Bing put both hands on the mantelpiece as if to steady himself. “Maybe I shouldn’t have….” His gaze turned pleading. “But that scandal is over. Congress will drop the investigation soon, and the SEC has indicted Wickham.”
Elizabeth rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. He just doesn’t understand. “Bing, I’m still a member of the Bennet family, and Lydia started this whole thing. He could never forgive her.”
Bing opened his mouth, closed it, and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, then opened it again. “Never forgive her?” Bing echoed. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Will knew Wickham and his uncle were about to be indicted, and he asked if Jane could lure Lydia home before she became caught up in it.”
Jane’s head jerked back. “That’s why you suggested—!”
Bing nodded as he continued, “If the press discovered he’d done that with advance knowledge…it wouldn’t look good. But he thought she deserved a chance to escape Wickham’s scandal.”
Elizabeth fell into the nearest available seat. He had forgiven Lydia. “I…can’t believe he did that for her…”
Bing gave her a level look. “He didn’t do it for her.”
It took Elizabeth a moment to grasp his meaning, and then she flushed.
“Can’t you at least talk with him?” Bing asked softly. “He’s not sleeping well. He doesn’t concentrate at all.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, unable to forget the image of Will on television. “Can’t you get him to eat more?” The words escaped her mouth before she could stop them.
“I’ve tried.” Bing’s hands clenched into fists. “If you talk to him, it might help with that…and other things…”
“You know it’s not that easy. I bet you’ve done polling on whether voters still think he’s coerced me.” Bing winced. “You have, haven’t you?” When Bing said nothing, Elizabeth plowed ahead. “And it probably shows that the majority of voters still think he might have coerced me—even though Congress didn’t find any evidence.”
Bing sighed. “Yeah. Fifty-two percent. But it’s going down.”
“And if the press thinks I’m in his life again, that percentage will shoot right back up.”
Bing didn’t deny it.
“There’s must be some way to convince them that you truly love him!” Jane, ever the optimist, exclaimed.
Bing shook his head. “I don’t see how. She can be a guest on every talk show in the country, but her own sister claimed the president was forcing her. As long as your family has that contract, people will be suspicious.”
“I’m not asking my family to give up that contract. It saved the business,” Elizabeth said fiercely.
Bing held up placating hands. “Of course not.”
“There must be something you can do!” Jane wailed.
How many times have I said that to myself? “I don’t know what, short of visiting every house in America to explain how I really feel.”
“Just talk to him.” Bing reached out a beseeching hand to Elizabeth.
Damn. It was as if he was offering her the forbidden fruit. She wanted it so badly but knew she couldn’t have it.
“Please,” Bing said.
Elizabeth was standing again, her eyes searching the room for her purse. There it was by the door. “I can’t. I just…can’t,” she murmured, stumbling toward the door. Grabbing her purse, she yanked the door open with one hand. She paused on the threshold, not looking back at Bing or Jane. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.”
Elizabeth closed the door quickly so she wouldn’t hear their response.
***
For a few seconds after she woke, Elizabeth didn’t know where she was. Then it came back to her. Charlotte’s sofa. After wandering around D.C. in a daze for several hours, Elizabeth had called Charlotte with a pathetically transparent lie about having fought with Jane. Charlotte hadn’t questioned it, merely offering to leave a key at the building’s front desk for her.
Fortunately for Elizabeth, Charlotte had spent the night at Bill’s. Elizabeth wasn’t in the mood to hear moans from Charlotte’s bedroom and cries of “That’s it, Big Boy! Staple me so hard!”
She rubbed the back of her neck, rotating her head slowly. Elizabeth hadn’t had a drop of alcohol, but she still felt hungover. How was that fair?
Leveraging her body into an upright position, she stared out the window as pieces of her conversation with Bing replayed themselves in her mind. His words had pinged through her head like errant pinballs all night, preventing her from falling asleep until the wee hours of the morning.
I’m miserable without him. She had finally admitted the truth to herself at around three a.m. One of the few things that made her self-imposed exile bearable was knowing that it was the best thing for Will. But Bing had suggested that Will was miserable without her. Elizabeth swallowed hard as her eyes burned with unshed tears. You cried over Will last night; how about we try something productive for a change?
At around four a.m., a nascent plan had begun to coalesce in the back of her mind. But seriously contemplating it provoked sweaty palms and a racing heart. What if she was wrong? What if Bing was wrong? What if Will hated her too much to forgive her?
No. She needed more information before she could decide. Elizabeth stared at her cell phone; the number she’d texted Bing for late last night glowed on the screen, demanding her attention. She wrapped one arm around her knees and tapped the number with the other hand. Closing her eyes, she focused on what she was planning to say.
“Hello?” said a female voice.
“Hi, Georgiana.” Elizabeth swallowed past the thickness in her throat. “This is Elizabeth Bennet.”
There was a pause. “What do you want?” The tone was cool but not hostile.
Her pulse pounded in her ears like a smith working a forge. “I need to ask you a question…about Will…”
Chapter Nineteen
As he waited at the bottom of the stairs, Fitz bounced on the balls of his feet with impatience. “We don’t want to be late for Hilliard,” he admonished Darcy when he reached the first step. Darcy scowled at him. He was the president. Everyone else could damn well wait on his schedule.
When Darcy reached the bottom, Fitz tried to set a brisk pace for their walk to the limo. In retaliation, Darcy slowed down, making Fitz grimace in frustration, which gave Darcy a little jolt of satisfaction. It shouldn’t. Instead I should be grateful Fitz has been willing to suffer me these last months. Darcy knew he’d been a bastard, but at this hour of the morning he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Impatience got the best of Fitz. “Darce, we need to—”
“I’m going to be late sometimes,” Darcy snapped. “Stuff happens.”
Fitz arched a brow. “Wow, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“It’s seven a.m. for fuck’s sake!” Darcy growled. “Why the hell do I even need to be out of bed at this ungodly hour?”
“You agreed to the interview.”
It was true. Discussing global warming and the need for renewable energy with a ZNN reporter in front of the famous Washington D.C. cherry blossoms had seemed like a no-brainer at the time. But… “That was before I knew it would be at the ass crack of dawn,” Darcy grumbled.
“It’s the only time the Secret Service could manage the traffic,” Fitz reminded him as they walked outside. O’Leary, the head of the morning’s Secret Service detail, was standing by the open door to the presidential limo. They both slid in.
“Hilliard and Bing both think the interview can build support for the bill.” Fitz’s soothing tone irritated Darcy even more.
“Yeah, I know.” Darcy waved his hand impatiently. “But I could just as easily do that in the Oval Office, and then we wouldn’t need to cordon off half the Tidal Basin—”
“Actually, sir,” corrected O’Leary, “it’s all of the Tidal Basin.”
“Is one interview worth causing traffic snarls all over the District?” Darcy asked Fitz as the limo
lurched into motion. Darcy fussed with his tie, which had ended up being too long.
Fitz was unapologetic. “Hilliard likes the optics. Talking about spring and global warming in front of a tree burgeoning with cherry blossoms…it’s a striking visual. And the bill needs help.” As he spoke, Fitz batted away Darcy’s hand and deftly undid the knot before retying the tie. Hilliard had insisted on a tie with cherry blossoms on it. Darcy had fussed, although he was forced to concede that it coordinated well with his blue shirt.
“I’m talking about how global warming has hurt the cherry blossoms. Shouldn’t we do the interview in front of a dying cherry tree?” Darcy asked in an acid tone.
Fitz’s brows drew together. “Jeez. I know you aren’t exactly a morning person, but what the hell is your problem?”
Darcy pressed his lips together, averting his gaze to the car window and the sights of D.C. passing by. No way would he reveal the truth about his long, sleepless night. After resisting the urge for months, he had finally surrendered to his desire to Google the latest news about Elizabeth. Not surprisingly, he regretted it.
The first hit had been from a celebrity gossip site: a picture of Elizabeth meeting in some out-of-the-way D.C. coffee shop with an attractive blond guy who’d been identified as Zach Coughlin, an up-and-coming young producer at—coincidentally enough—ZNN. The accompanying caption had speculated that Elizabeth Bennet had finally recovered from her frightful experience with the president’s manipulative ways and was now brave enough to start dating once more.
Darcy hadn’t even known she was in D.C. But Zach Coughlin knew. Damn him.
The next site was even more explicit in describing how fortunate Elizabeth was to escape Darcy’s clutches. Accustomed as he was to aspersions on his character, the implication that he had driven Elizabeth into some other guy’s arms had set Darcy seething all night. I knew this would happen. She’s a great catch. It was a stupid hope that she would wait until the end of my term—or two terms. Still, six months didn’t seem nearly long enough for her to get over a relationship… Well, it wasn’t really a relationship, was it? More like an aborted relationship wanna-be.
“Darcy?” Fitz watched him closely, his forehead creased with worry. Shit, how bad do I look?
“I’m fine.” Darcy yanked at the tie. Fitz had tied the knot too tight, and the damn thing was choking him. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Fitz settled back in his seat, fiddling nervously with his cufflink, but at least he fell silent.
Before long, the limo pulled to a stop in the parking lot of the Jefferson Memorial. The lot was mostly empty except for police vehicles, a ZNN news van, and a few random cars that probably belonged to Hilliard’s staff.
As he waited for the Secret Service agent to open the door, Darcy took a moment to recall his talking points about global warming. If he nailed it in one take, he could return to the White House that much sooner. “I hope this doesn’t take too long,” he grumbled to Fitz.
“I think you’ll find it worth your while,” Fitz said with a smile. What the hell did that mean? Before Darcy could ask, the door opened and he stepped out into the parking lot. Secret Service agents surrounded him as he strolled toward the Memorial.
By now Darcy was accustomed to security swarming around him. D.C. police officers had confined onlookers behind barricades on either side of the Memorial, and the crowds cheered when they saw him. The reaction usually lightened his heart, but today it settled over him like a heavy weight. Everyone expected so much from him. Inevitably he would let some of them down. And some days he just wished they’d leave him alone so he could nap.
Mustering a smile, he waved to the onlookers while the agents hustled him around the Jefferson Memorial and toward the Tidal Basin. The Basin was actually a kind of cove formed by a branch of the Potomac River, but it resembled nothing so much as a manmade lake. Every spring, for a brief period, the cherry trees around the Tidal Basin burst forth in a profusion of blossoms. It was a beautiful sight, which brought massive tourist dollars—and traffic—to D.C. every year.
As Darcy’s group marched around the Memorial to the plaza on the other side, the Tidal Basin, in all its glory, burst into view. Even Darcy’s spirits lifted at the sight. Nobody could have remained unaffected. The sun was barely up, bathing the whole scene in a warm golden light. The water was placid, with hardly a ripple marring its surface. Every tree around the water’s edge was in bloom, a truly breathtaking sight.
Cherry blossoms were a common theme for Washington D.C. souvenirs, but those images always showed the blossoms as pink. They were in fact almost white, with just the palest hint of pink. It was a delicate, almost ethereal, color. Hilliard was right that it would make for good optics.
The press secretary hurried up to Darcy’s side. “Good morning, Mr. President. Deena Driscoll will be interviewing you.” Good. Darcy nodded. A seasoned reporter on science topics, Deena wasn’t likely to spring any unexpected questions on him. He’d grown quite weary of replying “no comment” when asked about Elizabeth.
Hilliard continued, “We picked a spot where you’ll be framed by the blossoms with the Tidal Basin in the background. Deena will ask the questions we agreed on. It should take about five minutes…” He trailed off, squinting at the Memorial.
“Unless we need another take,” Darcy said.
Hilliard licked his lips nervously. “Of course, of course.” The nerves didn’t make any sense; they were old hands at interviews like this. Well, whatever. The whole thing would soon be over. He sighed. “Fine. Let’s do it.” He didn’t miss the worried glance Hilliard exchanged with Fitz, but he was too weary to care about the reason.
Deena Driscoll, a petite African American woman with a bright smile, stood in front of a tree boasting a profusion of cherry blossoms. Her light pink business suit would blend well with Darcy’s tie. Hilliard would be pleased.
Aside from the excited chatter of the crowds, the area was unusually quiet. Normally, traffic zipped along the Independence Avenue bridge, which bisected the far end of the Basin, but today the bridge was deserted. The relative peace was a side effect of the Secret Service’s commitment to presidential safety, and Darcy appreciated it.
Here, too, onlookers crowded up against the security barricades on both sides of the plaza. Early morning visitors to the blossoms were certainly getting more than they had expected. Darcy waved to the people on both sides, receiving enthusiastic roars and waves in response.
Darcy took his place next to Deena, who shook his hand as she thanked him for coming. A production assistant hurried up and attached a small mike to Darcy’s lapel. The morning was warming up, and Darcy was sweating inside his suit. It’ll soon be over. I can’t wait to get back to the Beast and take off my coat. It was difficult to smile when his only impulses were to fidget and scowl.
The producer, a young blond guy who looked vaguely familiar, counted down, and the camera’s green light blinked on, indicating that it was recording. Somehow the police officers managed to quiet the onlookers. Deena positioned her handheld microphone just below her chin. “Mr. President, thank you for joining us on this beautiful spring day.” Her smile was wide and genuine, a nice change from many reporters’ faux newscaster grins. It figures she’d be a morning person.
“It’s my pleasure, Deena,” he replied.
Deena’s eyes darted toward the Memorial. “However, before we start talking about global warming, we have someone here who wanted to address a different topic.”
What? Darcy frowned at Deena and then shot a glare at Hilliard. This wasn’t part of the script; Hilliard should stop the filming immediately. Thank God it wasn’t being broadcast live. Darcy opened his mouth to object, but Hilliard made a rolling motion with his finger, encouraging him to continue. What the hell? Darcy’s eyes followed Deena’s gaze.
When he saw who was exiting the Memorial, all thoughts of objecting evaporated.
Elizabeth, wearing a pale pink sun dress, strode toward hi
m. Her hair cascaded in a glorious tumble of dark waves around her shoulders and blew a little in the breeze. Her mouth curved in a fragile, tentative smile, and her eyes were darkly intent—fixed on Darcy’s face. Stiffness in her gait betrayed her nervousness.
Darcy’s eyes eagerly devoured the glorious sight. Starved of her presence for too long, he felt she might disappear if he glanced away. His fingers twitched with the need to touch her and… Oh God, in a moment she’d be close enough to hear her voice. No doubt he was grinning like a fool, and he didn’t care. He had no idea why she was there; he could only soak up her presence.
Other people emerged from the Memorial, far behind Elizabeth—Bing, Jane…Georgiana? What were they doing here? And why the hell were they smiling so knowingly?
“Will.” The husky way Elizabeth said his voice made Darcy’s knees weak. Two last steps brought her to stand by his side; only then did Darcy realize that Deena was observing them from the side of the blond producer. Now Will recognized him as the guy having coffee with Elizabeth in the pictures on the Internet. However, she wasn’t paying him the least bit of attention, and he appeared to be intent solely on filming them.
I’m definitely getting punked in some way. But he didn’t care. With Elizabeth there, everything was right with the world. He said the first thing that came into his mind. “You’re not in Indonesia.” Duh.
“No.” She watched him through the screen of her lashes. “I’m…not planning to go back.”
Reeeallly? Excitement bubbled up inside him like carbonation. Still, this was too good, too fortuitous. It was beginning to play out like some great dream that fulfilled all his wishes. Was she really there? When he took her hand in his, their fingers curled together, deliciously warm. Yeah, she was real.
For a long moment each basked in the glow of the other’s presence. Darcy could have stared into her vibrant, mossy green eyes for the rest of the day and never grown bored. But eventually Elizabeth’s smile developed an anxious edge, and her brows tangled together. “Uh…Will…?”
President Darcy Page 31
