Lydia was primed and ready to tell the cops her age and that she had woken up in that hotel room not remembering how she got there. This might be true. She had gone along with Wickham because she was scared for her life—which was patently not true. Yet, Darcy was in awe of her performance.
With supreme satisfaction, Darcy watched Wickham being put in the back of a patrol car. Elizabeth called Jane, and then they all met down at the police station to give their statements. There, they were met by a grinning Lieutenant Forrester who was once the detective on Georgie’s case. She’d heard the news that Wickham was being brought in. “I knew we’d nail him.”
* * *
It was the wee hours of the morning and the temperature quite bracing. Liz stood outside the police station with Darcy while waiting for her father to come around with his car. “I can’t thank you enough on behalf of my family.”
“I’m happy it’s over and your sister’s unharmed. I’m more than happy that Wickham won’t be assaulting any more girls. One of my main motivations was you. I don’t like seeing you upset and scared.” Darcy moved closer, gently placed his hands on her shoulders, and slid them up to her cheeks. He leaned in, observing as her eyes softened and her lips smiled. He whispered, “I like you, Lizzy Bennet, more than ever.”
He was pleased when she wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed his lips with a light kiss.
“Okay,” she said, and nodded as she rocked on her heels.
“Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll go out with you. You might have struck out in the first inning, but you got the go-ahead homer in your last at bat.”
She laughed. Darcy pulled her to him slowly, enjoying the heat in her eyes that probably reflected his own. His hands roved low and fitted into her back pockets, pulling their bodies flush together.
“Eh hem!” Darcy heard a familiar voice. “The Bennets are here, and our car has arrived, Darce. By the way, you’ve got an audience from the windows of the police precinct and the street. I don’t think you want your private life to show up on social media. Or Entertainment Tonight.”
He didn’t, but there was also a part of him that thought it would be worth it.
“Good luck today, Dandy,” Liz said as she patted his chest.
“I’ll call you after the game,” he said with determination.
“You do that. I want the exclusive.”
Lydia was being hugged and scolded at the same time by her mother. Liz slid into the backseat of the car with Jane and Lydia. Mr. Bennet drove off without a word and even before his wife had closed her door.
Darcy turned to Fitzwilliam and said, “She said I homered on this one.”
“Guess we’d better make sure you get the win in the books.”
Six months later
“Here? You’re proposing here?” Her voice was shrill with excitement.
Darcy took in the quiet Florida beach, the sound of the surf, Charley’s private cottage, their picnic blanket, and then his lovely Lizzy in her pretty, turquoise bikini. His knee was solidly in the sand, and he held an open box with a diamond ring.
“Well, yes.”
She gestured around. “This is romantic.”
“Yes.” He agreed cautiously. “Is romantic bad?”
She brushed his hair back out of his face. “I was so worried. Fitz hinted to me the other day that you were going to propose on Opening Day in front of a packed stadium. This is much better. It’s beautiful here, and there is no one watching us like we’re the entertainment. I couldn’t figure out why you wanted to get engaged in that manner. It seemed so unlike you, and it definitely didn’t suit me.”
Fitz? He would definitely kill Fitz when he saw him.
“Are you sure, though? I mean, I’m not sweet like Cathy, Hank Denny’s wife, and I’m not smooth and polished like Esme Carreaga. I have a full-time, demanding career—like your own—and you know my mother drives you insane—”
He stopped her by reaching to put his finger on her lips. “I don’t want a woman like Denny’s or Carreaga’s. I want my sassy, award-winning journalist who challenges me to be more—who knows me and likes me for me. I want you.”
She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.
“And yes, your mom and I don’t quite see eye to eye on all things, but we share one thing in common. We both love her second daughter.” He shifted his position uncomfortably. “Lizzy, I just told you that I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. I’m down on one knee offering you a ring—and all of me. I’m waiting for you to give me the signs for our next play. Will you marry me?”
She threw back her head and laughed. “I am the happiest person in the world. Happier than Jane, maybe.” Then she cried out, “Yes, Will, I love you and will marry you.”
Darcy jumped up and spun her around as she continued to laugh with tears running down her face. She grabbed the box, but he snagged it back to take out the ring and put it on her finger. It fit perfectly—thank you, Jane. They crashed to the sand, kissing.
* * *
Later, while sharing the lounge chair on the deck and looking out toward the water shimmering under the moon’s rays, he watched her turn her ring to catch the light. The diamond’s fire winked on her hand, and he held her tightly, marveling that this beautiful woman had said she would be his wife.
“Will, when did you fall in love with me?”
“I can’t give you an exact moment. I was attracted to you from the beginning, and I admired you then. You were the first woman I considered having a serious relationship with.” Nuzzling her ear, he laughed softly as he said, “And then I wanted to hate you after the scene at the restaurant, but I never could.” She stroked his cheek, and he turned his head to kiss her palm. “It’s no excuse, but I changed after losing my dad and then Georgie’s accident. I thought I was doing alright. I needed a wake-up call like you gave me to see how I had changed, and I didn’t like it. Meeting you again at Georgie’s apartment gave me hope again that I might have another chance with you. I don’t know, Lizzy. I was in the middle before I knew I had begun.”
“Did I sneak in and steal second base on Dandy Darcy?”
“Second? No way! You completely stole home.” He squeezed her bottom, and she surged forward laughing. “And you? When did you fall for me?”
“Hmm, it might have been the day I first saw your spacious and luxurious condo. Or maybe the day you got me a World Series jersey with your name on it—” He jabbed her side and she giggled.
Sobering, she said, “I think it began during that first breakfast we shared at Daily Bread after you told me about Gabe Wickham, and l learned that you were the real deal—a guy who took responsibility for others, whether it was a younger sister or a ratfink sleaze. You let me flay the skin off you with my words but still treated me with kindness and took my words to heart. I didn’t deserve your forgiveness. How could I not fall in love with you?”
“What did we say about forgetting the past?” he warned. “I forgave you and you forgave me. We’ve moved forward. It’s spring. A whole new ballgame.”
Lizzy’s reply was lush and low. “Put me in, Coach, I’m ready to play.”
It was corny, and he knew it. Laughter bubbled up between them, but he gasped as he said, “Play ball” because Lizzy had already started the game. His last coherent thought was that they would both win this one and every game after.
* * *
Sophia Rose is a native Californian currently residing in Michigan. A long-time Jane Austen fan, she is a contributing author to Sunkissed: Effusions of Summer and Then Comes Winter anthologies. Sophia’s love for writing began as a teen writing humorous stories for creative writing class and high school writing club. Writing was set aside for many years while Sophia pursued degrees and certificates in education, special education, family history, and social work, leading to a rewarding career working with children and families. Health issues led to an opportunity to read and review books, beta read, and return to writing stori
es that lean toward the humorous side and always end with a happily ever after.
The Ride Home
Ruth Phillips Oakland
“Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest misfortune of all! To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate!”
Elizabeth Bennet to Charlotte Lucas, Chapter XVIII.
The knock on his door was loud and insistent, tugging him from an uneasy sleep. When the knock sounded again, Fitzwilliam Darcy rolled over, rubbed his hand across the scratch of stubble on his chin and groaned in irritation, “Sod off!”
His eyes were assaulted by the bright light from the hall as Charles Bingley opened the bedroom door. “Good, you’re still awake,” Bingley slurred as he walked into his guest bedroom. “Can you drive into the city for me?”
“It’s nearly—” Darcy turned to look at the clock “—one o’clock!”
“I’m afraid I’m a bit tight.” Bingley held up an open bottle of wine and turned it upside down, showing it was empty.
“Shite, Bingley, can’t whatever it is wait until morning?”
“I need to you pick up Lizzy. Something’s happened with her date, and she needs a ride home.”
Darcy sat up and stared into the darkness. Lizzy. Elizabeth.
Even though he’d been rude when they’d first met and later accused her sister of being a gold digger, who would have guessed such a pleasant person would carry such a huge grudge for so long? Their argument the week before when he’d dared to tell her he’d fallen for her was scorching enough. He had no wish to get close enough to Elizabeth Bennet to be burned a second time. “Trust me, I’m the last bloke she’s going to want to see tonight. What about Jane?”
“We’re engaged!” A stupid smile broke out on Bingley’s face as he gripped the door for support. “So, we’ve both been celebrating”—and he held up the wine bottle again.
“Congratulations,” Darcy deadpanned. “What about her family? She’s got a house full of sisters not three miles from here.”
“What’s the point in waking up their whole house when you weren’t even asleep yet?”
“Cab? Uber?”
Bingley shook his head. “Look, I know you and Lizzy don’t get along, but Jane’s worried. Lizzy said something about her date harassing her . . .”
Darcy’s panic at his friend’s last words pushed him out of bed in a flash. “Where is she?” As he snatched his jeans from the end of the bed, Bingley gave him the name of a coffee shop in the city. In less than five minutes, Darcy had programed the GPS in Bingley’s bright red Porsche then sped through the iron gates of Netherfield, focused on driving on the right side of the road.
It wasn’t until he was half way to his destination that the adrenaline had dissipated enough for Darcy to realize he had just placed himself in a difficult position. One more week and he would have had Bingley firmly established as head of the American office at Pemberley Media. Then Darcy would have headed back to England without ever seeing Elizabeth Bennet again. Now he could imagine the hour-long drive back to Meryton: the stony silence, the palpable animosity, the dagger-like looks. It would be sixty minutes of hell, but it would be worth it to know Elizabeth was safe.
He was lucky enough to find an open parking space in front of the coffee shop she was waiting in. He steeled his resolve and opened the large, wooden door.
The shop was nearly empty, but he saw Elizabeth sitting in a corner booth staring into a cup of coffee. Her hair was loose and flowed in shining waves down her back; her dress was blue, short, showing off her long legs.
His first thought was to quip about some old Jewel lyrics he’d once heard her sing: “Consoled a cup of coffee, but it didn’t want to talk.” However, he now knew she interpreted his flirting banter as not-so-subtle criticism. So, he cleared his throat and said the only thing he considered safe, “Hiya.”
He prepared for the inevitable cold stare, the narrowing of her fine eyes, and the suspicious wrinkle of her adorable brow. There would probably be an oh-so-obvious insult thrown in for good measure. Elizabeth did nothing half-arsed.
When her eyes rested on his face, her entire expression brightened. “Hi,” she called out as she stood. “What a surprise!”
He was confused as he took a quick glance about the coffee shop. There was no one behind him, and the woman before him was without a doubt Elizabeth Bennet.
“I’m here to take you home.” He was amazed the words came out of his mouth, because he was still gobsmacked by her unexpected reaction to seeing him.
“Aren’t I the lucky lady?” It was a flirty, playful statement—the kind he’d only dreamed about her giving him. Her voice was sultry and low, and he found her American accent endearing, even though most Yanks slurred around their consonants so much he’d develop a headache trying to figure out what they were trying to say.
She then took two shaky steps forward and stumbled, but he caught her before her lovely arse hit the floor. Her arms linked around his neck as he lifted her to her feet. He smelled gin.
“You’re drunk?” That would explain a great deal, but it concerned him as well. He’d never noticed Elizabeth drink more than a glass of wine with dinner.
Her head flopped back from his chest and she squinted to keep his face in focus. “Thank you, Captain Obvious,” she said before her face fell forward, causing her forehead to strike his collar bone.
“Did your date do to this to you?”
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no . . .” Elizabeth continued to mumble that one syllable into his shirt until her voice became so soft, he thought she might have drifted to sleep.
He did his best to support her against his body as he moved her toward the door. “Let’s get you home.” Thankfully her legs appeared to have once again engaged and her impossibly high stilettos propelled her forward.
When they reached the door, she abruptly stopped. “You’re taking me back to Chuck’s, right? Not my parent’s house. Do you have any idea what my mom will do when she finds out what I did tonight?”
“You’re over the legal drinking age, and you were smart enough to call someone to come and get you. Your mother should be happy that you’re safe.”
“You think . . .” Elizabeth shook her head as if attempting to clear it. “You think Frannie Bennet is going to be upset because I got drunk?” She then laughed. Soon she was all but doubled over in hysterics. It was clear Elizabeth wasn’t just drunk. She was blooming pissed!
She then straightened up and pointed a finger at him. “You may be gorgeous and smart, but when it comes to my mother, you don’t know squat!”
Her upbraiding was almost comforting because it was familiar territory for them, but somewhere in that insult she’d called him “gorgeous.” Gorgeous! As he led Elizabeth to the car, he reasoned that gorgeous was far superior to either cute, handsome, or the term American girls most often applied to his cousin, Richard, a slayer. Gorgeous had a certain quality of uncontrolled adoration about it—an “I’d lick you from head to toe if I got the opportunity” connotation—yet without sounding cheap. Given that just a second ago he thought Elizabeth hated his guts, it could not help but give him the smallest glimmer of hope as his body twitched like a pubescent schoolboy’s.
He discreetly adjusted his errant appendage while inhaling gin fumes and wondered if perhaps he was suffering a contact high. Elizabeth made her feelings about him quite clear the week before. Alright, he had inadvertently insulted her, but he was simply trying to explain that he’d realized that he’d be dating her, not her embarrassing family. Egotistical, she’d called him. Condemnatory, contemptuous, supercilious. Oh, Elizabeth Bennet was quite good at coming up with words of four or more syllables when she was angry.
Darcy carefully leaned Elizabeth back against the side of the Porsche while he reached for the door handle. He felt her legs give out and abandoned the search to wrap his arms about her in support.
“God, you smell good!” she said, inhaling deeply. “Charlotte asked me how y
ou smelled, and when I said I didn’t know, she practically screamed at me that it was impossible to slow dance with someone as delicious as you and not breathe him in.’”
His stomach plummeted remembering their dance at the Annual Meryton Charity Ball. It was just one in a long line of examples of how he’d misinterpreted her feelings. “But, you don’t find me delicious.”
“Oh, you’re beyond delicious, Slick, but I’ll never admit it to you!”—poking him rather sharply in the chest—“Not after you said I wasn’t hot enough to waste your time on. Who is hot enough for you? Behati Prinsloo? Gisele Bündchen? Or are you still nursing some teenage crush on Heidi Stupid Klum?”
“Heidi doesn’t have a middle name, and she’s not stupid.”
Elizabeth’s laugh rang loudly through the deserted street.
He pretended not to hear her as he reached for the handle to the door, but Darcy grimaced at the memory. Yes, he’d been madly in lust with Heidi Klum when he was thirteen. Okay, so she was still smoking hot years later, but he’d long ago outgrown leggy, blonde, German women who would never be more than a fantasy. He now preferred leggy American brunettes who, when standing right in front of him, appeared to be equally unobtainable.
He pressed Elizabeth against the car to keep her from slipping down while he leaned to the side and opened the car door. When he straightened, Elizabeth was looking at him with a wide-eyed expression. “Why, Mr. Darcy! You are very”—she shifted her pelvis against him—“impressive!”
He wanted to kiss her. She was so maddeningly close and apparently willing, but she was drunk. His parents taught him that women were not objects. He twitched again. Damn, sometimes being honorable sucks.
“Get into the car.” He hadn’t intended for his voice to sound so demanding and he cringed at her snort of derision as she slid into the passenger seat. However, his mood lightened considerably when he found it necessary to lift her silky-smooth legs inside the vehicle. Her skin was so soft, and he decided not to be too hard on himself when he realized his fingers lingered on her calves a second longer than necessary.
The Darcy Monologues: A romance anthology of Pride and Prejudice short stories in Mr. Darcy's own words Page 47