President Darcy

by Victoria Kincaid

  Darcy closed his eyes, wanting to shut out the spectacle of people using his love life for political purposes. It was an excellent strategy on Wickham’s part. He didn’t need to make them believe the kidnapping accusation; he just needed to muddy the waters enough so that the voters didn’t know what to believe. No doubt he hoped to use the subsequent loss of confidence in Darcy to fuel his own political ascendency.

  Wickham cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself. “And then there was the information about the Bennet family’s company.”

  “Yes.” Rhodes looked at the camera again. “Congressman Wickham brought us some very interesting information.” He turned back to Lydia. “Did you know that your family’s company, On-a-Stick, Inc., recently received a contract from the USDA worth more than $5 million?”

  Lydia grinned with every appearance of guilelessness. “Yeah, Dad was so happy about it. The company wasn’t doing so well, so the contract really made a difference.”

  Darcy suppressed a groan. Lydia’s filter was even less effective than Georgiana’s.

  Rhodes had a concerned expression on his face, but no doubt he was jumping with glee inside. “Do you think your sister’s sudden interest in the president might have something to do with the contract?”

  Lydia’s mouth dropped open; she was an excellent actress. “You mean President Darcy gave my family’s company the contract in exchange for her—?” She clapped both hands over her mouth. “OMG! That would be terrible.”

  Darcy hadn’t thought it was possible for his muscles to grow tenser, but he felt like a tautly stretched rubber band ready to snap. While the rational part of his brain dispassionately observed the clever political maneuvering behind the scheme, the rest of him seethed at the insinuations and insults. He had an uncharacteristic desire to wrap his hands around Wickham’s neck—and squeeze.

  Wickham shook his head in a grotesque parody of reluctant concern. “I didn’t want to believe it either, Blake, when I first made the connection, but the evidence is hard to deny.”

  What evidence? It’s two pieces of unrelated information.

  “Indeed,” Rhodes intoned, “but I’m afraid we have some more disturbing footage to add to it. We were looking through our archives and found this footage shot by Grant News outside President Darcy’s private quarters on Air Force One.”

  The screen shifted to grainy footage of the door to the presidential suite. It opened with a jerk. The image of Elizabeth stumbling out was a little blurry, but Darcy could see that her hair was disordered and her expression was distraught. She slammed the door behind her, rushing down the hallway and out of the camera frame.

  A news cameraman would never have been allowed in that location; the network must have hidden a camera outside the presidential suite. “Shit,” Darcy breathed, fear was beginning to crowd out his annoyance. That shot did appear pretty damning.

  “What the fuck?” Caroline squawked from behind him.

  The screen shifted back to Rhodes. “The woman has been identified as Elizabeth Bennet. This incident occurred on Air Force One two months ago when the president was returning from Paris.” He turned back to Lydia. “Her behavior in that footage certainly supports the idea that she doesn’t like the president.”

  Lydia tossed her head. “Of course, she doesn’t like him. He said she was ugly and stupid!”

  If Darcy never heard those two words again, he would be a very happy man.

  “We have confirmed that Ms. Bennet was alone with the president in the suite and that he had requested a bottle of white wine,” Rhodes told the camera. “However, she was only in the suite about fifteen minutes before she exited looking, as you can see, rather disheveled. Afterward she escaped to the press area of Air Force One, where she spent the night. That isn’t the usual protocol for guests of the president’s; customarily they stay in a separate guest area.”

  Wickham’s eyes widened with faux outrage. “What did he do to that poor girl?”

  Lydia slapped her thigh. “I thought the president made a pass at her! She denied it, but the way she acted—”

  Darcy rubbed his chest as if that would somehow ease the iron bands constricting his breathing. He couldn’t imagine what Elizabeth might have said to Lydia after that fateful encounter. It was a minor miracle Darcy had quelled that anger after bungling the scene on Air Force One—and now his job was about to plunge her into a very public spectacle.

  Rhodes shook his head. “Terrible, taking advantage of a defenseless young woman like that.”

  Despite his anger, Darcy snorted. “Defenseless” was not the way to describe the Elizabeth he had encountered on Air Force One.

  “What did he do to make her change her mind about him so suddenly?” Lydia asked in a horrified whisper.

  Wickham took Lydia’s hand in a comforting manner. “It may be that he used the USDA contract to ‘persuade’ her.” Lydia shuddered. Darcy winced, knowing that some voters would buy this scandalmongering.

  “We will continue to investigate,” Rhodes promised Lydia. He arranged his features into an expression of grave concern as he faced the camera. “We’ve contacted the White House to inquire about the incident but have received no reply. We’ll keep you informed as we receive more information.”

  As Hilliard switched off the recording, he glared at Darcy. “What the hell have you been up to?” Bing cradled his head in his hands while Fitz cursed colorfully and continuously. Caroline stared at Darcy with icy disdain.

  “Nothing, Bob,” Darcy growled. “I haven’t hurt or abducted the woman. She’s out there having French toast.” He gestured to the kitchen.

  “Yes, I saw her.” Hilliard stood and started pacing. “I’m sure you’ve guessed how quickly the rest of the media has picked up on this. Reporters are gathering at Pemberley’s gates. Lydia Bennet and Wickham are making appearances on other cable news shows. Mainstream newspapers are calling me for comments. And do you know what’s trending on Twitter now? #Investigate PemberleyNow. #WhereIsElizabethBennet. #FreeElizabethBennet.

  Darcy slumped back in his chair. “Shit.”

  “You really screwed the pooch this time, Will,” Caroline said, her expression far more vindicated than concerned.

  Bing’s head jerked up. “It’s not Darcy’s fault. Wickham has always sought ways to use him to advance his political career.”

  Fitz sighed. “He knew he couldn’t make that old story about the inheritance stand up to scrutiny.”

  “So what’s our next move?” Bing asked.

  “Can’t we just have Elizabeth go out there and make a statement?” Fitz asked.

  Hilliard sighed. “It’s not that simple. She hasn’t had media training. You know how easy it is for the media to trip you up and twist your words. She might say something that’s construed the wrong way and make the whole situation worse.”

  “I wouldn’t ask her to do it anyway,” Darcy asserted. “She didn’t create this mess, and she wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for me.” His shoulders drooped as he imagined her reaction to this news. Not only has she been dragged into this farce but so has her family. She’ll probably never speak to me again.

  Fitz drummed his fingers on his desk while he thought. “Can’t she at least tell everyone she wasn’t kidnapped?”

  “That wouldn’t do anything to address the rumors of coercion,” Hilliard said. “If everyone believes she’s sleeping with the president to preserve her family’s USDA contract, they’ll think the president told her what to say.”

  Bing bounced from one foot to the other as he stood with his back to the fireplace. “At the very least Elizabeth and her relatives need to leave Pemberley. When the media films them buying groceries and eating dinner, it’ll restore a sense of normalcy.”

  “Yeah, except…” Hilliard ran both hands through his sparse hair.

  “What?” Darcy snapped, his patience at low ebb.

  “Do we know what Elizabeth will say if she’s questioned?”

 
; “She’s not going to throw me under the bus!” Darcy exclaimed.

  “Are we sure of that?”

  “Yes,” Darcy growled.

  Hilliard’s dubious expression irritated Darcy even more. “Do we know how the company got the USDA contract?” he asked.

  “I didn’t even know they had such a contract until five minutes ago!” Darcy yelled.

  “Chances are that they were awarded it through the regular bidding process,” Fitz said soothingly. “I’ll investigate.”

  Caroline smiled sourly. “Even if it was all above board, a lot of people won’t believe it.”

  Bing put his head in his hands. “This sucks! We’ve tried so hard to avoid this kind of thing.”

  “Yeah,” Darcy sighed. After his predecessor’s attempts to use the office of president to enrich himself and his family, Darcy had made a special point of ensuring his administration avoided any hint of impropriety. An incident like this could paint him as hypocritical—a bandwagon the press would jump onto very quickly.

  Bing slammed his fist on the fireplace mantel. “This is crazy! They’re just friends. Her aunt and uncle were with her, and she spent the night in her own guest room alone. We can at least get those facts out there, even if a lot of people won’t believe it.”

  Hilliard gave Darcy a sharp look. “Is that true?”

  Darcy rubbed his face with his hands, wishing for just a moment that he could issue such a denial. But then he wouldn’t wish away the previous night for the world. Nor was he about to start lying to the American people. “No,” he said to Hilliard.

  Bing’s head jerked back. “But she went to her room, and you went to—!”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Fitz said with a sympathetic glance at Darcy. “If Darcy can’t deny they slept together, then the details are irrelevant to you and me and the American people. That’s between Darcy and Elizabeth.”

  Bing nodded, but Caroline looked like she had smelled something disgusting.

  Hilliard sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s not. Not when you’re president.”

  Darcy stared at the nautical painting over the fireplace. How had things gone so wrong so quickly? “It was one night,” he said to himself. “Just one night.” Couldn’t the universe grant him one night to call his own with a woman he cared about? “Was that too much to ask?”

  Hilliard stared at him blankly. “You’re the president,” he said as if that answered the question.

  Darcy muttered curses under his breath. He’d been right all along. He couldn’t date in the White House. Only a fool would think otherwise.

  “Can we release some kind of statement in response?” Bing asked.

  Hilliard settled back into his chair. “We’ll have to eventually, but I don’t think we’re quite ready. I’ve got Preston back at the White House monitoring the press coverage. We’ll see what the other networks and papers say.” He turned to Darcy. “And, sir, you’ll need to sit down with me and give me the history of your interactions with Ms. Bennet.”

  Darcy massaged his forehead, wondering how much detail he would have to go into. “Yeah, okay.”

  Hilliard nodded briskly. “And we’ll need to fly more staff out here, unless you’d like to return to Washington…?”

  “No.” He’d just arrived at Pemberley!

  “All right. We can set up a crisis team in the guest house.” He glanced down to scribble in a notebook.

  A crisis team. I need a crisis team to handle my love life. Kind of an apt metaphor, actually.

  Caroline was examining her nails. “What you really need is a team to take out the trash.” Everyone ignored her.

  “How bad do you think it’ll get?” Fitz asked.

  Hilliard scrunched up his face. “It’s hard to say. We’ll try to spin it; hopefully the press will pick up on our version of events. But with the allegations of an improperly awarded contract and coercion…” He shook his head. “That’s the kind of juicy story the media loves. Even if they don’t think all the allegations are credible, they’ll hop on the bandwagon because those headlines bring in viewers.” He blew out a breath. “We really won’t know the extent of the damage until the weekly approval polls.”

  Bing continued to pace, twisting his watch on his wrist. “We’ve been able to turn other attacks to our advantage. There’s got to be a bright side to this.”

  There was a long silence before Hilliard cleared his throat. “Well, fewer people will think the president is gay.” Darcy glared at him. “Okay, it’s a dim bright side, but still…”

  “At least being seen as cold and aloof will no longer be your biggest public perception issue.” Fitz gave a sour smile.

  “They won’t still be asking ‘What’s wrong with the president?’” Caroline said with a sneer. “Now they’ll know.”

  Bing gave his sister a quelling look before turning to Darcy. “I hate to state the obvious again, but we need to get Elizabeth and her relatives out of Pemberley.”

  Darcy climbed to his feet on legs that were suddenly shaky. He didn’t know how he would break such awful news. It would devastate her. What could he possibly say to her that would comfort her at such a time? He inhaled deeply, but it did nothing to calm him. “I’ll go talk to her—”

  Hilliard grabbed his arm. “No. I need you. First, you need to explain to me what you did with her, and then we need to make some decisions.”

  “But—”

  “It’s best if you aren’t seen with her—even here. Someone will talk.” The look in Hilliard’s eyes was uncompromising.

  Damn it. Hilliard was right. An unscrupulous staff member could have taken pictures of them at dinner or brunch or at the beach—or an “unnamed source” could leak information about anything they did. But, still…Elizabeth would need him when she got this news.

  He pulled his arm away. “No, I—”

  “Mr. President, you need to concentrate on your job. If you want to be an effective president, there’s a lot of clean up to be done; you need to focus on that.”

  His presidency came first; the country came first. Darcy had never resented that fact more than at that moment. He sagged back into his chair, rubbing his eyes. “All right.”

  “I’ll go escort Elizabeth and the Gardiners out,” Bing volunteered.

  Elizabeth would leave Pemberley without another chance to talk with her. Their first night would be their only night. As Bing strode toward the door, he took Darcy’s heart with him.

  “Bing,” he called. His friend stopped and glanced back. “Tell her…” What the hell could Darcy say to compensate for unceremoniously booting her from his home? Or for the way she would be hounded by the media? How did you apologize for destroying someone’s life? He didn’t have the words. “Tell her…I’m sorry.” He grimaced at the woeful inadequacy of his words.

  Bing nodded sympathetically and continued out the door. Darcy did nothing to stop him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Elizabeth stared down at the mob of reporters in front of her apartment building. The landlord had requested police officers, who did prevent the press from harassing most residents. However, if Elizabeth were to set a foot outside the door, it would be like waving a steak in front of a pack of hungry dogs. Even when she just pushed her curtains aside to gaze out the window, cameras pointed up, shooting her with telephoto lenses. Trapped in her apartment, she felt like an out-of-favor queen fearing that the peasants would seize her and drag her to the guillotine.

  Surely the visit to Pemberley had taken place more than a week ago; it felt like months. Time dragged when you were a media sensation.

  Everyone in the world wanted to speak with her. Her voicemail was so full of interview requests that she had stopped using her landline. Yet there was no word from the one person whose voice she most needed to hear.

  Allowing the curtains to fall over the window, Elizabeth reflected that she could hardly blame him for not calling. Lydia’s interview had spawned a whirlwind of consequences, including nonstop cove
rage by every cable station in the country. As a result, Elizabeth had stopped watching television altogether and avoided using her laptop.

  Elizabeth wiped away the moisture at the corner of her eye. Without communication from Will, she had no idea what he was thinking. Did he know that Elizabeth had no hand in fostering Lydia’s accusations? That watching the video had ripped her apart? That she had screamed at her sister over the phone until she was hoarse, and they were no longer speaking?

  The familiar queasiness roiled her stomach. Elizabeth had told Bing that Lydia had reached her own conclusions—or Wickham’s conclusions—without any encouragement from her. But that didn’t mean Bing—or Will—believed her. If only I could get a message to him. Of course, I’d probably mess that up, too. She slumped onto her sofa and stared at the darkened television screen.

  It was painful to realize that Will’s first impulse had been right: her family was ill-mannered and nouveau riche. He would have been better off if he had steered clear of the Bennets altogether. His wariness of them had been proven to be prescient while Elizabeth had been a fool to think she could escape that family legacy. Her one consolation was that the rest of her family had closed ranks and refused to speak with the press about her. Every time someone shoved a microphone in her father’s face, he regarded it as an opportunity to promote jerky on-a-stick; after a while, the reporters had left him alone.

  It shouldn’t matter what he thought of her. She’d never see him or speak to him or breathe the same air as him ever again. Being subpoenaed to testify in front of Congress was the closest she might ever come. God forbid. Another tear rolled down her cheek, and she dashed it away impatiently with her palm. Hadn’t she done enough crying over him?

  She sat on the sofa for several long minutes, unable to summon the energy to move—or even care.

  Although she was anticipating it, the knock at the door still startled her. Elizabeth trudged across the living room to admit Jane and Kitty. Before Elizabeth could blink, Kitty shot through the doorway and plastered herself against the adjacent wall as if fearing enemy fire. Charlotte and Bill Collins swept into the apartment after her. Jane, with a hood around her face, was last, and Elizabeth locked the door behind them.