Bennet, Pride Before the Fall (Love Austen 3)

Another silence.

“If you’re nodding, remember we’re on the phone.”

A surprised laugh. “In fact, I was nodding. How did you know?”

“Call it intuition.” Call it hope.

“Your intuition was correct.”

An awkward pause. “And Darcy?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry. Sorry for jumping to conclusions, sorry for not asking for your side of the story. Sorry for being judgmental.”

He could practically feel Darcy’s baffled silence. He rested his head against the windowpane and continued. “Right, well. I guess . . . later gator.”

“Later. . . . Bennet? Thank you.”

Bennet hung up. Later gator? “Fuck me.”

Lyon entered the living room and snickered. “I told you, Benny. Brother stuff is too kinky for me.”

Bennet occupied the next few days with riding, editing, working his first official shift at the library, shopping for Lyon’s upcoming sixteenth birthday, and spending more time than usual in the pub enjoying Charlie’s more practical insights.

“I’ll need two weekends to make the move. Which means I will be at your Pride event.”

“Dressed up, I hope.”

“I’ll use the vest Olivia made me for the Wool Ball. That was bright enough. What will you wear?”

“Paint.”

“I didn’t realize you wanted to give half of Cubworthy heart attacks.”

“All the colors of the rainbow.”

“They’ll go out cheered, I’m sure.”

Bennet grinned. “I have short-shorts and a pink Pride T-shirt. The paint would be for the rest.”

“The forum sure livened up after the event announcement. Are you pleased?”

More than. He’d been touched by the level of engagement with his post.

Charlie smiled. “I’m feeling rather proud of Cubworthy too. Even Darcy was checking it out last night when he was here. I wonder if he’ll show up?”

“Darcy?” Bennet bolted upright on his stool and pushed his lunch plate aside. “He’s back?”

“Or he has a twin brother with the same taste in beer.”

A funny thrill zigzagged through his stomach.

Charlie eyed him. “Are you afraid he’ll undermine your efforts? I don’t think he’d be quite so callous.”

“No, I . . . don’t think he’s callous at all. In fact, he might be a kinder man than I’ve given him credit for.”

Charlie’s brows rocketed to his hairline. “The man who punched your friend Will out of the hospice and didn’t let him say goodbye to his best friend? ‘Not with him’ Darcy?”

Bennet stirred uncomfortably. How disgraceful of him not only to judge Darcy so quickly, but to convince others of his worthlessness. “I’ve been misled about Darcy and Will’s history. It’s not my story to tell, but I trust that Darcy is not to blame.”

“Well this is a one-eighty for you. I thought you’d hate the man forever.”

“I never hated him.”

“You wanted to, though.”

Shame heated him, and he suddenly wished he hadn’t eaten his brie and walnut salad. “I’ve definitely made mistakes,” he whispered.

Charlie patted his hand. “I’m glad you’re giving him a second chance.”

“Just as friends.”

Those brows lifted once more. “I never expected anything else.”

An unwelcome strangling sound slipped from this throat and he twisted off his stool. “I’d better get back to work. Books don’t edit themselves.”

Charlie’s chuckle followed him out onto the street.

Another day passed, and another day he reread Darcy’s email.

He could probably recite it verbatim, yet he still felt compelled to double check. To linger on Darcy’s words. Every time, he responded differently. As if new potency had been injected into each sentence.

Boundless courage, wholehearted vibrancy, confident optimism made his chest hop every time. He didn’t deserve the admiration. He was a fool. This man had terrible taste.

Shortly before ten, Bennet opened the mobile library to two women patiently waiting, gray hair framing their soft, kind faces.

They lingered after Bennet had finished recording their loan. “We saw you’re planning a Pride event next month. My partner and I wanted to thank you for making this possible.”

The taller woman nodded.

“We’ve lived here for twenty years, and still half the village assumes we’re two spinsters splitting rent. If you need any help, let us know.”

Their knuckles brushed as they walked away side by side, and Bennet smiled. With more representation in the local community, how many more couples might feel braver? His mind supplied fantastical images of villagers bursting out in song as they joined in the growing rainbow crowd marching down the main street.

Movement to his right returned his attention to the present and he startled. Darcy. Neatly dressed in dark jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, and carrying a weighty-looking box.

Dark eyes hit Bennet like a gavel over the two crates of books separating them, and he exploded into shivers. The reaction was extreme, although perhaps expected. This was the first time they’d seen each other since the kiss. Unexpressed emotion rippled between them. Embarrassment on Darcy’s side perhaps. Shame and regret and something like relief on Bennet’s.

They needed to cut through it and find their footing with one another again, but for the life of him, Bennet couldn’t find words. He was magnetized to Darcy’s confident gaze, and for the first time, he noticed the shyness that leaked around the edges.