by E. S. Carter
“How wonderful you could join us, you must be Eliza, for your sister Jane is already here with my son Bing, and Wick and Lydia have yet to arrive.”
The woman, who Eliza now assumed was Mrs Austen, barely took a breath. Before continuing, “Come in, come in. Oh, you have brought wine—” she grabbed the bottle from Eliza’s hand “—it looks old, and therefore expensive. What a marvellous choice and such generosity to bring me a gift.”
Eliza still hadn’t been able to get out a word.
“Everyone is in the parlour. Please make your way through, I must check on the caterers, they came highly recommended, but good staff can be hard to find as I’m sure you must be aware. Do you have many staff?”
Eliza blinked rapidly, unsure how to answer the question.
“Oh you must do, a busy woman such as yourself would not have time to run her own household. How many are in your employ, my dear?”
Eliza blinked again and settled on the answer, “About seven hundred and fifty thousand worldwide.”
Anne Austen choked on her next words and covered it with a cough.
“Well, that’s delightful, dear,” she dismissed in an appearance of nonchalance. “Now please do go and find my oldest son Darcy. I believe you are both here and unattached, and that you would do very well to get to know each other a little better.”
She leaned in as if telling Eliza a secret. “And he is very handsome.” Adding almost as an afterthought, “As are all my sons but Darcy has always turned heads and the others as you know are now spoken for. How fun it would be for our families to be joined with each sister to each brother.”
Mrs Austen walked away swinging the expensive bottle of wine about as if it was no more costly than a gallon of milk and giggling to herself, “Oh yes, how marvellous another two weddings would be.”
Eliza watched as Anne walked towards where she assumed were the kitchens and wondered if she’d stepped into an alternate universe. The Austen brother’s mother was a character, one she couldn’t reconcile with Darcy or Bing, and she didn’t know Wick well enough to judge.
Deciding that if she was in for a penny she was in for a pound, Eliza made her way to the parlour feeling decidedly as if she was in an episode of Downton Abbey. Once there, she stepped quietly into the room and observed the occupants for a few seconds before making enough noise to draw attention to her arrival.
Bing and Jane sat hand in hand on a small Chesterfield, totally unaware of anyone else, while an older man—one she assumed was Mr Austen senior because he bore an uncanny resemblance to Bing— sat in a wingback chair reading a newspaper, and Darcy sat in the opposite chair staring into the unlit fireplace.
On hearing her clear her throat, both Darcy and his father turned to see who had entered. The older man looked perplexed but smiled in greeting, while his son stared at her emotionless, and Jane and Bing remained oblivious.
“Mrs Austen directed me this way,” Eliza began. “She’s gone to check on the caterers.” Then she walked up to the older man, held out her hand and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Austen. You have a beautiful home.”
Claude Austen stood and took hold of the young lady’s hand before him. Unlike Bing’s Jane, who was all sweet niceness and easy grace, or Wick’s Lydia who was all womanly wiles and conniving smiles, Claude thought Eliza Bennet to be strong-willed, forthright and genuine. What you saw was what you got. The oldest Bennet sister reminded him a hell of a lot of Darcy.
“It’s a joy to meet you too, my dear. Thank you for accepting the invitation to dine with us today.”
Claude glanced over at Darcy and was surprised to see his son had stood to greet Eliza but was looking at everywhere else except her.
“You know my son, Darcy,” Claude introduced.
Eliza’s eyes blinked a few times, her smile now plastered across her face unmoving, and with a flick of her gaze to the eldest Austen brother she eventually replied, “Yes, we are well acquainted.”
That drew Darcy’s gaze to her, and something flickered in his stare.
“In vain I have struggled to forget you,” he began with a smirk, using Eliza’s words back at her. “But you are truly unforgettable, Miss Bennet.”
Eliza’s blood boiled at his attempt to bait her. She was about to open her mouth and retaliate but remembered she was in his family home, with his father smiling at them both as if he knew a secret they didn’t.
“Well, isn’t this a pleasant way to spend a Sunday,” Claude Austen said through his grin. “Darcy, be a good host and offer Eliza a drink.”
Eliza tilted her head and smiled at Darcy in a way that said ‘run along now.’ He returned her head tilt and offered back his own smirk. ‘I’ll get you a drink, but be careful I don’t poison it.’
The two of them stood locked in a silent altercation until finally Jane noticed that her sister had entered the room.
“Oh, Lize,” she called in surprise. “When did you get here?” Has Lydia arrived with you?”
Jane jumped up and embraced her sister with an infectious amount of joy. Eliza couldn’t help but let a genuine smile break free as she stood in her beloved sister’s arms.
Pulling back to look at her, Eliza replied, “No, I haven’t seen our sister since Las Vegas. I’m sure our reunion will be… eventful.”
Bing stood and came to greet Eliza, his body always seeking to touch Jane’s in some way, be it a brush of hands, a gentle palm to her lower back or a kiss on her forehead.
“It’s lovely to see you once more, Eliza,” Bing offered genuinely, his countenance as open and honest as Jane’s. “Can I get you a drink?”
Eliza smiled wickedly, her head turning to look at Darcy and her next words loud enough for him to hear. “No, you’re quite okay, I believe your brother is already attending me.”
“Could you grab Jane a refill too, please Darce?” Bing requested, handing his brother Jane’s empty wineglass.
Darcy took the glass and bowed in sarcastic deference. “It seems I am only here to serve.”
Then he left, but not before he gave Eliza one last look that had her feet itching to follow him if only to banter with him some more.
That damned man had gotten under her skin, and she needed to do something to get him out.
With that thought in her head, she turned to Claude Austen and said, “While we’re here for pleasure today, please forgive me for talking about business, but I’d like to make you an offer.”
The last thing Lydia wanted to do was spend more time with Wick’s family. Add to that the fact her sisters would also be there, and she could think of a dozen other more appealing activities—ripping off her fingernails with pliers, shaving her head bald—than spending her Sunday with these people.
But the problem was, she wanted Austen’s, and she was determined to get one over on Eliza. Wick had promised it to her, and he’d yet to deliver, so she was taking the situation into her own hands.
As the car pulled up outside Wick’s family home, she stared at the old Tudor mansion and wondered how soon it would be before they inherited this place or bought it out from under them. The house was ugly, but the land it stood on impressive, and she couldn’t wait to knock the thing down and put something more worthy in its place.
“We’re late. Did you really need that two-hour long massage?” Wick groused as he stepped out into the Sunday sunshine.
“I did,” Lydia confirmed. “If I must deal with your family again, I’ll need another two-hour long massage when we get back.”
Wick ignored the jibe and went over to his new wife to link her arm with his.
“I have the proposal for father. Let me give it to him. He’ll be more open if he believes it’s mostly my idea,” he stated smoothly, assuming Lydia would see the sense in his request.
“It’s my money, my proposal, my time. Why would I allow you to present it?” she countered haughtily.
They were by the oak front door before Wick replied, “Because sometimes, my love, yo
u must swallow your pride and play to win.”
“Pride is not something I’m ever accused of swallowing,” she retorted tartly.
Wick’s eyes sparkled and he turned to look at his wife’s mouth.
“No, my love,” he rasped. “But you’ve gotten an expert at swallowing—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Lydia demanded with her fingers pressed to his mouth. “Our sex life has nothing to do with business. It’s time you learnt not to mix the two up.”
She stepped forward until they were chest to chest, her sky-high heels putting them at almost equal height, so her lips skimmed his.
“I own you, husband.” Lydia’s lips tipped up into a sly grin. “I own this.” She cupped his cock. “And I will own your business.” She squeezed her hand just enough to gain a hiss from Wick’s lips.
“I’ve told you we’d keep the Austen name. You’ve bargained your terms, and now it’s time for me to collect my dues. I will convince your father. You will observe. I lead, you follow. Do you think you can understand that, husband?”
Wick nodded his head, his hard dick throbbing in Lydia’s hand right where she wanted him.
She placed a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose, then stepped back as if nothing had happened between them and proceeded to ring the doorbell.
“Rearrange yourself, love,” she smirked at his erection as the door began to open. “Your subservience is showing.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Darcy was pouring the wine in the small family kitchen, avoiding the hustle and bustle of the staff in the main kitchen, when he heard Wick and Lydia arrive. His mother’s over the top fawning echoed down the hallway towards him, and he stifled a groan when he heard Anne Austen say gleefully, “Oh, you must make me a grandmother soon. I’ve always wanted to be called Nanna. It sounds so much younger than Grandma.” Then as if a light bulb went off in her head she gasped and added, “Goodness gracious, is that why you eloped? Are you already with child?”
At that Darcy snorted. Loudly. Although nobody heard because Wick was too busy denying impregnating his new wife.
“We’ve only been married a week, for heaven’s sake. We are a long way away from making you a grandmother—”
“Nanna,” Anne Austen scolded.
“Nanna,” Wick unwillingly acceded. “So please, enough of hounding Lydia with this. We have life-plans and children aren’t on the horizon for some time.”
“Try not at all.” Darcy heard Lydia snipe.
Darcy wanted to pop his head around the door and inform his mother that if Lydia was pregnant, his younger brother wasn’t the (un)lucky father. They’d only known each other a few hours longer than they’d been married. No, Darcy didn’t know Lydia’s game, but he could see well enough she wasn’t interested in trapping Wick with a child.
“Eavesdropping is unbecoming of you, Mr Austen.”
Darcy almost dropped the glasses in his hands when he spun around to see Eliza had come up behind him through the back entrance.
“And sneaking up on someone is rather unbecoming of you, Miss Bennet.”
“You call it sneaking. I call it coming to find out where my drink is. A girl could die of thirst waiting for you to attend her.”
Darcy placed both glasses on the counter before him and took a dangerous step towards Eliza. Seeing something in his face, Eliza countered him by talking an equal step back.
“Do I scare you, Miss Bennet?”
“Eliza. My name is Eliza. Why don’t you use it?”
“Because I’m not familiar with you.” He took another step forward and another until she was backed against the wall and he was an arm’s reach away. “We are not friends, merely forced acquaintances.”
Eliza’s breath hitched, partly from his nearness, but mostly from the look in his eyes. He looked hungry or maybe a better word would be hangry—like he was confused and angry about his need to step closer.
“No one is forcing you to be civil to me or spend any more time than necessary in my direct company. You seem to be unable to help yourself,” Eliza challenged. She cocked one brow and faked bravado.
Darcy’s face expressed a wide gamut of emotions before he took the final step that left barely an inch between them.
“Why did you do it?”
Eliza blinked.
“Do you even have a good excuse?” he pressed.
Eliza’s brow furrowed, and she shook her head in confusion. “Why did I do what? Come here today?”
“No.” He looked pained, but continued, “Betray your best friend. Why did you ruin her marriage?”
Eliza’s face paled. She tried to take a step back, but the wall prevented her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her breath caught in her lungs and she was ashamed to feel her eyes fill with emotion.
“Huh.” Darcy took a step back, confusion seeming to clear from his face as if it was never there. “I’d hoped it was somehow a lie. That Collins was full of shit, but your silence speaks volumes.”
Smack.
The force of Eliza’s slap ricocheted through the silent room and echoed off the tiled surfaces. Darcy’s head snapped to the side, and before he’d even turned back to face her, an angry red handprint bloomed across his cheek.
“And what does that tell you, Mr Austen?” Eliza snarled.
Darcy remained silent, but the tick in his jaw was telling. He was holding back. He let her have that strike, but he wouldn’t let her have another.
“That’s right. Your silence speaks volumes,” she sneered. “I’ll give you a helping hand. What that tells you is to fuck off. You’re an utter arsehole.”
Eliza side-stepped the angry man before her and stormed from the room.
When Darcy finally moved, he turned to the counter, picked up both glasses of wine, and downed them in quick succession. Even the alcohol couldn’t lessen the sting. Not of Eliza’s slap, but of the pain on her face that she’d tried to hide behind anger.
Darcy didn’t need to gain a proper answer to his question. In the kitchen of his family home with Eliza’s handprint on his cheek, he knew that Collins Forster was a liar, and he knew that he’d done the eldest Miss Bennet very wrong.
“Lize, where have you been?” Jane asked her sister when she re-entered the parlour looking flustered.
“I got lost looking for the bathroom,” Eliza replied without making eye contact, and Jane immediately sensed the lie.
“You’re just in time, sister,” Lydia called from her place at the senior Mr Austen’s side, and Jane watched as her youngest sister placed her hand on the older man’s shoulder and passed him a pen.
“We’re just about to agree on a deal for Austen’s. Isn’t that right, father?” Lydia said sweetly to her new father-in-law.
Claude Austen smiled up at his new daughter and then over at his youngest son.
“Nothing has been agreed yet, my dear,” he said kindly. “Let me talk to my boys, and we can decide as a family.”
“Decide what as a family?” Darcy barked. His entrance into the room commanding everyone’s attention, except Jane noticed, Eliza’s.
Wick got to his feet and smugly sauntered towards his older brother.
“Father has read our proposal and is all for selling Austen’s. You’ve got your wish, brother. You’ll be free of the business within the month.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. First, his fiery gaze landed on his father and then Lydia before returning to Wick.
“There’s another offer on the table. We’d be foolish not to consider both.”
Bing came to stand next to Jane, and without looking at him, she felt for his hand and linked their fingers. Jane wasn’t aware of the family dynamic within the Austen household, but she could sense a storm brewing.
“What other offer?” Wick cocked his head to the side and took stock of his brother’s stiff posture and taut features. “You mean to say you’re considering TBG’s proposal? I find that hard to believe brother. Didn’t you once say that
you’d never want to acquaint yourself with a frigid ice princess?”
Wick’s eyes sparkled as they sought out Eliza in the room, and he wasn’t disappointed to see her glare at him.
“Wick,” Bing warned, releasing Jane’s hand and stepping forward.
It was a practised move that Jane could see he’d had to employ often, as he smoothly stood between the youngest and eldest Austen. “This is not the time or place to discuss either offer. We should schedule a meeting at work and leave today as a chance to get to know each other as a family.”
“Apologise to her,” Darcy demanded. “Apologise to Eliza right now or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Wick taunted, taking a step forward and feeling rather proud of himself.
Darcy matched his movement, and Bing was forced to place a steadying hand to each brother’s chest.
“Enough, boys,” Mr Austen senior declared, standing from his spot at the fireplace and walking up to his sons.
“Your mother has gone to a lot of trouble and expense to make today special. Wick—” he turned to his youngest son “—apologise to the young lady you just insulted and Darcy.” Claude Austen put a steadying hand on his oldest son’s shoulder, “I agree, we can consider both offers. I’m not foolish enough to believe we deserve either, but I am also not idiotic enough not to accept one gratefully.”
Darcy bit his tongue, and before he had a chance to speak, Eliza stood and announced, “I revoke The Bennet Group’s provisory interest in making an offer for Austen’s. One should never do business with family. Now if you’ll excuse me, please give Mrs Austen my apologies, but I’m unable to stay for dinner. I have an important matter to attend.”
Eliza walked up to the elder Mr Austen, shook his hand and thanked him for his hospitality. Then she came to Jane and kissed her goodbye.
“No love for me, sister?” Lydia called from her spot on the other side of the room, and Eliza stopped in her tracks. “No, that’s right,” she sneered, her pretty face contorting into sharp lines and narrowed eyes. “Eliza Bennet’s love comes at a price. If you’re not worthy, you’re discarded like trash.”