President Darcy

“At least being seen as cold and aloof will no longer be your biggest public perception issue.” Fitz gave a sour smile.

“They won’t still be asking ‘What’s wrong with the president?’” Caroline said with a sneer. “Now they’ll know.”

Bing gave his sister a quelling look before turning to Darcy. “I hate to state the obvious again, but we need to get Elizabeth and her relatives out of Pemberley.”

Darcy climbed to his feet on legs that were suddenly shaky. He didn’t know how he would break such awful news. It would devastate her. What could he possibly say to her that would comfort her at such a time? He inhaled deeply, but it did nothing to calm him. “I’ll go talk to her—”

Hilliard grabbed his arm. “No. I need you. First, you need to explain to me what you did with her, and then we need to make some decisions.”

“But—”

“It’s best if you aren’t seen with her—even here. Someone will talk.” The look in Hilliard’s eyes was uncompromising.

Damn it. Hilliard was right. An unscrupulous staff member could have taken pictures of them at dinner or brunch or at the beach—or an “unnamed source” could leak information about anything they did. But, still…Elizabeth would need him when she got this news.

He pulled his arm away. “No, I—”

“Mr. President, you need to concentrate on your job. If you want to be an effective president, there’s a lot of clean up to be done; you need to focus on that.”

His presidency came first; the country came first. Darcy had never resented that fact more than at that moment. He sagged back into his chair, rubbing his eyes. “All right.”

“I’ll go escort Elizabeth and the Gardiners out,” Bing volunteered.

Elizabeth would leave Pemberley without another chance to talk with her. Their first night would be their only night. As Bing strode toward the door, he took Darcy’s heart with him.

“Bing,” he called. His friend stopped and glanced back. “Tell her…” What the hell could Darcy say to compensate for unceremoniously booting her from his home? Or for the way she would be hounded by the media? How did you apologize for destroying someone’s life? He didn’t have the words. “Tell her…I’m sorry.” He grimaced at the woeful inadequacy of his words.

Bing nodded sympathetically and continued out the door. Darcy did nothing to stop him.

Chapter Sixteen

Elizabeth stared down at the mob of reporters in front of her apartment building. The landlord had requested police officers, who did prevent the press from harassing most residents. However, if Elizabeth were to set a foot outside the door, it would be like waving a steak in front of a pack of hungry dogs. Even when she just pushed her curtains aside to gaze out the window, cameras pointed up, shooting her with telephoto lenses. Trapped in her apartment, she felt like an out-of-favor queen fearing that the peasants would seize her and drag her to the guillotine.

Surely the visit to Pemberley had taken place more than a week ago; it felt like months. Time dragged when you were a media sensation.

Everyone in the world wanted to speak with her. Her voicemail was so full of interview requests that she had stopped using her landline. Yet there was no word from the one person whose voice she most needed to hear.

Allowing the curtains to fall over the window, Elizabeth reflected that she could hardly blame him for not calling. Lydia’s interview had spawned a whirlwind of consequences, including nonstop cove

rage by every cable station in the country. As a result, Elizabeth had stopped watching television altogether and avoided using her laptop.

Elizabeth wiped away the moisture at the corner of her eye. Without communication from Will, she had no idea what he was thinking. Did he know that Elizabeth had no hand in fostering Lydia’s accusations? That watching the video had ripped her apart? That she had screamed at her sister over the phone until she was hoarse, and they were no longer speaking?

The familiar queasiness roiled her stomach. Elizabeth had told Bing that Lydia had reached her own conclusions—or Wickham’s conclusions—without any encouragement from her. But that didn’t mean Bing—or Will—believed her. If only I could get a message to him. Of course, I’d probably mess that up, too. She slumped onto her sofa and stared at the darkened television screen.

It was painful to realize that Will’s first impulse had been right: her family was ill-mannered and nouveau riche. He would have been better off if he had steered clear of the Bennets altogether. His wariness of them had been proven to be prescient while Elizabeth had been a fool to think she could escape that family legacy. Her one consolation was that the rest of her family had closed ranks and refused to speak with the press about her. Every time someone shoved a microphone in her father’s face, he regarded it as an opportunity to promote jerky on-a-stick; after a while, the reporters had left him alone.

It shouldn’t matter what he thought of her. She’d never see him or speak to him or breathe the same air as him ever again. Being subpoenaed to testify in front of Congress was the closest she might ever come. God forbid. Another tear rolled down her cheek, and she dashed it away impatiently with her palm. Hadn’t she done enough crying over him?

She sat on the sofa for several long minutes, unable to summon the energy to move—or even care.

Although she was anticipating it, the knock at the door still startled her. Elizabeth trudged across the living room to admit Jane and Kitty. Before Elizabeth could blink, Kitty shot through the doorway and plastered herself against the adjacent wall as if fearing enemy fire. Charlotte and Bill Collins swept into the apartment after her. Jane, with a hood around her face, was last, and Elizabeth locked the door behind them.

Elizabeth got her first good look at Kitty and gaped. Her sister was wearing an oversized men’s blazer over a turtleneck and black jeans. Her hair was stuffed under a bowler hat, and an enormous black mustache was plastered on her upper lip.

Elizabeth laughed, gesturing to Kitty. “What’s with the getup?”

Busily scanning the room, Kitty didn’t bother to glance at Elizabeth. “It’s a disguise. Duh.”