Page 40 of A Searing Acquaintance
“He…he mentioned his mother’s accident and that his father died of cancer. But he never mentioned that his sister…”
Charles looked at her, then down at the grill. Glancing over at Caroline, now stretched out on the couch and chattering away on her cell, he said quietly, “I think we need to talk. Let’s go in the den.”
He grabbed a beer, poured Elizabeth some seltzer, and sat down across from her. “I don’t want to betray any of Darcy’s confidences. I’ve never even said anything to Jane, but I had the impression from Darcy that you two had talked at Netherfield, so I thought you knew about Georgie.” He gave her a searching look.
Elizabeth stilled, wondering when Darcy might have enlightened her and unburdened himself of what sounded like a horribly sad story. She sipped the seltzer and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Charles took a breath and, staring blankly at the closed door, began speaking quietly. “His family had a dog and a cat. They were older pets, and Georgie wanted a puppy. So for her sixth birthday—May 6, her golden birthday—she got her wish. She named her Princess Coconut, which I believe is the short version Darcy’s mother talked her into. Darcy was a teenager and refused to call her by her full name, so everybody started calling her Coco.”
He looked at Elizabeth. “The accident was two months later. They were backing out of a driveway after making a wrong turn, and a truck hit the car broadside.”
Charles cleared his throat and took a sip from his beer. “The other dog died years ago. The cat, Mittens, died last autumn, the day after we all had dinner at Marciano’s. She had a stroke that night, and Darcy had to race off to put her down. Coco is the only one left that connects him to his family…to his sister.”
Numb, yet with a million questions racing through her mind, Elizabeth mumbled, “He survived. And the accident is how he got his scars.”
“He was driving.” Charles gave her a curious look. “How do you know about his scars?” His eyes widened. “Oh. Never mind. It’s none of my business.”
He was driving?Oh no, he was driving! He was a boy!
Charles added quietly, “He only talked to me about this one time. And he almost never mentions Georgie.”
She looked up at him, and suddenly the memories came rushing back, things Darcy had said to her as they sat in the dark room at Netherfield.Oh my God, he told me about his parents. He was driving. His mother let him drive. Oh God. The poor man.
She took a shaky breath. “My God. I’m such an idiot,” she whispered.
“Liz, are you all right?”
“Thank you for telling me, Charles. Um, can I take a rain check on dinner? I think I need to go home.”
She felt his hand on hers. “I’m sorry if I shocked you. I must have misunderstood what Darcy told me.” He continued wryly, “Jane and I shouldn’t have left you two by yourselves that night.”
“It’s fine, Charles. I mean, it’s horrible about his family. I need to go, though. I feel a headache coming on.”I need to figure out what I know.
He nodded. “Netherfield, this weekend?”
“Um, next time, okay?”
She hugged Jane, hurried home, fumbled with her keys, and nearly stumbled over the envelope lying inside on the rug.Elizabeth Bennet. Elegant handwriting on expensive paper. He’d been here. Darcy had come to her. She carried it over to the sofa, turned on a lamp, and gathered her courage.
Work had always been his escape. He’d been through it before. Years earlier, Darcy had buried himself in his studies when he’d lost his family—first his sister and his mother and then his father as his paternal attentions waned and his health failed. Once his father was gone and he’d learned fully and painfully how far apart his parents had drifted, Darcy had lost himself in casual affairs, heavy drinking, and careless attention to his name and legacy. It was a brief misstep, but it was a time he couldn’t look back on without shame and regret. He’d pulled himself back up by throwing himself into work. Now, after all these years, work was all he had. But it wasn’t enough, not now when he’d finally realized not only what his life was missing but that it—she—would remain forever elusive.
On Sunday, exhausted from his all-night musings and little fortified by the small snatches of restless sleep he’d managed, Darcy paced. Coco, sprawled on the couch, watched him silently. When he sat down, she nuzzled into his hand. It was unbearably sweet—and unbearably painful—consolation. He ran miles on the treadmill, hoping it would exhaust him and clear his mind. He managed to fall asleep that night, knowing on Monday he had to face reality and prepare for an upcoming board meeting. Instead, he woke up bleary-eyed and fighting a headache after a fitful night filled with dreams of angry green eyes and soft caressing hands. How much worse could it get? Even his dreams were confusing and painful.
Darcy had no choice but to work, but feeling too emotionally drained to face the office, he stayed home to do it. He found himself focusing less on e-mails and paperwork and more on channeling this new sense of desolation and loss. Again, he mulled over everything he’d done wrong. After spending years directing his attentions and talents on business deals and on his family’s properties and legacies, he’d met Elizabeth Bennet. This sprite of a girl had laughed at him, teased him, listened to him…and he’d fallen in love with her. And for her, it had been a lark, a joke. He’d been a fool. She thought him stupid and arrogant. She was wrong about some things, but she was right about his emotional intelligence. He didn’t have a clue how to read her or understand her or make her want to understand him. He was mortified that, while he’d operated under the illusion that she knew him, knew about him, and that a tentative bond had been forged between them, the truth was far harsher: she didn’t know him atall, and he hadn’t made the effort to see that or truly get to know her.
He wanted to be angry. Anger was easy. But as much as her words had hurt him, he’d lashed back cruelly.“I don’t know why I ever thought we made sense.”He was an ass. The things she believed of him were awful. Her mistaken assumptions about him and his character hurt. A lot. He’d wanted to correct those, but in his shock and mortification, he’d simply hit back. He’d hurt her too.
Tamping down his bruised feelings and the last vestiges of anger, Darcy put pen to paper. He had to deal with this now. He wouldn’t sink as low as he had in the past; Elizabeth deserved better. He would be a better man, even if she only saw it in his written words.
Dear Elizabeth,
I will endeavor to keep this letter brief, as brief as I now understand you wish our acquaintance to be.
You were angry and accused me of a number of things, and I need to explain myself and my actions. I admit I am guilty of jumping to conclusions and thinking with my heart rather than my head. As my feelings for you deepened, I allowed jealousy, confusion, and misguided reactions to cloud my judgment and my words. For that, I apologize.
I don’t know why you thought I rejected you or didn’t care about the events between us at Netherfield. That night was an epiphany for me. That rawness of feeling and need was a first. I told you things I have rarely spoken about so openly: my parents, my sister, the accident. It now seems you do not recollect all that we spoke about. Again, my fault for taking advantage of your state—in pain and on painkillers—while I poured you wine. It was selfish and irresponsible, as was my burdening you with my history and expecting your full recall and understanding.
Please know that, although I had a short period of stupidity in my life, and I did indeed experience the so-called walk of shame a few times, such regrettable behavior is years in the past. The few hours we spent together at Netherfield meant more to me than any of those occurrences.
