Meryton Matchmakers

by Kristi Rose

  All the things she'd read about Geo Wickham, and she had read plenty, never mentioned he played acoustic guitar proficiently. She would wait one more round before making her presence known. She wanted to sit and watch him play, to hear the music up close, to ask a million questions, but her instinct for opportunity nagged at her, left her motionless, not wanting to be discovered. No, the last thing she needed to do was let him know she'd been spying. Geo Wickham had a protective shell around him, and if she intruded upon this private moment, penetrating that shell would be impossible. Instead, she crept back quietly until she was a few feet away and waited for him to pull the cord.

  “Woohoo,” she called when she saw him tug on the earbud cable. She changed her course so she was heading toward him. “Any chance you're hungry?” She held the bags in the air, her hands cold and damp from the drinks.

  Geo jerked around and jumped up, the guitar dangling from his hand. “Lydia, I thought you all were out of town?”

  She shook her head. “We leave tomorrow. We're working from home, and I needed a break so I came out for lunch. I thought about you being new to town and not knowing where all the good food was so I took a chance that you might be hungry.” She plopped the bags on the bench and set the drinks on the ground. “So are you?” She sat next to him.

  He blinked in confusion. “Am I what?”

  “Hungry, silly.” She took out a Styrofoam box and flipped open the lid, exposing the sandwich. It looked so scrummy she almost forgot about the guitar.

  “Here,” she said and handed him the carton. “That guitar is gorgeous. I didn't know you played. I hope I'm not interrupting.”

  Geo shrugged and set the guitar against the bench. From his front jean pocket he withdrew his shades and slipped them on before he sat beside her and took the Styrofoam box. “It’s something I fool around with. I'm not very good.” He bit into the sandwich.

  It took all her inner strength to not snort, punch him in the arm, or do anything else that showed her disbelief and expose her eavesdropping. Not very good, he'd said. What a joke. He was amazing. “Will you play for me?” She knew she was taking a chance asking since he was already closing himself off by putting on the shades.

  “Not a chance,” he said and took another bite. They ate in silence for a few beats before Geo held up the sandwich box. “This is incredible. Care to tell me where you got it?”

  Lydia smiled. “Not a chance,” she said with a wink.

  Geo laughed. “Fair enough. Thanks for bringing the sandwich.”

  Lydia waved off his gratitude. “Where's your sheet music?” She glanced around but already knew the answer.

  “I play by ear,” he said and looked at her. Or at least she thought he was looking at her, but it was hard to see through those stupid shades of his.

  After setting her sandwich aside, Lydia reached up and slid off his blue-lensed glasses. She folded them and set them on the bench. “There. That's nice. I hope you don't mind but it’s not that bright, and I'd like to actually see more of the person who I’m becoming friends with.” She smiled and wagged her brows.

  His gaze darted to her lips and lingered for a beat before coming back to meet hers. “You think we're becoming friends?”

  Lydia nodded. “Don't you? Or is it that you're so popular you don't need any more friends?”

  He didn't laugh like she’d expected him to. When he glanced at her mouth again, a small smiled twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Friends. I like the idea of that.”

  The tiny knot of apprehension in Lydia's stomach fluttered with happiness as it uncoiled and dissolved away. No, Geo and Lizzy were not suited at all, and becoming Geo's friend would not overstep bounds that did not or should not exist.

  Chapter Seven

  Elizabeth stood in the ballroom of the swanky New York hotel and smiled. The venue was perfect for this Meryton Matchmaker social. It was upscale enough to appease the entertainment taste of the attending clientele, but not so overdone it would make any feel out of place.

  Classy. The room was decorated in golds and white with an ambience that encouraged good behavior. Just as important as successful matches was the image Meryton Matchmakers presented.

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes as she recalled an event from when they were first starting out. They had hosted a social at a local pub, believing the environment would help everyone relax. Which it did—excessively. It was amazing how quickly a group of adults who might have had one drink too many to steady their frayed nerves could deteriorate an event. To the degree that a bar fight broke out. She’d learned that lesson the hard way and swore to never repeat it.

  Elizabeth glanced at her watch then at the room again, admiring the layout. Lottie, Elizabeth’s best friend outside her sister Jane, had suggested they use small tables, perfect for two. Each one was decorated with floating white flowers in gold and white bowls, no tall vases for couples to look around when trying to talk, and each table also provided an assortment of hor d'oeuvres and chilled, sparkling, flavored water. Though tonight’s clients had been matched and the evening’s intention was to help them get to know one another, there was the off chance a few pairings wouldn’t be a good fit. Wisely, Lottie suggested a few undesignated tables to be placed among the others. This setup allowed for some spontaneous magic, a chance for people to migrate to various tables if they felt their connection wasn’t working. All the meet-and-greet tables had a number, and Kitty was tasked with handing clients their corresponding number where they were to meet up with their “date.” The unnumbered tables were pointed out as well. Slowly, clients were coming in to mingle, and the conversation in the room was growing. Lydia was working the door. Her whatever-attitude had a surprising calming effect on the new arrivals, and she had a knack for sending them into the room laughing.

  Love was in the air.

  A few months ago, she would have reveled in the warmth such a sentiment brought her, but not tonight. Elizabeth huffed and tugged at the collar of her black boat-neck cocktail dress. Her feelings about love were all mixed up, and it was frustrating.

  “Everything is going smoothly,” Jane said, stepping up beside her.

  “Yes, so far.” She crossed her fingers just in case to ward off any jinx.

  “We’re really very lucky Darcy landed this for us. It's well suited for the caliber of clientele we’re entertaining tonight.” Jane looped her arm through Elizabeth’s.

  Elizabeth leaned against her sister. “I’m very nervous about this producer person and Geo Wickham being in the same room.”

  “Lydia says there is nothing to worry about with him.”

  “Yes, and she is who we should listen to.” The sarcasm rolled right off her tongue, though it didn’t stop Elizabeth from doing a sweep of the room to make sure Lydia hadn’t heard. Their youngest sister could be easily offended.

  Jane shrugged.

  “How are you holding up these days, Jane?” Elizabeth didn’t want to have this conversation at a social event, but her concern for Jane continued to press upon her every thought. Darn that William Darcy and his interference. Jane and Darcy’s best friend, Chaz Bingley, were clearly suited. Seeing that did not take the skill or expertise of a matchmaker. Knowing Darcy split them up on purpose took all those confused emotions twisting inside Elizabeth and set them afire, filling her with a quick and consuming anger.

  “I’m fine. I’m not sure why you keep asking.”

  “Because I––”

  “Oh, look. There’s the first gentleman I’m meeting tonight.” Jane attempted to slide her arm from Elizabeth’s.

  Clutching her sister’s arm to her side, Elizabeth said, “What? Your first what?”

  “Listen, Lizzy. I didn’t want to worry you because I know you have a lot on your plate, but Anne and I talked and decided I should start meeting a few of the guys who showed an interest in my videos. I see one at table four right now.” She tugged again.

  In an act to bring in clientele and fend off the destroying machin
ations of Darcy and his aunt, The Bourgh, Jane had begun making dating videos. Mini autobiographies, though her face hadn’t been visible, about what she was looking for in a man, how difficult it was to meet and connect with someone, and the nervousness a person experienced after set on the dating path.

  They were a hit. So much that Lydia did them as well, and there was an increase in men signing up. Naturally, the creation of these videos coincided with Jane meeting Bingley, who had tried not to appear bothered by the videos.

  Elizabeth wondered how she could make that Darcy’s fault, too.

  “What is your plan once you meet them?” Elizabeth scanned the tall gentleman at the table waiting for Jane. She knew within one second he was not her sister’s type.

  “I plan on converting them into dedicated clients and help find the one for them. It's what we do after all.”

  Elizabeth let loose of Jane’s arm. “Touché. Let me know how I can help.”

  “I will, of course. For now, I suppose you could find out why Mr. Darcy is here and why Caroline Bingley is with him.” Jane nodded ever so slightly in the direction of the entry some feet to Elizabeth's right.

  Slowly, Elizabeth turned and saw their other sister, Kitty, manning the door and laughing it up with Darcy. He was nodding, smiling at Kitty, and poorly accessorized with Caroline draped from his arm like a mismatched clutch.

  Elizabeth spun away. The room was rather full now, and she contemplated hiding among the guests. The civil thing to do would be to greet them cordially, though she wasn’t sure she had it in her to do that. Uncertain as to what to do, she turned to go in one direction, changed her mind, turned to go another, and reconsidered that direction, too. Essentially, she spun slowly in a circle before coming to a pause when she faced him. When she caught his eye, the knot of coiled apprehension resting in her stomach dropped and jerked her body around, turning her away. Her mind racing, she counted to ten a handful of times before losing track, her thoughts everywhere.

  It would not do to be rude. She faced him again and squared her shoulders. In the past, Elizabeth’s capability to sort through her emotions had been something she took pride in. Now, her anger toward Darcy and the situation, combined with this weird…nervousness, was too confusing to get to the bottom of. And she’d tried. Several times, only to come back to the evening when he’d stood at the foot of her porch and proposed marriage. Each time she recalled his words—how it was against his better judgment to ask, but he couldn't help himself—she’d be consumed with embarrassment and anger. Those emotions were easy enough to manage, but the curiosity, wondering what life with William Darcy would be like, was what was confusing her more.

  She clenched her back teeth and forced hands to be still. She then walked to them. “Mr. Darcy, Miss. Bingley. What brings you here?” She tried to smile, but her face felt too tight and the effort all-wrong.

  He surveyed her with tender, kind eyes, and suddenly Elizabeth had a hard time drawing breath.

  Chapter Eight

  For Darcy, having nothing to say wasn't unusual. He preferred to let others do the talking since they typically were more comfortable with prattling on. When he had something to say, he did. This moment, however, looking down at Elizabeth's breath-stopping, beautiful face, there was nothing. All skills for any conversation had evaporated along with thought. Standing before her was more than awkward and embarrassing; it was painful. Not because she'd injured his pride, but because he desperately wanted to touch her. He wanted to feel again the softness of her lips against his. Surely, it couldn't be as enchanting as he remembered. It was likely his imagination played tricks on him during those sleepless nights, toying with his memories and testing the limits of his aching heart. But none of these were the words he could tell her. That she, Elizabeth, was what brought him here.

  He cleared his throat and searched for something safe to say.

  Caroline tightened her grip on his arm. “We're here because Darcy is ensuring that you and your little company are representing him appropriately.”

  Darcy wanted to groan. Though he hadn't specifically used the word “represent,” he had alluded to it in his effort to make the conversation with her about his intention as simple as possible.

  Elizabeth's grimace-like-smile fell, and she looked at him, one brow raised. “Represent?”

  “I wanted to make sure that Miles had come through for you.” Darcy knew he was in a hole.

  “I see,” she said. Though the sharpness to her words and the narrowing of her eyes indicated she did not see at all.

  It was obvious to Darcy then that because they had started out on the wrong foot, chances of getting on the right one where marginal.

  “Did you come to town alone, Caroline?” Jane asked, her hands gripped tightly before her.

  Caroline stiffened beside him. Where Darcy's opinion about Jane and Bingley was that Jane was too cold and distant for his best friend, Caroline did not approve of the match or the Bennet family.

  With a sharp nod of her head, she said, “I did. My family only come to this coast for business and try to keep that at a minimum if we can.”

  “Of course,” Jane said. “If you'd like to get together while you are here...that might be nice.”

  Caroline pursed her lips briefly before saying, “Text me,” and shrugged one shoulder. The message Caroline was sending was loud and clear. It was distant and uninterested. Had he not been looking, had Elizabeth not accused him of being shortsighted in regards to her sister, he would have paid the interaction little attention and not seen the small tremble of Jane's body or her white knuckles.

  But after Elizabeth had pointed out these flaws, he questioned his perception of Jane and the subsequent judgment of her, and could now see he might have been off the mark somewhat. At least about her being a woman with little fire inside her.

  He returned his attention to Elizabeth whose narrowed gaze and stony expression were difficult to miss. She glared at Caroline, who was oblivious, then turned her anger toward him. “You can see that your friend is representing you well. The event is beautiful and progressing nicely.” She crossed her arms.

  Darcy wanted to say something, anything. He wanted to apologize for Caroline and for himself. The new, but now familiar, ache in his chest flared as he looked down at her angry face and was tongue-tied once again.

  The youngest Bennet sister—he searched for her name—came up to Lizzy and grasped her elbow. She glanced at Caroline and him and gave a quick smile.

  Lydia. That was her name.

  “Evening Mr. Darcy, Miss. Bingley. I’m sorry to interrupt but I need to speak with you, Lizzy.”

  He glanced at Elizabeth. Anger continued to roll off her. “Mr. Darcy and Miss. Bingley were just leaving,” she said without breaking eye contact with him. For the second time in as many interactions with Elizabeth, he'd been summarily dismissed.

  An awkward pause hung between them all.

  “Um…” Lydia tugged at Elizabeth’s elbow.

  “Yes, you need to speak with me.” Elizabeth stepped back once and said without looking at him, “Thanks for coming.” She spun on her heel and was quickly lost in the crowd.

  Jane nodded. “Have a good evening Mr. Darcy. Caroline,” she said softly, a quiver in her voice. Darcy did not like feeling like a heel, and yet here he was neck deep in self-loathing.

  “Well, those sisters are very ungrateful,” Caroline said sharply.

  There was no point in trying to sway her to see differently. Indignation and reticence were the protective shell Caroline used to keep others from getting close to her. Had he not known her since she was in diapers, he'd likely be the recipient of it as well.

  “Shall we do as the ladies request and leave them to it?” He led her to the door.

  “I hope you got what you wanted here, Darcy, and now are done with this company and these sisters. I, for one, will be glad when they are completely out of our lives.”

  Maybe Caroline was correct, that he needed to
purge Elizabeth from his life, and ideally his mind. Only, the thought of her going about her life with someone else sparked an entirely new emotion from him––jealously.

  Chapter Nine

  Lydia found Geo in the staging area behind the event room where the social was being held. He sat on the floor, his back against the wall, staring at his phone, his lips moving occasionally. She looked to see if he was wearing a headpiece, not wanting to interrupt a call, but didn’t see one.

  For a man about to wow a large portion of the women in the next room, he didn’t look too happy. The jacket to his gray suit was flung across a chair, the arms touching the ground, and the top buttons to his shirt were undone, as was his tie.

  “Geo?” Instinct told her to stay because he needed her.

  He glanced at her but didn’t seem to really see her. She called his name again and stepped closer. Papers were scattered across the floor around him, and an envelope rested against his foot with the words READ YOUR EMAIL written in bold letters.

  Lydia squatted next to Geo and picked up one of the sheets. “What’s going on?”

  He stared at the phone, the muscle in his cheek working overtime as it popped repeatedly. Lydia turned her attention to the paper and quickly scanned it. It was a contract of sorts, but the font size was smaller than typical, making it more difficult to read. She picked up another sheet and then a third and started putting them in order. Words like commission and rights drew her attention, and she read those sections. What was listed in the text, Lydia found alarming. She’d seen contracts before, and this one had the appearance of a typical contract until one read the clauses, much of it double-talk with the result awarding the agent the lion’s share of profits.