Elizabeth heard someone calling Will’s name in the background. “And work,” she added. “Go on. I’ll send the information to your uncle and call you tonight.”
She paced the small room for a few minutes until Kit knocked and entered.
“Are you ready to see it?” she asked Elizabeth, face aglow.
Elizabeth wanted to snap that she’d been waiting all afternoon, blindfolded for a good portion of it, but the wind went out of her sails the second she spied the happiness in her sister’s face. “Yes,” she said, as pleasantly as she could manage. “I’m ready.”
Kit left and returned with the dress, folds of thick black silk cascading from her hands. “Elizabeth Bennet, behold your K. Gardiner original.” Kit was holding a long, slinky black silk dress with a halter neck, fitted bodice, and daring neckline.
“Kit,” Elizabeth said, a bit breathless, “it’s stunning.” She reached out to touch the silk, taking the dress from her sister’s outstretched hands and laying it on the bed almost reverently. Her face fell just a bit. “But I don’t know . . .”
“Not another word,” Kit interrupted. “Put it on.” A smirk was playing on her lips. She motioned that Elizabeth should remove her shorts and top, then she helped her into the gown, turning her at last to the full-length mirror on the back of the door.
Elizabeth blinked at the woman in the mirror. A lithe, sultry woman blinked back. Who is that?
The shimmering material appeared to be one solid color, but when Kit picked up a lamp and aimed a little light at it, Elizabeth could detect a faintly raised pattern of impossibly thin diagonal lines in a subtly lighter hue.
“Take a step,” Kit directed, and Elizabeth complied with a shake of her hips. The light fell on the pattern of the moving skirt, revealing both depth and texture.
As her gaze traveled back up to the top of the dress, Elizabeth blurted out, “You gave me boobs!”
Kit’s astonished laugh came out strangled. “Um,” she sputtered, “I think you came with those.”
Elizabeth didn’t reply, just turned to the side to check out her profile before twirling in front of the mirror. She felt like she had when she was five and her mother had purchased matching Easter dresses for her and Jane. That’s a good memory, she thought. She couldn’t recall when she had last felt pretty. Tough, capable, strong, fit, all good things—but not pretty. Well, she thought, maybe in that red number Jane gave me. But that was in such a hurry. And this . . .
The waist of the dress skimmed her midsection, and the skirt fell gently over her hips like a waterfall, creating a slim silhouette. There was a long slit up one side of the skirt, ending near mid-thigh, that offered her freedom of movement without revealing any more skin than a pair of modest shorts. The bodice circled over the top of each breast before dipping down into a lower neckline than she had ever worn. It had made her anxious, but now she could see that Kit had designed the bodice to fit her body. It fit comfortably but snugly, like a good swimsuit. There would be no need to adjust anything to make sure she was covered. When did she get so good at this?
Elizabeth ran her palms lightly over the silk and then touched her hair. She felt like a movie star. She gazed at her reflection, taking it all in. She looked like a movie star. If it hadn’t been for the scar on her shoulder, she might not have recognized herself.
“Oh, Kit,” she said, awestruck. “You are going to be so rich.”
Kit clapped her hands excitedly and began speaking, but at first Elizabeth wasn’t paying attention, so mesmerized was she by her reflection.
“I decided against the cut-outs,” Kit was saying, speaking quickly. “Instead, I just went a little lower with the back and mimicked the neckline from the Ava Gardner dress, though I didn’t go as deep. I didn’t want you to have to tug or adjust anything to stay covered, and I thought too much skin might be gauche.” She reached out to smooth the skirt over Elizabeth’s hips. “Aunt Maddy said you should always leave something to the imagination because men like to fill in the blanks themselves.” She walked around Elizabeth, checking for any loose threads or snags. “It’s a good dress for my first society splash.” She glanced up from her position at the hem of the skirt and smiled. “Don’t you think?”
“Uh-huh,” said Elizabeth, still in shock. “Kit?”
Kit stopped. “Yes?”
Elizabeth’s lips stretched into a large, wide smile. “You need to make this a business, because Will does a lot of these charity things, and I’m never buying an evening dress from anyone else. Ever.”
Kit popped up from her position and seemed about to embrace Elizabeth but satisfied herself with bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “Okay,” she chattered excitedly, “I really, really want to hug you right now, but I don’t want to wrinkle the dress.” She moved to the zipper and morphed into a professional. “Let’s get it on a hanger and in a cover so it’s pristine for Friday, okay?”
“Okay,” Elizabeth said, taking one last delighted look in the mirror.
Kit stored the dress carefully. Once it was hanging and covered, she turned and waggled her eyebrows at her sister. “Thinking about Will seeing you in this?” she asked.
Elizabeth let her thoughts drift to Will’s reaction on Friday night. She felt the anticipation increase until she was almost dizzy.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I should have known it couldn’t last, she thought, staring at a book listing on Lydia’s tablet. I don’t know why I’m even surprised.
Lydia was watching her carefully, so she tried to control her expression. The dress is amazing, she told herself, trying to hang on to the mood. Will’s going to love me in that dress.
It was no good. The exhilaration had evaporated, and all she had left was the weight of the tablet in her hand and a hard lump of burning coal in her stomach. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Mary dropping her backpack in the living room and moving back to join them.
Elizabeth was reading an author’s bio accompanying a listing for a military thriller. On the front was the title and in gold lettering, New York Times Bestseller! The author’s photo below the description showed a thin man in his fifties, wearing wire-rimmed glasses. It was accompanied by a caption. Author Tom Bennet, father of Marine Staff Sergeant Elizabeth Bennet.
When she finally spoke, it was quiet, dangerous. “Where did you get this, Lydia?”
Lydia was not quiet. She was irate, and her words tumbled out one on top of the other. “Amelia texted me just now. She wanted me to show Kit to see if you should know, but I don’t need to ask Kit. I knew you should know. What a freaking bastard, making money off your name. You should totally sue him, you know. He can’t do that.” She stomped a foot on the hardwood, she was so angry. “He can’t do that!”
I can only handle one crisis at a time, she thought wearily. Georgiana takes priority. She considered the line. “He’s only telling the truth,” Elizabeth said. Her anger burned low but hot. “Not much I can do.”
Mary had taken the book, glanced at the offending passage, and sighed, handing it back to Elizabeth. “I’m afraid you’re right, Lizzy,” she said gloomily. “He is, technically, our father.”
“It’s not true,” replied Lydia hotly, placing her hands on her hips. “It’s a lie of omission.”
Elizabeth and Mary stared at their youngest sister.
“What?” Lydia exclaimed, upset and resentful. “You guys think I don’t know anything!” She scowled, an expression entirely out of place on her face. “We read John Donne in school, I’ll have you know. He’s all about the sin of lying and lies of omission.”
Elizabeth shook her head to clear the cobwebs. Lydia likes Donne. Okay.
Kit came down the stairs in time to hear Lydia. It was her turn to take the tablet from Elizabeth’s hands and look at the listing.
“No damn way,” she whispered.
“Why is it that everyone in this house gets to swear except me?” Elizabeth asked, aggravated. “I’m the one who really nee
ds those words.”
“You need to call Kaylie’s dad, Lizzy,” Kit urged. “This is his thing, intellectual property and entertainment contracts. He does all kinds of book and movie deals.”
Elizabeth rubbed her ear with the heel of her hand. The tell-tale throbbing of a burgeoning migraine was beginning. I can’t deal with this right now. “I don’t want to talk about Tom Bennet,” she said, barely managing to maintain control. She wanted to break something. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hit Tom Bennet so hard he’d never mess with her or her sisters again. She could feel her fists beginning to clench and realized that was a cue.
“I’m going on a run,” she announced, glad she’d worn her trainers. “Lyddie, may I borrow some sweats?”
Lydia nodded. “Sure,” she said, “but you can’t just let this go, Lizzy. You can’t let him get away with this!”
She shook her head. What’s the point? “He already has, Lyd.”
Lydia’s dresser was a mess, with a bright pink bra hanging out of the top drawer and things shoved in too tight, but it didn’t take long to find a pair of plain sweats in the bottom drawer. The pants were too short, but it didn’t matter to Elizabeth. She was dressed and out the door in record time, leaving her phone in the kitchen on its charger. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. I’m liable to do or say something rash, and with the Wickham/senator situation, I can’t afford that. She took a breath and remembered the last time she’d left her phone to go run. Reluctantly, she picked it up and took it with her. Just let it go, she told herself. Let the Wickham thing go. Let Senator Fitzwilliam go. Let Tom Bennet go. Just let go. You aren’t in control. The refrain sounded in her head with every slap of rubber soles on the concrete sidewalk. Let go. Let go. Let go.
By the time she returned to the house nearly an hour later, she’d nearly convinced herself it was possible.
When Elizabeth finally returned home to her apartment, she sent the information the senator had requested. After a moment’s thought, she forwarded the video Mr. Pizanski had made of Spinoza and Goring. It was sort of fuzzy, but Oscar might be able to use it. Then she took more acetaminophen, closed the blinds, turned off all the lights, and crawled into bed where she buried her face in a pillow. As the throbbing ebbed a bit, she tried to think through the projects she needed to work on, but it just made her head hurt. That frustrated her, which made her head hurt worse.
Her plan had been to put in a full day tomorrow so that she could quit early Friday and use the afternoon to prepare for the dinner. She would have liked to work this evening, too, but knew from experience that if she tried to push past this throbbing in her head, she’d be entirely out of commission by morning. Better just to get some sleep.
Just as she was nodding off, the phone rang, the sound drilling into her head. Oh, I forgot to call Will. She moaned and flailed for the phone, which was sitting on her nightstand.
“Hello?” she asked through her pillow.
“Elizabeth?” came the warm bass of Will’s voice. “Are you sleeping? It’s barely eight.”
“Hey,” she replied, trying not to speak too loudly. She held the phone away from her ear. Every word stabbed.
“I thought you were going to call me,” he explained, “or I’d have called earlier. What’s up?”
“Sorry, I forgot.”
“Forgetting me already?” he chuckled. “Wow, out of sight, out of mind.”
She wasn’t up for much teasing, but she loved that he was trying. “I felt a migraine starting when I was in Montclair, so I’m just in bed waiting for it to go away.”
There was a brief pause on the line, and then, in that predictably worried voice that she alternately loathed and adored, he asked, “You take your meds?”
She hated to make him anxious, but really, it didn’t take much. “Mmm-hmmm.” Wait for it . . .
“You’re getting an awful lot of migraines lately. Should you see your doctor? Maybe he needs to change your prescription?”
She wasn’t on prescription medication anymore, but she didn’t want to have that conversation now. She’d vaguely considered asking Jane for a recommendation but making and attending an appointment was too much work for something she knew how to treat herself. “He’ll just tell me to lower my stress level. Sort of tough to do right now.”
“Not that I’d take advantage, of course,” he replied, the anxiety somewhat tempered, “but I could help you with that.”
His voice sounds like velvet. “Are you purring at me?”
There was a huff on the end of the line. “Men don’t purr.”
“Lions do,” she challenged him, just to see what he’d say.
“Lions roar,” he replied.
“Tigers?” she asked, almost giggling but holding it in. Her head throbbed.
“Chuff.”
“Bears?” She pressed two fingers against her temple. It helped.
“Okay, I think we’ve gotten off the subject now.” She knew he was rubbing his forehead. “Do you want to come see Garcia? Maybe he’s got something that’ll work better.”
“No, I’ll be fine in the morning.” Getting off the phone might help. “I’d ask you to come over, but you have to work tomorrow.”
She thought she could hear actual cogs turning in his head as he figured out how soon he could arrive at her door. “Will, it’s too much. The traffic back to FORGE in the morning would be brutal. Just get some sleep and I’ll see you on Friday.”
“I can make it over there and just leave early,” Will told her.
He’s still calculating, she thought, pressing her pillow over her eyes. “Nine hours.”
“What?”
“That’s how long you’ll have between the time you get here and the time you have to leave. Nine hours, mostly sleeping.”
“Good enough for me,” he said.
“Will,” she started, but he was already gone. She rolled onto her back, keeping her face covered with the pillow. “I should just give him a key,” she told the empty apartment. “One of these days I’ll find him sitting by the locked door.” She wondered if they made Paddington Bear boots in a size 13.
When Elizabeth opened the door, Will was relieved to see her looking only a bit pale. He’d been too concerned to stay home, knowing the kind of stress she’d endured the past few days and working himself into a lather about her trip to the ER the week before. He’d glared at her as she worked on the plane ride back. She should be sleeping, he’d told himself.
“What is wrong with you?” she’d finally asked, irritated.
“I didn’t say anything,” he had said.
“Yes, and very loudly,” she’d replied.
He pushed the thoughts aside to move into the apartment, his overnight bag hanging from one shoulder. Elizabeth closed the door and turned the deadbolt.
He noted that there was only one lock on the knob and a chain on the door. He’d get someone to install a second deadbolt. Couldn’t be too careful, things being what they were. He tried not to think about how much less secure this apartment was than his own. Although given the glitches in his security system, maybe that was a false assumption.
He’d hired security for Georgiana, and he’d have done the same for Elizabeth if he thought for a minute she’d accept. I’ll still ask. He was deeply concerned about this matter with the men who’d shown up here pretending to be police, and nobody seemed to be focusing on that with all the things happening around G. Not even Elizabeth was paying proper attention.
Maybe she’d agree if she understood just how deep his fear went. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing anyone else who was important to him like he’d lost his parents. It’s not irrational, he told himself sternly as he gathered Elizabeth in his arms and kissed her forehead. I was hours away from losing G.
“C’mon,” he said softly, wrapping an arm around her waist, “let’s get you back to bed.”
Elizabeth was either too tired or in too much pain to say anything. She just let him lead her to t
he bedroom. As they entered, he dropped his bag on an overstuffed easy chair and searched around a bit to come up with some pajamas for her. He helped her dress for bed, then he quickly tossed on his own nightclothes and slipped into bed behind her, propping himself up against the headboard and pulling her to rest against him. He eased his hands into her hair and made gentle circles on her scalp. She curled up on his chest, and as he massaged her neck and the back of her head, she dropped off to sleep.
When her phone began to buzz and shimmy across her nightstand, Elizabeth didn’t wake. He reached out with one arm to shut it off and noticed the call was from Jane. He answered it, speaking no louder than a whisper.
“Jane, it’s Will,” he said. “Elizabeth’s asleep, and she had a migraine, so I don’t want to wake her. Is it an emergency?”
“Oh, Will,” Jane sighed, relieved. “I’m glad she told you about the book.”
“What book?” What now?
“She didn’t tell you? Tom Bennet rears his ugly head,” Jane was saying, a hint of steel in her tone.
“Your father?” he asked, prodding her to continue.
She sniffed. Delicate yet disdainful, Will thought. Will appreciated the supportive relationship Jane had with Elizabeth and was pleased Richard had taken an interest in his second favorite Bennet sister. He heartily approved of her ability to communicate her feelings with no more than a small intake of air.
“In theory,” she replied coldly.
Will found himself nodding but realized suddenly that she couldn’t see him. “What did he do this time?”
“You know he’s writing books now, right?” she inquired. Will heard her tell someone that she was on a private call.
Damn, this doesn’t sound good. “Yes . . .”
Will ended the call after Jane had told him everything. He’d been right. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t enough that Thomas Bennet had abandoned Elizabeth and her sisters, not enough that he’d cut them off and kept her college money. Now he was trading on her name to help sell his books? Jane had called to press Kit’s point about calling Mr. Liu. Will promised he would speak to her as well. He owes you, Elizabeth, he would tell her. Let him pay you back. It’ll make him feel good to help you.
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