by E. S. Carter
“You could pay for it,” his mother eventually mused out loud. “After all, you just made a fortune on that property deal you’ve been working on for months. I’m sure that’s pocket change to you now.”
Darcy’s head snapped up to stare at the only woman in the room. Anne Austen married into the Austen family for one reason and one reason alone—money. Little did she realise at the time that the man she married wasn’t as cash-rich as she’d thought. Still, she milked him for as much as she could—which was more than he had to give, another reason they were in such a mess— and did her duty by giving him three sons to carry on the family name. She saw it as a fair trade, but Darcy often wished for a ‘normal’ family. Whatever the hell one of those was, he didn’t know, but it certainly wasn’t his.
“I could, but I’m not,” he responded flatly, glaring a warning at her when she appeared to open her mouth to argue.
Narrowing her eyes at her eldest son, she scowled for a moment before masking her annoyance and turning her attention to his father.
“Claude, dear. I’m sure you can pay for the boys to go. Wick’s right, our sons need to be out in society, wining and dining investors, catching all the eligible ladies’ eyes.”
Her gaze roamed over first Wick, then Bing, and finally back to Darcy. With a calculated smirk, she continued, “After all, our boys are far too handsome to all still be single. Don’t you want grandchildren, Claude? New blood to carry on the Austen name.”
Darcy’s eyes found his father’s and he knew his mother would get what she desired. All Claude Austen wanted was an easy life, and the woman he married was nothing if not tenacious in her quest to get what she required, no matter how fanciful. If his father didn’t give in now, he would crack soon enough. He knew it, Darcy knew it, and most importantly, his mother knew it.
“I’ll consider purchasing tickets, my dear,” his father sighed in resignation. The weary look in his eyes a stark contrast to the sparkle of delight that filled his mother’s.
“Hear that, my boys?” she grinned, exposing her whiter than white teeth in a look that made her seem slightly deranged. “You’re all going to the ball.”
She practically skipped over towards Wick, giggling churlishly, “Oh, Wick, my youngest boy. This was such a good idea, and I’m sure I can convince your father to get us tickets too.”
Wick smiled at his mother, lapping up her attention like a dog starved of affection, while Darcy bored holes into the thinning hair at the top of his father’s head since his father would not return his stare.
“C’mon, Darce,” Bing finally spoke up, his face curved with a pleading smile. “It could be fun. We haven’t hung out together for ages. Good food, good wine, what’s not to enjoy?”
Darcy knew Bing’s motives. Bing was always the first to look on the bright side of things, no matter how dire the situation, and he always wanted to smooth over any altercations. The middle Austen brother hated confrontation.
Darcy stared at him for a beat. He wanted to be annoyed that his brother gave in so easily, but he could never stay annoyed with Bing for long. He was his only real ally in his fucked-up family—a family that lived like royals with a champagne lifestyle while their bank accounts could only afford cider, and that was at a push. Anne Austen thought them high-society and had the countenance of the lady of the manor when the truth was she was from a rundown council estate. She only met Claude because she worked in one of Austen’s stores and had caught his eye when they were both very young. You’d swear by the way she acted that she’d married into the aristocracy, and not a family quickly approaching bankruptcy. The woman was so ostentatiously fake, it was embarrassing.
“Yeah, Bing,” Darcy conceded eventually. “It could be fun.”
As fun as a visit to the dentist for a root canal.
Darcy turned around to walk from the room but not before catching his father’s nervous smile that soon twisted into a grimace at his mother’s over-exuberant squeal of delight.
He left them all to it, not bothering to stay for dinner. He couldn’t remain in this house a moment longer.
Chapter Three
Darcy was hardly a regular at Meryton’s, the upscale bar two streets over from his apartment, but he needed a drink.
The thought of going to some over-the-top charity ball with his parents and brothers in tow, was his every nightmare come true.
His mother would prance and preen and fawn and make a complete tit of herself, trying and failing to ingratiate herself with the city’s elite. Watching her would be both painful and humiliating. Add to that Wick and whatever hair-brained scheme he had in his head to find investors for the bookstores, and Darcy knew the event was going to be a fuck-up of epic proportions.
I don’t have to go.
He picked up his scotch on the rocks, brought the amber liquid to his mouth and took a healthy gulp. As the liquor burned up his palate and slid warmly down his throat, he knew there was no getting out of going. His mother would make his life a misery for weeks if he didn’t, plus, he’d promised Wick six months. He could give his brother that and finally be free of his obligations.
An almost ragged sigh escaped his lips as he set down the empty glass on the polished oak bar top and motioned to the bartender for another with a flick of his fingers.
“He’s cute,” Darcy heard from his left, and he tilted his head to try and check out who the soft female voice was talking to, his eyes sliding to the side and catching a swath of silky blonde hair.
An unladylike snort followed by a huskier but still feminine voice replied flippantly, “You’re wasting your time, Jane. I’m not interested in a barfly.”
Darcy’s eyebrows shot up, and a smirk twisted the side of his mouth.
Are they talking about me?
“Oh, come on, Lize,” the first voice continued, “You haven’t even looked at him, he’s hardly a barfly.”
A stool shifted across the wood floor directly to his left, and was followed by that husky voice saying, “He’s tolerable if men that prop up skanky bars are your thing.”
Darcy swallowed down a laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly under the strain of containing his amusement.
This snotty, random chick in a bar—one she deemed skanky when it was probably one of the better ones in the city— thought he was a ‘tolerable barfly’. Darcy hadn’t heard anything as funny in ages, and the hoity-toity tone she used combined with her conceited opinion was everything he despised about most of the women in this town.
“I bet you’re not even tolerable,” he muttered under his breath. “Stuck-up, princess.”
Darcy lifted his eyes and caught the bartender’s smirk of agreement as he placed his second scotch in front of him.
“Cheers.” Darcy tipped up the glass in a mock salute before taking a hearty gulp, and with mischief in his head, he turned his body to face the two women sat alongside him.
“Evening ladies,” he greeted loud enough to catch their attention.
The blonde turned and gave him a sweet smile. She was exceptionally pretty, with fine-boned features and large blue eyes.
Her friend shifted on her stool, just enough for Darcy to see she was the opposite of the woman next to him. Shoulder length dark hair with a hint of waves made way to a striking face set with the same large blue eyes.
Sisters. They had to be.
“I’m Darcy,” he greeted the blonde with an outstretched hand which she took delicately in hers before offering, “Jane, and this is my sister Eliza.”
He smiled at Jane and tilted his head to gain her sister’s attention, but she’d already turned back to the bar.
With a swift flick of her pale wrist, she’d downed the remainder of her drink, grabbed her purse and stood.
“Let’s go, Jane.”
Eliza’s eyes fixed on Darcy briefly in what looked like disdain, before she turned her gaze back to her sister. “We’re leaving.”
Jane looked at Darcy apologetically, and he couldn’t help
but laugh as he began to turn back in his seat, muttering rather loudly, “Goodbye, Princess.”
Darcy hid his smile behind the lip of his glass. He could practically feel the irritation rolling off Eliza and she didn’t disappoint him when she demanded, “What did you call me?”
Darcy shrugged but didn’t bother turning to face Eliza or to answer her question.
“I’m talking to you,” she all but growled, prodding Darcy in the upper arm with one of her perfectly manicured fingers.
Darcy spun around in his seat so quickly that she took a stumbling step back.
With a dangerous smirk on his face, he taunted, “Princess. I called you Princess.”
Darcy took in Eliza’s steady glare and narrowed eyes, and wanted to poke her a little more.
“What’s up? Don’t like the local barflies calling you a princess, Princess?”
Eliza’s striking features contorted into a snarl, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Jane put her hand on her arm and Eliza blinked once before her face returned to a mask of ice. Then she slipped the straps of her expensive, designer handbag over her arm and turned on her heels to walk away.
Jane gave Darcy an awkward smile before following her sister, and Darcy couldn’t help the laugh that burst free from his chest.
He watched both immaculately dressed women until they reached the doors and stepped out into the night.
I haven’t had this much fun in ages.
Still chuckling to himself, Darcy turned back towards the bar and picked up his scotch. The bartender came over, removed the sisters’ empty glasses and wiped down the bar where they’d sat.
“They come in here often?” Darcy asked, for no other reason than he was feeling rather chatty after his spat with the Ice Princess.
“The Bennet sisters?” the bartender queried, slipping the towel he was using to clean the counter into the waistband at the back of his black jeans. “Nah, those two don’t, but the younger one, Lydia, is in here a lot. She likes barflies if you know what I mean.”
He gave Darcy a sly wink and motioned to the now empty glass before him.
“Another?”
Darcy shook his head and stood from his stool.
“No thanks, man. I’m a two-scotch wonder.”
He slipped a note on the bar to cover his tab and shouldered his jacket.
“Hold up,” Darcy blurted, finally comprehending what the bartender said. “Those were two of the Bennet sisters, as in Charles Bennet’s daughters?”
The bartender picked up the note and slipped it into the cash register before replying with a grin, “One and the same. Richer than the Royal family and hotter than sin. But like I said, it’s only Lydia that fraternises with the commoners. I don’t know what brought those two in here tonight.”
Darcy didn’t offer up a response. He looked from the empty stools the women hadn’t long vacated and then walked out of the bar, catching the retreating forms of the two Bennet sisters as they approached a black cab.
Suddenly, the upcoming charity ball seemed far more tempting.
What could be more entertaining than spending the night antagonising Eliza Bennet, Ice Princess extraordinaire?
Darcy chuckled to himself, lifting the collar of his coat to ward off the evening chill, before striding away in the opposite direction.
Hell, Darcy was seriously debating stumping up the five grand for his own ticket if it meant getting one over that ice princess.
With that thought, Darcy’s steps lengthened and before he’d reached his building he’d sent a text to Bing to confirm his attendance. Even if he had to put up with his mother’s antics all night, he was sure that one flash of annoyance aimed his way from Eliza Bennet’s blue eyes would be more than worth it.
Eliza Bennet stormed from the bar called Meryton’s and expected the town car to be waiting for her at the kerb. But it wasn’t.
It wasn’t there because she hadn’t called the driver. She’d been too wrapped up in getting away from that arsehole in the bar that had the nerve to call her Princess.
Princess. The bloody cheek of the man.
Who the hell did he think he is?
“Tell me again who told you about this place?” she asked Jane while rifling through her Burberry handbag for her phone.
“Lize, why don’t we jump in a cab? There’re a few a little further up the street with their lights on.”
Jane’s softly spoken words broke through Eliza’s furious rage and she blinked away the vision of the dark-haired man at the bar.
“The bar, Jane,” she pushed, watching as her sister fidgeted with the large buttons on her designer jacket. “How did you find out about it?”
Jane’s gaze dropped to the pavement, and she suddenly became very interested in the cracks at her feet.
“Lydia. I should’ve known,” Eliza answered for her, Jane’s silence more telling than any words. “I’ll call the car.”
Eliza fumbled with her phone and almost dropped it on the concrete at her feet, she cursed under her breath and saw Jane move closer to her in her peripheral vision.
“Okay, but it could take a while. I’m just saying that it might be quicker to get a cab. Or we could go somewhere else? Maybe get a bite to eat?”
Eliza properly looked at her sister for the first time since they’d left the warmth of the bar. Outside, the chilly spring evening was thankfully dry, but Jane still shivered in her fine-knit dress and lightweight jacket.
“I’m sorry, Jane,” she sighed, letting regret taint her tone. She stepped towards her sister and wrapped her arm around her petite shoulders.
“All this business with Lydia has me strung tight. I swear she only acts out to push my buttons. Ever since Dad passed away, she’s gotten worse. I just can’t… I don’t know how…”
Jane’s arm tightened around Eliza’s waist.
“I miss him too.”
Four words that explained everything yet made nothing better.
It had been six months since their father’s passing, and Eliza was struggling to get a grip on everything—the company, the board of directors, Lydia—it was all too much, and she hated admitting it, even to herself.
She pulled Jane in tighter to her side.
“Let’s get a cab. I just want to go home. I’m sorry about tonight. I know you wanted to distract me, but I don’t think I’m the best company right now. Too much on my mind, I guess.”
Jane reached a hand up to her shoulder to link her fingers with her sister’s. The touch soothed Eliza, though it wasn’t a surprise, Jane always did have that effect on her.
Where Eliza was determined, headstrong and stubborn, Jane was giving, generous and thoughtful. Their differences didn’t end there. In fact, the only thing they both shared was their mother’s blue eyes.
Then there was Lydia—flighty, selfish, thoughtless—the current thorn in Eliza’s side. She seemed to cause more sleepless nights for Eliza than all her other problems combined.
The latest Lydia debacle, she’d declared herself in love with a married man. She wasn’t, but his wife had somehow caught Lydia’s wrath, and the poor sap was trapped in the crosshairs. It was causing quite the furore amongst the social elite. What made things worse for Eliza though, was the husband in question was a board member of The Bennet Group. Yeah, Lydia sure knew where to go to cause the most controversy, and Eliza could bet everything she owned that the man hadn’t even touched her sister. Lydia’s fantastical lies knew no bounds.
“Let’s go then. An early night could be a good thing for me too. I have a meeting with the party planner tomorrow. With the ball only a week away, I need to make sure everything is running smoothly.”
Jane squeezed Eliza tightly once more, before removing her arm from her waist, hooking it into the crook of Eliza’s elbow and gently steering her down the street towards the line of waiting taxis.
“Dammit,” Eliza cursed, tipping her head back to glare at the night sky. “I’d forgotten all about that bloody event.”
“It’s mother’s—”
“You don’t need to remind me who it benefits,” Eliza interrupted far more brusquely than she intended. Jane was the last person she wanted to bear the brunt of her bad mood. “I know mother’s foundation relies on this event more than any others. I just forgot that it was coming up so soon.”
“You have too much on your plate,” Jane stated plainly, concealing the worry she held for her sister. “Have you thought any more about the board’s offer to—”
Eliza interrupted her once more.
“I will not hand over control of our family’s company to those bumbling, glory-hunting, conniving bastards.”
Jane huffed out a laugh and tugged Eliza closer to her side as they approached the first cab waiting in line.
“Tell me what you really think of them, Lize.”
Eliza couldn’t contain the short bark of laughter that bubbled from her lips.
“It’s the truth.”
“I never said it wasn’t,” Jane replied, before opening the cab door and sliding into the back seat. “But sometimes there’s a difference between giving up and knowing when it’s time to call it quits.”
“Tough situations are character building. Isn’t that what father always said?” Eliza slid into the seat next to her sister. “He loved the company. I love the company.” She slammed the car door shut and gave the driver instructions. As they pulled off into the night, she turned and caught Jane’s eye in the illumination of passing streetlights.
“I’ll never give up on something I love.” With determination written all over her face, Eliza added, “Why do you think I still put up with all of Lydia’s antics?”
Chapter Four
Wick had spent the week devouring any information he could get his hands on about the Bennets.
Charles Bennet died suddenly of a heart attack less than a year ago, leaving Eliza Bennet, the eldest of the sisters, head of The Bennet Group—a multibillion-pound organisation that owned everything from insurance companies to telecoms firms. There wasn’t a slice of pie in this city that The Bennet Group didn’t have its fingers deep inside.