Chapter 4
Elizabeth hurried down the elegantly decorated corridor toward the Ritz-Carlton’s Terrace Room. She paused to smooth her dress. Suddenly the heavy oak door flew open, nearly knocking her off her feet. Kitty and Lydia stumbled out into the hall, shrieking with laughter.
“Lizzy!” Lydia raised a pilsner glass towards Elizabeth in an offhand toast.
“Everyone’s been looking for you.”
Elizabeth stepped back, mindful of the beer sloshing toward the rim of Lydia’s glass. “Where are you two going?”
“Oh, God, it’s so dull in there, we had to get out,” Lydia moaned. “But one of the waiters told us about a hot party in the ballroom. We’re going to crash it.”
“You can’t just crash a private party.”
“We can do what we want. Come on, Kitty.”
“Hang on, Lyds. I want to talk to Lizzy for a minute.” Kitty hiccupped and handed her glass to Lydia.
Elizabeth and Kitty exchanged a warm hug. “I hear you’re going to be working for Jane,” Elizabeth said.
Kitty reclaimed her glass and took a large gulp. She swallowed, blinking hard, and replied, “Starting next week.” She had just finished an associate’s degree in paralegal studies.
Elizabeth turned to Lydia. “How are things in LA?”
“Great! Fantastic parties, and I love going to the beach—lots of hard bodies to check out. And what do you think of my tan?”
“I was talking about your acting career.” Lydia hadn’t changed, not that Elizabeth had expected anything different.
“Oh, that. Auditions, agents, my job, the usual.” Lydia took a large swallow from her glass.
“Did Mom see you with that beer?” Elizabeth asked. “You’re underage.”
“Oh, please. Mom doesn’t care. And the bartender didn’t ask—I just let him stare down my dress.”
Shaking her head, Elizabeth turned to back to Kitty. “Are you going to move up to the city?”
“Uh huh. I’m getting a place with some friends.” Kitty giggled and clutched Lydia’s arm. “You should come up and visit, Lyds. We could go clubbing, like we used to do before you moved to LA. Remember that night last summer, right before you left town?”
Lydia shrieked. “Oh, my God! That was crazy! Remember those guys who kept coming on to us, the ones who danced like robots?” She began to imitate them, waving her arms and jerking her body.
“Lydia, stop acting like such an idiot,” Elizabeth snapped. “And be careful, or you’re going to spill that beer on someone.”
Kitty burst out laughing. “She almost spilled it on that hunky friend of Charles’s. You know, the one who’s standing alone in the corner staring at everybody.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together. “You spilled a beer on William Darcy?”
“No.” Lydia extending the word into two syllables of indignation. “Kitty said ‘almost.’ But, hey, if I had spilled anything on him, I’d have been happy to lick it off. Kitty’s right—he’s hot. I bet he’s good in bed, too.”
“Why do you say that?” The words tumbled out before Elizabeth could stop them.
Lydia snorted. “Oh, come on. Use your imagination. First off, he plays the piano, right?”
“Well, yeah!” Kitty giggled. “Mom talked and talked about him in the car on the way here, remember?”
“I wasn’t listening.” Lydia waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, he’s a musician. You know how they are. Artistic, emotional, get all worked up over things. Hot-blooded.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Elizabeth said, “but he seems pretty cold. So far today I haven’t seen him get ‘all worked up’ over anything.”
Lydia eyed Elizabeth’s dress and smirked. “Probably because he didn’t see anything worth getting worked up over.”
“Lydia!” Kitty cried. “That was mean. Lizzy looks really nice tonight.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Lydia shrugged. “But, geez, Lizzy, you could show a little skin now and then.”
“You’re showing more than enough for both of us.” Elizabeth cast a disdainful glance at Lydia’s low-cut, backless halter dress, which either revealed or clung to every curve of her body.
Kitty, who had been drinking her beer when Elizabeth spoke, snorted and began to cough.
“Well, don’t blame me if I collect all the hot guys tonight. We both have prime raw material.” Lydia glanced down at her ample display of cleavage and then stared pointedly at the modest neckline of Elizabeth’s dress. “But unlike you, I know how to use it.”
“Why do you always have to be so crude?” Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest.
Lydia stamped her foot and whirled to glare at Kitty. “Would you stop it with the coughing already?”
“I can’t help it—I inhaled some beer,” Kitty wheezed between coughs.
“Well, you’re getting on my nerves,” Lydia snapped.
“Are you okay?” Elizabeth asked, patting Kitty on the back. Kitty nodded, her eyes watering.
“But I was talking about His Studliness,” Lydia said in a breezy tone. “Since he plays the piano, he’d have good manual—what’s the word—dexter? Dextrose? Something like that?”
“Dexterity,” Elizabeth grumbled.
“Yeah. That. He’s good with his hands. And probably not just on the piano, if you catch my drift.”
Kitty, whose coughing had almost subsided, wheezed, “I see what you mean. Mmmmm!”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Are you quite finished?”
“No, I haven’t gotten to the best part yet.” Lydia’s eyes gleamed.
“I know I’m going to regret asking, but what’s the best part?”
“Well, he’s really tall. And doesn’t he need to have long fingers to play those fancy piano pieces?”
Elizabeth frowned at Lydia. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Duh! It means the rest of him is probably super-sized too. I bet he’s hung like a horse.”
Kitty squealed and exploded into a fit of giggles.
“Lydia!” Elizabeth gasped, her face flushing. “You are disgusting.”
Lydia shrugged. “Well, excuse me if I’m not a prude like you. Come on, Kitty, I need another beer. Maybe I’ll spill it in William Darcy’s lap. That would liven things up!”
The girls skittered back to the ballroom, their giggles punctuated by tiny shrieks. Elizabeth took a deep breath, cleared her mind, and opened the door to the Terrace Room.
Unfortunately for her tenuous composure, the first person she saw was William.
He stood alone in a corner, his fingers—his long fingers—encircling a glass of white wine.
She froze in the doorway, mortified to feel her cheeks growing warm.
His eyes locked with hers briefly, and then he withdrew his gaze, staring impassively across the room.
So now I’m invisible. Fine. Saves me the trouble of having to be polite.
William felt an ache in his chest as he watched Elizabeth cross the room to join Jane. How could he ever have thought her the less attractive of the two sisters? He imagined himself striding over to join the conversation, dazzling her with his intelligence and wit. But his feet refused to take orders from his throbbing head. His headache was back, and worse than ever. He tried massaging his temples, but it didn’t help. He placed his wine glass on a nearby table and retrieved a small package of ibuprofen from his pocket, dry-swallowing four tablets.
Energy seemed to crackle around Elizabeth. The contrast to William’s situation, standing like a leper in his solitary corner, couldn’t have been more stark. Usually the William Darcy Magnetic Field more than compensated for his inability to make small talk, but tonight everyone—and especially Elizabeth—seemed immune.
He had retreated to his corner soon after arriving, and had stood sipping a glass of mediocre white wine and glancing incessantly toward the door. He hadn’t realized he was watching for Elizabeth until she appeared. Fortunately, years of practice had allowed him to maintain a passive expression, concealing his interest in her. As fascinating as she might be, she was the wrong sort of woman for him, as her family members were so ably demonstrating.
He turned a disdainful stare toward the bar, where two of Elizabeth’s sisters flirted shamelessly with the bartender. One was poured into a dress that left as little as possible to the imagination. The other was more appropriately dressed, but both were loud and obnoxious—shrieking, giggling, guzzling their drinks, and tearing around the room like a pair of wild animals. His sister Georgiana would never behave that way.
And the mother doesn’t have much to recommend her. Mrs. Bennet sat at a table a short distance away, chattering nonstop with Jane’s aunt. From the conspiratorial tilt of their heads and their speculative glances in his direction, they must have been gossiping about him.
He closed his eyes and massaged his forehead again. The ibuprofen wasn’t working yet. When he opened his eyes, he saw Charles approaching. “Hey, Will. You okay?”
“I’m just tired.”
“Long day, huh?”
“Why didn’t you tell me more about Elizabeth this afternoon?”
Charles blinked. “What?”
“Elizabeth teaches at a college in New York, she’s finishing a master’s degree in music, and she has the voice of an angel. From what little you told me, I expected a no-talent, starstruck teenager.”
“I tried to tell you the rest, but you were too busy calling me an idiot for thinking that you might like her.”
William always rebuffed matchmaking attempts, explaining that he wanted—and needed—no assistance in finding women. He refused to be treated like a lonely bachelor, even if that was an accurate depiction of his life. Besides, there were worse things than loneliness, as Lydia’s shrill laughter reminded him. “I suppose I might have overreacted. By the way, Elizabeth overheard our conversation.”
Charles nodded. “Jane said something about that.” A speculative light gleamed in his eyes. “Hmmm … apparently I wasn’t an idiot after all.”
“What do you mean?”
“It wasn’t such a crazy idea, that you might like Elizabeth. You do, don’t you?”
William forced himself to adopt a casual tone. “Yes, I like her. I like Jane. I like their friend Charlotte. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Oh, I think it does. No wonder you offered to hang around the church after the rehearsal and give her a ride.”
“I was doing my duty as best man, trying to help you.” William’s tone was self-righteous, but he refused to meet Charles’s smug gaze.
“Right. If that’s the way you want it.”
“That’s the way it is.”
“Then it won’t interest you to know that I think Jane put you and Elizabeth next to each other at dinner.”
“She did,” William answered quickly—too quickly.
Charles hooted. “Busted! You checked the place cards on the tables, didn’t you?”
William favored Charles with an imperious stare, silently gathering his tattered dignity around him.
“Okay, I’ll let you off the hook. But why not just admit that you’re attracted to her? I mean, what’s not to like? She’s smart, she’s funny, and although I probably shouldn’t say this about my future sister-in-law, she just about knocked my eyes out of their sockets when I saw her at the church.”
“Mine too,” William admitted ruefully.
Charles clapped William on the back and nodded. “Well, I’d better see how Jane and my parents are getting along. Why don’t you go talk to Elizabeth instead of standing here alone?”
Charles
made his way back across the room.
Elizabeth, after a brief conversation with the Hursts, approached the bar. Gathering his courage, William strode purposefully in that direction. Just as
he arrived, the bartender handed Elizabeth a glass of wine. She thanked him and
walked off before William had a chance to say a word. Dejected, he retreated to his corner.
This is ridiculous. There is no reason to follow her around like I’m her cocker spaniel. He stretched his frame to its full height and squared his broad shoulders, feeling better already. Now, if only he could figure out what to do next.
As if in answer, the ballroom door opened and Charlotte Lucas strolled in. Elizabeth hurried forward to greet her friend.
Excellent. I’ll go talk to them. After all, I’m expected to be polite to the bridesmaids. That’s probably somewhere in the Best Man Handbook. And with a third person in the conversation, he wouldn‘t have to say much.
Elizabeth and Charlotte approached the bar, and with great intrepidity William headed there as well.
“Hi, William,” Charlotte said, with a warm smile.
He returned her greeting and then said hello to Elizabeth, whose only reply was a nod. At least he could talk to Charlotte—that strategy had worked well at the church. “Did the shop have your bridesmaid’s dress ready?”
“Yes. I got there right before they closed.”
“I’m surprised you hadn’t picked it up already.” William didn’t believe in leaving things till the last minute.
“When the dress arrived, it was too short. They had to let the hem down so it would at least cover my knees.”
Elizabeth laughed, and he glanced at her, confused. “The bridesmaid’s dresses are floor length,” she explained. He chuckled softly at the joke, entranced by the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed.
“Did you two have a nice ride in the Z3?” Charlotte asked.
“William risked life and limb and let me drive,” Elizabeth said with mock gravity.
“So that means you lost your sports-car virginity, right? And William did the honors.” Charlotte grinned, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
Of course Charlotte was referring to Elizabeth’s first ride in a sports car, but his mind flashed to his earlier erotic vision of ravishing her on the hood of the Z3. A sudden wave of heat coursed through his body, and he stared blindly across the room, swallowing hard.
“Here you are, ma’am.” The bartender handed Charlotte a glass. “Johnnie
Walker Black on the rocks.”
Elizabeth shuddered. “I don’t know how you drink that vile stuff. Come on, let’s sit down somewhere and catch up.”
“See you later, William,” Charlotte said.
He sighed and watched them walk away. So much for that plan. His hands felt useless and ungainly hanging at his sides. He jammed one in his pocket and occupied the other with holding a fresh glass of white wine while he slunk back to his corner.
“Okay, what’s going on with you and William Darcy?”
Elizabeth stared at Charlotte. “What are you talking about? Nothing is going on.”
Charlotte nodded knowingly. “Yeah, right. Come on, Liz, we’ve known each other since we were thirteen. You can’t fool me.”
“Seriously, nothing is happening.”
“Which is why he couldn’t take his eyes off you at the church? Or at the bar a minute ago? Or right now?” Charlotte tipped her head toward William’s corner.
“If he’s looking at me at all, it’s just to find fault.”
“Bull,” Charlotte said succinctly. “Mark my words, he’s got a thing for you.”
“Oh, come on. This is William Darcy we’re talking about. You know, the one Newsweek called ‘Classical Music’s Sex Symbol’? What would he want with me?”
“Knock it off, Liz. You’re fun to be around, you’re smart, you’ve got a voice that could melt a heart of stone, and you’ve got the kind of body that drives men crazy. Though the way you usually dress nobody would know it.”
“Don’t start.”
“I just wish you’d stop building walls to keep men out.”
“Just because I choose not to dress like a slut doesn’t mean I’m building walls. I have a good life and I’m happy.”
“Hmmm.” Charlotte wasn’t convinced. “When was the last time you had a boyfriend?”
“Define ‘boyfriend.’”
“Now, see, the very fact that we have to agree on a definition is bad enough. But, okay, how about this: a guy you went out with at least four times. Notice that I’m setting the bar pretty low.”
Elizabeth sipped her wine slowly before she replied. “I’ve been busy lately, working an extra job so I could afford this trip..”
“How long has it been? Two months? Four? Six?”
“Well … a little longer than that, I guess.” Elizabeth studied her wine glass.
“And how long did you go out with him?”
“A couple of months.”
“How long was it before you slept with him?”
“I didn’t,” Elizabeth replied, allowing a hint of defiance to creep into her voice.
“He didn’t try to get you in bed?”
“He tried. That’s why I stopped seeing him.”
“Because he wanted to go to bed with you?”
“Yes, and I wasn’t ready.” Elizabeth had tolerated these embarrassing questions so far, but enough was enough. “Let’s change the subject.”
“Not yet. This is important. How long has it been since you’ve slept with a guy?”
“None of your business,” Elizabeth snapped.
“Look, Liz, you know I’m not usually one to pry, but Jane and I are worried about you. Jane’s too nice to force you to talk, but I’m not. So talk. How long has it been?”
Elizabeth stared at Charlotte for a moment before answering. “Okay, fine. It’s been a long time.”
“How long? Please tell me it hasn’t been since—”
“It’s been a long time,” Elizabeth repeated with finality. “And I’m not going to be any more specific than that.”
“Liz—”
“Look, I know you’re comfortable having casual affairs. I’m not. It’s been a long time since I met anyone I really cared about. And when I did …” Elizabeth’s voice trailed off and she looked down at the table, sighing quietly.
“I know,” Charlotte said gently. “But that was a long time ago. And there are some good men out there, you know.”
“Maybe, but I don’t seem to know how to tell the good ones from the creeps.”
“So you’ve taken an oath of celibacy? That’s unnatural.”
“To me, it would be unnatural to rush into a physical relationship with someone I just met.”
“Okay, I get that. But sometimes don’t you want to just grab the closest guy, throw him down, and jump his bones?”
Elizabeth laughed, breaking the tension. “Yes, Char, I do think about sex. But it’ll have to wait till I find someone I love and who loves me, someone I can trust.”
“How are you going to find someone if you keep avoiding men?”
“I’m not avoiding men. I have lots of guy friends.”
“Friends are great. But you need to get laid.”
“And I suppose you’re going to make it your mission to find me a likely candidate?”
“Mission accomplished. William Darcy, Classical Music’s Sex Symbol. Excellent potential there, I think.” Charlotte raised her eyebrows suggestively.
“You’re as bad as Lydia. Earlier she was pointing out all the reasons why William was probably, and I quote, good in bed.”
Charlotte nodded, impressed. “Smart girl. Did she mention his long fingers and what they might imply about other … appendages?”
Elizabeth stared at Charlotte, shaking her head. “I don’t know which of you has the dirtier mind.”
“Well, I’d like to think that I do. I have a reputation to uphold. But say what you will about Lydia, she knows a thing or two about men. More than you do, heaven knows. Maybe you should conduct a hands-on investigation and find out if she and I are right about William.”
“Investigate him yourself. You’re the one he’s interested in anyway.”
“I wish. He’s the sexiest guy I’ve met in a long time. On top of that, he knows about 17th century Dutch painters, and you know what a huge turn-on that is for me.” Charlotte grinned.
“So what’s holding you back? He’s right over there.”
“You’re the one he wants. Trust me on this.”
“Char, really, you don’t understand. He has no interest in me, and I dislike him.”
“Oh, please. Tell it to someone who didn’t get dragged to every concert he gave those two summers at Interlochen. You’ve had a massive crush on him forever.”
“Had. Past tense. That was before I met him. Look at him over there, Mr. Stuck-Up, too exalted to talk to any of us.”
“Liz, he came over to talk to us, and you blew him off.”
“Don’t kid yourself. He was just getting a drink. No, I’m telling you, he’s an arrogant, conceited snob.”
“You really think so? I know I haven’t seen that much of him, but he seems charming.”
“To you, maybe,” Elizabeth snapped. “You’re at his ‘social level,’ or at least close to it. You’re not an ‘under-employed chorus girl’ like me.”
“Whoa, you lost me there. What are you talking about?”
Elizabeth told Charlotte the story of the airport encounter with William, and went on to repeat his comments in the garden. By the end of the story, Charlotte was laughing merrily.
“Well, I’ll give him credit,” she said, shaking her head. “Most people can’t cram their feet that far into their mouths without choking. I’m sorry—I know it probably wasn’t funny at the time. But in retrospect—”
“It’s still not funny.”
“Wow. This isn’t like you—you usually laugh things off pretty fast. He’s really gotten to you, hasn’t he?”
“There’s more.”
“More? You’re kidding! He’s been a busy boy.”
“When I arrived at the church today, he was unbelievably rude. I walked up to him and he just stared at me. I nearly had to kick him in the shins to get him to say anything.”
“Hmmm. Staring at you, speechless, huh?” A smile played around the corners of Charlotte’s mouth.
“And then he started stammering like an idiot. But he had no problem getting out the comment that when I dressed up, I looked old.”
“He said you looked old?” Charlotte frowned. “No, he can’t have said that.”
“He did. He informed me that I looked older than I had earlier in the day.”
“Liz, give the poor guy a break. It was badly worded, I’ll grant you, but I bet I know what he meant. What were you wearing earlier today? A big, baggy shirt and jeans, hair in a pony tail?”
“A denim skirt, but otherwise, yes.”
“And no make-up.”
“Right. Eye shadow wasn’t exactly a priority at four o’clock this morning when I got up. What’s your point?”
“My point is that you look about eighteen when you’re dressed like that. That’s why you always get carded when we go to bars. You look closer to your age when you get dressed up.”
“Nonsense. Charles knew how old I was, and he would have told William. Besides, I’m not finished.”
“There’s more? This is the never-ending story.”
Elizabeth paused, assembling her thoughts. “Okay, I’ll admit, a few times I’ve noticed something about him. Something … I’m not sure how to describe it, but as though there’s a real person under all that arrogance. Someone I might even like if I knew him. And when we went out to the car, that’s the way he was at first. He was polite, and kind of sweet. And I think he was flirting with me.”
Charlotte raised her eyebrows. “Sounds promising.”
“But then he got in the car and it was like he flipped a switch and turned back into Mr. Hyde. He had the nerve to tell me I was wasting my time on Broadway, when I should have been an opera singer.”
Charlotte’s glass of scotch froze on its way to her lips. “He really said that?”
“He said that I ‘settled’ for Broadway. I think he actually intended it as a compliment to my voice, believe it or not. That’s how hopeless he is.”
“I can just imagine how you jumped on that remark,” Charlotte chortled. “Bet he didn’t know what hit him.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Actually, I just thanked him.”
“No, seriously, what did you say? Because I know he was missing some vital body parts by the time you were through with him.”
“I promised Jane I’d be polite to him for the weekend. So his body parts are intact. But you should see the bite marks on my tongue.”
“I bet,” Charlotte grinned. “Okay, I can see why you’re not ready to hop into bed with him at the moment.”
“At the moment?” Elizabeth’s laugh was harsh even to her own ears. “Why would I ever want to ‘hop into bed’ with someone so arrogant and rude?”
“For a guy that sexy, it would be worth trying to work it out. I mean, if you gagged him, he couldn’t talk. Ooh … William Darcy in bondage, and nothing else ….” Charlotte closed her eyes, a blissful smile on her face. “Oh, yeah, I’m liking that mental image.”
“Fine. You enjoy any mental image you want,” Elizabeth retorted. “But leave me out of your plans. I think I can safely promise you never to share a bed with William Darcy.”
William’s headache had not improved. His most fervent wish was to go upstairs to his room and collapse on his bed, not to be disturbed till morning. But he had a long night ahead.
Armed with a cup of coffee, he escaped into the corridor and sank into an overstuffed armchair. He wrapped his hands around the cup, leaned back in the chair, and allowed his eyes to drift shut.
Although he almost always felt awkward at parties, he couldn’t recall the last time he had felt so utterly out of place. At “meet the artist” receptions during his concert tours, an official of the host orchestra steered him around like a respectful chaperone. Furthermore, the conversations usually centered on music, a topic he enjoyed discussing. Back home in New York, conversation was eased by his prior acquaintance with most of the guests at any party he attended.
Here, he had no such advantages. The Bennets and Bingleys each congregated together, while the members of Golden Gate Jazz, Bingley’s performing ensemble, made up a third group. William had retained sole occupancy of his corner—a solitary figure, belonging nowhere.
As much as he would have preferred to remain in the peaceful hallway, he knew dinner would be served soon and his absence would be noticed. He hauled himself to his feet with a heavy sigh. As he reached out to open the door to the Terrace Room, it flew open, bumping his arm. The contents of his coffee cup splattered onto his shirt for the second time that day, this time anointing his tie as well. Kitty and Lydia stood in the doorway, their hands flying up to cover their mouths, their eyes wide with inebriated hilarity.
“Excuse us!” Kitty gasped, between bouts of hysterical giggles.
Lydia’s eyes roved down his body, rested conspicuously on his crotch, and then traveled back to his face. As she and Kitty scampered down the hall, he heard their shrill laughter as well as a sound like… the whinny of a horse?
He stepped into the Terrace Room, rubbing the stains on his tie absently. He was accustomed to admiring female glances, but rarely had he felt so utterly molested by a frank stare. In fact, the only other woman I can ever remember making me so uncomfortable was—
“William, darling!”
Caroline Bingley stood in the doorway, a predatory smile on her bright red lips. Her long, copper-colored hair surprised him—it had been blonde the last time he saw her, a few years before. Her black dress was classic Caroline: strapless, snug, and expensive.
It took all his self-control not to groan—or, better yet, run away. “Hello, Caroline. How—”
She threw her arms around his neck, pressing her bony frame against him and kissing him on the lips. As he attempted to disentangle himself, he glanced involuntarily at Elizabeth. He saw her nudge Charlotte and tip her head in his direction. His patience exhausted, he yanked himself out of Caroline’s grip and stepped out of her reach.
“I’ve missed you so much,” Caroline pouted. “You’re a naughty boy for not visiting Charles and me sooner!”
“I’ve been traveling. I haven’t had time for visits.”
“No time for dear friends? Tsk tsk. You’re always too busy when I try to visit you in New York. But we’ll have lots of time to catch up this weekend, since we’re both staying at Charles’s house.”
“Actually, I’m here at the hotel.”
Fury flashed in her eyes, but soon it was gone, replaced by a cheery, counterfeit smile. “My brother can be such a fluff-brain sometimes. He told me you were staying with him. But that needn’t stop us from spending time together. We can go somewhere after dinner tonight—a quiet drink in your suite, perhaps.”
He was grateful to have a ready excuse. “Tonight is Charles’s bachelor party.”
“Tomorrow night after the wedding, then. You could come back to the house with me—we’d have it all to ourselves.” She sidled toward him, her eyes slithering over his body.
He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t intend to schedule anything, since I don’t know what Charles might need me to do.”
“I doubt he’ll need your help on his wedding night, darling.” She lowered her voice, a suggestive gleam in her eyes. “Although I’m sure you could offer some excellent pointers.”
He clenched his jaw so hard that he feared for the safety of his teeth. “Caroline, you’ll have to excuse me—”
She interrupted blithely, as though she hadn’t heard him. “So, then, we’ll plan on a private evening tomorrow night. And we can sit together at dinner tonight.”
“No, they have a seating arrangement and—”
Loud laughter rang out, interrupting him. Kitty and Lydia had returned. Caroline glanced over at them, her lip curling in disgust.
“Aren’t those Bennets horrid? I attended the tackiest party at their pathetic little house last month. Jane seems like a sweet girl, but that mother! And those terrible girls! Charles could have done much better.”
He found himself in the odd position of agreeing with her, yet feeling obligated to disagree. “Charles seems very happy.”
She shrugged. “I’m just glad Daddy insisted on an iron-clad pre-nup.”
William cleared his throat. He hated keeping secrets, but he owed Charles his silence. His eyes scanned the room until he found Elizabeth standing in a circle with Charlotte and the members of Golden Gate Jazz. Her eyes sparkled as she laughed at a remark he hadn’t heard.
“Never fear, darling,” Caroline cooed, patting his arm. “I’ll keep you company and protect you from the barbarian horde this weekend. I know you must be thinking how miserable it’s going to be.”
“No, I’m not.” I’m appreciating a pair of fine eyes.
“Whose fine eyes, if I may ask?”
“Excuse me?” He flinched and eyed her warily. Had he said it aloud?
“You said you were appreciating a pair of fine eyes.” She fixed her eyes on his face and asked, with a provocative smile, “Whose eyes?”
He was too rattled to think of a lie, so he told the truth. “Elizabeth Bennet’s. The maid of honor, Jane’s sister.”
Caroline blanched, but soon her cheerful mask was back in place. “Oh, how sweet. You simply must introduce me.”
He gritted his teeth, desperate to escape. “Please excuse me. I spilled coffee on my shirt, and I need to change before dinner.”
“I’ll come along to your room and keep you company, darling.”
“Absolutely not.” He took a deep breath and adopted a calmer tone. “Stay here and make the rounds. You haven’t even said hello to Jane and Charles yet. I’ll see you later.”
He practically sprinted from the room. As always, her relentless pursuit disgusted him. In the ten years of their acquaintance he had never given her the slightest shred of encouragement, but she seemed to need none.
The situation had become untenable several years ago during a visit with Charles in Los Angeles. At the time, both Charles and Caroline had lived in their family’s sprawling estate, and Caroline had been attentive and overt in her seduction attempts. After two days of feeling like a choice steak dangled in front of a hungry jungle cat, William had cut his visit short and had never returned.
Whenever she visited New York, he could be sure of receiving a stream of invitations from her, all of which he refused. At least he was safe from uninvited visits to his home—his staff had instructions never to admit her to the house.
By the time William arrived downstairs wearing a fresh shirt and tie, the guests were seating themselves for dinner. He proceeded to his table, anticipating a pleasant dinner with Elizabeth, and instead found himself positioned next to Caroline.
“Darling,” she gushed, “what a lovely surprise!”
His eyes narrowed. “A surprise indeed.” She had obviously switched the place cards while he was upstairs. Elizabeth was seated at a nearby table with Bill Collins, two other members of Golden Gate Jazz and their wives, and the Hursts. He watched, scowling, as Elizabeth smiled at something Collins had said.
Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were seated to William’s left, with the Bingleys on the other side of Caroline. Jane and Charles took their places across from William. Jane stared at Caroline for a moment in confusion, and William saw her scan the other tables until she located Elizabeth. She glanced back at Caroline, apparently deciding that nothing could be done about it now.
A waiter set an appetizer in front of each guest. “Crab cocktail,” Caroline murmured in William’s ear, placing her hand on his knee. “How bourgeois and unimaginative. I thought San Francisco was known for cutting edge cuisine. But I shouldn’t expect any sophistication from the Bennets.”
William shifted his chair away from her, dislodging her hand. “Mrs. Bingley, I believe Charles told me you selected the menu for dinner tonight?”
Charles’s mother, a tiny, pale woman dressed in a conservative black dress and pearls, nodded. “I hope you enjoy it,” she answered in a whispery voice, darting a glance at her husband.
“Of course we will, Mom,” Charles said.
“What a wonderful start,” Jane added. “I love crab cocktail. It’s a perfect choice to welcome our out-of-town guests to San Francisco.”
William stole a smug glance at Caroline, who was staring uncomfortably at her dish of crabmeat. He turned his attention to his food.
“Charles, is your jazz group going to perform for us tonight?” Mrs. Bennet asked.
“Not tonight. But they’ll be playing before dinner at the reception tomorrow—they found someone to fill in for me.”
“I thought we might ask Lizzy to sing tonight,” Jane said. “What do you think, Charles?”
“Of course she’ll be happy to do it, dear,” Mrs. Bennet interjected before Charles could answer. “What a pity that certain other people think they’re too important to play for us.”
Charles raised his eyebrows beseechingly. “What do you say, William? Apparently it would mean a great deal to my future mother-in-law if you’d play for us tonight.”
“Very well,” William answered, unable to muster a shred of enthusiasm even for Charles’s sake. “That is, assuming that the piano has the right sort of tone quality and has been properly tuned. I’ll have to check it after dinner.”
“Oh, Mr. Darcy, thank you!” Mrs. Bennet’s former coldness towards William was washed away on a tidal wave of boisterous gratitude. “I’m so excited! To think that I’ll be able to tell people that William Darcy, Classical Music’s Sex Symbol himself, played a solo at my daughter’s rehearsal dinner!”
Mrs. Bennet continued to thank him, but William retreated inward, filtering out her high-pitched voice. His head throbbed, and dinner had just begun. He heaved a deep sigh. Caroline pulled her chair toward his, returned her hand to his knee, and gazed at him with exaggerated pity. He dragged his chair away for the second time and closed his eyes. I am in hell.
Laughter rang out from Elizabeth’s table. William looked over to see her joining in the merriment, an animated expression on her lovely face. He watched in helpless fascination as she reached up and ran her hands through her hair, flipping it behind her shoulders. He could almost feel the waves sliding through his own fingers.
Mrs. Bennet finally ran out of ways to express her appreciation. Mr. Bingley quickly changed the subject, asking Jane about her fourth sister.
“Mary had a department meeting this afternoon that she couldn’t miss,” Jane explained. “Her flight gets in late tonight.”
“And my brother Edward and his wife aren’t here yet either,” Mrs. Bennet lamented. “Their flight was canceled. Mechanical problems, he said when he called. I’m so afraid they’ll miss the wedding!”
“They called again, and they’re on their way now,” Jane said in a soothing tone.
“Well, I don’t see why the airline couldn’t have found an extra plane instead of canceling the flight. Or—well, I don’t know, but they’re the airlines, they should know what to do. They shouldn’t let their planes break down, anyway. There should be laws against that.”
“Yes, dear, they have a tremendous amount of nerve, don’t they?” Mr. Bennet remarked in a dry tone.
“What is your brother’s profession?” Mr. Bingley asked Mrs. Bennet.
“Edward? He’s a famous doctor,” Mrs. Bennet said proudly.
“He’s an orthopedic surgeon at Johns Hopkins, in Baltimore,” Jane said.
“And Jane’s Aunt Madeline is a pediatric surgeon,” Charles added.
William was only half aware of the conversation swirling around him: his attention was elsewhere. Frequent laughter rang out from Elizabeth’s table, and he strained to hear what she was saying. Worst of all, Bill Collins leaned over and spoke confidentially to Elizabeth far too often.
Suddenly a foot, minus its shoe, rubbed sinuously along his leg. He shifted his chair away from Caroline’s for
the third time since dinner had begun, disentangling his leg from hers and giving her a warning
frown. At this rate, I’ll be sitting in Mrs. Bennet’s lap before our entrees
arrive.
Dinner seemed to drag on and on, with no end in sight. Those at William’s table had descended
into silence after the entrees arrived—except for Mrs. Bennet, who gushed nonstop about
every aspect of the wedding. Unfortunately, she did so between bites of her food, sending occasional crumbs spraying onto the tablecloth as she spoke.
“Oh! And the bridesmaid’s dresses! Have you seen them, Mrs. Bingley? The fabric Jane selected for the skirt—with a lovely lace bodice—”
“Please, Francie, no lace, I beg you,” Mr. Bennet groaned. “Or bodices either, for that matter.”
Mrs. Bennet fell silent and attacked the contents of her plate, pouting.
“I told Charles that no expense should be spared,” Mr. Bingley said. “It’s important to have the right sort of wedding. Many of our business associates will be here tomorrow.”
“And we do so appreciate your offer to help out with the cost,” Mrs. Bennet said warmly.
“Help out?” snorted Mr. Bingley. “The way I understand it, I’m paying for everything.”
Charles winced, and Jane stared fixedly at her plate.
“And it’s so kind of you!” Mrs. Bennet hastened to assure him. “As I was saying, what a lovely wedding it’s going to be. The music should be beautiful too. You heard Lizzy’s song this evening, didn’t you, Mr. Darcy?”
William started at the sound of his name. Elizabeth was telling a story at her table, and he had been straining to hear it. He turned to Mrs. Bennet, frowning, and she repeated her question with unconcealed impatience.
“Yes, I did. She has a beautiful voice.”
“We don’t know where Lizzy got her musical talent,” Mr. Bennet remarked. “Not from me, that’s for sure. Francie claims that she had something to do with it, but when I think of the lullabies she used to sing to the girls, it’s a wonder they didn’t suffer from chronic nightmares.”
“My mother’s lullabies were something special,” William mused softly.
“That’s right,” Charles replied. “She was a professional singer.”
“She was building a career in opera when she met my father. But she gave it up when we moved from Rome to New York.”
“Did she miss singing?” Mr. Bennet asked.
William nodded, sadness in his eyes. “Very much. She used to tell me stories about being on stage. It left a void in her life when she had to stop.”
Mr. Bingley shrugged. “Your father had responsibilities as head of a large conglomerate. And it was your mother’s responsibility to support him, not waste her time on frivolities. That’s as it should be.”
Jane pressed her lips together and glanced at Charles, who shifted in his chair, fiddling with his fork.
“I must say, I like the idea of a woman supporting me,” Mr. Bennet quipped. “What about it, Francie?”
“What? Oh, Andrew, don’t be silly.” Mrs. Bennet shook her head, and William half expected to hear her tiny brain rattling around in her skull. “That’s not what Mr. Bingley meant. Would we have heard of your mother, Mr. Darcy?”
“I doubt it. She was still young when she stopped singing, and she performed mostly in Europe.” Besides which, I bet the only opera singer you can name is Pavarotti. “Her name was Anna Forlini.”
Mrs. Bennet shrugged. “Some of Lizzy’s voice teachers wanted her to be an opera singer, but she wanted to be on Broadway.”
“I told her this evening that I thought she had the talent for opera,” William said. “She has a fine voice, and it’s a shame she chose to use it on something beneath her talents.”
Charles’s eyes widened in apparent alarm and he seemed to be searching for the right words. But Mrs. Bennet spoke first. “Then you think she made a mistake, trying to be a Broadway star?”
William nodded sagely. “New York is full of struggling actresses, but very few become big stars. That takes luck—talent is no guarantee. And I understand she hasn’t had the success she hoped for.”
“Lizzy has always known her own mind,” Mr. Bennet remarked mildly. “Even as a little girl, she was always independent. She loved to dance as well as sing, and musicals gave her the chance to do both. But now she plans to teach, so instead she’ll be training the next generation of starving New York actors. It’s a noble calling—someone has to wait tables and tend bar at all those restaurants.”
“You always defend her, Andrew, but she’s stubborn and foolish, and you know it. How many times have I told her to listen to her teachers? But she never listens to them or to me!”
“Mom,” Jane said quietly, “I thought you wanted Lizzy to become a big Broadway star. Don’t you remember? You used to say that perhaps she’d get a leading role in the film version of a musical and become rich and famous.”
“Jane’s right, Francie,” Mr. Bennet added. “I seem to remember something about wanting Lizzy to be the next Barbra Streisand, except without the nose.”
“If you want your daughter to be famous,” Mr. Bingley said, “opera hardly seems like a good choice. Few opera singers are household names.”
“Why, that’s not true at all!” Mrs. Bennet protested. “There’s that Pavarotti fellow. And Placido Flamingo. And the third tenor—what’s his name?”
William pressed his lips together and shook his head slightly. Caroline chortled into her napkin.
“Anyway,” Mrs. Bennet continued triumphantly, “my sweet Lydia is the one who’s going to be famous. Have you met her, Mr. Darcy?”
“We weren’t introduced, but I noticed her.”
“Of course you did,” Mrs. Bennet said with a proud smile. “She’s very popular with all the young men.”
Caroline snickered, no longer even bothering to hide her derision.
“I understand she lives in Los Angeles,” Mr. Bingley said. “In what part of town?”
“Oh, somewhere down there,” Mrs. Bennet answered with a vague wave of her hand. “Who can keep track of such things? She’s still waiting for her big break. She got her first role recently, on a detective show. We’re so excited!”
“What kind of role?” Charles asked.
“A murder victim,” Mrs. Bennet said.
“Then she dies during the show,” Charles said. “That should be interesting to see.”
“No, I’m pretty sure she’s dead when it starts,” Mrs. Bennet answered.
“So she was cast as a corpse?” William asked, certain that he must have misunderstood. Caroline clutched his arm and snorted softly.
“Yes, that’s right. And of course she also has her part-time job. She was so lucky to get it—they’re very selective about the people they hire,” Mrs. Bennet crowed.
“Where does she work?” Mr. Bingley asked.
“She’s called a ‘Hooper’s Girl.’ That’s the name of the restaurant—Hooper’s. She has a special uniform and everything. The restaurant is named after an owl. Isn’t that cute?” Mrs. Bennet smiled in obvious pride.
“Francie, that’s ‘Hooters,’ not ‘Hooper’s,’” Mr.
Bennet said, his lips twitching.
Caroline choked on a bite of salmon, her face turning pinkish-purple as she hid her mouth behind her napkin again.
“Well, that makes more sense!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “I wondered why the owl’s name was Hooper! Have you heard of that restaurant, Mr. Bingley?”
Mr. Bingley’s face was stern. “Yes, I have. And I’m sure her tip income is substantial.”
I have no doubt of that, William thought as the table fell silent.
Elizabeth was finishing her chocolate cake when Charles approached her table. “Hey, there, almost-brother-in-law,” she
greeted him, smiling. “Dinner was delicious.”
“Glad you enjoyed it. My mother will be especially pleased.”
“Oh, yes,” Bill added. “Simply delicious. The appetizer was wonderful, and the salad was so fresh, and the salmon—”
“Yes, Bill,” Charles interrupted gently. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. But I have an important favor to ask Lizzy.” He turned back to Elizabeth. “Jane and I wondered if you’d consider singing tonight.”
Elizabeth’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, gosh, I don’t know. I’d need an accompanist and I don’t have any music with me.”
“Oh, but, Elizabeth, you must sing! You simply must!” Bill exclaimed. “I’d be happy to play for you. I have a box of music books in Jim’s car—I was taking them home from the conservatory. We might find something suitable.”
Her eyes strayed to William’s table. He was staring at her again, as he had done frequently throughout dinner. His present disapproving expression had also been in place for most of the meal. Maybe he doesn’t like my table manners.
She was tired of his disdain, and of keeping her promise to hold her tongue. She didn’t want to give a poor performance in front of him, validating his opinion that she wasn’t a real musician. But, wait …
Her frown vanished. “Bill, would you really be willing to accompany me if I decided to sing?”
“Of course!” he cried. “It would be my very great honor.”
“Terrific!” She leaned over and impulsively kissed him on the cheek, which brought a delighted smile to his face. Then she glanced up at Charles. “I’ll be glad to sing—just give me a few minutes to prepare.”
“Wonderful! I’ll tell Jane. Thank you, Lizzy, and thank you too, Bill.”
Charles returned to his table, and Elizabeth turned to Jim Pennington. “May Bill and I borrow your car keys? We need to go through his music. I know just what I want to sing—I hope it’s in one of those books.”
William’s dark stare followed her as she left the room with Bill. Look down your nose all you want, William Darcy. I’m going to give you a performance to remember.
Copyright © 2003-2010 by the author
Last updated
April 13, 2010