Jane smiled. “One thing you never are, Lizzy, is stupid. Opinionated, judgmental, quick to anger, maybe a little impulsive . . .”
“Stop,” laughed Elizabeth contritely. “I get it, I get it.”
Jane stuck her nose in the air. Elizabeth mirrored the movement.
“Obstinate, headstrong girl!” they cried together, their voices pitched and nasally.
“Oh,” said Elizabeth, pressing one hand to each side of her head. “Ow.”
Mrs. de Bourgh, or “Lady Catherine” as she liked to be called, had warmed to Elizabeth immediately. She had worn huge floppy hats and ancient business suits with white gloves, black heels, and the same single strand of perfect white pearls. She was a character. But she was also an heiress, and her husband had left her even more money. It was a generous grant from the de Bourgh Foundation that provided opportunities for “troubled youth” in Meryton and surrounding towns. Their mother had pitched another nervous fit when Elizabeth was given that label and assigned to the program.
She’d gone cheerfully about her business, helping out in the convalescent wing of Rosings. The residents told her wonderful stories about their lives, even if they did tell them to her more than once. She often brought those stories home to her sisters, who enjoyed them, too. In the summer, Elizabeth had risen early to meet Mrs. de Bourgh where she sat on the same bench in the city park and brought her a glazed donut. Always glazed. For some reason, Lydia adored the old widow too, and Elizabeth often took her youngest sister along. Jane and her other sisters had been a little afraid of the old lady.
“Catherine de Bourgh,” Jane said quietly. “Whatever became of her?”
“I think her family moved her to the city,” Elizabeth said. “To keep her close by after her last de Bourgh relation passed away. At least, that’s what I was told.” Elizabeth closed her eyes. “She wasn’t doing so well on her own anymore.”
“She really liked you, you know,” Jane said as she reclined on the chair and pulled her robe tight around her.
“Yes, another of my legions of adoring fans,” Elizabeth said. “She was a pushy old broad.” She hid her face in her arms. “I liked her, too.”
Jane cleared her throat. “So, you haven’t answered my questions.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I forgot what they were.”
Jane laughed in disbelief. “You, Elizabeth Bennet, are a dreadful liar.”
Elizabeth placed the back of one hand against her forehead and carefully leaned back. “No future for me on the stage, then?”
Jane placed a gentle hand on her sister’s other arm. “Stop deflecting. Do you have a migraine?”
“Yes,” Lizzy mumbled.
Jane stood and disappeared into the house, reappearing with a bottle of acetaminophen and a glass of water. She shook out two pills and handed them to Lizzy with the water.
“Another, please.”
Jane frowned. “You shouldn’t need three. Maybe you need your prescription refilled.”
“No,” Elizabeth protested. “I hate taking that stuff. This is fine. I just need three to get started.”
Jane pursed her lips and held out another pill. When Elizabeth set the glass down, Jane sat and folded her hands in her lap, waiting.
“Your silence is deafening,” Elizabeth complained. Jane did not reply, just waited expectantly until she huffed. “Fine.”
“You know,” Jane said, when Elizabeth was finished, “it’s not a horrible idea to have a PR company come in to work with the press.”
“It wasn’t that part I was objecting to, Jane,” she protested.
“Mmm,” Jane replied serenely. “Does Will know that? Or did you just do that thing where you get too angry to speak and then fly off the handle?”
Elizabeth fell back into the chaise and stretched her arms out over her head. “That thing.”
“Poor Will.”
“Poor Will?” Elizabeth whispered indignantly. Speaking out loud hurt. “He shouldn’t even be considering making me play nice for the paparazzi.”
Jane shook her head. “More like he wants you to help play them, I think.”
“I can’t do it,” Elizabeth declared. “I’m trying to get a serious business up and running, Jane. What company is going to hire Cinderella over Staff Sgt. Bennet?”
“Tell Will, Lizzy,” Jane said firmly. “If he doesn’t respect that, then you know he’s not the guy for you. But I think he will. Respect that, I mean.” She took her sister’s hand. “You are so good about keeping everything that bothers you to yourself. Too good, I’m sorry to say. You can’t expect Will to read your mind.” She moved to the chaise and looked her straight in the eye. “Sweetheart, I have a constant parade of man-children trying to get me to go out with them. I am not ashamed to tell you I am insanely jealous of you.”
“You’re jealous of me? That’s rich,” Elizabeth muttered.
Jane snorted. “I’m not blind, Lizzy. I saw how worried Will was when he showed up here the other day, how he couldn’t sit still without touching your hand to reassure himself you were okay.” She kissed Elizabeth’s cheek. “And my lord, that man is handsome.” Jane shook her head. “Don’t mess this up,” she warned, “or the next time you run home and get into my bed in the middle of the night I may put my cold feet all over your back.” She smiled. “I know how you love that.”
Elizabeth tossed her arms around Jane’s neck and gave her a quick squeeze. “Warning received. Thanks for talking me down, Janie,” she whispered with a brief laugh.
“Of course,” was the reply. “Now, since you’re here, go get me breakfast, please. And no glazed donuts.”
Lizzy rolled her eyes. “I’ll get right on that. You want eggs or eggs?”
Jane went back inside, and Elizabeth got up and stretched before starting to make her way inside through the family room. Jane returned at that moment and gave her a wink.
“I believe you have a visitor,” she said, her blue eyes twinkling. Elizabeth bit her lip and walked to the door. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then opened the door.
Standing before her was Will Darcy, one hand suspended in the air ready to knock, the other awkwardly balancing two coffees in a carrier and a very large bag of Murray’s bagels.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Will stood unmoving as his eyes searched Elizabeth’s face, trying to gauge her reaction to his presence. “I, uh,” he began disjointedly, “I got some very good advice last night, but I’m afraid I’ve ignored it.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and rubbed one ear against her shoulder, making Will frown. “Whatever it was, I’m glad,” she said quietly. “Come in.”
She led him to the still empty kitchen, where he set down the coffee and bagels. He started to say something, but Elizabeth interrupted him.
“I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly. “I was angry and impulsive, and I didn’t let you talk. So just let me say—I’m really sorry.”
Will’s entire posture relaxed the moment he heard the words. “I think if I’d given you more room to process, it wouldn’t have gotten so bad. I’m sorry too,” he replied. Elizabeth stepped close and tossed her arms around his waist and he wrapped his arms around her in an embrace. They stood there for a few minutes until there was the sound of a throat clearing.
“Good morning,” came Uncle Ed’s voice. “I thought I heard you come in last night, Lizzy.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, pulling back. “I had to talk to Jane.”
There was humor in his tone, but not in his expression as Ed Gardiner flicked his gaze from Elizabeth to Will. “I am assuming she helped you see reason?”
Elizabeth smiled and nodded. “She always does.”
“Must have been some argument,” Ed said briskly, “I see Will has brought bagels. Murray’s, even.”
“Help yourself, sir,” Will said. “I brought enough for everyone.”
“Just two coffees, though,” Ed teased, “so I guess I’ll go start a pot.”
“I co
uldn’t carry that many cups,” Will admitted bashfully, proving he’d considered it, and Ed laughed.
“You brought the important ones,” he said, and then addressed Elizabeth. “You might want to take your food downstairs before we’re overrun.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied gratefully.
Will grabbed two bagels and dropped them in the toaster while Elizabeth sipped her coffee. “This is still hot. You didn’t get this coffee at Murray’s,” she said, trying to make conversation while they waited for the bagels to toast.
Will turned. “No,” he replied, staring at her unabashedly. “I remember you mentioning The Corner, so I stopped there once I was in town.” He shrugged. “I was here kind of early.”
“When did I mention The Corner?” she asked, trying to remember. It made her head pound, but the medication was beginning to dull the pain.
“The first time I came over here to apologize,” he said, tapping the toe of one foot against the floor absently. “You said it was too late to go to The Corner.”
“You remember that?” She looked surprised.
“Astonishing, I know,” Will replied, “I wanted you to have coffee with me, so I was listening very carefully.”
“Even then?” she asked, surprise in her expression.
He shrugged. Might as well own it. “Yeah, even then. I wanted to get to know you better, but I’d already dug a pretty deep hole for myself.”
He grabbed the bagels as they popped up and carried them to the island. They both spread cream cheese on thinly and wrapped them in paper towels. The silence was growing tense until Elizabeth tugged the bag over to look inside.
“No lox?” she asked playfully.
“Uh, no,” he replied tentatively, with a tight smile. “I didn’t know you liked it.”
She gave him a small but comfortable smile. “Next time.”
He let out a deep breath. “Right.”
“Should we go downstairs?” she asked. “Aunt Maddy will make sure Sarah doesn’t attempt a hostile takeover.”
“Okay,” he said, picking up his bagel and coffee and followed her to the basement.
Elizabeth flipped the light on, and they settled on the couch, placing their food on the coffee table. She blinked a few times, then got up to turn the light off again.
“Migraine?” Will asked softly. She nodded. He held out his hand, and she took it uncertainly. He pulled her down to sit with the back of her head against his chest and sank his hands into her hair to gently massage her scalp.
“Ohhh,” she sighed, melting against him. “That feels so good.”
He kissed the top of her head. “And that’s with my clothes on.”
“You have a one-track mind, Donkey,” she said affectionately. He could feel her body sag into his.
“Jarhead,” he replied gently. I’m a man, Elizabeth, and you don’t seem to have any idea how beautiful you are.
“Will,” she whispered, “we have to talk about this.”
“Mmm hmm,” he responded wryly. “I think that was my line.”
Her voice was almost a whisper, but it was firm. “I can’t do it.”
“Okay,” he said, moving his hands to the back of her head and neck and continuing the massage.
“Okay?” she asked, lifting one eyelid to peer at him. “That’s it?”
“No,” he shook his head, “but it can wait. ‘Ef gravy wait hot wud cool.’”
She snorted. “What was that supposed to mean?”
He grinned, though he knew she couldn’t see it. “I’m sure I’ve messed it up, but it’s supposed to mean patience is a virtue. Or has a reward. Or something. I’ll have to ask Jeremy to repeat it for me. Where is he from, anyway?”
“I see you have my ear for languages,” she said teasingly, but then blanched and winced. “Barbados, I think.”
“Shh,” Will said. He gazed down at her face and lightly traced the dark circle under one of her eyes with the pad of his thumb. “I didn’t sleep much either. Maybe we should just take a nap before we talk? You apparently get cranky when you don’t have enough sleep.”
Elizabeth tossed her hand back to slap him lightly, but then closed her eyes and replied, “Okay.” Will could see she was beyond tired—she was exhausted. She folded her legs up on the sofa and fell asleep almost immediately. Will sighed, content, feeling the warmth of her cheek against his chest, her body curled up into his. Soon his eyes were drifting shut, head resting atop the back of the couch, one arm around Elizabeth. Neither heard Sarah’s wails about being denied access to the basement, nor were they awakened by the family getting ready for their day. The telltale sounds of doors shutting, car motors turning over, and the opening and closing of the garage door went entirely unremarked.
It was only the crash of something being dropped in the kitchen above that eventually caused Elizabeth to stir, and her movements woke Will. She glanced at her phone where it lay on the table next to a cup of cold coffee and realized it must be Jane getting ready for work. She sat up.
Will disentangled himself and stood to stretch his back, then returned to the couch.
“Feel better?” he asked her. She nodded.
“The massage helped,” she replied. “Thanks.”
“Of course,” he said. “Now . . .” He gazed her very seriously.
“I know,” she nodded. “We need to talk about it.” I hope I can say this clearly.
Will sat up and took her face between his hands, carefully turning her face up to his without getting too close. “We do. I need you to understand that I am not going to push this one way or the other, but I do think we should look at the entire plan and make a decision.”
“Will,” she insisted in a low, firm voice, “I’ve heard the plan. I’m not a doll to dress up, and I’m nobody’s princess. Never have been.”
This statement seemed to strike Will hard, which confused her. His expression softened as he gazed at her.
Elizabeth sighed and rubbed her forehead with one hand. “More importantly, though, I have my business to protect. How many clients are going to entrust their cyber-security to Cinderella or ask Miss Glass Slippers to track down hidden accounts in the Caymans? I’m in a serious business, Will.” She paused before saying evenly, “I was about to talk to you about how we could stop this story, not enhance it. I’ve already lost a potential job over this, and one of my best clients is getting nervous, even though I’ve done good work for them.” She pursed her lips. I have to make him understand. “FORGE is already well established. The extra press might help you expand, but your business doesn’t need it to survive.” She put her hand on his arm. “Following this scheme will almost certainly kill mine.”
Will looked dismayed. His face had paled, and his forehead was furrowed. “I am sorry to say that I didn’t even think about that,” he told her. “I was completely focused on FORGE and on us and not on your business. I apologize again.”
“Will,” she said slowly, solemnly, “I don’t want you to apologize. I want you to understand.”
He nodded and waited. She bit her lower lip for a second before she began.
“Apart from my professional concerns,” she said, “it would make me a terrible fraud. How could I ever hold up my head among all those female Marines who’ve worked so hard for credibility? How could I even face my younger sisters?” She shook her head. “It’s one thing to be unfairly labeled by the press. I can’t help what they do. But you’re asking me to participate willingly, to accept that label, to celebrate it.” She let out a deep breath. “No. It goes against everything I stand for, and I won’t do it.”
Will took her hands. “Okay.”
She snorted at the repeated answer from earlier. “That’s it?”
“No,” he chuckled, “but I get it. I do. I’ll tell Charles we won’t be implementing that part of the plan.”
“And which part are you going to try to talk me into now?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
He shook his head. “Easy, S
taff Sergeant. We need to talk about the part where we call in a professional public relations staff to manage the media for us.”
She let her arms drop. That doesn’t sound so bad. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“Elizabeth,” he told her calmly, “I’ve been doing this a long time. We would just include you in what I’ve already got set up.” He saw her frown and added, “With your permission, of course.”
She stared at him dubiously and he smiled a little. “We send them our itineraries, and if PR thinks the press would like photos, they schedule something formally.” He saw that she was considering it. “It’s cheaper for the papers if they know where we’ll be, and they can send a staff photographer. If we are offering them something they value, we have something to negotiate with.”
Elizabeth supposed that made a twisted sort of sense.
“Part of that negotiation can include a contractual obligation not to purchase pictures from freelancers,” he explained. “Buying photos on spec has gotten pretty expensive, and Charles is right—if there are pictures of us readily available, there’s less incentive to spend money to have stringers track us down.”
“Supply and demand,” Elizabeth said simply. It still bothered her, though it wasn’t the most outlandish idea she’d ever heard.
Will nodded. “But at least somewhat controlled.”
“No more sneak attacks?” she asked expectantly.
“No guarantees,” he replied with a small lift of his shoulders. “Sometimes there may still be the odd freelancer. But that’s the idea. They only want photos now because I’m a wealthy recluse who has emerged from his cave, and after Brussels, you’re a media darling. That doesn’t stack up against movie stars or the royal family, or—”
“Aliens and UFOs?” she interjected.
He smiled. “Right. So I’m guessing that this level of attention is temporary.”
Elizabeth thought that through, laying her head back on Will’s chest. She remembered Richard’s advice to steer into the skid.
“Okay,” she said.
He smiled and stroked her hair. “That’s it?” he asked.
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