Darcy in Hollywood

“The screenplay is wrong, and the movie doesn’t know what it’s talking about.” She shoved at a bowl of toothpicks, sending them skittering all over the bar. Apparently unsatisfied with this chaos, she did the same to a pile of napkins.

“Elizabeth.” Darcy put his hand on her arm before she caused more destruction. She didn’t resist but folded into herself, pulling her hands into her lap.

She doesn’t mean it; it’s the alcohol talking, he told himself.

“What I need is another glass of champagne,” Elizabeth announced loudly.

Darcy caught the bartender’s eye and shook his head. “Sorry, miss,” the man said. “I’m closing up for the night.” The other patrons were already shuffling toward the lobby.

Darcy wanted to put his arm around Elizabeth, take her home, hide her away from the world, and never let her go. And it hurt—with a burning pain in his gut—that he really couldn’t protect her like that. He took her hand in his. “Maybe it’s time to go home,” he murmured gently into her ear.

“Don’ wanna go home,” she said peevishly.

“Jane might still be here.” Darcy peered hopefully into the lobby. “You could go home with her.”

“Not Jane!” Elizabeth yanked her hand from his grasp. “I don’ wanna go back to the apartment.”

What was that about? Elizabeth was very close to her older sister. But now that Darcy thought about it, he wondered why none of her family had come to check on her. It was all rather odd.

“How about your parents’ house, then?”

She pushed Darcy away so forcefully that he nearly pitched off the stool. “No!” Heads turned in their direction from as far away as the lobby.

“Okay. Okay.” He took her hands, speaking soothingly. “We won’t go anywhere you don’t want to go.”

“Good. Good.” In the next instant, she slumped bonelessly against Darcy, forcing him to hold her against his chest so she wouldn’t slide off her stool. He tried to ignore the way it affected him; now was not the time for those kinds of thoughts. “I told them I wasn’t coming to the premiere, and then I came and watched from the back of the theater,” she mumbled into his chest.

What a hollow, lonely experience that must have been. “Why? Why not sit with them?”

“They blame me, you know,” she told him in a low voice.

“Who?”

“My parents, Kitty, Mary. They blame me for Lydia’s accident.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

She pulled away from him with a bitter laugh. “My mother told me that I’m the reason Lydia nearly died, and my father said it would be best if I stayed away from the rest of the family for a while.”

If Tom Bennet had been standing in front of Darcy at that minute, he would have slugged the man. How could they say such things to Elizabeth? Didn’t they realize how lucky they were to have such a wonderful daughter? Darcy’s arms came up, and he pulled Elizabeth against his chest again, tucking her head under his chin. “I’m so sorry. They’re wrong, you know. It’s not your fault.”

When she didn’t respond, Darcy was dreadfully afraid that she might actually believe what her family said about her.

Elizabeth pulled herself from his arms, staring morosely at the bar. “She was always the golden child, you know? The prettiest, the most outgoing, the one my mother thought was destined to be a big movie star.”

Darcy heard all the things that Elizabeth did

n’t say about Tom and Franny Bennet’s regard for their second oldest daughter, and anger throbbed through his veins again. That must have made it doubly painful to be blamed for Lydia’s accident. He wanted to enfold her in his arms and kiss her pain away.

Elizabeth choked back a sob. “I can’t go home. I can’t face any of them.”

“At least I can help with that.” He stood and helped Elizabeth off her barstool, holding her upright while she slid her shoe back onto her foot. “All right, let’s go.” Pointing her toward the back entrance, he slipped an arm around her waist to steady her.

“I don’t want to go home,” she said very precisely.

“I’m not taking you to your home,” he promised. “I’m taking you to mine.”

It was a tribute to how trashed she was that she didn’t object.