“What happened?” Bing inquired.
Darcy sighed. “According to her, I insulted her family, ridiculed her, cheated Wickham out of his inheritance, and was overall proud and difficult.”
Bing gave a low whistle. “With mad skills like those, it’s amazing you’re still single.”
“I didn’t…I mean, I thought…” He cleared his throat. “In retrospect, I can see that I made…some mistakes.” Fitz didn’t bother to hide his smirk. “I just wish I could apologize.” He didn’t say anything about the letter. Who knows if she’d even read it—and Bing would be apoplectic worrying she might take it to the media.
“That would be good.”
Darcy snorted. “Yeah, but how? I can’t exactly land Marine One on her lawn.”
“There’s this newfangled thing called the telephone. I’ve heard it’s very effective,” Fitz said.
“I don’t have her number.” Darcy gulped some more coffee.
“If only you had a network of intelligence agencies full of highly trained operatives who could sniff out even the most publicly available information….”
“Yeah, that’s not overkill at all.” Fitz opened his mouth to retort, but Darcy cut him off. “She’d probably hang up on me if I called. And what would be the point anyway? I’ve shot any chance I had with her.”
“You don’t know that,” Bing said.
“Oh?” Darcy raised an eyebrow at his friend. “You want to call Jane while I call Elizabeth?”
Bing’s shoulders slumped. “Point taken.”
“Elizabeth hates me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Bing said.
“She told me she never wanted to see him again,” Fitz volunteered.
Bing glared at the other man. “You’re not helping.”
In the long silence that followed, Darcy tried to concentrate on the sensation of caffeine coursing through his blood. “I’m sure someone else will catch your eye eventually,” Fitz said.
“Yeah,” Darcy said without conviction. The last thing he wanted was to return to escorting around women like Caroline Bingley. “Elizabeth was just different…”
His friends regarded him quizzically.
“It’s her eyes.”
“Her eyes?” Bing echoed dubiously.
“It’s like she really sees me…and knows who I am—really knows. She even teases me. Teases me! Nobody does that except you guys.”
They stared at him with their mouths agape. Why? He hadn’t said anything earth-shattering.
“Shit,” Bing whispered, “you’re in love with her.”
Of course. I’ve known that for months.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Darcy said.
Great. Now it was obvious even to his friends.
“I’m with Bing on this one, Darce,” Fitz said. “You sound like a man in love.”
I need to choose my words more carefully.
“I’m not in love with her,” he said firmly. “This will pass.”
I’m so screwed.
“Well, it hardly matters.” Fitz shrugged.
What the hell? It totally matters!
Fitz continued, “She never wants to see you again, so the point is moot.”
I’ll never see her again, but I’m still screwed. Totally screwed.
His stomach lurched with nausea that had nothing to do with the hangover. He lifted the coffee cup to his lips, but it was empty. Drunkenness had a lot to recommend it; last night he had effectively drowned his memories of Elizabeth in bourbon, but the hangover wasn’t proving as effective. Damn it.
It didn’t prevent him from fantasizing about how he would behave differently if he did encounter Elizabeth. I can be sensitive and kind, can’t I? I could show her I care about her and respect her—and her family. Right? Demonstrate that she’s not one in a string of imaginary women parading through my bedroom.
Darcy was immediately distracted by a vision of Elizabeth in his bedroom. He shook his head quickly to dispel the image. There was no point fantasizing about something that would never come to pass. Focus on the present, Darcy. He smiled grimly at his friends. “All right, time to leave for Pemberley.”
***
Elizabeth squinted into the bright sun and surveyed all the other people crowded around Pemberley’s gates, not at all sure she should be there. It was a bit surreal; she’d never expected to go near the president’s estate.
The wheels had been set in motion the night before when Elizabeth’s Uncle Thomas folded down the front page of the newspaper and announced to the room at large, “The president is coming to the Hamptons.”
Elizabeth had been stretched out on the sofa of the little living room in their rented cabin. After dinner, they had taken a long walk on the beach—all the exertion she was capable of on her first day of vacation. But her uncle’s words dashed away all her drowsiness in an instant.
Aunt Madeline lifted her eyes from her mystery novel, but whatever she had intended to say was drowned out by Elizabeth’s undignified squawk. “What? Here? Now?”
Uncle Thomas raised his bushy eyebrows. “Yes. Tomorrow, in fact.”
“He has a house right on the water,” Aunt Madeline chimed in. “Called Pemberley. It’s been in his family for three generations. I hear it’s gorgeous, but I haven’t been out that way myself.” She gave a little laugh. “That’s not exactly our part of the Hamptons.” The Gardiners’ cozy rented cabin was very nice, but it was a far cry from Billionaire’s Row.
Her uncle folded the newspaper in his lap. “I would imagine there will be quite a crowd gathered to see him arrive.”
“Can we go?” The words were out of Elizabeth’s mouth before she had a chance to take them back—or think them through.
“I didn’t know you were so interested in politics,” her uncle said.
Elizabeth squirmed in her seat. “Well, I’m not usually, but…you know…President Darcy has done some good things….He’s brought dignity back to the office. And his legislative achievements…” God, I sound like a New York Times editorial. “I really admire him,” she finished lamely.
Yeah, I admire his butt and his eyes and his kisses…
“Hmm. I wouldn’t mind going.” With a little shrug, Uncle Thomas returned to his paper.
Aunt Madeline—the more perceptive of the two—eyed Elizabeth with interest. With good reason. Elizabeth was hardly the type to get excited at the chance to meet a celebrity. “Your mother said Jane had dated the president’s chief of staff. Did you have a chance to meet the president?”
Elizabeth ran both hands through her hair. How much should she tell her aunt? “Um…yeah. I met him. He’s”—how could you describe a man who was so complicated and infuriating and attractive all at once?—“intense…”
“I would think you wouldn’t care about seeing his limo if you already met the man,” her uncle observed from behind his newspaper.
Here was her chance to change her mind, to explain it had been a momentary whim that she had reconsidered. Elizabeth swallowed hard. “I…um…want to show my support. He’s done so much for the environment. And he’s supportive of refugees”—she gestured vaguely—“and there might be protesters, so people should be there to show support.”
Aunt Madeline regarded her with pursed lips. “We do support his policies, and it would be interesting. I’ve never seen a sitting president.” She shrugged, pulling out her iPad. “Maybe I can find out approximately what time he’ll be arriving.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to tell her aunt to forget the whole idea but then closed it again. She needed to apologize. Will probably thought she never wanted to see him again. If he saw her—even just in passing—he might understand that she was sorry for misjudging him. Of course, he might not see her at all, but it was better than doing nothing.
And now they were here—outside Pemberley in a crowd of people who had come to greet the president’s limo upon his arrival in the Hamptons. Many of the locals were reminiscing about other presid
ential arrivals. Others had obviously traveled from long distances merely to glimpse the president through a car window and possibly see him wave. Some had hand-painted signs with messages of support while others had signs objecting to the president’s actions in the Middle East, economic decisions, or other policies.
The police had erected barriers along both sides of Pemberley’s driveway so that the crowds of people wouldn’t block the entrance. The property was surrounded by a tall iron fence and a variety of vegetation; the house wasn’t even visible from the road. The gate stretching across the entrance was patrolled by unsmiling Secret Service officers toting big guns.
Elizabeth and the Gardiners had been standing in the crowd for an hour and remained unsure how much longer they would have to wait. The president didn’t need to keep a tight schedule on his vacation. Absent any shade, the sun shone mercilessly on Elizabeth’s head, and sweat trickled between her shoulder blades under her yellow sundress. The dress was a bit of an indulgence. Will would likely get only a fleeting glimpse of her—if he noticed her at all—but hopefully she would stand out among all the shorts-and-t-shirt-clad onlookers.
Standing out was essential; they were pretty far back in the crowd. Elizabeth thought she would glimpse the cars in the motorcade, but would she see the president inside one? More than once she’d considered just giving up and leaving, but if there was even the slightest chance she might show him how sorry she was for misjudging him…
That hope kept her standing in the hot sun.
Her aunt and uncle hadn’t complained once about the heat or the long wait. They seemed to regard it as an adventure, as if seeing the presidential motorcade was one of the perks of their vacation. Her uncle had struck up a conversation about fishing with another man in the crowd, but her aunt had been giving Elizabeth curious glances all morning.
“Why the sudden interest in presidential motorcades?” Aunt Madeline finally asked.
“I find the president’s limousine fascinating,” Elizabeth said hurriedly. “Did you know that it’s custom made with bullet-proof glass and armor plating so that it could withstand a bomb blast? The doors are nearly a foot thick.”
Aunt Madeline was skeptical. “Mm-hmm. You did extensive research, did you?”
“I looked it up on the Internet last night,” Elizabeth conceded.
Her aunt gave a dry chuckle. “What’s actually going on?”
Elizabeth shrugged with attempted nonchalance. “It’s not every day you get to see the presidential motorcade. It’s kind of cool.”
The other woman squinted at Elizabeth. “Didn’t you meet the president at the state dinner?”
“Sort of?” Elizabeth shrank back from her aunt’s scrutiny.
“Mm-hmm. And you danced with him at a ball?”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “You’re very well informed.”
“I would imagine that your mother has told everyone she’s ever met.”
I should have expected that. “Is there a problem if I want to see him again?” God, I sound like a girl with a crush.
Aunt Madeline’s lips pressed flat. “Why would you spend hours in the sun for a five-second glimpse of the man when you’ve already waltzed with him?”
It was a good question. An excellent question. A completely reasonable and innocuous explanation probably lurked somewhere, but Elizabeth had no idea where. “Um.” Her mind was blank. “Um.” Elizabeth scrutinized the people closest to them, but nobody was paying the least bit of attention to their conversation. She blew out a breath. “I owe him an apology.”
“The president?” she said faintly. You owe the President of the United States an apology?” Elizabeth nodded miserably. “What the hell for?” Her aunt lowered her voice. “Did you vote for the other guy? Set fire to the Oval Office? Drop the nuclear launch codes down a drain?”
Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I…um…made some…assumptions about him that turned out to be untrue, and said some rather unpleasant things to his face.” Oh Lord. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, not wanting to think about it, let alone discuss it.
“When was this?” her aunt asked.
“A month ago, on Air Force One.”
Her aunt yelped. “Air Force—!” Elizabeth slapped her hand over the other woman’s mouth.
“Nobody can know,” Elizabeth whispered before removing her hand. “I swore the family to secrecy.”
Aunt Madeline’s eyes sparkled. “You were on Air Force One?” she hissed. “Lizzy, when were you planning to tell me? Deathbed confession?”
Elizabeth bit down a smile. “It was just a fluke. The president offered me a ride back from Paris.”
Uh-oh. Her aunt’s curiosity was provoked. The older woman pushed up her glasses and fixed Elizabeth with a penetrating stare. “Do you have a crush on the president?”
“Of course not,” Elizabeth scoffed. “He’s a jerk! He’s proud and difficult—and he called my family nouveau riche.”
He also wrote this heartbreakingly sincere letter that I’ve read so many times it’s in danger of falling apart. Yeah, maybe I have some feelings for him.
Aunt Madeline regarded Elizabeth over the rim of her glasses. “But you still owe him an apology.”
This was hard to explain. How had her life grown so complicated? Elizabeth sighed. “It’s just that…I’m not—he’s not quite as big a jerk as I thought. I misjudged him, and it’s difficult to contact him without a lot of other people knowing. I thought if he sees me here and I wave and smile, then he’ll know that I’m sorry.”
Aunt Madeline surveyed the crowd. “You could hold up a sign that says ‘I’m sorry.’”
Elizabeth grimaced. “I thought about it, but that might prompt questions I don’t want to answer. Hopefully he’ll get the message just by seeing me.” If he sees me. There were masses of people between her and the driveway.
As if reading Elizabeth’s mind, her aunt observed tartly, “He’ll never see you stuck way back here.”
Elizabeth bowed her head sadly. “I should have arrived earlier, but I didn’t realize how big the crowd would be.” She felt the burn of sudden tears. What if he didn’t see her? What if her plan didn’t work?
Aunt Madeline pursed her lips. “There has to be something we can do about that.”
Alarm set Elizabeth’s insides to quivering. Her aunt could be a force of nature when she got ahold of an idea. “The crowd is packed pretty tightly,” Elizabeth said.
Her aunt’s eyes lit up. Oh no, Madeline Gardiner perceived a challenge. “You leave that to me.” Before Elizabeth could object, a cry went up from the crowd: the front of the motorcade had been spotted.
While everyone’s attention was focused on the road, Aunt Madeline grabbed Elizabeth’s arm and started pushing forward into the crowd. Ruthlessly leaving her husband behind, the five-foot-two, sixty-two-year-old woman shouldered people out of her path. “Excuse me, we need to get closer. Excuse me!” A plump lady gave her aunt a disgruntled look. “My niece has an incurable disease, and it’s always been her dream to see the president in person,” Aunt Madeline explained. The woman’s mouth dropped open as she gestured for them to go in front of her.
“Excuse me! Coming through!” Aunt Madeline barked. “My niece is writing her dissertation on presidential motorcades. She needs a good view.” They received some perplexed expressions, but people gave way. Elizabeth’s face burned. Hopefully nobody would ask the discipline of this supposed dissertation.
They were drawing closer to the front of the crowd as the first car in the motorcade—a local Hamptons police car—turned into the driveway, passing the first rows. The car behind it was an SUV that likely contained Secret Service agents.
Aunt Madeline hadn’t given up. “Excuse us! My niece is the official White House artist and needs to compose a painting for this occasion!” Some people frowned as they gave way, but Elizabeth and her aunt were making progress. She could see the front row and the police officers holding back the crowds.
; “Coming through!” her aunt yelled. “Woman with an urgent petition who needs to see the president!”
Now they were right behind the front row, but it was packed tightly, everyone shoulder to shoulder. Undaunted, Aunt Madeline gave Elizabeth a hard shove between her shoulder blades, causing her to stumble and push between two people—a tall, tattooed man and a plump middle-aged woman—in the front row. They barely noticed, their attention fixed on an enormous black limousine now turning into the driveway.
The crowd cheered and whistled. People screamed and jumped up and down. Parents held up their children for a look. This was it: the president’s limo. As it pulled closer, Elizabeth squinted her eyes and angled her head, trying to get a glimpse of his face despite the car’s darkened windows.
There he was! Smiling and waving at the crowd. But he hadn’t seen her. As the car slowly drew closer to where she stood, Elizabeth started smiling and waving frantically. Hopefully, somehow, she’d stand out from the crowd, and he’d recognize her presence for the apology she intended.
The moment he recognized her, his eyes grew wide. And she realized all over again that he actually had the power to make her heart stop and steal her breath from her body—even from behind tinted glass. She grinned like an idiot, but her hand fell to her side. All her attention was focused on the president.
He was no longer smiling. Instead his forehead was creased, and his lips were slightly open as he followed her with his eyes. Was he unhappy at her presence? Maybe he never wanted to see her again. That would be understandable after all the unforgivable things she’d said. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and she pressed her lips together. You came to deliver a message, nothing more, she reminded herself. Only now did she realize that she had secretly hoped for something else.
Their eyes remained locked as the car glided past Elizabeth’s position. He even turned his head to keep his gaze fixed on hers as long as possible. Others in the crowd stared at her, pointing and murmuring.
Then he was gone. She could only see the back of the limo while another black SUV prepared to turn into the driveway. The crowd started to loosen up as people chatted and sought the easiest ways to disperse. Elizabeth’s whole body felt weighted down and incapable of the slightest movement. I accomplished what I set out to do. He noticed me. Nothing else was ever possible.
President Darcy Page 19
