President Darcy

“I understand that it’s a disguise,” Elizabeth said patiently. “My question is: why?”

“The press knows what your sisters look like,” Kitty answered in hushed tones. “They’d be merciless if they recognized us.”

Elizabeth blinked at her. “And you think that dressing like Charlie Chaplin is less noticeable?”

Charlotte stifled a giggled.

“Well, nobody asked me about you,” Kitty said tartly, “so it must have worked.”

Pulling down her hood, Jane brandished a 7-Eleven bag. “I got Chunky Monkey, Cookie Dough, and a couple other flavors.”

The thought of food made Elizabeth slightly nauseated. “You can eat it. I’m not hungry,” she sighed as she flopped onto the sofa. Company had sounded appealing when Jane had called, but now that her visitors were here, talking with them seemed to demand more energy than she possessed.

“Elizabeth Bennet turns down Ben and Jerry’s? Alert the media!” Jane laughed, but it failed to elicit a smile from her sister. “Did you have lunch? Or dinner?”

Did I? Elizabeth couldn’t remember.

“We’re not going to let you do this to yourself.” Marching over to the coffee table, Jane plunked several containers of ice cream in front of Elizabeth.

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest, not caring that she resembled a sulky teenager. “This isn’t your business.”

Kitty took a position next to Jane, and they eyed Elizabeth with identical glares. “Of course, this is our business! This is an interruption!”

A what?

“An intervention,” Jane hissed at Kitty.

“An intervention!” Kitty corrected herself.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “The point is that you’ve been holed up in this apartment for three days in your pajamas. It’s not healthy! You need to put on real clothes tomorrow and go into work. Working at home isn’t good for you.”

“I can’t,” Elizabeth said flatly.

Jane sank onto the sofa beside her sister and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “You can! I know it’ll be tough getting through the crowd of reporters, but you’re a strong, confident woman.” Jane’s grin was so energetic it was practically manic.

Elizabeth brushed bits of hair from her eyes. “I’ve been suspended from work.”

“Oh.” The smile slid off Jane’s face.

Charlotte slid into a chair opposite them. “Was it too much for them—the media and everything?” Every time the story about Elizabeth and Will had died down, George Wickham had appeared on a cable news show to toss around more accusations. He had been extremely effective at keeping the scandal—and his name—in the news.

Elizabeth hunched her shoulders, staring at the carpet. “No. It was the notification that their latest grant is being reviewed by the inspector general over allegations of impropriety.”

“Shit!” Jane immediately clapped her hand over her mouth. Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. Jane never cursed.

“They think the Red Cross got the grant because of you and the president?” Charlotte asked.

Elizabeth nodded. “I didn’t even like him back when the grant was awarded,” she said with a laugh that sounded bitter even to her ears. “I just hope the staff can convince the inspector that the Red Cross won it fair and square. If not, my job is toast.” A familiar sensation burned behind her eyes, but she blinked it back. She’d shed enough tears today.

“That’s so unfair,” Jane said.

The awkward silence following Jane’s declaration provided Bill with an opportunity; he planted himself on Elizabeth’s other side. “I would encourage you to give up all hopes of winning the president’s affection,” he said earnestly.

“Oh?”

He grinned broadly as if delivering good news. “His aunt does not view your acquaintance favorably.”

He actually believed she should concede any hopes of a relationship with Will because of Mrs. de Bourgh’s opinion. “I don’t particularly care what his aunt thinks.”