President Darcy

President Darcy dropped Elizabeth’s hand so he could take her father’s. Freed from the power of his gaze, Elizabeth stumbled backward and a few feet away from the knot of people surrounding the president—which now included a couple Secret Service agents and Press Secretary Bob Hilliard.

Yet the rest of the world seemed to continue apace, unaware that a man had set her senses reeling. And not just any man—the president! Jane conversed animatedly with Mr. Bingley while Kitty and Lydia fidgeted impatiently as they waited to greet the president. Beside them, Fanny absently patted her shellacked hair, no doubt scanning the room for famous faces.

Hadn’t they noticed the difference in Elizabeth? A simple touch of his hand had reordered her world. Well, of course I had a powerful reaction to meeting him. He’s the president. Duh. The leader of the free world and all that. Naturally, he’s charismatic and holds people’s attention. That’s what politicians do.

Still, Elizabeth had the niggling sensation that he had been the one to prolong the contact—that he had been unwilling to release her hand. No. That was absurd. A trick of her imagination. In fact, he was probably desperately wishing for some hand sanitizer right now.

Her father’s voice—always the loudest in any room— intruded on Elizabeth’s thoughts. “I’m the founder and owner of On-a-Stick, Inc.,” he said proudly.

President Darcy didn’t seem like the kind of person who had eaten anything off a stick in his entire life. “On-a-Stick?” the president repeated blankly.

Elizabeth winced. There was no stopping her father now.

“Surely you know about Meatballs On-a-Stick?” her father said eagerly.

The president managed a polite smile. “Your company makes those?”

“That was our first product,” Mr. Bennet explained. Elizabeth could have recited his next words along with him. “We now sell 106 separate On-a-Stick products.” The president nodded, but his eyes scanned the room as if hoping for a rescuer. “We have Ravioli On-a-Stick, Cookies On-a-Stick, Granola Bars On-a-Stick, Eggs On-a-Stick —the eggs are hard boiled, of course.” Her father paused for the same little chuckle he always gave at this point in his spiel.

“Of course,” the president responded dryly. Maybe politicians took classes in how to feign interest in boring topics.

“You have a younger sister, don’t you?” her father persisted. “We could send her a case of Doughnuts On-a-Stick that she could share with her little friends.”

President Darcy gazed down at John Bennet. “Georgiana is a sophomore at Harvard and rows crew. She has to watch her carbs.”

Elizabeth’s father continued, undaunted. There was something almost impressive about his ability to remain oblivious to scorn. “Soup On-a-Stick!” he announced. The president’s eyebrows shot up. “We put it in a little cup and put the cup on a stick. It’s frozen until you’re ready to eat it.”

“I see…” the president said slowly. “Does this enhance the soup-eating experience?”

His tone was so dry that her father missed the hint of disdain, but Elizabeth was offended on his behalf.

Mr. Bennet continued, “Lasagna On-a-Stick was a real misstep; I don’t mind admitting that to you…”

Did he plan to describe the marketability of each of the 106 items? Elizabeth’s stomach twisted, and her cheeks burned. Why did he have to do that here? She hardly needed additional reasons for embarrassment.

The monologue continued: “Cheese On-a-Stick makes a great appetizer. You should consider serving it here at the White House. We have cheddar, American, mozzarella, and brie…”

President Darcy’s lips curved into a cold imitation of a smile. Elizabeth noticed his gold cufflinks and Patek Philippe watch; his tuxedo was bespoke and must have cost thousands. As a child, he had probably eaten his lollipops with a knife and fork.

Her father was in full-on marketing mode now. “Sticks are a big improvement over toothpicks when serving cheese…More sanitary and…”

If Elizabeth had to endure one more minute of this humiliation, she might scream. She sidled up to her father and tried to catch his eye.

“I’m sure children enjoy your products,” the president murmured. It was not a compliment. Oh no. Now he’s done it.

“Not just children,” her father corrected sternly. “Our research shows that 65 percent of our products are consumed by adults—”

“Indeed?”

“Yes, and—”

That diatribe could go on for five minutes, and President Darcy’s eyes already had a glazed and distant look. Elizabeth grabbed her father’s elbow. “Dad, we should let the president greet other guests.”

Her father eyed the rest of his family awaiting their turns. “Oh. Yes. We can continue this conversation later,” he reassured the president.

The other man’s lips twitched. “Of course.” Elizabeth had barely drawn her father away before President Darcy reached for Jane’s hand with a rather fixed smile on his face.

At least Jane could be relied on to be gracious and appropriate. However, Lydia was now talking to Bingley, making grand, sweeping gestures that suggested raucous storytelling. I don’t want to know.