Page 67 of A Searing Acquaintance
“Good, because I don’t think Darcy is.” Jane toyed with the thick bun she’d removed from her burger. She began shredding it into tiny pieces and throwing bits to the eager birds gathered nearby.
Elizabeth’s stomach dropped. She attempted to be nonchalant but her voice shook slightly. “Oh? What’s wrong?”
Jane sighed. “Charles has always worried about him. They met at Chautauqua, that think-tank place, when Charles was newly graduated from Princeton and Darcy had just lost his father. Charles said he felt intimidated by all the big minds and big ideas, and he sought out Darcy because he was the quietest man in the room. So they paired off for the week, and they hit it off. Darcy was guarded and never talked about himself. But after a couple of days around Charles, he came out of his shell and spoke a bit more, and one day, Charles walked into a session on global resource management or something, and Darcy was the speaker.”
When he was what…twenty-three? Interesting. Always another layer to peel off.Elizabeth sat still, transfixed by Jane’s monologue yet wishing she could race off like that bad dog, Buster.
“He’s been through a lot. He’s always so private, but he usually confides in Charles. He’s one of the few people he told about his family. You know that he lost his mother and sister when he was a teenager, which explains that kind of, um, melancholy that seems to linger around him.” Jane looked up at Elizabeth and scattered the last pieces of her bun on the ground.
“But Darcy has become so quiet. You know, he barely even talked about losing Coco. And now he just deflects Charles’s questions.”
Because he’s fine—he has a girlfriend,Elizabeth thought with an inward groan. “He never talks much. Remember how he was at Pemberley?”
“That’s just it. Charles says he was looser, happier at Pemberley than he’deverseen him. Especially around you. He thinks Darcy still likes you. You seemed to like him too. It was really nice there, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth tried to smile, but her eyes were stinging. She put on her sunglasses.
“But now he’s back to…what did you call him last year at the game? Mr. Noir? He’s sad and moody again. And you’re sad and moody. And Lizzy,” Jane added, her voice rising and her words coming more rapidly, “you like to close off and tell me things are fine, but I have to ask you. Is that a coincidence, or did something more happen between you two than what you told me before about him asking you out? Are you regretting your refusal? Do you like him now?”
“I think we need cocktails.”
Instead, they took a winding walk, punctuated by many exclamations of “Oh, Lizzy!” as Elizabeth finally told her sister the twisted—and only slightly abridged—tale of her history with Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Even at the end of a twelve-hour workday, Rich’s eyes twinkled. They always did when he was teasing his cousin. “She’s a gorgeous woman. And commitment is not her thing. Twice divorced and not looking for another husband. Be a buddy and come with us.”
Darcy shook his head. Again. “I’m not your wingman.”
“She’s French.” Rich leaned back and crossed his arms. He stared intently at the man sitting across the desk from him. “Come on, inertia is bad for your brain, your gut, and your libido. I’m only looking out for your best interests, man. Your health.”
“I wouldn’t worry about my health if I were you. You should be more concerned about your hearing.” Darcy scowled, glanced at his watch, and started rolling down his sleeves. “I’ve told you over and over again that I have no interest in being ‘a buddy’ and meeting one of your girlfriend’s lonely friends.”
“Darcy—”
“I made enough mistakes five years ago. One can only be undiscriminating once or twice. I’d prefer not to be careless again, thank you.” He buttoned his cuffs and started clearing his desk.
Rich shook his head. He leaned over and picked up a glass paperweight. “So guilt, stupidity, and the vagaries of youth have cursed you into long, hot summer nights with your books and your music and your views of the park?”
He rolled the paperweight across the desk to Darcy. “What are you: ‘Fitzwilliam Darcy, solitary man?’”
Ignoring his cousin’s glare, Rich continued, “Sorry, but I don’t get it. Being Elizabeth Bennet’s white knight is great, magnanimous, and all that, but if you refuse to let her know what you’ve done, what’s thepoint of hanging around like a lost puppy? Come on out and have a good time.”
Darcy’s face turned red. “The last time I was an idiot who spent my nights having ‘a good time,’ I had to deal with George Wickham.”
Rich fell back into a chair. “Ah, geez. You just dealt with him again…and you haven’t been an idiot. Well, not a fun idiot, anyway. Besides, isn’t it all wrapped up? I made the calls, and I hear they’re in her book.”
Darcy leaned forward on his desk, chin in hand. Three months earlier, when he’d been reeling from Elizabeth’s rejection, he’d told Rich about the blackmail scheme Wickham had plotted and for which he had paid to spare his father from further pain. He’d felt as if he’d shaken off years of guilt and anger from hiding the painful secret of his mother’s affair and his father’s withdrawal. Rich had been surprised, though not shocked, by the revelations.
“Your mother was a free spirit,” he’d said. “You know she loved your father. But she was awfully young when they met. A May-December romance kind of thing.”
He’d known Rich was right. Usually Darcy hated to admit such a thing, but he’d latched onto Rich’s response, grateful to hear his cousin affirm what he wanted to believe.
And now, today, Wickham was gone—sitting in a jail cell, unable to make bail. Few things had given Darcy greater joy than making a few phone calls and mentioning Wickham’s name in conjunction with a certain sports facility and the three athletes whose names Elizabeth had confirmed at Pemberley. Beyond her book, he’d worried that Wickham might slander Elizabeth and try to implicate her in whatever he was doing, which seemed to be more than just acting as a conduit for bringing together athletes and the lab. He was dealing with illegal drugs as well. A search of his apartment had turned up large quantities of cocaine and prescription drugs including Adderall and Oxycontin. Apparently, the man had set up quite a distribution network with customers throughout the sports world.
There were enough charges to send Wickham to prison for more than a decade. But Darcy needed to protect Elizabeth from any taint of association. After consulting with his lawyer and with Rich, he’d quietly mentioned to his friend in the district attorney’s office that he had proof of Wickham’s earlier criminal acts, chiefly extortion and theft. If those charges were added to his sentence, Wickham might never again walk as a free man. The threat was enough for him toclarify that Elizabeth was innocent of any wrongdoing, and the depositions given by Stefan and others would make it clear that she knew nothing of Wickham’s crimes or connections. She might never have to know how vulnerable she and her reputation had truly been to his malice.
Darcy wasn’t sure his mother would have forgiven him for allowing any word of her private indiscretions to be made public. He could barely look in the mirror when he thought about it. He had to hope that the details were so long ago, and only interesting to the gossip-mad British press, that the Fitzwilliam name would remain unblemished in the States.
“Apparently Jeter was quite taken with Elizabeth,” Rich said, eyebrows raised. “You going to make a move before he does?”
