“It’s pretty busy here, Mary,” she said, her voice a bit louder than necessary. She blushed a bit and removed her hands. “Sorry.”
Mary grinned at her. “I know.” She shrugged. “I didn’t think I’d like it, Lizzy, but I love it. There’s an energy here that just . . .” She held her palms out and up. “I don’t know. I love it.”
Lizzy returned the grin. “That’s terrific, Mary.”
They wandered through the building for over an hour, and Elizabeth allowed Mary to do the talking. She was calmly enthusiastic about the academics, the seminars, the guest speakers she’d heard about on the tour.
Eventually, Mary left to attend a night class with a current student. She’d assured Elizabeth that Uncle Ed was coming into the city to pick her up. As she turned away from Mary and towards the front doors, she spied him twenty feet away, directly in front of her, blonde hair cut shorter than the last time she’d seen him, the strap of a brown leather messenger bag slung across his chest.
Charles Bingley.
Chapter Twenty-One
At the precise moment Elizabeth spied Charles Bingley, his eyes lifted to meet hers. She wasn’t sure what to name the expression on his face—trepidation, perhaps, mixed with determination. She steeled herself as he began to walk in her direction.
“Elizabeth Bennet,” he said haltingly, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
She just stared at him, not sure of the correct way to address a man who’d lost his job at least in part because of her. Bingley shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“It’s fortunate, actually,” he continued once he realized she wasn’t going to speak. “I don’t know when I’ll have another chance, so I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
She searched his face, trying to discern whether he was being honest. He appeared embarrassed but sincere. In fact, it was probably the only sincere thing she’d ever heard him say. “Okay,” she told him.
“Okay, you accept my apology, or okay you just want me to leave you alone?” he asked with a wry half-grin.
“Well,” she said, one eyebrow arching, “I’m still waiting for the apology, so. . . “
He laughed a bit at that, then sighed. “All right . . .” He cleared his throat. “I started taking some classes right after the New Year, and it made me realize that this is where I should be. FORGE wasn’t offering the kind of growth I want. No fault of FORGE, but ultimately, it’s a family business,” he said contemplatively, “and I’m not family.”
Elizabeth felt the back of her neck grow warm. He didn’t sound resentful, exactly, but like he’d been waiting for an offer than never came. The way he’d been behaving last fall, she wasn’t surprised Will hadn’t taken that step.
Charles frowned. “I know if I’d gone to Will, he would’ve understood, maybe let me step back a bit while I attended school. Instead, not only did I lose a good job, I wrecked a friendship that was pretty important to me.”
Elizabeth didn’t know what to say to that. She’d only witnessed the end of that friendship. She hadn’t even discussed Bingley with Will in months. He’d moved on, she thought, but she wouldn’t try to speak for him. Instead, she waited as patiently as she could for Charles to finish. Just as she was thinking he’d still not apologized, he took a breath and continued.
“I apologize for taking your file when he told me it was for his eyes only.” He ran one thumb under the strap of his bag to shift some of the weight. “I came back from the South America trip, and things were different. It threw me off and I reacted with suspicion. Will was right to ask for my resignation. I knew it then, and I know it now.”
Elizabeth tipped her head to the side, sizing him up. “Okay,” she said. Bingley deflated, disappointed, until she frowned and added, “I accept. I don’t like what you did, but I appreciate the apology. I think you mean it, and that’s something, I guess.”
He gave her a firm nod, relieved. Elizabeth began to look over his shoulder towards the exit, and he stepped to the side. “Have a good night, Elizabeth.”
She heard a text alert and grabbed her phone. Several messages had come in while she was touring the building and talking to Bingley. She scanned it all quickly. Work, mostly, nothing time-sensitive. Between Charlotte begging for her to play soccer on Monday night and Will asking about seeing a movie over the weekend was a brief line from Lydia.
Taking the truck, it read. DNT WRE. I’ll BIB.
“You will not,” Elizabeth said, raising her voice. She typed furiously.
You do not have permission!
Nothing.
Where are you going?
Nothing.
LYDIA!
At last, a response popped up on her screen. GOI, had to pull over.
“Get over it?” Elizabeth exclaimed, “I’ll strangle you, see how you get over that.” She sensed someone stepping up to her and glanced over her shoulder. Charles Bingley was at her side, a concerned look on his face. Great, just what she needed.
Where are you? She typed.
Y?
LYDIA TAYLOR BENNET.
DNT call me that. IMNAB
What RU writing me?
She hit speed-dial for Lydia’s phone, but her sister wouldn’t accept the call.
DNT call me Bennet.
Elizabeth was puzzled for a second. IMNAB. In a flash of understanding, she recalled the open door in Uncle Ed’s study and groaned. I’m not a Bennet. She checked the time stamp on the first text. An hour ago. Knowing Lydia, she could be anywhere.
TMYL, she typed.
“Your location, Lyddie, c’mon, tell me where you are,” she mumbled, knowing she could probably guess.
Out.
“Okay, you asked for it,” Elizabeth grunted, remotely activating the tracking app Uncle Ed had mentioned. Aunt Maddy had made her promise not to use it unless there was an emergency, and she’d agreed, but Lydia had crossed the Rubicon with her. She was unsurprised to find that Lydia was on the I-80 as it cut through Pennsylvania. She was headed to Meryton.
“She’s got a good head start,” Charles noted, looking over her shoulder at the map.
Elizabeth bit her tongue. You think? It would take an hour and a half to get home, and Lydia had her truck. She could rent something, but she had no idea how long that would take. Even getting to Will’s place this time of day would be difficult.
“I know,” she said crossly. Lydia’s an inexperienced driver at best, and she’s angry besides. In my truck. I may kill her myself.
Charles hesitated a moment, and then dug in his bag and extended his hand. “Here. Take my bike. You’ll get through traffic faster.” He closed his fingers over the fob. “Wait, you know how to ride a motorcycle, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. You must be the only person I know who didn’t see the picture.”
This time it was Charles’s turn to just stare blankly. He opened his hand again.
Elizabeth stared at his hand, then looked up into his face. “Are you serious?” she asked doubtfully.
Charles shrugged. “Yeah, go ahead. I’m in class tonight. I’ll catch a ride home with someone.” He pulled his helmet out of his gear bag and handed it to her. “I happen to be familiar with angry sisters. He told her where the bike was parked and where she should return it. As she thanked him and moved quickly toward the doors, he called, “Just don’t crash.”
Elizabeth used the mic on her phone to text her uncle and aunt while she was jogging to the garage. She was frustrated when she realized she’d have to cancel her plans with Will and called him, leaving a clipped but detailed message on his voice mail. She located Bingley’s motorcycle quickly—he’d given her precise directions—and was soon threading in and out of the late afternoon Manhattan traffic, taking Broadway to the Holland Tunnel. Once she was out of the city, it was easier, but it was also colder. She figured if she was lucky, she’d reach Meryton after dark, but before the roads iced over. She tried to keep her mind on driving but couldn’t help silen
tly cursing Lydia and wondering exactly why she had decided that now was the time to confront Tom Bennet.
Over four hours later and half-frozen, she slowed, straining her eyes to find the turnoff to Longbourn. It would be par for the course today to miss the driveway in the dark. When she managed to find the mailbox out by the road, she heaved a sigh of relief and guided the bike onto the gravel. When she neared the house, she saw the truck, haphazardly abandoned, the driver’s door hanging ajar, the dome light on. Well, that’s not good. Elizabeth parked the motorcycle. She shut the door, grumbling about the battery, and walked to the house. She knocked, but when there was no response, she entered on her own.
It was nearly dark inside. One light was on in the entryway, and one in the hall. If she stood very still, she could hear her sister’s voices on the stairs, the slamming of bedroom doors, the clattering of dishes in the sink. What am I doing here? she asked herself grimly. At least Lily and the boys didn’t seem to be around. Small favors, she thought.
She remained near the front of the house, just listening, until angry voices filtered down the hall. They were in the study. Elizabeth headed in that direction. Something crashed against a wall, and she picked up her pace.
The brass knob was cool to the touch as her fingers curled around it and twisted. She jerked the door open to find Tom Bennet standing behind his desk. He was leaning forward on his fists, face a mottled shade of red, facing down an apoplectic Lydia. She had thrown a book from his shelves and had another in her hand ready to launch. Elizabeth glanced at Tom, then at Lydia. “Are you sure she’s not yours?” she asked drolly.
They both scowled at her, and she turned to her sister. Lydia’s face was flushed, her eyes swollen and bloodshot but flaming with anger. Her hair was tied back indifferently, long strands escaping and curling around her face.
She stepped to her sister, her back to Tom. “Why did you come, Lydia?” she asked in a low voice. “What were you hoping to accomplish?”
Lydia’s anger had not cooled. “He needs to hear it, Lizzy,” she cried earnestly and then, hotly, “He’s a horrible father and a rotten excuse for a human being. He should know I’m happy I’m not related to him. That Uncle Ed is a million times the man he’ll ever be.” She coughed, and Elizabeth knew she was holding back a sob. “And I want to know who my father really is.”
“I told you, Lydia,” Tom said harshly, his voice ringing with exasperation, “I’ve been telling you since you arrived. I don’t know. Your mother didn’t bother to inform me.”
“Liar!” Lydia screamed and threw the other book.
Tom ducked, then picked the tome from the floor where it had fallen and placed it carefully on his desk. He squared his shoulders uncomfortably and turned his attention to Elizabeth. “I would tell you if I knew.”
“Lydia,” Elizabeth said softly, “let’s go home. We can talk more about this on the way. Aunt Maddy is probably frantic.”
“I left a note,” Lydia said with a wave of her hand.
“All right,” Elizabeth said with a sigh, “let’s try this another way. If you hope to get out of this without going to jail, you need to go outside.”
“What have I done?” Lydia asked, incredulous.
Elizabeth sighed and rubbed her forehead. Grand theft auto, driving without a license, trespassing, battery . . . She held her arm out. “C’mon, let’s talk about it outside.”
Lydia pursed her lips, grabbed another book, and hurled it at Tom as she stalked out of the room.
“Elizabeth,” Tom said, bending to pick up the book that was spayed open on the floor, “I really don’t know who her father is.”
She nodded and reached behind her for the doorknob, but he wasn’t done.
“However, you might want to ask Steven Goulding.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
The Gouldings were their closest neighbors. Steven was their oldest son. Oh, she thought, that’s gross. “He couldn’t have been more than nineteen when Kit was born.”
“I’m not sure it was him,” Tom said slowly, lowering himself into his chair. “But Fanny did . . .”—he rolled his eyes—“admire him, and he was home from university at the right time.” He paused and said, as though he was tasting something bitter, “For both girls.” He closed his eyes. “I thought nothing of it at the time, the way he came over to cut the lawn and do odd jobs. I paid him.” His chuckle was bitter. “I’m sure they had a good laugh about that. Fanny always did like The Graduate a bit too much.”
He’d been red with fury when she entered the room, but now his face was almost alarmingly pale. Elizabeth took a step back into the room. It’d be just her luck for him to have a heart attack tonight. “Are you all right?”
He waved a hand at her. “Having the screaming consequence of your past choices show up unannounced on your doorstep is a shock, that’s all.” With a sigh, he admitted, “It makes me want to drink.”
“But you can’t,” Elizabeth told him decisively.
He smiled morosely and agreed. “But I can’t.”
She wanted to go check on Lydia, but first she needed to make sure he’d be all right. “Where’s Lily?”
“Some mom’s group thing. She has the boys with her.” He checked his watch. “She should be home in an hour.”
She looked to the door, then at him. “Will you be okay until then?”
He nodded uneasily. “Nothing I haven’t worked past before.”
Elizabeth made a non-committal sound and moved towards the door. Just as she set one foot over the threshold, he called her back.
She turned expectantly. His face was weathered and drawn. In a voice both deep and hoarse, he said, quietly, “Thank you.”
She nodded her head once brusquely, and closed the door behind her.
Lydia was standing in the entryway, arms crossed over her chest, not in the least repentant for her actions. “I had to tell him, Lizzy,” she said stoutly. “He’s a horrible person.”
Elizabeth held up her hands. “You’ll get no argument from me. I’m just not sure why this couldn’t have been handled over the phone or even in a letter.”
“Are you kidding me?!” the younger girl nearly shouted. “I wanted to see that bastard. He hasn’t seen me since I was eight, Lizzy. He didn’t even know who I was when he answered the door.” She was crying hard now, fat tears black with mascara leaving trails through her foundation.
Elizabeth reached out to touch her sister’s arm compassionately, but Lydia jerked it away. Now was not the time to confess she’d always felt as though Lydia had it better than any of the sisters, remembering so little and having Uncle Ed and Aunt Maddy a little longer than anyone else. Lydia was a diva, but these were not drummed-up tears. They were genuine, as was her anger. The drama was all in Lydia’s wildly inappropriate expression of it.
“If anyone’s still at the stables, we can get some help to secure the motorcycle in the bed of the truck,” she said quietly. “And then we can get something to eat and head back.”
“I’m not ready to go home,” Lydia said quietly, but she grabbed her jacket from the hall table and shoved her arms through the sleeves. Elizabeth followed her out.
“Keys, Lydia,” she said to her sister’s back. Lydia just walked faster.
Not a chance, Lydia. The teenager threw herself at the driver’s door, but Elizabeth caught her around the waist with one arm and maneuvered her body between Lydia and the vehicle. “You are not driving my truck, Lydia. Give me the keys.” Lydia screamed as she twisted and turned, attempting to loosen her sister’s hold. Elizabeth felt sorry for her sister, so she responded by wrapping her other arm around Lydia’s waist. “Lyddie,” Elizabeth grunted as her sister twisted from side to side. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t let you drive. Just give me the keys.”
She had her face tucked into Lydia’s side and tightened her hold, but rather than giving up, Lydia began to flail, elbows out. “I hate you!” she yelled. “I hate him!”
Elizabeth felt the cont
act and found herself sitting on the ground before her brain could process what had happened. One hand moved automatically to her eye, where she felt a stabbing pain. So much for being nice. “Dammit, Lydia!” she yelled at full volume, all patience at an end. “I swear, if I get my hands on you, I will make you regret that!” As she struggled to her feet, half-blind, Lydia already had the truck in reverse, and she stumbled back, out of the way.
Too fast, Elizabeth thought, panicked, as gravel shot out from beneath the spinning tires and the truck hurtled backwards at an alarming speed. Seconds later, there was a sickening crunch in the dark, and the truck was pinned on something. It rocked once, twice, and was suddenly released at full acceleration. Nearly airborne and bed-first, it flew backwards, slamming into one of the largest pines on the property.
It took a few seconds for Elizabeth to fully open her good eye. She could see that the impact apparently hadn’t been hard enough to trigger the airbags, as Lydia was struggling to put the damaged truck into drive. Unfortunately for her, the tailgate was partially wrapped around the trunk of the tree and the back tires weren’t making full contact with the ground. Lydia’s crazy adventure was at an ugly end.
Elizabeth huffed angrily, trying to calm herself as she stood in the driveway, bent over at the waist as she waited for her eye to stop throbbing. Then she saw what Lydia had run over.
Elizabeth straightened a little and tapped the flashlight app on her phone to look over the damage. The motorcycle was a heap of crushed and broken parts. “Man,” she said, feeling a little sick to her stomach, “the one thing he told me not to do.”
Lydia opened the driver’s side door and jumped to the ground. She approached Elizabeth sullenly and stood in front of her, feigning unconcern, but the trembling of her bottom lip gave her away. The two of them stared at each other until a pair of headlights broke through the darkness. Elizabeth sighed. “It’s probably Lily and her boys, Lydia. Be nice.”
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