President Darcy

“She is quite good at charming young men.” Mrs. Bennet gave a fond smile as her youngest daughter flashed her cleavage at the man next to her. “But I fear she may be too young for George Wickham. You’re just the right age.”

“I’m your go-to person for sarcastic quips,” Elizabeth objected, “but I’m no good at charming men.”

“If he’s not the right guy, you don’t need to go on a date with him,” her mother hissed in her ear as they approached the others. “Just be nice to him, chat him up.”

When Elizabeth balked again, her mother ordered, “Do it for the company!”

Damn. Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped. That was a plea she couldn’t ignore.

The potential egg fertilizer was obligingly chatting up John Bennet while Lydia hung on the poor man’s arm like it was the last life preserver on the Titanic. George Wickham was tall, with well-defined cheekbones and a sensual mouth. His sandy brown hair was longish, nearly touching his collar, and slicked back from his face. It was a style Elizabeth didn’t particularly care for, but many women swooned over it. Apparently, Lydia was one of them; she tossed her head in annoyance as Elizabeth joined the group.

Fanny brazenly interrupted the ongoing conversation. “This is George Wickham,” she trilled to Elizabeth. “Mr. Wickham, this is my second oldest daughter, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth gritted her teeth and managed to meet the man’s gaze. Her mother’s matchmaking was about as subtle as a falling anvil.

As he took Elizabeth’s hand, Mr. Wickham treated her to a blinding smile. No doubt he paid a fortune for teeth whitening. “Ms. Bennet.” Instead of shaking her hand, he turned the palm down and kissed the back.

“Ooh,” Lydia gasped.

Yes, he was attractive and gallant, but he was not the first congressman Elizabeth had met. “Who do you represent in Congress, Mr. Wickham?”

“Please call me George.” He again flashed that impossibly white smile. “And I represent the 12th congressional district: New York City.”

“Oh, New York,” Lydia echoed in awe. “So you’re a congressman.” He nodded placidly. “What do you do in your free time when you’re not making laws and stuff? Do you go shopping? There’s this little boutique on—”

Mrs. Bennet jabbed her youngest daughter in the ribs. “Ow! Mom, why’d you do that?”

Their mother glanced away airily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

?

??I don’t have much time to shop.” George smiled ingratiatingly. “Crafting legislation and meeting with constituents is pretty time-consuming.”

“Oh.” Lydia pouted.

There was an awkward pause. Finally, Elizabeth’s father cleared his throat. “I was just telling George about On-a-Stick,” he said to Elizabeth.

“I am a big fan of the company’s products,” George said smoothly. “My favorite is Jerky On-a-Stick.”

At least he deigned to eat On-a-Stick products. Unlike a certain president. “That’s good.” Damn, what a lame thing to say. Usually she could hold up her end of a conversation with no problem, but maybe she was still rattled by her encounter with President Darcy. “They’re great products.”

“Indeed.”

Elizabeth didn’t know why George wasn’t nodding off to sleep given the boredom level in the conversation.

“Dear?” Fanny fluttered her eyelashes at John. “Would you like to dance?” Elizabeth’s dad stared blankly as his wife gave him a meaningful look. Elizabeth restrained an eyeroll; they were about as subtle as a runaway train. “This is my favorite song,” Fanny said.

George raised his eyebrows. While the band was on break, the DJ was playing a pretty hardcore rap song.

“It is?” John gave his wife a puzzled look, but when she gestured impatiently, he gamely took his wife’s arm and escorted her to the dance floor.

Lydia took the opportunity to edge closer to George like a spider luring a fly into its web. Oh God, I am such an awful sister. “Isn’t it cute how they still want to touch each other at their age?” She smirked at the congressman.

George looked slightly uncomfortable. “Er, yes.”

George’s uncle would never rescue the Bennets’ company if Lydia served as the family representative. Elizabeth would have to step in.

She felt the weight of someone’s gaze on her; President Darcy was staring at her again. Wait, no, he was watching George with narrowed eyes, and the congressman was smirking back. Maybe they were political rivals. George Wickham wasn’t a prominent name mentioned in political conversations, but he might be up-and-coming.