by Mary Balogh
Caroline extended a languid hand and smiled just enough to look sincere without disturbing her flawless makeup. “How nice to meet you, Elizabeth. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I hadn’t heard much about her, but I disliked her instantly. I took her hand and squeezed just enough to let her know that her superior air didn’t scare me. “Jane has told me how kind you’ve been,” I said. “Thanks so much for taking care of her.”
“It’s no trouble, really,” Caroline said in that upper-class East Coast accent affected in the ’30s by the likes of Bette Davis, Norma Shearer and Katharine Hepburn. Her gaze fell to my slightly scuffed oxfords and slowly rose to take in the rest of my casual ensemble. “Would you like something to drink? A Shirley Temple, perhaps?”
She might as well have asked me if I’d like to take a good wallow with the pigs. “Water, if it’s not too much trouble,” I said.
“Champagne,” Charles said. “We’re celebrating Jane’s recovery.”
“Is she walking again?” I asked eagerly.
“The swelling has really gone down. She’s getting dressed right now.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll go up and see her.”
“Please don’t deprive us of your company so soon,” Caroline purred. “Jane will be down at any moment.”
I couldn’t think of a good way to get out of it, so I took one of the chairs and accepted a glass of champagne from the butler.
“How is your family?” Charles asked, leaning forward with his hands dangling between his knees.
“Fine, thanks. A little worried about Jane.”
“There’s absolutely no reason to be. She’ll stay here until she can walk easily again.”
“That’s very nice of you, but—”
“I would advise you, Miss Bennet, not to contradict Charles,” a deep voice said. “He is accustomed to getting his way, in spite of all advice to the contrary.”
I crawled back into my skin and turned to look behind me. There, big as life and twice as aggravating, stood Mr. Darcy.
CHAPTER 3
“DARCY,” CHARLES SAID, HIS USUAL GOOD HUMOR sounding a bit strained, “why do you always have to sneak up on everyone like that?”
The older man strolled into the room and stopped beside the fireplace, his hands folded behind his back. Once again he wore what could only be the finest workmanship of the best European tailors, as crisp and formal as if he’d just come from a gathering of New York’s most high-powered financiers.
“Can I be blamed,” he said coolly, “if you prefer to surround yourself with so much noise that you are unable to hear anything less cacophonous than a chorus of jackhammers?”
“Darcy,” Charles said, addressing me, “doesn’t like jazz. I’ve had to drag him kicking and screaming into the twentieth century.”
“Don’t you mean the twenty-first century?” I asked, sliding a glance at the subject of our conversation.
“They had jazz in the twentieth century,” he said dryly.
“You shouldn’t make fun of Darcy just because he has better taste than you do,” Caroline said, easing her way toward Darcy with all the subtlety of a hockey puck slamming into a goal. “Mendelssohn still has many more admirers than Miles Davis.”
“I don’t think even Mendelssohn was around when Darcy was born,” Charles said.
Darcy seemed completely immune to Charles’s quips and continued to look down his nose at the room in general. Caroline was practically in his lap, but he didn’t pay her any attention—a fact that obviously ticked her off no end. You’d have to be as clueless as a bachelor at a baby shower not to see that she had a thing for him.
They deserve each other, I thought. But then Darcy looked straight at me with those dark, penetrating eyes, and I forgot my sarcasm. I knew he didn’t like me any more than I liked him, so I could only figure that he was trying to scare me off.
That, of course, was the surest way to make me stay.
“What kind of music do you prefer, Miss Bennet?” he asked.
If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said that Darcy was being polite. “I like all kinds, Mr. Darcy,” I said. “You could say I’m eclectic in my tastes.”
“Yes, dear,” Caroline said, staring pointedly at my clothes again. “That’s quite obvious.”
Darcy cast her a glance that made her go a little pale under her artfully applied blush. “A wide range of interests is scarcely to be sneered at,” he said.
I goggled. Why was he defending me? “Mr. Darcy—” I began, and promptly forgot what I was going to say. “Do you have a first name?”
“He does,” Charles said, “but he doesn’t like to use it.”
“It’s not Egbert, is it?” I whispered.
“Worse,” he whispered back. “It’s Fitzwilliam.”
It would have been very rude to laugh. I risked a glance at Darcy and knew immediately that he’d heard the exchange. Charles noticed, as well.
“He’s been Darcy as long as I’ve known him,” he said aloud.
“How long have you been friends?” I asked, including both Darcy and Charles in my question.
“He was on the Board years before my father died,” Bingley said in a sober voice.
“The late Mr. Bingley requested that I continue to advise his son,” Darcy said.
You’d have thought that Darcy was twenty years older than Charles, when he looked about five at most. “I’m sure he’s lucky to have a mentor like you,” I said with more than a touch of sarcasm.
“He has worked miracles for Bingley Pharmaceuticals,” Caroline said sharply. “He is admired for his philanthropy, as well. I understand that you might not regard him quite as favorably, given your…situation.”
Darcy gave Caroline a black look. Charles stood abruptly and had opened his mouth to speak when Jane appeared at the top of the grand staircase, pale but smiling. Charles bounded up the stairs to support her as she began to descend.
“Lizzy!” she called. “I’m so glad you’ve come!”
I watched her anxiously, noting her slight limp as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “Are you all right?” I asked, hurrying toward her. “Sit down and let me look at that ankle.”
She complied, though her eyes were all for Charles. I knelt in front of her and pulled up the leg of her soft wool trousers.
“It’s still swollen,” I said. “Are you sure it’s only a sprain?”
“That was the opinion of the doctor,” Charles said, his fair eyebrows drawn in a frown, “but I don’t think she should leave until all the swelling is gone.”
I glanced at Darcy and Caroline. Darcy’s expression was neutral, but I caught Caroline in a strained and very fake smile.
“Of course you must stay,” she said sweetly. “And you, too, Elizabeth.”
“Thanks, but I didn’t bring much with me….”
“I’m sure we can find something…appropriate for you.”
“That’s decided, then,” Charles said, oblivious to his sister’s catty remark.
For a while, the rest of us stood or sat around awkwardly while Charles and Jane smiled idiotically at one another. I couldn’t say I was unhappy about it. Jane was delirious, and if Charles was sincere, I had nothing to worry about. Unless someone else chose to interfere.
Darcy moved in my direction and took a large leather armchair not far from mine. Caroline quickly pulled another chair close to his.
“And how is Georgiana?” she cooed to the object of her affections, all but batting her lashes as she took her seat. “I can’t wait to see her again.”
“She is very well,” Darcy said, though he was looking at me instead of Caroline. “Georgiana, Miss Elizabeth, is my sister.”
“And so very talented,” Caroline said with a glare in my direction. “Such exquisite taste. I’ve never known such a young girl to be as bright and gifted as she is.” She leaned over the arm of her chair so that the neckline of her dress gaped open. “If you met her, Elizabeth, you’d understand
why Darcy is so particular in his choice of women friends.”
“Oh, does he have any?” I asked. I wanted to take the snide comment back as soon as I said it, but Darcy only stared at me intently, an almost puzzled look in his eyes. I wanted to sink deep into my chair, but sat up straighter instead.
Caroline laid her hand on Darcy’s sleeve. “Georgiana has impeccable manners,” she said to me waspishly. “A pity you didn’t have the benefit of her education.”
Well, I had deserved that. I decided on the better part of valor. “Charles,” I said, “I noticed that you have beautiful grounds behind the house. Do you mind if I take a look?”
“Hmmm? Oh, please be my guest. Darcy, would you mind showing her around?”
I sat frozen, my mouth dry as a quote from Oscar Wilde. “Uh, that won’t be necessary, really.”
“I would be delighted,” Darcy said, rising. Caroline clung to him like a boa constrictor.
“Please don’t interrupt your conversation on my account,” I said, sidling toward the French doors that looked over the sloping lawn. Darcy didn’t come after me.
Once I was outside I ran down the hill to the wood of ash and maple that had already turned bright shades of yellow, orange and red. I came up against one of the trunks, breathless and slightly dizzy.
I’d managed to insult Darcy almost as much as he’d insulted me and my family at the party, but he hadn’t taken the bait. To the contrary, he’d been downright courteous. And what had Caroline said about his philanthropic work?
Had I been wrong about him?
I was still chewing over the possibility after I’d made a complete inspection of the grounds and gardens and returned to the house. Low voices stopped me just outside the doors. For the second time in two weeks I held a brief internal debate about the propriety of eavesdropping. As always, curiosity beat good manners by a mile. I pressed my back against the wall.
“Well, Darcy,” Caroline was saying, “I can see now why you have such a low opinion of the Bennets. Jane is charming, but her sister…” She chuckled. “I suppose, working in a bookstore, she doesn’t have any reason to care about her looks. Still, you’d think she’d want to buy new clothes every once in a while.”
Darcy’s reply was too soft for me to hear. Caroline wasn’t finished. “And her hair! She must have had it styled with a cleaver. Well, what can you expect from someone whose father started out as a hospital janitor?”
“I was not thinking about her origins,” Darcy said, loud enough for me to hear. “Or her choice of clothing.”
“Oh? Do tell me. Have I missed some of her faults?”
“You have apparently failed to notice the beauty of her eyes.”
“Her eyes? If that’s all you can find to praise—”
“Shall I enumerate the other qualities I admire?”
“How can you admire anything about her? She’s been nothing but crass and rude since she walked in the door.”
“She is obviously concerned for the welfare of her family. One cannot but respect such loyalty in the face of one’s opponents.”
“How sentimental of you, Darcy. You have never previously had any qualms about acquiring any other failing company, regardless of the disadvantages to them. The Bennets were about to lose the business in any case. You’re doing them a favor!”
“You cannot expect Miss Bennet to share our views.”
“I see. Then I presume you intend to advise Charles to obtain the company at a loss for BP?”
“I do not. My concern is for the success of Bingley Pharmaceuticals. I am capable, nevertheless, of regarding Elizabeth Bennet with a certain forbearance.”
Caroline was silent so long that I thought they’d both left the room. When she spoke again, it was in a tone halfway between a whine and a snarl.
“So when do you plan to convert her, Darcy?” she asked.
“Why would you assume I have any such scheme in mind?”
“You don’t need her. You know I’ve wanted it for years. I won’t be a burden on you, Darcy. I—”
That was the last I heard from her. When I peeked through the windows, she and Darcy were gone.
I stayed where I was for a few minutes longer, trying to figure out what Caroline had meant. Convert me? To what? Darcy didn’t seem religious. Maybe he belonged to one of those crazy cults that pass as religion these days.
That was certainly a puzzle, but I was just as struck by his ongoing defense of me in response to Caroline’s insults. Beautiful eyes? Respecting my loyalty? Forbearance.
But he’d as good as admitted that he still didn’t care what happened to my family, as long as he got his way. “My only concern is for the success of Bingley Pharmaceuticals.”
I strode through the French doors, looked around for the bottle of champagne the butler had left in a freestanding wine chiller beside the sofa, and poured myself a glass. Maybe Darcy had a few nice things to say about me, but I’d be an idiot to feel flattered by the good opinion of someone like him. Let him “convert” Caroline, since she wanted it so much.
But as I finished the rest of my champagne, I kept seeing his dark blue eyes watching me, the firm jaw and aristocratic nose and thick, black hair…not to mention the lean, broad-shouldered body and perfect poise. And that something more I couldn’t name, that dangerous something that went beyond his plan to gobble up Bennet Laboratories and spit out the bones.
I still didn’t like him. But I was beginning to feel him in a way that made my feet itch to run and keep on running. Part of me wanted to kill him. The other part wanted him to kiss me.
As I started up the stairs to look for Jane, I began to believe there really was such a thing as the Devil.
CHAPTER 4
THE YOUNG LAWYER CLASPED BOTH MY HANDS IN his, leaning toward me with mischief in his eyes and a grin that rivaled Charles’s in sheer voltage.
“Please, call me George,” he said, finally releasing his grip. “I’ll be aiding Mr. Mason in the negotiations from now on, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”
I was charmed, I have to admit. I’d barely arrived at my parents’ home for our family’s monthly Sunday dinner together, and I hadn’t expected other guests. George Wickham had already proven to be a very pleasant surprise. Not only was he handsome, but he had a spark of danger about him…not as sinister as Darcy’s but far more interesting than Charles’s transparent “niceness.”
“Glad to meet you, George,” I said, grinning back. “I don’t know if you’ll be seeing a lot of me, since I don’t work at BL—”
“Oh, I’m sure there will be many occasions,” George said with a wink. “I would be distraught if we were to be kept apart.”
Normally I would have found that kind of talk ridiculous, but somehow it worked with George, maybe because I knew that our old family lawyer, Mr. Mason, must trust him implicitly to take him on.
“My store is only a few blocks from the office,” I said. “You’re certainly welcome to drop in, if you—”
“Don’t keep him all to yourself, Lizzy!” Lydia said, bumping into me as she maneuvered her way closer to George. She smiled dazzlingly at the lawyer, and his attention shifted to her—and no wonder. She was wearing a high-end cropped T-shirt that showed off her toned midriff, a short, tight skirt and boots that might have belonged to a dominatrix.
Not that Lydia cared what anyone thought. She dressed as she pleased and acted as she pleased; apparently her chutzpah—and choice of fashion, if it could be called that—was an advantage in her job at a trendy New York boutique. Too bad she had been living far beyond her means and probably had credit-card debt to match her extravagant lifestyle.
“Hey, Georgie,” Lydia said, striking a pose with one hand on her outthrust hip. “Has Lizzy been boring you talking about her books?”
“Boring me?” George said, managing to keep his eyes on her face. “Not at all.” He smiled at me. “Any man would be overwhelmed by all the beauty and intelligence in the Bennet family.”
&n
bsp; Lydia pouted. “Elizabeth has no taste in clothes.” She looked George up and down. “I’ll bet you’d look hot in a red leather Ferragamo jacket.”
“That’s quite a compliment, coming from you,” George said. “But I’m just a simple country lawyer. I’m afraid I’m a little behind on the latest fashions.”
“I can take care of that,” Lydia said, grabbing his hand. “Come visit me in Manhattan, and I’ll take you shopping anytime.”
“I can help, too,” Kitty said, creeping up behind Lydia.
Lydia glared at my second-youngest sister. “I thought Mom wanted you in the kitchen, Kitty.”
“Not anymore.” Kitty sniffled and simpered at George. “Dinner’s ready.”
“The same old turkey and potatoes,” Lydia complained, rolling her eyes. “It’s like we’re still stuck in the ’80s.”
“I’m sure it will be delicious.” George caught my eye, and I could tell he found Lydia and Kitty just as empty-headed as I did. It was as if he and I shared a conspiracy, though about what I didn’t know. I had a feeling we were definitely going to get to know each other better. And that would certainly be an improvement over my “relationship” with Fitzwilliam Darcy.
The meal was pretty much the same as always, though I didn’t share Lydia’s distaste for turkey and potatoes. George seduced Mom with a few compliments on her cooking and the table decorations; I was pretty sure by the time dinner was over that she was calculating which of her daughters he should marry.
Jane, thank God, was out of the running. She’d been pretty far gone since we’d come back from Charles’s house, and I knew the two of them were e-mailing and texting every few hours. If the man didn’t propose to Jane in less than a month, I’d trade in my copy of Casablanca, with all the extras, for the latest teenage-kids-find-an-abandoned-house-in-the-woods-and-die-horribly-one-by-one slasher flick.
At least Darcy—if he did indeed have any concerns about Jane’s potential, if unwitting, influence on Charles’s decisions—hadn’t come between them.
Why couldn’t he stay out of my mind?
