Page 76 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

“I was wondering if you could help me with something,” she says before handing the folded paper to me.

“Yes?” I ask, waiting for her question, not sure what she’s getting at.

“You see, I wanted to contact the company that organized the giveaway you won, so I could thank them properly, and perhaps arrange another one in the future,” she says. “But when I looked up your booking, there wasn’t a company name listed—only the name of the purchaser.”

“Oh,” I say, looking down at the folded paper.

“I printed it off so you could see. Perhaps you might be able to direct me to the right place?”

“I can try,” I say. “But I don’t really know all the details. My best friend is the one who entered our names into the contest, so she might know.”

I open the paper, though, just in case I see something that sparks a memory. It’s possible Amelia told me and I forgot.

I unfold it and scan the details, my eyes catching on the section where the payment information is listed—and then I see the name.

“This can’t be right,” I whisper, staring at the paper like it might rearrange itself if I look hard enough.

“Do you know what company Miss Amelia Porter works for?” Lady Catherine asks, a head nod toward the paper in my hand.

“No,” I say, shaking my head, confused. “This isn’t right. Amelia is ... my friend.”

“Oh,” Lady Catherine says, nodding slowly. “Well, that clears that up, then. It must not have been a giveaway, but rather a gift.” She lifts a hand to her cheek, her expression softening.“How lovely of your friend to give you such a gift. True friendship is such a rare treasure these days, is it not? As our dear Jane Austen said ...”

I’ve stopped listening. I keep looking at the paper in my hand, seeing Amelia’s name there and trying to make sense of it. What does this mean? Was there no contest? I didn’t win?

Still not sure what to believe, I walk over to Zane, who’s now sitting by himself drinking some lemonade, to see if maybe he can give me some clarification. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong and he’ll be able to clear it up.

“Zane,” I say, holding out the piece of paper toward him. “Do you know what this is about? Why is Amelia’s name on here?”

Furrowing his brow, he takes it from me and scans it, and then I see it—the color draining from his face, telling me everything I need to know.

I didn’t win this trip. Amelia paid for it, and Zane knew about it.

Something hot and angry works its way up my neck, and my cheeks feel like they are about to catch fire. I will myself to calm down because I don’t want to make a scene. That’s not what I do. No, what I normally do is just take it. I push my own feelings away and tell myself that it’s not a big deal and I shouldn’t be mad. All in the name of making sure everyone else feels more comfortable than I do. To keep the peace.

But Iammad. I’m also hurt. And for once in my life, or at least for the first time in a very long time, I want to say exactly how I’m feeling.

You are strong. You are brave. You are channeling Elizabeth Bennet.

“I didn’t win,” I say. It’s a statement and not a question. Zane only shakes his head. I take a step toward him and rip the piece of paper out of his hands, causing a few heads to turn our way,making a slight bit of unease work its way down my spine. But I forge on.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask him, my voice trembling. “Why would you let me go on and on about winning, knowing the whole time that it wasn’t real?”

Zane opens his mouth, then closes it again. His gaze drops to the floor, and I feel my anger spike.

“Mrs. Darcy,” Lady Catherine says sharply, her voice cutting through the tension. “Must we really air such matters in public? A lady does not make a spectacle of herself, no matter the provocation.”

I turn to her, this infuriating woman who’s spent the entire week nitpicking my every move.

“Lady Catherine,” I say, my voice steady. “Please, do shut up.”

Her mouth falls open, and for a moment, she looks like she might respond. I almost apologize for being so rude—but I stop myself. Zane was right: I do say I’m sorry too much. So instead, I channel my best Elizabeth Bennet stare, and it works. With an indignant huff, she pivots on her heel and sweeps away, her skirts swishing dramatically behind her.

I turn back to Zane. “Well?” I press, feeling emboldened. “Do you have anything to say?”

“Macey, it’s ...,” he stutters over his words. Reaching up, he swipes a hand down his face.

I realize then there is nothing he can say. He can’t change what happened, and there is no excuse that will make this better. He let me believe the lie. I trusted him, and he kept this from me, and now I feel foolish and ... stupid.

---