth didn’t need to compete with Lydia over George, but she found her sister’s brazenness to be embarrassing and more than a little disturbing. Her parents had never tried to curb Lydia’s more wanton impulses, and it was probably too late now.
When they swept into the front hallway, the temperature dropped at least five degrees; Elizabeth sighed gratefully. They continued through the hallway and the metal detectors to the front of the house.
It was night, of course, but the Secret Service had brought in lights that illuminated the sides of the house. Fortunately, it was warm for May, and Elizabeth was quite comfortable with a shawl around her shoulders. George led the two women toward a path curving toward the back of the house and into a garden. The ornamental shrubs were early-spring green, and the azaleas were bursting with pinks, but the rose bushes and other plants were still rather bare.
George removed his tuxedo jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He had a build that was more likely to be found on an athlete than a congressman.
As their feet crunched along the gravel path, both Lydia and Elizabeth wobbled in their high heels. Lydia clutched George’s arm. “Don’t abandon me! I can’t make it without you,” she teased. Elizabeth snorted.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” George said, his eyes darting to Elizabeth. “Are you all right?”
“I will be.” Elizabeth rested her hand on a low stone wall to balance herself while she removed her shoes and stepped barefoot onto the gravel, made from rounded river stones. Her feet reacted like Medieval prisoners that had been released from the rack. “Ahh… much better.” George grinned at her.
They continued their perambulations. Much of the garden was in silhouette, but the light revealed clusters of daffodils and tulips. Everything was exquisitely maintained; the gardening budget must be huge.
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about Congress. Which party do you belong to?” Elizabeth asked him.
“I’m a Republican,” he replied with an easy grin. “But I’m a pretty progressive Republican. You have to be to represent New York City.”
“I’m in favor of progress, too,” Lydia said.
George lifted one corner of his mouth. “Yes, unfortunately, in Washington one learns all too quickly the truth of the saying, ‘If the opposite of pro is con, what’s the opposite of progress?”
Lydia thought for a moment. “Congress?” She guffawed. “That’s a scream!”
“Do you work with the president much?” Elizabeth asked.
He hesitated for a moment. “Not professionally, but I know Will personally.”
“Who’s Will?” Lydia asked. “Oh! The president! You know him? That is so cool!” She edged closer to George, invading even more of his personal space.
“We grew up together,” George said in a humble-brag way.
“You grew up with the president?” Lydia’s eyes were wide and sparkling.
Huh. That was odd. “I’ve read a fair amount about President Darcy. I haven’t seen you mentioned in anything about his childhood.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t.” George’s mouth flattened to a thin line. “We had a…falling out a while ago, and his staff has tried to erase me from the official record.” He kicked a stone in the pathway.
“Really?” Lydia could scent juicy gossip like a dog smelled a steak.
Evidently being difficult and proud weren’t the president’s only offenses. Why would he pretend an old childhood friend didn’t exist? “Was it over political differences?” she asked. The president might have felt betrayed when George joined the other party.
George blew out a breath. “No, not at all.”
Now Elizabeth was even more curious. “What happened?” Lydia asked. “I mean, if you don’t mind telling us.”
George’s eyes glittered, reflecting the floodlights. He hesitated; a pained expression ghosted over his face, but he also seemed about to burst with suppressed energy. “It’s a difficult part of my past, but sometimes it helps to talk about it.”
Lydia nodded sympathetically, rubbing his arm with her hand. “You can unburden yourself to us. It’s an important part of the healing process.” Elizabeth suppressed a laugh.
“But you can’t share it with anybody else,” George said. “The story is rather…”—he swallowed hard—“personal.”
Elizabeth felt a sudden rush of sympathy. George might be overly dramatic in his presentation of the facts, but the memories seemed to genuinely pain him. “Of course, we won’t say anything,” she promised gently.
“Thank you,” George said.
“We’re trustworthy,” Lydia added.
George patted Lydia’s hand. “You’re a very kind soul.” Lydia beamed.
He led them into a more secluded part of the garden. “We can’t let anyone overhear.”
George perched himself on a boulder while Lydia and Elizabeth took seats on an opposite bench. He lowered his voice. “Will and I practically grew up together. My father was the chief operating officer of his father’s business. We played together as kids, went to the same school, had double dates.” George stared out into space, lost in the memories. “But then Darcy Industries went into a slump. My father was fired and lost everything. Somehow Mr. Darcy managed to hold on to most of his wealth and rebound.” George’s smile twisted bitterly. “My father always thought he paid off some people at the Securities and Exchange Commission.”
Elizabeth gasped. That would be a federal crime.
“My father died a broken and disillusioned man. However, when Mr. Darcy died seven years ago, I found out that he had left me a hundred thousand dollars in his will. I think he was trying to make amends to my family.”
Lydia was hanging on every word. “Yay!” She clapped her hands in glee.
George’s lip curled. “Will wouldn’t give it to me.”
Wow, this was worse than anything Elizabeth could have imagined, completely unbalancing her. She knew the president could be cold and abrupt and proud, but…
“Did you ask him for it?” Lydia asked.
George gave a harsh laugh. “Of course. But by then he had destroyed the original will, and he denied that it ever contained such a provision.”
Elizabeth’s hand flew up to her mouth. “How horrible! Can’t you sue him?”
“I could, but he warned me that I’d be going up against the best lawyers money could buy, and my legal fees could easily eat up any money I won as part of the case.”
What a shabby way to treat a childhood friend! Now Elizabeth regretted acquiescing—even grudgingly—to dance with the president. I should have stepped on his feet. “B-But you deserve that money! It’s yours.”
“Yeah.” George looked down at his hands. “But I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished on my own. I’ve bootstrapped myself to where I am through hard work in my uncle’s company.”
Lydia’s eyes were shining. “That’s so admirable.”
He gave her a brief smile. “My mother says adversity builds strength of character.”
Elizabeth was still trying to wrap her mind around the depths of the president’s treachery. Why does it bother me so much? I knew he was a jerk and we’d never be buddies. “Have you ever considered going to the press about it?” she asked.
“Sure.” He shoved his hands into
his pockets. “But we belong to opposing parties, and the press loves Will. They’d just think I was making it up, and I don’t have a shred of proof.”
Lydia made a sympathetic noise, dabbing her eye with a tissue.
George looked up at the moon, the cool light illuminating his fine features. “If I spoke out now, it would only hurt the country.”
“How good you are…to put the needs of the country ahead of yours.” Lydia sighed.
He shrugged. “I can only pray that Will is behaving just as admirably. He’s very good about looking like a boy scout, but he’s ruthless when he wants to be. I worry…what’s actually happening at the White House that we’ll find out later?”
Elizabeth shivered. She had never thought President Darcy as bad as all that! Such a lack of honor could be devastating for the country, particularly after his predecessor’s egregious behavior.
George slid off the boulder. “He is doing some good things for the country, but someday the country will see the real William Darcy. I just have to wait.” His gaze landed on Elizabeth. “I saw you dancing with him and wanted to warn you.” He crept a little closer to her. “I wouldn’t want you to fall into his trap.” He held her eyes. “You seem like a nice girl, and he’s good-looking, powerful, rich. But he’s bad news.”
Elizabeth laughed softly. “Thank you. A warning is quite unnecessary. I don’t know why he asked me to dance, but he doesn’t really like me. And I’m certainly not establishing a Washington, D.C. chapter of the William Darcy fan club anytime soon.”
Wickham’s mouth opened slightly. “Oh, I thought…the way he looked at you…” He abruptly closed his mouth.
Lydia snorted. “You think he likes Lizzy?”
Did Lydia have to be quite so incredulous? “My family isn’t nearly old enough money for him,” Elizabeth told George.
“He is a snob,” George said quickly. “The whole family is. His sister is even worse, but”—he smiled smoothly and took another step toward her —“I can’t imagine any man not finding you fascinating.”
Elizabeth chuckled. His flirting was outrageous.
Lydia cleared her throat. “My mother says I’m fascinating, too. I took a philosophy class last semester.” George frowned at this apparent non-sequitur, but his gaze stayed fixed on Elizabeth, especially her lips.
What is wrong with me? A cute guy is flirting with me, and I can only feel hurt at the revelation of the president’s perfidy. Despite herself, she had begun to like him, but George’s story was a timely warning that she couldn’t trust the man; he was a politician and looked after his own best interests. In the future, she vowed she would avoid him altogether.
Lydia’s phone chirped, and she pulled it out of her clutch, giggling at whatever she read. “OMG! I need to go meet Maria in the ladies’ room!” she announced. “She just found out why Olga broke up with Jared.” Within seconds Lydia had disappeared, her attraction to George not nearly as acute as her need for gossip.
In Lydia’s absence, the garden was very dark and very isolated. Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I should be getting back—”
George laid his hand on her forearm. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward, but I feel very drawn to you…” They were nearly chest to chest.
Elizabeth was momentarily stunned. The man moved so quickly. His hand traced along her jaw. “I think we have real chemistry,” he said huskily.
“Uh…” Her brain was formulating a response when he kissed her. It was a gentle kiss, soft and tentative. Not demanding. Nice in its own way.
But it did nothing for her. The president’s touch to her fingertips was far more thrilling. Damn it. Why did her libido have to be such a poor judge of character? Why couldn’t she be attracted to a nice, charming guy like George instead of a jerk like President Darcy?
He pulled away from her and smiled. “I knew we had chemistry!” Apparently, he didn’t recognize the taste of chemistry.
He intertwined his fingers with hers. “Maybe we could—”
Elizabeth took a step back. “George, I’m flattered, b-but…this is moving a little fast…”
“I didn’t mean to rush you.” He held up a placating hand. “I’m just so attracted to you….”
Elizabeth’s phone buzzed. Pulling it out of her clutch, she saw a text from Jane: “Call me.” She made an apologetic face. “I should go and—”
“Could I at least give you my number?” George’s eyes pleaded with her. “Then I can call you for a proper date.”
Elizabeth managed a smile; she’d find a way to let him down easy. “Of course.” She rattled off her number.
“All right.” He pumped his fist, grinning broadly as he punched it into his phone.
Elizabeth said goodbye, smiling absently as her thoughts focused on Jane. Turning without a backward glance, she hurried toward the front of the house—as fast as she could on bare feet—while calling up Jane’s number on speed dial.
“Lizzy, where are you?” Jane’s strained voice sent a thrill of fear down Elizabeth’s spine.
“Outside getting some air. Is something wrong?”
“I want to go. Can you meet me at the valet stand?” Jane’s voice broke on the last word.
“Sure.” Elizabeth picked up her pace. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“Bing—” Jane’s voice wobbled, and she started over. “Bing broke up with me.”
Chapter Nine
“How are you?” Elizabeth asked.
“I’d be a lot better if everyone stopped asking me that,” Jane sighed on the other end of the phone.
“I guess you get sick of it,” Elizabeth said, cradling the phone against her shoulder as she unpacked her suitcase and hung clothes in the hotel closet. “Everyone’s just worried.”
“Yeah.” Jane sighed again. “I know everyone wants to help, but I’m really fine. It’s been two months since B-Bing—” Her voice stuttered over the name and crackled over the international line. “Since then. I’m doing better.”
“Yeah, you are,” Elizabeth said softly. Even though Bing and Jane hadn’t been together for very long, their affair had grown intense quickly; Bing’s rejection, without an adequate explanation, had badly shaken the sensitive woman’s self-confidence.
Silently she cursed Charles Bingley for about the thousandth time for having broken up with her sister in that manner. According to Jane, their relationship had been smooth sailing—until he broke it off during the ball with the feeble excuse that his job didn’t allow time to date. Elizabeth had believed Bing might be “The One” for Jane. Boy, had she been wrong.
“The name ‘Bing’ just sounds way too fun for a guy who turned out to be such an ass,” she joked. “Maybe we should call him something else, like Jerkwad or Crapface.”
Jane laughed. “Yeah, call the chief of staff Crapface; that’ll score points with the administration.” She hesitated. “He’s going to be at the summit, isn’t he?” Her voice was a mere whisper.
Elizabeth perused the conference booklet detailing all the activities for the First International Paris Disaster Relief Summit. “The president will be giving a speech tomorrow night. I suppose it’s possible Bing came as well, but I’m not likely to run into them.”
“You do know them.”
Elizabeth snorted. “I’ve had a couple of close encounters, but I doubt anyone in the White House wants to renew our acquaintance.” And after George Wickham’s tale, I’ll avoid President Darcy like the plague.
She experienced a dull pang of guilt over owing George a call. They had been on two pleasant dates that had only confirmed Elizabeth’s lack of interest in anything romantic, though George was convinced they were soulmates. She had given him the “let’s be friends” speech, but he seemed likely to push for more.
“There are a lot of important people here,” she told Jane. “I can’t imagine that I’m a priority.”
She turned the page to a picture of the president. Elizabeth’s heartbeat accelerated. This is stupid. I see pict
ures of the president every day. Yeah, and this happens every time you see one, jeered the cynical voice at the back of her head. Okay, so the president is an attractive man, she admitted to herself. So what? It doesn’t mean anything to me. She turned the page.
“But what if—?”
“I’m going to do my best to avoid them,” Elizabeth said firmly. If I see the president, I’m going to be sorely tempted to give him a piece of my mind about his treatment of George Wickham. And that would not be advisable.
“I guess there’s no reason for Bing or the president to seek you out,” Jane said.
“I’m sure they don’t even know I’m here.”
***
“You want me to what?” Elizabeth must have misheard. Out of the blue, Margot, her boss, had summoned Elizabeth to the hotel suite that served as the Red Cross headquarters at the summit. It was a spacious room, dominated by a large conference table and accompanying swivel chairs.
Margot repeated her words more slowly. “I want you to brief the president and some of his staff about the Red Cross programs for refugees.”
“Why me?” Elizabeth winced when her voice squeaked.
Flipping her short, dark hair out of her eyes, Margot leaned back against the conference table and folded her arms. “You are well-versed in the policies and have had extensive field experience. You know that we need to get our name in front of the administration whenever we can. And we still haven’t heard whether we got the State Department grant.”
Bewildered, Elizabeth took a deep breath. Of course, she understood how important an opportunity it was, but the thought of seeing President Darcy… Her stomach churned sickeningly. “Craig has almost as much experience,” Elizabeth countered.
John, one of her more abrasive coworkers, drawled from across the room, “Most people jump at the chance to do a presentation for the president.”
Elizabeth ignored him, focusing on Margot. “I won’t be a good representative for the Red Cross. I’ll get all tongue-tied and incoherent.”
Margot lifted one eyebrow. “You yelled at the mayor of Pen na Nol and made him back down when he threatened the villagers in the church. There’s a much smaller chance of being shot here.”
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