by Kristi Rose
“So, we’re done here?” Jane said and rose from her chair.
“I suppose we are.” Elizabeth smiled up at her older sister. Jane did not look like her usual soft self. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun and her face was devoid of lipstick and blush.
This was all Darcy’s fault. Taking Chaz Bingley away! Not because he actually had work for him to do but to keep him and Jane apart. Oh! Just thinking about it made her angry.
“Good, I need to get to work,” Jane mumbled before hustling out the door, Bill and Anne behind her. Left in the quiet conference room with only her thoughts for company, Elizabeth rubbed her forehead, perhaps in an attempt to erase the memories of the last few months, change the internal tune, or to ease the blooming headache. She yearned for the days when their lives were far less complicated. Before Darcy and his like descended upon Meryton and changed everything. Though, in fairness, Elizabeth was grateful for her new friend, Anne, and that her sister Mary and Darcy’s cousin, Henry, had fallen madly in love. She couldn’t negate that. Whereas others had brought happiness and found love, Elizabeth and Jane seemed to have found the opposite. Maybe true love wasn’t for everyone.
And now she had to contend with Geo Wickham.
From her organizer, Elizabeth pulled out Darcy’s letter—a personal accounting of the past transgression of William Darcy, himself, and his once friend, George (Geo) Wickham.
She unfolded the thick vellum and ran her thumb across his slanted scrawl.
* * *
I am about to share with you an incident very few people are aware of. This regards my sister, Georgiana, and though it is not so much my story to share as it is hers, I feel I must. George Wickham and I grew up together. His father and mine had been school chums through college, and the elder Mr. Wickham was a trusted confidant in my father’s very small circle of friends. I do not know what they talked about, but I was given specific instructions on what my obligation to George would be should both his father and mine were to pass. Unfortunately, this did occur, and I was left with a directive that the elder Mr. Wickham wanted his son to learn to provide for himself first should he want to see the small inheritance his father had left him. As you can imagine, it was awkward explaining this to a person who I believed to be a friend. Though we’d grown apart several years earlier, it was difficult not to recall the times spent together as young boys. George, in possession of a healthy case of entitlement, did not believe or understand why he needed to wait or prove anything. His father’s lawyer and I were executors of the will and had to sign off together to release George’s funds. My directive was very explicit about how George needed to achieve this. George, however, thought it was all beneath him. He was asked to do such things as retain a job for over a year. He had a reputation for not showing up for auditions or requiring so much pampering on the set that he had become persona non grata in the world he thought he so richly deserved. After several unsuccessful interventions, George stooped to a level I had not thought possible. Even for him. He took advantage of my sister. She was but sixteen at the time. He convinced her that he loved her madly, as she too believes in true love, and that he could not wait for her. That all she needed to do was obtain my signature on a form, get my assistant to notarize it, and they could take the form to a different state and marry. That form was my ‘permission.’ He would have gotten away with it hadn’t Tolliver, my assistant, not caught on. He alerted me as soon as they left the building, and I was able to stop them before they could leave the state. It cost me a large sum of money to get George to leave my sister alone, but I’d pay it again for the same results. I am proud to say Georgiana has matured nicely and is very wise to George’s machinations, though the experience has shaped her in a way that’s sad for a brother to see. It is my understanding George has long since blown through the money he received.
* * *
What did Geo want with Meryton Matchmakers? She was certain his interest in her was feigned. She had no money, and while the business was increasing in revenue, expenses were rising as well. She only wished she knew what he was about.
“Elizabeth?” Jane stood at the door. “Are you all right?”
The letter still in her hand, Elizabeth readjusted in her chair so she could hide the note under the table. “Yes, why?”
“You’re sitting in here alone.”
“Simply collecting my thoughts for the day. That’s all.” Elizabeth tried to smile, a difficult act these days since she found little to be pleased about.
“I feel as though you are worried. Are you?”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak and searched for what she should say, though she knew what she shouldn’t say.
Jane continued. “But don’t worry. Everything is working out. The business is doing well. We’re seeing an uptick in sign-ups every day, and now with Geo as a client, this can only improve business. He seems like he would be happy to share with the world how Meryton Matchmakers helped him find his true love. Press like that is powerful.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Oh, Jane…”
“Elizabeth, stop worrying so much. Enjoy this opportunity. It’s going to be brilliant.”
Or a total catastrophe. In the pit of Elizabeth’s stomach, she knew nothing good was going to come from Geo Wickham. He was not Midas. But he did appear to have the sadim’s touch.
Chapter Three
Lydia adjusted the video camera, making sure all the modes were correct for the lighting Geo Wickham had requested. He said he preferred some shadows, and she filed the information away in her mental storage cloud, a fact she would likely find useful at some point or another.
Had any of her sisters been around, she would have happily pointed out that they, Meryton Matchmakers, were only able to do these high-end videos because she, Lydia, had the foresight to take a photography and videography class in college. Against everyone else’s advice, she would remind them.
Lydia had two philosophies about life. The first was to make laughter and walk happily, not softly––a stupid idea if there ever was one. She didn’t need to look for silver linings because she didn’t dwell under the dark clouds. The second philosophy was not to wait for opportunity, but to make it.
There was no question about how much she loved and admired her older sisters. They were game changers. Women in the fight for all women. They believed a person should not be seen by their gender but by their skill level, and Lydia heartily agreed. She simply chose to go about getting her fair share of equality differently. She figured she had a good ninety years on this earth, one hundred if she was lucky, and she’d already spent twenty of those. She wasn’t about to stand around debating the obstacles in front of her and group-think how to circumvent them. She already knew what to do.
Having grown up in a house with a hen-pecking, emasculating mother, Lydia had enough examples of how not to treat people. Men in particular. They were fragile beasts, their egos the bubble around them. One could stroke it gently like they did a cat, or poke at the bubble like Elizabeth did William Darcy’s. Sometimes she even kicked it, and clueless Elizabeth wondered why things went the way they did.
No, Lydia didn’t have time for all that. Not while opportunity was sitting before her with his deep brown hair and reflective shades on, another hint about the inner person of George Wickham. Shades while inside a darkened room? She added it to the file. Here was her chance to get up the next rung on the ladder. All Lydia had ever dreamt about was a Hollywood lifestyle, and she was prepared to work her butt off to get it––while keeping her pants on.
“So, Gee-oooh,” She drew out his nickname, adding a lilt to the end, and he smiled in response. “Do you currently have a stylist?” If he did, he should fire her or him. He was sexy as all get out. The epitome of a playboy, a bad boy playboy, yet his hair was currently too long with the top…floppy, excessive gel holding it in place. Lydia hid a snicker. In his business, he couldn’t afford to have anything floppy. Not his hair, not his gut, and not his acting. Besi
des, floppy and the gel dated him and conflicted with the image he was trying to pull off. Old, sexy, dated playboys were not in demand.
“I’m in between stylists at the moment.”
Opportunity hadn't just knocked on her door; it pounded.
“Well, whoever it was did a fabulous job, but I was looking at some of the social media sites to see what was trending, and you could really pull off a shorter cut. Go a little alpha, if you know what I mean. You have bad boy nailed.” She raised her brows and kept her smile small, like she was in on his secret. “You should jump on changing your look before it’s too late. I mean, it might already be too late, but we could hook you up right now and get some pictures of you out there today with this new look, and everyone will think you’re a trendsetter and not a follower.”
Geo repositioned himself on the stool, his hands resting on his thighs, and nodded slowly. The wheels were turning. She could practically smell the smoke as she watched his head bob in thought. Then he shifted and leaned back on the stool, kicking his legs out in front of him. “One of my colleagues on the show happened to get a sneak peek of the upcoming script, and according to her, my character is going a rogue. Alpha would work for him.”
“You want to make the change now before we start this?” She gestured to the camera.
“Can we?” He stood and tugged his jeans up on his narrow hips. Jeez, he was “totes adorbs,” as her friends would say, but not only because he was divinely handsome, but there was something about the way he talked often so no one could ask him questions or, like now, sat quietly lost in thought as if she wasn’t present. It wasn’t terribly flattering he didn’t feel the need to keep her distracted like he did with Elizabeth and Jane, but she would get to the bottom of why while making the most of her opportunity. Lydia was going to convince Geo Wickham to introduce her to his circle, and after he started getting positive press for her handiwork on his look, she’d take the opportunity to the next level. While she was at it, she’d get to the bottom of what he was about.
“Follow me. I have a salon set up in the next room.” She opened a side door, and bright light filled the small space. She gestured for him to precede her. Once in the chair, she draped the soft cape over him then began to run her fingers through his hair, getting the feel for his texture and the cut.
“I dry cut. I hope that works for you.” Through the glasses she could see his eyes were closed.
“Mm,” he said.
“I’m going to take these off.” Gently she slid the sunglasses from his face and set them on the counter. She then picked up her scissors and a clean comb and went to stand before him. “Your beard is the perfect length.” Just the right amount of scruffy without looking like mountain man. Mountain man was not a look that would work for him.
“Thanks,” he mumbled and opened his eyes.
Blue like the shiny lenses of his sunglasses. Like the Caribbean Sea. Eyes of a heartbreaker with a broken heart.
She ran her hand through his hair a second time, winked at him, and then shifted her focus to perfecting his look, her scissors snipping wildly.
“Your sisters' look nothing like you.” he mumbled in her ear as she reached across him to tame a lock.
“Which one?” She stepped back and inspected her handiwork. Perfection.
He studied her. “I suppose any of them. I mean, you kinda have the same coloring as Elizabeth, but nothing else.”
“Maybe I’m the mailman’s daughter.” She smiled and winked again. It could be true. Her mother had threatened her father enough times.
He shook his head. “No, I was wrong. On closer inspection, I can see the similarities in your features. It’s you that looks nothing like them.”
“Which you've already said.” She took off his cape, then slowly turned his chair to the mirror.
“I mean your essence––crap, that sounds cheesy.” He shook his head. “There’s a humming about you, a vibrancy your sisters don’t possess. It sets you a part.”
“You’re just saying that because I sexed up your look.”
She spun him so he faced the mirror, and he instantly sat up straighter, leaning toward his reflection. “Man, I’m impressed. I look…”
“Sexy,” she said. “Like trouble. Like a good time. Like a sample won’t be enough.” Their eyes met in the mirror and something powerful sparked between them, making her knees go wobbly.
Nope. She was not going to have this man mess up her opportunity. Unlike her sisters, she did not hold fast to one true love. When the time was right to take on a man, she would, but now was not that time.
“Okay, let’s go get that interview done.” She finished brushing off his neck and then handed him his glasses. “On the table inside the door are some cue cards. Go through those real quick while I set up the camera. Those are the questions you need to answer. How you do it is your call. Think about showing your personality to the camera.”
He followed her into the filming room, and she pointed to the stack of several 11x16 cards. She was already at the camera when she realized he was still standing by the table, staring down at the cards.
He pushed the cards away from him. “How about we do this differently than the other videos? How about we do this like a conversation or a casual interview? You ask me the questions, and I’ll talk to you instead of the camera. I’m afraid if I do it the way you’re saying, it will look like I’m acting. I don't want that to happen.”
Lydia tossed the idea around. “All right.”
He slid on his glasses and moved to the stool. When he sat, he looked posed. One leg up on a higher rung, his hand casually dropped over the raised knee. In three steps, she was standing in front of him.
Arms on her hips she said, “But no glasses. If we are going to be authentic, let’s go all the way.”
When he lowered them to his nose, his blue eyes twinkled, and with a slight smile on his lips said, “Okay.”
Chapter Four
When Wickham had suggested the matchmaker company to his agent, the man had pounced on the idea. Said it was a chance to change his image. It was undeniable, Wickham needed to be seen as a guy with somewhat of a heart and depth and not this irresponsible rogue who was having trouble finding and keeping jobs. It was a topic he and his agent had discussed several times.
The idea had taken root when he met Elizabeth in New York. It helped she was easy enough to talk with, and once she figured where she recognized him from, the soap he was on, she didn’t seem to give his celebrity or even his reputation another second. Her no-big-deal attitude was refreshing. Generally, the people he met fell into one of two categories. Either they were fans and hung on him, not always an awful experience, or they worked in the industry and heard rumors about his troubles on the sets––of every show or commercial he’d worked on––and would snub him. Elizabeth was an anomaly, a welcomed freshness. He struggled to recall the last time he’d had a genuine conversation with another person that wasn’t about what he needed to improve, or why he did the things he did, or any other host of bleak and depressing topics.
Then he’d seen Darcy’s face when Darcy had bumped into Elizabeth outside the exercise room. Wickham hadn’t known Darcy was in the area, much less the same hotel––and with a woman no less. His old pal, more like nemesis, took one look at Wickham, and a very long one at Elizabeth, and something Wickham had only seen a handful of times flashed across Darcy’s face. It wasn’t annoyance or indifference. Those were Darcy’s default expressions. It had been longing. A need for Elizabeth. The look had been so brief, Wickham thought maybe he’d imagined it, but instinctively he knew he hadn’t. Perhaps if it was an expression Darcy used more often, then Wickham might have mistaken it. But he hadn’t, and here he was, in Meryton, trying to get to the bottom of what Darcy’s intentions were with the dark-haired matchmaker. George Wickham was a pro at sniffing out opportunity, and this one sat before him like an unopened present, begging to be shown to the world, and if he came out smelling a little
sweeter in the process, win-win.
Lydia, the sexy little sister, took his glasses off his nose and set them on the counter behind the camera. She then stepped outside the camera lens range and began to fidget with the large piece of equipment, occasionally checking the lighting and microphones.
She was a hot number. He’d been glad for the reflective glasses so he could check her out without her knowing. She walked with long strides, her head held high. Her mouth captivated him the most. Her full lips were showcased in a bright pink lipstick, only she’d drawn them to look like a bow. They went well with her large white-framed glasses and cascading, long, dark-blond hair.
Listen to him, describing her hair as “cascading.” But it really did. Like he’d never seen before, and he’d seen some beautiful woman in his line of work. This one, Lydia, was a knockout. She gave off a coquettish, fun, and all-around heartbreaker vibe. He needed to tread with caution. No girl had ever caught him off guard. She wasn’t flighty, though at first glance might seem it. She was sparkly, almost effervescent.
He mentally rolled his eyes at his stream of thoughts. “Should we get started?”
She nodded, then pulled up a stool. She clicked on the camera, and then after looking through the lens, she gave him a thumbs-up before sitting. “So, Mr. Wickham. Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?” The huskiness of her voice drew him in. Not one to look away from the camera, Geo was surprised to find his focus on Lydia instead.
“I like to be called Gee-oh, George and Mr. Wickham was my father, who was an amazing man. I could never fill his shoes, so it’s Geo for me.”
Lydia gestured for him to continue while she crossed her legs. When her skirt fell open at the long slit, exposing a slender thigh, Geo sat forward, resting his forearms on his own thighs. He licked his lips. “I, ah…” He needed to focus. What was the question?
