President Darcy

by Victoria Kincaid

  “Do we think it’s authentic?” Bing asked.

  “I’m assuming ZNN vetted the statement. It’s coming from Walter Lucas’s PR firm.” Hilliard’s expression was grim.

  Bing nodded. “The Lucases are family friends of the Bennets.”

  Hilliard focused on Darcy with laser-like intensity. “What did Ms. Bennet say when you spoke to her? What was her frame of mind?”

  Darcy hesitated. “Darce?” Bing asked.

  “I…um…didn’t call her yet,” he mumbled, suddenly finding the carpet very interesting.

  “I told her you would!” Bing said sharply.

  Darcy didn’t meet his friend’s eyes. “I didn’t know what to say.” He’d lain awake nights staring at the canopy of his bed and trying to find words to apologize for having her unceremoniously removed from Pemberley. To express his regret for throwing her life into chaos. Wondering if she could forgive him for ruining her life after just one night…

  Then he’d chastise himself for not calling her earlier. Of course, the longer he delayed, the more he had to apologize for and the harder it was to imagine facing her.

  “You didn’t call her?” Hilliard gasped. “After she experienced the world’s worst morning after, you didn’t even call?”

  Things were bad when Hilliard was lecturing him on how to treat a woman. Of course, he was right; Darcy should have called Elizabeth. But what if she said she never wanted to see him again? She’d said that once; Darcy was certain that she was capable of saying it again.

  And then there was the fact that he was responsible for bringing Wickham into her family’s life. The man was probably debauching Elizabeth’s youngest sister and had brought media scrutiny to every corner of the Bennet family’s lives. They’d even interviewed Elizabeth’s senior prom date. He massaged the back of his neck. They must hate him. And to think he’d once been convinced that he was such a better person than the Bennets.

  “Are you trying to make me lose my remaining hair?” A muscle twitched under Hilliard’s eye.

  “This isn’t about you, Bob,” Darcy growled.

  Hilliard ignored him. “So we have no insight into Ms. Bennet’s state of mind except that she’s been ghosted by the guy who thrust her life into complete chaos?”

  “The guy who spent one night with her and then didn’t call her,” Bing added helpfully.

  Darcy flopped onto one of the sofas, making himself as small as possible as though it could keep him from becoming a target. “When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s not good!” Hilliard hissed. “We don’t have a fucking clue what this statement will say. What if Elizabeth supports her sister’s account? She might say that from spite alone. The Republicans are speculating that you used government funds to get a woman in your bed. That’s an impeachable offense!”

  What is wrong with me? Darcy wondered. Hilliard is right. I could be impeached, and all I can think about is Elizabeth—and whether she’ll forgive me. Why the hell didn’t I call her?

  He pushed away the persistent fear that she did feel coerced by him. She had turned him down once. What had prompted her change of heart? Undoubtedly, she knew about the USDA deal. Maybe she’d believed he expected a quid pro quo? Such thoughts gnawed at him in the dark and the silence of the empty Residence.

  With his eyes riveted to the television, Bing shushed them. “It’s on!” Darcy clutched the arm of the sofa until his fingers turned white. In the still moments before the press conference started, his own ragged breaths were inordinately loud.

  A woman Darcy vaguely recognized as Charlotte Lucas was walking to a podium in a small room crammed with reporters and photographers. There must have been at least one hundred people pressed together in the space. When she reached the podium, a hush fell over the room like a cloak.

  Darcy was accustomed to his life’s frequent ventures into the surreal, but a press conference about his love life was a level of grotesque he had never reached before. Anxiety prickled all over his body. The next few minutes would determine his fate.

  Although Ms. Lucas couldn’t be much older than Elizabeth, she was quite self-possessed, wearing a high-end designer suit as she gazed unflinchingly at the reporters. “I will read a prepared statement from Elizabeth Bennet,” she said crisply. “I will take no questions afterward.” Opening a piece of paper, she placed it on the podium.

  Realizing he was holding his breath, Darcy released it, reeling with sudden dizziness.

  Ms. Lucas read, “‘I am aware that there have been many rumors circulating regarding my relationship with President Darcy and the contract given to my family’s business. I would like to lay out the facts as I know them.

  “‘My family received the USDA contract through the regular bidding process. I am not part of the family business and played no part in procuring the contract. I do not believe the president knew that On-a-Stick, Inc. was bidding for the contract, but at no time did he discuss the matter with me or with any member of my family.

  “‘At no time did the president state or imply that the contract or any other matter relied on a romantic or sexual relationship with him. We were and are friends—a relationship based on similar interests and mutual admiration. The time I have spent with him has been solely for the purpose of enjoying his company.

  “‘I ask that the media respect my privacy and the privacy of my family during this time. I have nothing further to add. Signed, Elizabeth Bennet.’”

  True to her word, Charlotte Lucas folded up the statement and walked from the room, ignoring the reporters shouting questions at her. Hilliard used the remote to switch off the set.

  Darcy expelled a long breath as Hilliard jumped from his seat and high-fived Bing. “Yes!” he exulted. “You were right about her,” Hilliard told Darcy.

  “You’re not out of the woods, but at least she confirmed your story.” Bing sagged against the fireplace mantel. “Thank God!”

  Darcy nodded, unsure why he didn’t share their sense of relief.

  “Now we’ll have to see if the press believes her assertions, or if they think you coerced her into making the statement,” Hilliard said as he made notes on a legal pad.

  Leaning forward in his seat, Darcy dropped his head into his hands. “Why did she say we were friends?” he asked nobody in particular. When he lifted his head, the others were staring at him.

  “Sorry?” Hilliard asked. “Did you want her to say you were enemies?”

  “No.” Darcy laughed without mirth. “But friends—gah!” Perhaps that was how she viewed their relationship now, but the word just felt wrong.

  “Actually,” Hilliard said, “if you notice, she didn’t deny you had a romantic relationship.” Both Bing and Darcy looked at him. “She said you were friends, but she never said you were just friends. She left a lot of wiggle room there.”

  Darcy’s heart leapt. “So you think there’s hope?”

  Hilliard nodded. “Yeah, as long as she sticks to that statement, we might be able to avoid congressional hearings.”

  There was a long pause during which Darcy said nothing.

  Hilliard jerked his head up. “Oh, that wasn’t the kind of hope you meant.” He sat up straighter and cleared his throat. “Well, of course there’s hope. Isn’t there always hope? Unless she marries someone else. But what do I know? I’ve been married three times. More importantly…”

  Darcy tuned Hilliard out. Elizabeth had defended him; she seemed to care about him. Maybe he should call her, but what if that muddied the waters? What if she hung up on him?

  Darcy’s phone rang. Everyone’s eyes were drawn to the pocket where he kept it. Few people had his private cell phone number, but the group included the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Secretary of State. Darcy always answered it. He pulled it from his pocket, and his eyes widened at the name on the screen. “Georgie? What’s up?”

  “I just saw Elizabeth’s statement,” his sister said. “Have you called her, or are you foxholing?”


  “Sort of the latter,” Darcy mumbled.

  Georgiana groaned in frustration. “You left her twisting in the wind? She’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Call her. Call her now!”

  Georgie was right. Darcy had never felt like this with any other woman. Elizabeth’s statement had signaled that she didn’t blame him for the fiasco. Maybe there was something to salvage.

  “All right,” he sighed.

  “Good,” Georgiana grunted and hung up.

  Darcy stood, striding toward his desk. “I’m calling Elizabeth.”

  Hilliard jumped to his feet. “But first we must organize our press strategy—well, re-organize it.”

  Darcy waved his hand. “You can do it. I’ve got a phone call to make.”

  “But—”

  “Bob, line up some media training for her. I’ll pay for it. So she can prepare to speak with the press and go on talk shows if…needed.”

  Hilliard scribbled in his notebook. “You mean, if she agrees to talk to you…”

  Bing frowned and stroked his chin. “Darce, are you sure about this? Being seen with her will stir up more rumors and accusations—and make congressional hearings more likely.”

  “Did you hear what she said?” Darcy gestured toward the television. “I’m not giving up hope without talking to her first.”

  Bing leaned over the desk, getting right in Darcy’s face. “You could be setting yourself up for more heartbreak. And it’s not like you have a lot of time to devote to a relationship, with the big push for the renewable energy bill—”

  “I can do both,” Darcy snapped at his friend. Then he turned to Hilliard. “I want you to work up a media strategy to help us avoid congressional hearings.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hilliard said. “But—”

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to make a call.” He gave the two men pointed looks until they both hurried toward the door. After taking a deep breath, he picked up his phone.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Elizabeth had been in motion the entire time Charlotte read the statement. The adrenaline fizzing in her blood compelled her to pace in front of the television in her parents’ family room, forcing everyone on the sofa to peer around her. Miraculously, nobody complained. It helped that her mother was upstairs sleeping off another Xanax, and Lydia was still MIA.

  For the fifteenth time she reached for her cell phone for some distraction and again recalled that—overwhelmed by calls from the media, friends, and acquaintances she barely knew— she had left it behind in her apartment. When the press conference was over, her father clicked off the television from his easy chair.

  “I think Charlotte did a good job,” Jane said stoutly.

  “Yes, and that was a well-written statement,” Elizabeth’s father said.

  “Thank you. Of course, Charlotte helped me write it,” Elizabeth said. “I just hope it’s enough.”

  Jane gave Elizabeth an encouraging smile. “Hopefully it will change some minds.”

  Mary folded her arms and scowled. “I doubt everyone will believe it. Some people are determined to think the worst of the president, and the rumors play right into that idea.”

  Elizabeth sighed and sank onto a recliner. Writing the statement, getting the language just right, organizing the press conference, and handling all the questions had been an enormous effort. Now that it was over, her adrenaline had abandoned her, and she was ready for a nap.

  “Don’t worry, my dear,” her father smiled at her, “all of this will blow over eventually.”

  Kitty nodded enthusiastically. “In five years nobody will be talking about it.” Elizabeth wasn’t comforted.

  At the sound of the doorbell, her father frowned. “I’m not expecting anyone.”

  Mary stood. “It might be the press. They’d kill to get a quote from Lizzy.”

  Her father grunted. “If those reporters don’t agree to get off the property, I’m calling the police.” He and Mary marched toward the front hall like street toughs ready for a fight.

  “Just give them the sales pitch for cookies on-a-stick,” Kitty called after them. “They won’t be able to run away fast enough!”

  Elizabeth huddled in the recliner, imagining all kinds of miscreants who might lurk behind the door. She strained her ears, but heard no sounds of shouting or pitched battle. Her father soon returned looking rather baffled. He was followed by a vaguely familiar older woman whose gaze raked the room disdainfully.

  “Lizzy,” her father said, “this is Catherine de Bourgh, President Darcy’s aunt. She said you met before.”

  What the hell was she doing here? Elizabeth gaped at the woman, who was eying her mother’s collection of unicorn figurines with a curl in her lip. Elizabeth’s shoulders tensed, feeling like they were hunched around her ears. Nevertheless, she gestured to the sofa. “Please, take a seat.”

  Mrs. de Bourgh gave the sofa a sidelong glance as if she suspected it might harbor Ebola. “I don’t believe I’ll be staying that long.” The older woman sniffed. “Your house is quite a bit smaller than I expected.”

  “Yes, well,” said Elizabeth’s father with a shrug, “we thought about buying a new one, but we are rather attached to the neighborhood.”

  “I don’t see why you don’t tear down this house and build a new one then,” Mrs. de Bourgh drawled. “How in the world can your family make do with anything less than eight thousand square feet? Especially with such an excessive number of daughters.”

  Apparently, she hadn’t expected a response because she continued, “And, if you tore down, you could rid yourselves of those hideous lion statues at the end of the drive.”

  John Bennet looked stricken. “But they’re covered in real fake gold leaf!”

  Mrs. de Bourgh regarded him like a particularly stupid kindergarten student. “Yes. You have identified the precise problem. And those turrets”—she gestured to the top of the house —“so gaudy!”

  “But the style and color of the turrets were designed specifically to match the lions.” Her father sounded bewildered by the criticism.

  “Good. Now you’re beginning to see the problem,” Mrs. de Bourgh said in a slow, patient voice.

  Her father gaped like a fish but said nothing.

  The older woman turned to Elizabeth. “There seemed to be a garden of sorts in your backyard, accessible through the room with all the framed teddy bear paintings.” Her voice dripped with contempt. “Might I have a word with you out there?”

  What could the woman possibly want with me? Did it have something to do with her foundation? Elizabeth exchanged a brief, perplexed glance with Jane before following Mrs. de Bourgh into the hall and through their mother’s “work room,” which was littered with abandoned craft projects.

  Both women were silent as they emerged through the back door into the yard, which consisted mostly of mud, clumps of grass, and the overgrown remains of Fanny Bennet’s last attempts at gardening. Mrs. de Bourgh surveyed the yard. “While I commend your parents’ desire to save money on landscaping, I’m afraid the results are a crime against nature.” She glided down the pathway and seated herself on a stone bench with great ceremony.

  Elizabeth bit back an angry retort; the other woman might be tactless, but the nonexistent landscaping could not be defended. After taking a leisurely stroll to the opposite bench, she took more time than strictly necessary to arrange herself on it.

  “I cannot imagine my visit comes as a surprise to you,” the older woman intoned solemnly.

  Elizabeth saw no reason to dissemble. “Actually, I have no idea why you’re here.”

  Mrs. de Bourgh pursed her lips in disapproval. “You might wish to play games, Ms. Bennet, but I will not play along.” She sat a little straighter on the bench. “You must know that I am here to say you can never see my nephew, William Darcy, again.”

  “I don’t believe that’s your decision.” Elizabeth gave her a blatantly false smile.

  Mrs. de Bourgh toy
ed with one of the bracelets on her wrist. “My nephew is an intelligent man, but he does not always know what is best for him. It is up to those of us who care for him to watch out for his best interests.”

  “He’s the President of the United States; I would say he’s very capable of taking care of himself,” Elizabeth said in a careful and controlled tone.

  Mrs. de Bourgh waved away that objection. “In personal matters, he does not always know what is best. And what is best for him is a woman of his own station in life. Someone who travels in the same circles, and who can be a help in his political career.” Tilting her head back slightly, she looked down at Elizabeth. “Not a hindrance.”

  What was an adequate response to such a statement? She hadn’t set out to create problems for Will; that had been Lydia.

  It probably doesn’t matter anyway, said a voice in the back of her head. The man hasn’t called in nearly a week. Still, Elizabeth’s pride was piqued. “If I were to date your nephew, I would not consider myself to be a hindrance to his career.” She didn’t bother keeping the frostiness out of her tone.

  “I beg to differ. A president’s private life is not private. He belongs to the whole country. If William were to marry you, it would be detrimental to his presidency and therefore to the whole country.”

  Marry? Elizabeth felt suddenly faint. Who said anything about marriage?

  Pull yourself together. Don’t let that old bat see how the idea has shaken you. Instead she laughed grimly. “You think my relationship with your nephew could bring about the end of western civilization?” Elizabeth raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  Mrs. de Bourgh sniffed. “No need to be overly dramatic. I am simply pointing out the humiliation he would suffer.”

  Now Elizabeth’s pulse was racing, and her body was hot all over. “There would be nothing shameful in dating me.”

  Mrs. de Bourgh stood swiftly, advancing across the pathway. “Nothing shameful! Don’t you understand the shame you have already visited upon his administration? Are the shades of the White House to be thus polluted?”