by Ari Rhoge
“10 bucks we're eating poached salmon,” Rich challenged his cousin, from across the table, once Catherine's attentions were elsewhere when the cook dropped by. Darcy met his eye, looked sharply at his aunt, and gave one solid nod.
Catherine whipped her head around and caught my eye in the middle of her conversation with the cook. She asked, crisply, “you're not vegetarian, I gather?”
“Can you gather that from first glance?” Rich asked, quietly, when she got up to follow the cook into the kitchen. He leaned in close to smell my hair, shaking his head. “Are you supposed to smell like broccoli or something? —— I smell shampoo.” I snorted, ducking out of the way.
The cook brought around a large Caesar salad and a platter of Atlantic lox, igniting a fierce staring match in the Darcy–Fitzwilliam cousins.
“It's not poached,” Darcy said.
“But it's still salmon,” Rich said, grinning, and extending a hand. “Fork it over. —— With interest, preferably.”
“I wouldn't suggest the interest… he might spit in your plate,” I muttered.
Rich laughed, glancing at Darcy sharply. “Dang, Will… she knows you. It's a little scary.”
“I know,” Darcy muttered, fishing out his wallet.
Dinner was a tedious event that was more like an interrogation than a meal. I couldn't get a forkful of food in edgewise before answering Catherine de Bourgh's grating little questions. By the end of 15 minutes, she had discovered where I was attending university, how many siblings I had, and what my political views were (“Moderate, Mrs. de Bourgh.” —— “I believe you mean indecisive, Eliza.”) Then she finally asked, appraisingly, what it was that I planned to do with my life.
“I've absolutely no idea,” I answered, cheerfully, taking a bite from my salmon.
Mrs. de Bourgh's eyebrows shot up. “What, nothing? You don't have a clue.”
“You could become a folk singer and travel around the country in a caravan,” offered Rich, chewing thoughtfully. “I've considered it.”
I shrugged. “I honestly don't know. Junior year of high school I stocked up on all these ridiculous AP courses because I somehow stupidly thought that I would go into medicine. I killed myself with AP chem and biology, anatomy and calc courses, then realized that I didn't want to do it anymore.”
“You were unwilling to work hard,” she gathered, crisply.
“On the contrary, I worked very hard,” I said, smiling at her sunnily. “I just realized that it wasn't what I wanted to do. Then I went through about a month believing I would become a teacher, until I realized that my patience is about close to nil — except with really little kids — so there's that.”
“So, now you're coasting through college without a major,” sniffed Mrs. de Bourgh. “What an endearing, rootless method of education. Your parents must be thrilled.”
Darcy met my eye across the table without really meaning to, shuffled a little, and looked back down. And I said, “my parents have three other mouths to feed besides mine and my sister's. —— We take care of ourselves, for the most part.”
“Lizzy's actually a great writer,” Charlotte said, speaking up for the first time — and we all looked at her. She cleared her throat. “She's been working on a novel.”
“A novel?” Catherine repeated, and I couldn't tell if it was disapproving or not.
“It's stupid,” I muttered, embarrassed. “Honestly, I sent it out, and the more I look at it the more I realize how bad it was. I don't think I'm meant to do it. It's locked away in some crappy filing cabinet, and I never want to break it out again.”
Darcy was looking at me again. I wanted to flick pieces of my salad into his face.
“You should look into journalism,” suggested Rich, watching me carefully. “I could picture you writing this insightful, bitchy column directed at sarcastic women. You could be based in New York. —— It would work.”
“Language, Richard.”
“So, you're basically calling me sarcastic and bitchy.”
“I think it's endearing,” he grinned. “You pull it off. It's cute on you.”
Mrs. de Bourgh interrupted, “oh, how I remember when my dear husband Nathan was alive. Such a clever writer. Of course, he pursued a law degree. Second in his class at Yale. God rest his soul.”
“It's my great lament that I never got to meet him,” gushed Collins, sadly, throwing in an expert lip-quiver. “Such a fine house he raised, Mrs. de Bourgh… Such a grand legacy…”
“How did he die?” I asked Rich, quietly, as Collins prattled on.
“A case of repressed personality.”
Darcy almost choked on his water. Catherine glanced over, curious. “William, what's wrong?”
“It went down the wrong way, Aunt Catherine.”
“Do be more careful.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
When she turned back to say something to Collins, I couldn't help but laugh. “Nice save, there, Darcy.”
“And here I thought we'd lost you in the conversation,” added Rich, chasing a pea around his plate.
“No, I'm still here,” he murmured back, eyes downcast. “Unfortunately.”
“Oh, my lovely cousin,” Rich beamed, leaning back. “What a ray of fucking sunshine.”
“Language, Richard!” Catherine nearly slammed her fork down. “One more time —!”
Then I couldn't handle it anymore. It was too good. Rich might as well have been a petulant seven-year-old flinging peas across the room and mouthing off. I started giggling.
“I hardly think this is amusing, Elizabeth,” Catherine scolded, outraged.
Collins sneered. “Mrs. de Bourgh, I do apologize. I blame her upbringing —— her entire family, save for her older sister, is just as disrespectful…”
“Collins knows your whole family?” asked Rich. “What does he do? Sleep in your parents' bed?”
I slapped a hand to my mouth, trying to suppress the laughter. Most of the table was looking at me, and I completely blamed Rich. Charlotte was wincing, Collins and Catherine de Bourgh were glaring, and Darcy —— actually, Darcy was smirking. I didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad thing.
We thankfully disbanded toward the living room for dessert, which meant no more cramped quarters and interrogative questions from Catherine de Bourgh, Law and Order style. As I took a cup of tea and looked at the painting on the nearest wall of the living room, conversation buzzing behind me, I noticed Rich Fitzwilliam come up and observe with me. I glared at him, pretty frank. “You're such a dickhead.”
“Ouch,” he said, laughing, burying his hands in his pockets. “I didn't mean to get you in trouble at the table. I think a wire or two snapped and you found me funnier than normal people do.”
“Yeah, it's probably flight exhaustion,” I paused, watching him carefully. “Damn, I guess I'm not one of your normal guests anymore.”
“That's okay,” Rich said, shrugging. “Nobody else here is really worth talking to, besides you. There's Charlotte, but she's busy. And there's Will.”
“Will?” I said, laughing. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but your cousin isn't exactly the chatty, warm and fuzzy type. I think I'd sooner have a philosophical conversation with a brick wall.”
“No, I meant 'there's Will' as in 'there's Will', just behind you, listening to you insult him,” Rich continued, cheerfully, and I spun around. Darcy was standing right in front of me, eyebrows raised.
“You could have interrupted me,” I mumbled.
“I never like sparing people their own deserved mortification,” answered Rich.
“Don't worry, Elizabeth — nothing in that sentence was surprising,” Darcy said.
“I guess this saves me the trouble of asking what you think about my cousin,” Rich said, laughing, taking a seat on the arm of the leather chair behind us. “Or what he was like in Philadelphia, at any rate. I guess you continued your socially retarded shtick, didn't you, Will? It's so misleading.”
“I don't think it
is,” I offered.
Darcy rolled his eyes.
“No, it kind of is,” Rich said, grinning at his cousin, pinching his cheek. Darcy swatted him off with a scowl, and Rich continued, “Will's actually a sweet guy, once you boil down to it. He just freezes up in social scenarios. Probably does that whole 'imagine everybody else in their underwear' thing backward, and gets all embarrassed.”
“I wouldn't say embarrassed,” I said, glancing at Will. “He's much more 'oh, you heathen people, how dare you breathe in my presence!' —— y'know?”
“Can I just interrupt the slam fest?” Darcy asked, politely. “As much as I love being insulted, I'm actually standing right here. —— Just thought I'd mention.”
“It's been taken into consideration,” answered Rich, with a smirk.
“Richard!” screeched Catherine, suddenly. “I need you to show Collins to the laundry room. I've had the maid leave clean linens on the dryer, in case those at the hotel are unsuitable.”
Poor Rich sighed, and hopped up off his seat, providing me with a pretty crappy impersonation of Arnold Schwarzenegger's infamous “I'll be back” line. I snorted, and watched him go, motioning impatiently for Collins to follow suit.
“You like him,” Darcy observed. I turned around.
“I wouldn't say that,” I said, jokingly. “After all, he got me in trouble with the lady of the house. In my book, he should be listed under 'asshole'.”
“No, I'm pretty sure that's reserved for me.”
I laughed, amused. “What is with you and self-pity today? Chin up.”
He cracked a small smile, and folded his arms across his chest. After a second or two, he surprised me by asking how my family and my sister were doing.
I raised an eyebrow. So much for unmentionables. “Jane's in Florida with my aunt and uncle for the holiday. The rest of my family you've never met — but they're pretty pissed off at me for ditching them during break. Even though I gave them about four months' worth of a warning.”
“They probably miss you.”
“I don't know about that. My sisters are in their own little world, and my mother just needs the moral support.” I sighed, watching Charlotte murmur something to Collins up ahead. “Home is such a madhouse during the holidays. You're supposed to go back and be with your loved ones and relax, but it's so anxiety-riddled.” When Darcy didn't answer, I turned to look at him, only to see that he was watching me so intently that I couldn't help but blush.
“What?” I asked, carefully.
“I just find it ironic, that's all.” Darcy shrugged, looking back at his aunt. He looked so serious. “I've always wondered what it was like to have a big family. It was only me, Georgy and my dad for the longest time. I'm not complaining —— I practically had it made. But you always wonder about what you don't have. In both cases, not just mine.”
“That's true,” I admitted, watching him warily. “And now you've gone and mentioned Georgy, something I thought we were going to avoid.”
Darcy looked over, his face grim. “I think we've had our fair share of avoiding topics and bringing them up anyway — if you don't mind, I'd rather not get into an argument tonight.”
“Very commendable, sir — I shan't press the topic any further,” I muttered, yawning into my fist.
He looked at me. “I should drive you back to the hotel.”
“No, that's okay. I don't want to be rude.” A beat. “Never mind… too late. She probably already thinks that.”
“You just seem exhausted.”
“Don't worry yourself too much, Darcy,” I snorted. “I'm a big girl, and I've pushed the limits on sleep deprivation pretty hard.”
“I picked up on that,” he said, smirking a little. “You've got shadows under your eyes.” He actually pointed, just for kicks.
“Yeah, thanks for that,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes.
“Don't be self-conscious.”
“I'm not self-conscious.”
“You seem like you are,” Darcy observed, with a grin. He always seemed to be smiling the most when he was making a joke or an insult at my expense. Always at me.
“Well, I'm not.”
“I hear bickering,” Rich mumbled, as he entered the room, Collins trailing patiently behind. Rich whipped around, and said, slowly, “stay. Stay. Good boy.”
Collins glared resentfully, and marched toward his godmother.
I laughed, and broke out into another yawn. Rich raised his eyebrows. “I didn't realize we were so boring. —— Not that I blame you.”
“She's tired from her flight,” Darcy corrected.
“Drive her back to the hotel, then,” Rich answered, shrugging. “You're staying there anyway.”
“Wait, what?” I suddenly asked, sounding a little more accusing than intended. Darcy stared at me coolly, and I cleared my throat. “I just assumed you'd both be staying here.”
“There's only one guest bedroom — and I claimed it first,” Rich answered, smoothly.
“Oh.”
Well, we ended up leaving Rosings 15 minutes later. It was dark out, and I was too dog-tired to reprimand Will Darcy for staring at me from the rear-view mirror. I actually fell asleep in the car while listening to my iPod. I didn't even realize we were there until I felt Charlotte gently nudging my shoulder, and I blinked up at her groggily. She grinned. “We weren't sure if we should wake you — you looked so out of it. I was this close to asking Will to carry you inside.”
“I'm really glad you didn't,” I mumbled, sleepily. “I would've been pretty damn mortified.”
“Yeah, that was pretty much my motivation,” she answered.
• • •
I slept for nine hours. A blissful, dreamless, uninterrupted nine hours. Until the pounding on my door began sharply at eight o'clock and I stumbled out of bed and banged my knee against the nightstand. I limped toward the door angrily. I expected Charlotte's cheery face on the other side, and swung it open with a growl. Richard Fitzwilliam beamed from the threshold, a curled fist suspended in the air. He let it fall loosely to his side, and grinned. “Morning, Lizzy! We're taking you out.”
“Huh?” I squinted at him, bleary-eyed. I noticed Darcy just out in the hallway, dressed in a pair of jeans, a tee, and a jacket. He was looking at me like he was an inch away from exploding with laughter. He covered his mouth with his hand.
“You heard me, sunshine.” Rich nodded with an enthusiasm I wanted to crush so early in the morning. “We're taking you out. And not in The Godfather, Al Pacino sense of the word. We're probably just going to go around town, hang around the beach, and harass the locals.” He paused, glancing at me quickly. “And if it's wolf-whistling you're going for, then I approve. But otherwise I'd suggest putting some pants on once we go out in public.”
At this point, a gear or two chinked in my brain, and it occurred to me that I was standing in my oversize soccer tee and polka-dot cotton underwear. I squeaked, slammed the door in his face, and quickly wrapped my covers around my waist. By the time I mustered the courage to open the door again, my face was probably all shades of red, and Rich Fitzwilliam's was all shades of smug. I glared at him. “I hate you, and I've known you for only half a day.”
“We have that effect on people,” he said, nodding grimly. “Go get changed. —— We'll be waiting.”
“That sounds so creepy.”
“I know.”
16
—
Oh, and Time's a Loaded Gun
Richard Fitzwilliam was a man with an expert sense of planning. You couldn't exactly guess this from first impression. After all, he was a gentleman who barely remembered to tuck in his shirt on most occasions. He was partial to spontaneous outbursts, and impulsive getaway trips to Las Vegas in the middle of tax season. But in the case of Lizzy Bennet — the spry Philadelphian his cousin had been acting so strangely in front of — one could rest assured that something was safely tucked up his sleeve.
And Darcy knew it.
“You never sai
d you were going to invite her,” he argued, quietly, folding his arms across his chest as they waited at the floor's lobby by the elevators. Rich regarded him coolly, beamed, and didn't say anything. He had practically ambushed Will's room at 7:30 that morning, yanked the curtains open so that sunlight temporarily blinded him, and forced him out of bed with a swift bombardment of pillows he had possibly mistaken for ammo. By all intents and purposes, Richard Fitzwilliam was pretty much the snotty brother Will Darcy never had. He was almost thankful his parents hadn't had the opportunity to procreate after Georgy was born.
Richard Fitzwilliam had also conveniently avoided mentioning that he planned to include Elizabeth Bennet in the day's activities. He led Darcy to believe that he had pressed the 'L' button in the elevator — when it released a ping! at the seventh floor instead, Rich had darted out into the hallway before Darcy could even register his surroundings. The rest, of course, could easily be figured out. Maybe not the fact that the girl herself would stumble out of her bed and greet them without pants, but her mortification was actually kind of endearing. In an incredibly bizarre way.
“What I don't understand,” Rich started, smoothly. “Is why you're so pissy about including Lizzy. She's a pretty great girl. A little rough around the edges, and a bit blunt, but that's kind of what I like about her. Plus, she insults you a lot. It makes me giggle.”
“I'm trying to find a more original way of telling you that I hate you.”
“How's that working out for you?”
“Not very well,” Darcy muttered.
“Listen, if you're so dead stubborn about this situation, you can stay in your room and watch infomercials all day,” Rich suggested, cheerfully. “I honestly couldn't give a damn, Will. Lizzy and I get along pretty well — I could show her around. We'd have a wonderful time.”
