An Unexpected Song > Table of Contents > Chapter 23 — “17 and over” version

Chapter 23

 

Thanks to Anne Marie and Roya for their excellent suggestions on locations for Rosings.

One quick note for non-American readers, just in case: in the U.S. there’s a chain of ice cream stores called “Ben and Jerry’s.” They’re known for their somewhat unusual flavors (with names like Cherry Garcia and Chubby Hubby).

Elizabeth sat in her office at school, fingering the thick engraved card. Although she had read it dozens of times since receiving it over a week ago, it still had the power to set her pulse racing.

Two months had passed since she had left William’s hospital room to rush to JFK Airport for her flight to California. After her initial dejection when he failed to acknowledge her phone calls or her note, she had done her best to forget him and to build a new life in San Francisco.

She loved teaching at the conservatory, with its excellent facilities and its talented students. She also loved living with Jane, and it was an unaccustomed treat to see Charlotte so frequently. Although Elizabeth missed her large circle of friends in New York, she was gradually making new friends among her colleagues at work and her neighbors in the condo building.

In addition, she was pleased to be performing on a regular basis. The members of Golden Gate Jazz, the ensemble started by Charles Bingley, had followed up on their suggestion at the rehearsal dinner, inviting Elizabeth to join them as their vocalist. They performed frequently on weekends, and occasionally on weeknights as well.

All things considered, Elizabeth was happy with her situation in San Francisco, but Jane and Charlotte were dissatisfied with the lack of romance in her life. They frequently exhorted her to accept one of the invitations for dates she had received since arriving in town.

“Oh, please,” Elizabeth had groaned the last time the subject arose. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from the two of you. Char, you wouldn’t recognize romance if it tripped you and knocked you to the ground. And you’re saying that my love life is lacking?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” Charlotte had retorted. “Every time you get asked out, you always find some excuse to say no. You’re living like a nun.”

“I am not. That’s ridiculous.”

Elizabeth wasn’t trying to avoid going on dates. She would have been happy to spend some pleasant evenings with the right sort of man. But so far, no one had measured up. When she had tried to explain this, Charlotte had asked the inevitable question:

“Measured up to whom, Liz? As if I didn’t know.”

Elizabeth preferred not to think about the answer. Meanwhile, she was doing her best not to “hide from men,” to quote another charge Charlotte had leveled at her. She had gradually succumbed to Jane’s gentle but persistent encouragement and had upgraded her wardrobe. Her collection of oversized shirts, except for a few favorites for sleeping in, had joined the dust rags in the hall closet, and she used part of each paycheck to buy more flattering clothes for school and casual wear.

Two weeks ago, primarily to silence Jane and Charlotte, Elizabeth had gone on her first date in San Francisco, with a neighbor in the condominium building. He was lively, intelligent, and handsome, and she had been pleased to feel a slight tingle of anticipation when the doorbell rang. But it had been all she could do to keep up her end of the conversation during dinner as she looked at him across the table. His hair was medium brown and straight, not dark and wavy. His eyes were brown, but they were a light shade, like brandy—they weren’t dark and hypnotic in their intensity. He wasn’t tall enough, nor were his shoulders broad enough, and his voice lacked the deep, caressing tone that would have made her shiver.

Purely as an experiment, she had allowed him to kiss her good night. She had felt nothing—the touch of his lips hadn’t made her feel hot and weak and dizzy all at once, and there had been no yearning to feel his arms enfold her, crushing her against him. Obviously she hadn’t made much progress in putting William behind her. For the first time in years she had allowed a man to touch her heart, and the damage was proving slow to heal.

It hadn’t helped that his health problems had made him a major topic of discussion in the classical music community over the summer. Her heart had wept for him when she heard that he’d been forced to cancel several months of performances. She could easily imagine the emptiness in his life without the joy of performing.

She hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind after hearing this news at lunch one day, and at last she had decided to call him. The call had been answered by voicemail, and she had attempted to leave a message, but had been disgusted by her stammering attempts to find the right thing to say. After two vain attempts to leave a coherent message, she gave up. It wasn’t as though he needed or wanted her sympathy—he hadn’t wanted it when he was in the hospital. And he had family and friends to watch over him.

But she held a picture in her mind of William as she had last seen him, lying in his hospital bed looking pale and drawn and heartbreakingly vulnerable. He had borne two heavy burdens within just a few hours—his physical collapse and her insulting accusations. It was no wonder that he wanted nothing more to do with her.

And now he was to spend a semester at the conservatory. When she had first heard the news of his impending arrival, she had felt a moment of anticipation, wondering if it meant that he had forgiven her and wanted to see her again. Jane and Charlotte had endorsed this view.

“Of course he wants to see you, Lizzy,” Jane had assured her. “I’m sure that any conservatory in the country—or even the world—would be happy to have him in residence for a semester. He wouldn’t have chosen to come to San Francisco if he didn’t want to see you.”

“Jane’s right,” Charlotte had added. “In fact, I’ll go further than that. I bet he’s coming out here to try to get you back. It wouldn’t surprise me if he calls you any day to tell you he’s coming and to beg you to see him as soon as he arrives.”

Although Elizabeth had laughed off this suggestion, she had paid an unusual amount of attention to the answering machine at home and her voicemail at school for almost a week. Then she had realized the foolishness of this line of reasoning. This is William Darcy we’re talking about. Why would he plan his life around what I’m doing? He’ll come and go as he pleases, and why shouldn’t he? I don’t own exclusive rights to this place.

“Elizabeth?”

She looked up and saw Bill Collins standing in the doorway to her office. He leaned slightly to one side under the weight of a bulging, battered leather satchel slung over his shoulder.

“Hi, Bill. I thought you’d be on your way to Rosings by now. Aren’t you in charge of coordinating the musicians at the party?”

“Indeed I am—Dr. de Bourgh is depending on me, and I won’t let her down. But I wanted to see if you’d changed your mind. I’d still be very pleased to give you a ride to Rosings tonight.”

“Thank you, but I’m all set. I’ll see you there.”

“I’m looking forward to it. I know you’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Bill executed an awkward bow and departed. She listened to the sound of his Rockports squeaking their way down the hall. A door creaked open and closed, and then she heard nothing but silence.

Continued exposure to Bill, both at school and in his role as the jazz group’s keyboard player, had been a trial to Elizabeth’s patience at first. He had embarked on a determined campaign of romantic overtures as soon as she arrived in San Francisco. It had taken a month of patient but persistent refusals before he had finally desisted. Since then she had occasionally shared his table at lunchtime in the conservatory’s small café, and now that she had become accustomed to his peculiar manner she found his company almost pleasant. Despite his many oddities, he was kind and well-intentioned, and his obvious admiration provided a balm to her wounded heart.

Bill also had an encyclopedic command of conservatory gossip, and he relished sharing his knowledge. While Elizabeth sometimes tired of his compulsive dissection of faculty politics and personal lives, she usually learned some interesting tidbit in the course of lunch.

What came through loudest in Bill’s discourse was his reverence for Catherine de Bourgh. Elizabeth had learned a great deal about the woman—her marriage to Sir Lewis de Bourgh, her massive home called Rosings, and her daughter Anne, who worked in Development for the conservatory “when her health permits,” as Bill had added in a mournful tone.

Glancing at the invitation again, Elizabeth snorted and shook her head. Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Well, excuuuuuse me. Technically, Elizabeth supposed that it was accurate, since Catherine’s husband had been a British knight. But could she be any more pretentious?

According to Bill’s information, Catherine had invited every noted musician and patron of the arts living west of the Rockies to tonight’s party, as well as some luminaries from the New York music scene and a few carefully-selected members of the press. Despite the short notice, most of them had apparently RSVP’d in the affirmative. The entire faculty was also invited, which explained Elizabeth’s inclusion on the guest list. Even so, she sometimes wondered if Catherine had simply forgotten to instruct her secretary, “But don’t send one to that horrid Bennet woman.”

Elizabeth didn’t know what she had done to offend Catherine, but whenever they met in a hallway or during faculty meetings, the dean seemed to go out of her way to stare at her with glacial disdain. Elizabeth had tried once to subtly question Bill about the matter, but he had merely insisted, “Oh, no, you must be mistaken! Dr. de Bourgh is so supportive of the faculty, so generous with her suggestions and advice for their improvement! I’m sure she thinks as highly of you as I do.”

She glanced at her watch and wrinkled her nose in displeasure. She needed to leave for home immediately to ensure that she’d have enough time to get ready. For reasons she hadn’t examined too closely, it was essential that she look her best tonight.

But she still had some last-minute preparations to make for her first class of the fall semester on Monday. It was a seminar in Broadway performance technique, in which the students would critique one another’s vocal performances with Elizabeth’s guidance. She would be singing at the first class in order to help them to learn the critiquing process, and she wanted to double-check the sound system in the classroom.

She set down the invitation and grabbed a CD containing the orchestral accompaniment to her song. She would play it through the sound system, testing the equipment and rehearsing at the same time. Then she would go home, wash her hair, put on her dress, and gather her courage.

William left the Dean’s office with a sigh of relief. Catherine had invited him to her office for a late lunch, and two hours later she was still pontificating nonstop on a variety of topics, few of which interested him. She had finally checked her watch and realized that she needed to get home to oversee final preparations for the party, leaving him to his own devices.

He needed to get home too, but first he wanted to explore the building. He had been looking forward to wandering the halls to get a feel for the place. Oh, let’s be honest. What I really want is to find Elizabeth’s office and see if she’s in.

Room 132. Fortunately, Catherine’s secretary kept a directory listing taped on the wall beside her desk. He followed the exit signs until he found a stairwell, and began his descent from the third floor.

He had decided to say hello to Elizabeth in private, rather than to meet for the first time in two months at Catherine’s glitzy party. Then, if things went well, they could get reacquainted during the evening. He congratulated himself on ensuring her place on the guest list. Catherine had initially planned to invite only the most senior members of the faculty, along with the top administrators. Careful not to awaken her suspicions, he had casually suggested that if she invited the entire faculty, she could ask some of the junior professors to entertain the guests.

“A string quartet on the terrace, a pianist in the library … it would be excellent public relations for the conservatory to show off some of its fine musicians, don’t you think?” Catherine had snapped at the bait, as he had anticipated.

He had considered calling Elizabeth from New York, but had decided that he could present his case more effectively in person. He had planned what he would say—in fact, he had rehearsed it several times. He muttered the words to himself as he arrived at the second-floor landing and continued downward.

“Elizabeth, please allow me to apologize for my ungentlemanly behavior that night in June. I regret it more than I can say, especially that you thought my interest in you was purely physical. If you’re willing to resume our relationship, I promise to show more restraint in the future. But if you don’t want to see me anymore, you needn’t worry that I’ll pursue you or do anything else to make you uncomfortable. I care too much about you to do that.”

The speech sounded overly formal to his critical ear. He wanted to say, “Lizzy, I need you so much. You’re always in my thoughts. Please forgive me and let me back into your life, because I’m miserable without you.” But each time he imagined himself saying that, he saw her eyeing him coldly, rejecting him again.

He opened the door and stepped into the first-floor hallway, adrenalin coursing through his veins. The room numbers gradually increased as he paced down the dim, silent hallway, and at last he found himself standing in front of Room 132. The building seemed to be deserted—Catherine had told him that Fridays were quiet on campus, especially in the summertime—and the loudest noise he heard was his heart thrumming in his ears. He stood still for a minute, inspecting the nameplate that read, “E. Bennet.” Raising a hand that suddenly began to tremble, he knocked on the door.

There was no answer. William was surprised to feel a measure of relief mixed with his disappointment. He wasn’t as well prepared to see her has he had thought.

According to his watch, it was just past four o’clock, and time to head for home. He wanted to rest for a while before dinner, which Mrs. Reynolds would be serving promptly at six. He continued down the corridor, searching for the door that led to the parking lot.

He entered an area of the building that contained classrooms. He was surprised to hear the sounds of an orchestra coming from one room. He paused and peeked through the half-open door into a large room with theater-style seating that sloped gradually down to an open area in the front. A gasp nearly escaped his throat when he saw Elizabeth off to one side, fiddling with some electronic equipment. She was dressed in faded jeans and a pink blouse, her hair in a pony tail, and she looked even more beautiful than he remembered. He tried to propel himself forward, to announce his presence, but he froze in place when she walked to the center of the floor and began to sing. As her sweet voice washed over him, he was helpless to do anything but watch her and listen to her song.

The song ended, but William remained immobile, enchanted. He had forgotten the power of her voice to touch his heart. And the message of the song! She was too brave to let life defeat her, yet the song’s wistful undertone exposed the tender heart she tried to hide from view. He knew then that he would happily spend the rest of his life protecting her, cherishing her, and bringing her all the joy she deserved, if only she would allow him to do so.

Hold on. I’m getting miles ahead of myself. The song isn’t necessarily about me, or about anybody else, for that matter. She’s an actress and she’s just playing a part. He’d gotten into trouble before by assuming that her feelings were the same as his own, and here he was, in San Francisco for less than 24 hours, already repeating his mistake.

He considered speaking to her, but he was afraid he’d babble like an idiot and ruin everything. It was just as well that she hadn’t noticed him. He would wait till tonight, when he could be calm and rational. With a sigh, he slipped away and continued his search for the exit.

Elizabeth rushed into the condo she shared with Jane, tossing her keys on a small table just inside the door. She was running very late. Roger was to pick her up at 6:00 so that they could get a quick dinner before going on to Rosings, although the tales Elizabeth had heard about Catherine’s legendary hospitality suggested that eating beforehand was unnecessary.

It had been Charlotte who had suggested that Elizabeth ask Roger Stonefield to the party. Charlotte didn’t mind lending Elizabeth her “beau,” as she euphemistically called him, for one evening, and he had readily agreed to the plan.

“Sure, why not? I can’t wait to see the house. Architectural Digest ran a feature about Rosings a couple of years ago—it sounds like quite a place.”

Elizabeth was grateful that Roger would be there with her. She didn’t want William to think she couldn’t get a date. Besides, Roger, the drummer for Golden Gate Jazz, was good company—pleasant, cheerful, and intelligent. Above all, since he was involved in a casual affair with Charlotte, she could relax with him without worrying about romantic complications. There would be plenty of stress this evening without adding more.

As she walked past the breakfast bar, she noticed the message light blinking on the answering machine. She stabbed the “Play” button.

“Liz, it’s Roger,” croaked an almost unrecognizable voice. “I’m sorry to do this at the last minute, but I can’t go with you tonight. I’ve been sick all afternoon. Either it’s something I ate, or I’ve got the flu. Trust me, you don’t want to know the details. Charlotte is coming over to mop my fevered brow, so you don’t need to worry about me. I’m sorry, sweetie—I know you were counting on me.”

Elizabeth gnawed her lip as she contemplated this bad news. She didn’t blame Roger for standing her up, of course—the poor man sounded miserable—but the prospect of arriving at William’s party alone was unattractive.

I guess I could call Bill Collins and ask him to take me to the party after all. She almost laughed at her own joke. The last thing she needed was to inadvertently re-awaken Bill’s amorous impulses. Okay, then, alone it is. No point in wringing my hands over it.

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and wrapped in a thick terrycloth robe, she had regained her confidence. She went into the living room just in time to see Jane arrive home.

“Hi, Lizzy! I’m here, ready to help Cinderella prepare for the ball.”

“How was your day?”

“Good. But aren’t you running awfully late?” Jane asked, glancing at her watch. “I thought you’d be closer to ready than this. Isn’t Roger due here in a few minutes?”

“He was, but he had to cancel. He’s sick.”

“Oh, no! Is it serious?”

“I don’t think so, but apparently he feels really awful right now. Some sort of stomach problem. Char is going over to look after him.”

“Poor Roger. I hope he’s better soon. But I’m sorry for you, too. I know you didn’t want to go there alone.”

Elizabeth nodded and sighed. “Yeah. But it looks like I’m flying solo after all.”

“Well, don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Maybe you’ll meet someone at the party. Or maybe you and William—”

Elizabeth didn’t want to hear the rest of that sentence. “I’m going to go dry my hair, and then we can get to work on it. I appreciate you coming home early to help me.”

“My pleasure,” Jane answered. “Don’t dry it all the way—it’ll be easier to style if it’s a little damp.”

Elizabeth returned to her bedroom several minutes later, her hair slightly damp as instructed, to find Jane waiting for her. Elizabeth perched on the edge of her bed, and Jane went to work, armed with a pre-heated curling iron.

“What are you doing tonight?” Elizabeth asked, after a short silence.

“I don’t know. Charlotte and I were going to get together, but she called a few minutes ago and you’re right, she’s going to be looking after Roger. Funny, I would never have imagined her as Florence Nightingale.”

“Though I suppose she’s pretty good at the bedside manner part of it,” Elizabeth said with a mischievous smile.

Jane giggled. “You’re bad. Anyway, I guess I’ll just stay home. Maybe I’ll rent a movie. Unless—”

“Unless what?”

Jane coaxed two ringlets into position. “No, never mind. It was a silly idea.”

“Well, I could use a good laugh, so tell me.”

“But it wouldn’t solve the problem of you not having a date, so, really—”

“Jane, please, just tell me.”

“Well, what if I went with you tonight? Or would it be even worse to show up with your sister than to go alone?”

Elizabeth thought for a moment. “Are you really willing to go? You’ll hardly have any time to get ready.”

“It won’t take me long. I’m sure I have something to wear—maybe the black and white dress I wore to the Bar Association dinner dance last month.”

“Oh, I love that dress! Well, if you really don’t mind, I’d love to have you go with me.”

“Of course I don’t mind. It’s worth it just to see Catherine de Bourgh and the famous Rosings. And I know this isn’t going to be easy for you, seeing William after all this time.”

“You’re the best! I’d offer to help you with your hair, but you wouldn’t want me touching it.”

Jane shrugged. “I’ll just fluff it up a little, and I think it’ll be fine.”

“You’re right,” Elizabeth answered, sighing. “Ten minutes and a little fluffing, and you’ll look perfect. Whereas I need a week of preparation and a crack team of specialists from around the globe.”

Jane laughed. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We went on one little shopping trip, and I’m spending a few minutes helping you with your hair. Which, by the way, is done. Go look in the mirror and see if you like it.”

Elizabeth jumped up and hurried into her bathroom. Jane had arranged it in an elegant twist, leaving some loose curls framing her face. “I love it!” she called out.

“Good,” Jane answered as Elizabeth returned to the bedroom. “Sit down again so I can spray it.”

Jane wielded the bottle of hair spray, reminding Elizabeth of their childhood, when for a brief time Jane had wanted to be a hairdresser. She had practiced endlessly on Elizabeth, with occasional comical results.

“Okay, that should be enough to hold it in place, but it won’t feel like helmet hair,” Jane said. “Do you need my help with anything else? ‘Cause if not, I’ll go get ready.”

“Go ahead, I’m fine.”

Elizabeth quickly put on her make-up and inspected herself in the bathroom mirror. At least I’m good with this stuff. Years of stage performing had helped her to develop skill in applying make-up, but hadn’t been of any help with her hair. That seemed to be a hopeless case.

She slipped off her robe, standing in her black underwear, and smoothed her favorite jasmine and vanilla-scented lotion onto her arms and shoulders.Then she retrieved her new dress, purchased a few days ago especially for the occasion. It was simple and modest, a floor-length black gown with a satin skirt and a velvet bodice liberally sprinkled with beads. She slipped the dress over her head and, after struggling slightly to reach, managed to zip it up. Jane had lent her a pair of black earrings cut so they sparkled in the light. She felt like Cinderella dressing for the ball—not an entirely comforting thought, considering what had happened at midnight. But it worked out in the end, thanks to the glass slipper. She hoped her black high-heeled sandals were up to the task.

The evening would probably grow cool, so Elizabeth searched for something to cover her bare arms. Her black lace shawl, a long-ago gift from her grandmother, would be perfect. She knelt on the floor in order to open her bottom dresser drawer, belatedly realizing that she was probably wrinkling her dress. Oh, well. It’ll get wrinkled in the car anyway.

As she drew the shawl out of the drawer, her eyes fell on an envelope lying beneath the shawl. Don’t. You need to stay calm and unemotional. But it was too late. She opened the envelope and withdrew its contents—a dried stem with two faded, crushed orchid blossoms attached.

She should have left the stem in the garden after dropping it out the window. But the next morning, unable to banish it from her thoughts, she had rescued it and had hidden it in this drawer. She hadn’t permitted herself to look at it … until now.

“Lizzy, are you ready?” Jane called from her bedroom across the hall.

“I’ll be right out.”

Elizabeth slipped the orchid back into its envelope and returned it to the drawer. She stood up, smoothed her skirt, and took one last look in the mirror. Then she collected her shawl and, taking a deep breath, left the bedroom.

William stood flanked by Catherine and Anne de Bourgh in the majestic front hallway of Rosings, trying to be courteous to the guests as they filed past. Massive chandeliers suspended from the vaulted ceiling flooded the room with light and set the guests’ jewels glittering. William suspected that Harry Winston and his competitors had millions of dollars in inventory on display tonight.

His head ached from the noise, and the heat in the room made it difficult to breathe. He hated receiving lines—making inane small talk with a parade of strangers, none of whose names he would remember for even five minutes. Worse yet, every guest seemed to know about his health problems. Besides the conventional expressions of concern or sympathy and some inaccurate statements about his condition, he had also been subjected to too many prying questions. He had rapped out vague answers, his much-practiced air of indifferent reserve cloaking his annoyance at this gross invasion of his privacy. Why did we have to make any public statements about the situation at all? Why didn’t we just tell people that it was none of their damn business why I was taking some time off? Now everyone’s looking at me and thinking I’m a weakling.

But he had a bigger concern at the moment. He scanned the line of guests waiting to pay their respects. Where is she? He exhaled loudly, earning him a curious glance from Anne.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly. “If you’re tired and need to sit down …”

He only had time to shake his head before the next guest stepped in front of him, her hand outstretched. “Mr. Darcy, I’m Pamela Allenby. You may remember, we met at the American Heart Association benefit in New York last winter. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I was so sorry to hear about your heart attack—”

“It wasn’t a heart attack,” he said, for perhaps the hundredth time.

“Oh? But I heard …” She recovered quickly. “Well, it’s wonderful to see you looking so well. My husband is on the board of the conservatory, and …”

Mrs. Allenby droned on, but William didn’t hear a word she said. He shook hands and exchanged greetings mechanically, as he had been doing for what seemed like hours, while he searched the room for a glimpse of Elizabeth.

And when I see her, I’d better stay calm. Catherine had not forgotten her suspicions about his interest in Elizabeth. At lunch earlier that day, Catherine had spoken with her characteristic bluntness.

“About you and Elizabeth Bennet,” she had begun. “You assured me when we made our arrangement regarding her salary that you were not involved in any sort of liaison with her. I am assuming that this is still the case.”

“I told you the truth, Catherine.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Are you or are you not involved with this young woman?”

“I’m not.” That was true … at the moment, at least. “As I pointed out at the time, I wouldn’t have wanted to send her away from New York, had we been romantically involved. I certainly didn’t have any way to predict then that I’d end up here myself.”

“You make a reasonable point on that score. And I suppose if she were an ex-lover you were trying to discard, you wouldn’t have agreed to come here. Unless, of course, you anticipated no problems in keeping her at a distance.”

“As I’ve told you before, she is not an ex-lover,” William answered in a haughty tone. “Though it would be none of your concern if she were.”

Catherine had stared at him, her face stern. “And you have no intention of becoming involved with her?”

“I don’t understand your fascination with my private life.” William glared at her. “As I said, it isn’t your concern.”

“You are a member of my faculty now, and that makes it my concern.”

“I beg your pardon? You oversee your faculty’s personal lives? Do you prohibit them from socializing with one another?”

“I don’t approve of it, though there’s very little I can do to stop it. But you are in a different situation.”

“Why?”

“Because of Anne. And I’m disturbed to have to remind you of that. As I told you when I made you this offer, Anne expects to see a great deal of you during your stay, and I am confident that you won’t disappoint her.”

As he recalled this conversation, he glanced involuntarily at Anne, who was greeting a guest in her whispery voice. She was about her mother’s height, making William feel like Gulliver standing between two Lilliputians. He had known Anne for years due to their mothers’ acquaintance, but he felt nothing for her beyond sympathy and brotherly affection.

He sometimes suspected that Anne’s feelings for him went deeper than his for her, but it was difficult to be sure. She was as unassuming and passive as her mother was presumptuous and forceful. Even in appearance, she faded into the background with her slight build, her limp blonde hair, her almost ghostly pallor, and her watery blue eyes. Her rose-colored gown, no doubt custom-made for the occasion, was unremarkable and unflattering.

Catherine had made it clear for many years that she expected him to marry Anne. She further claimed that his mother had shared this hope. While he doubted that Catherine was telling the truth about his mother, he knew that Rose would approve if he married Anne. Rose’s primary qualifications in a wife for him were good breeding and wealth, and Anne possessed both.

Not that it mattered. No one could force him to marry Anne, or even to spend time with her. She would never make him happy, especially not when—

His brain froze and his breath caught in his chest. There she stood, a short distance down the receiving line.

Elizabeth, aided by William’s height and his conspicuous position in the room, had seen him on entering the room. Since then, as they had slowly advanced towards him, she had struggled to distract herself so that she wouldn’t stare at him like a drooling fan.

Why did this have to be a black tie affair? No woman could resist that man in a tuxedo. He looked handsome as always, but she could see signs of recent ill health. He appeared to have lost weight, and his face looked gaunt and pale. Above all, his usual magnetism was dimmed, as though some lights were burned out inside of him.

He glanced in her direction, and their eyes locked. She swallowed hard, steeling herself to withstand his intense gaze. But then he looked away and spoke to a guest standing in front of him.

“Are you okay, Lizzy?” Jane asked quietly. “You seem nervous.”

“I’m just not sure what to expect.”

“It’ll be fine. Try to relax.”

Elizabeth laughed silently. Jane might as well have told her to try to hold her breath for a week or two. The line crept forward, and at last Elizabeth found herself face to face with Catherine de Bourgh.

“Good evening, Dr. de Bourgh.” Elizabeth could feel William’s eyes on her.

“Ms. Bennet.” Catherine’s voice was glacial.

“I’d like you to meet my sister, Jane Bennet.”

Catherine nodded coolly at Jane.

“You have a lovely home, Dr. de Bourgh,” Jane said.

“Thank you. I presume you both know William Darcy.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and raised her eyes to William’s expressionless face.

“Elizabeth, it’s good to see you,” he said, his voice cool.

Her heart sank. Well, I guess I have my answer. “How are you?” she asked softly.

“Well enough, I suppose,” he answered, clasping her outstretched hand. As their hands touched, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes, but then it was gone.

“You remember my sister Jane, I’m sure.” Elizabeth hadn’t intended to sound so stiff.

He frowned. “Yes, of course. Hello, Jane.”

“I’m very pleased to see you again, William,” Jane answered with a warm smile which, Elizabeth noticed, he didn’t return. Instead, he glanced around the room, still frowning.

“I’m Anne de Bourgh, Ms. Bennet.”

Elizabeth studied the tiny, pale woman standing close to William. She greeted Anne, introduced Jane, and then she and Jane walked away, accepting glasses of champagne from a passing waiter.

“He looks so thin, doesn’t he?” Elizabeth asked, looking back at William.

Jane nodded. “Well, he was seriously ill, so that’s not surprising.”

“I just hope—I mean, what if he …” Elizabeth bit her lip.

With a sympathetic smile, Jane squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “I’m sure he’s doing just fine. His doctors wouldn’t have let him come all this way otherwise.”

“I hope you’re right.” Elizabeth was chagrined to find herself unable to look away from William. He, by contrast, seemed totally absorbed by the stream of party guests passing him. She saw him glance occasionally down the line at the people waiting to pay their respects, but he showed no compulsion to look in her direction. And why should he? It’s over. When I get home, I’m throwing that orchid stem in the trash, and I’m going to stop acting like a fool.

“Let’s go explore the house,” Elizabeth suggested. She couldn’t bear to stand around being ignored by William.

They entered a large room to one side of the reception hall. It was opulently decorated, crammed with furniture and undoubtedly priceless bric-a-brac. Elizabeth found herself trying to shrink so she’d take up less space, afraid that she’d knock something over and be presented with a bill for the damage.

A buffet table was set up in one corner, covered with plates offering various gourmet delicacies. Elizabeth felt much too nervous to eat, but Jane took a small plate and selected some hors d’oeuvres.

A string quartet in the opposite corner played Haydn. Bill Collins stood nearby, eyes closed, waving his arms in a small-scale imitation of a conductor. Elizabeth grabbed Jane’s arm. “Let’s find someplace else to hang out,” she whispered urgently.

But it was too late. Bill opened his eyes and an expression of delight came over his face. “Elizabeth!” he called, much too loudly, as the other occupants of the room stared at him in open curiosity.

Elizabeth darted an apologetic glance at Jane and then arranged her face in a polite smile. “Hi, Bill,” she said, wincing as he nearly upset an ornate glass clock sitting on an end table in his haste to reach her side.

“You see—I told you you’d be the belle of the ball. You look absolutely beautiful. And, Jane, you’re a vision as well.”

Jane and Elizabeth thanked him. “You look very nice yourself,” Elizabeth added.

She was almost telling the truth. Bill’s tuxedo, though it couldn’t compare to the custom-tailored formal clothes worn by most of the guests, was conservative and fit well. His hair, arranged in its characteristic ponytail, was obviously freshly washed. And after William’s cool, disinterested greeting, Bill’s ingratiating smile and the genuine appreciation in his eyes weren’t unwelcome.

“May I take you two lovely ladies on a tour of the house?”

“Are you sure you can spare the time?” Elizabeth asked. “I know you’re very busy tonight handling things for Dr. de Bourgh, and I wouldn’t want to distract you from your responsibilities.”

“No, no, it’s absolutely fine. I need to make the rounds to check on the musicians anyway. Isn’t this the most magnificent house you’ve ever seen? Did you know that Catherine paid $15 million for it when she bought it ten years ago? And it’s worth at least twice that much today. It has five fireplaces, and the gilt-trimmed ceilings are priceless. Why, the ceiling in this drawing room alone took a month to paint. A month! Can you imagine? Oh, and what a shame it’s growing dark, or you could tour the grounds. There are two swimming pools, spas, even a waterfall. And the views! From this hilltop you can see the Golden Gate Bridge, the San Francisco skyline … it’s breathtaking.”

Bill led them back into the entrance hall, all the while pointing out features of the house. Another buffet table was set up along a wall. Elizabeth considered filling a plate and trying to force herself to eat, but then Bill inclined his head towards Catherine, William, and Anne, still receiving guests, and said, “Isn’t Anne de Bourgh lovely?”

“She seems very nice,” Jane answered.

“What a shame that her health is so uncertain. Yet in spite of her troubles, she’s such a charming young woman. Did you know that she and William Darcy are expected to marry?”

Elizabeth gasped before she could stop herself. Jane shot an anxious look at her and answered Bill. “No, I don’t think we’d ever heard that.”

“Oh, yes. What could be more fitting? A musical genius like William Darcy, married to the daughter of two musical legends such as Sir Lewis de Bourgh and, of course, Dr. de Bourgh. Both children of privileged families, with wealth and importance. They’re like royalty.”

“Are they engaged?” Jane asked.

“I don’t believe the engagement is official yet, but Dr. de Bourgh assures me that it’s nothing more than a formality. That’s why William came here, you know—to spend time with Anne in preparation for the announcement of their engagement.”

Elizabeth bit her lower lip hard, nearly drawing blood as she stared at Anne. She couldn’t imagine this lifeless creature coaxing a delighted smile or a shout of laughter from William, as she had been able to do. She also couldn’t imagine him looking at Anne with the heat of passion in his eyes. But she’s ‘at his social level.’ And I’m not, and never will be.

Bill excused himself with a frustrated exclamation and hurried towards the members of the string quartet, who had just exited the drawing room, apparently taking an unauthorized break.

Jane turned to Elizabeth. “Lizzy, it’s not necessarily true.”

“But it explains a lot, doesn’t it? I was just a last fling before he settled down. No wonder he didn’t return my calls. No wonder tonight, with his fiancée on one side of him and his future mother-in-law on the other, he acted like he barely knew me.”

“Lizzy, Bill’s just telling you what Catherine de Bourgh told him. And of course she wants William for a son-in-law. What mother wouldn’t? It doesn’t mean that he’s interested in Anne. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

Elizabeth’s eyes settled on William. He was smiling with more animation than she had seen in him so far that evening, shaking hands enthusiastically with a male guest who looked vaguely familiar. The man turned in their direction, and Elizabeth gasped. “Oh, my God.”

“What is it?” Jane’s eyes followed Elizabeth’s, and suddenly she grasped her sister’s arm.

Charles Bingley was leaving the receiving line, and was heading toward them. He didn’t seem to have noticed them yet. Jane’s grip on Elizabeth’s arm tightened as they both saw the elegant blonde by his side, her arm linked possessively with his.

“I should have realized he’d be invited,” Jane said, her voice trembling. “His family has donated money to the conservatory—that’s how he met Bill Collins.”

“I’m so sorry, Jane.”

“No, it’s all right. It’s over, so why shouldn’t he date other women? I’m dating someone too.”

“Yes, but—”

“No, Lizzy, it’s fine, really. I think we should go over and greet him.”

Jane drew Elizabeth forward. Elizabeth saw Charles start when he noticed Jane, but his expression grew warm. Then he glanced at his date, and Elizabeth saw the corners of his eyes tighten.

“Hello, Charles,” Elizabeth said.

“Elizabeth. Jane. Good evening.” Elizabeth could hear the tension in his voice.

Jane greeted Charles quietly, and then they stood staring mutely at one another. The silence grew awkward until Charles finally remembered his manners.

“I’m sorry. Jane, Elizabeth, this is Elena Foxworth. Elena, I’d like you to meet Jane and Elizabeth Bennet.”

Elena raised one perfectly-shaped eyebrow. “Hello.”

Elizabeth looked Elena over as she greeted her, noting the bored look in her eye and the disdainful curl of her bright red lips. She was perfectly groomed, from her smooth chignon to the lacquered toes peeking out of her sandals, below the hem of her stylish black silk gown. Elizabeth’s new black dress, purchased on sale at Macy’s, suddenly seemed cheap and tacky. And those diamonds she’s wearing probably cost more than I make in a year.

An uncomfortable silence fell again over the quartet. Elizabeth glanced involuntarily across the room at William, and saw him watching them with a frown. She remembered his discomfort upon seeing Jane, and suddenly understood. He must have known that Charles would be here tonight.

“Well, um, I suppose we should get some champagne. Perhaps we’ll see you later,” Charles said, his eyes on Jane.

“Enjoy your evening,” Elizabeth answered.

Elena nodded, still looking bored, and she and Charles moved away.

“Oh, Jane, I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth said. “How awful for you to see him with someone else.”

Jane was clearly fighting back tears. “That’s the woman his father always wanted him to date. He mentioned her name to me once.”

“Well, he looks miserable. I don’t think he has the slightest interest in that arrogant snob.”

“Don’t say that, Lizzy. I’m sure she’s very nice, and I’m sure he’s very fond of her.”

“Give me a break. Didn’t you see the way he looked at you? He still—”

A voice behind the sisters interrupted their conversation. “Well, Jane, I didn’t know that I’d be seeing you tonight! What an unexpected pleasure! And Elizabeth. You’re here too.” It was Caroline Bingley, a bright smile on her face.

“Caroline, I didn’t know you’d been invited,” Elizabeth said coldly.

“Well, of course I was! Catherine wanted some of William’s closest friends here to help welcome him to San Francisco, and, besides, everyone of the first social rank was invited. It never occurred to me that I’d see you here—but I suppose Catherine felt that she couldn’t exclude any of the faculty.”

Caroline’s breezy, supercilious tone maddened Elizabeth, but she swallowed the insult to avoid embarrassing Jane.

“I saw you talking to Charles and Elena just now,” Caroline continued, her tone nauseatingly sweet. “Jane, you poor dear, are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m—well, it was a bit of a surprise, but I’m fine.”

“Yes,” Caroline said with a sigh, “Charles has been seeing quite a bit of Elena lately. Father wants him to settle down with her. When I first heard that he was coming up for the party, I hoped he might invite you to accompany him—I even suggested it. You know I’ve never stopped trying to reunite you two lovebirds. But Father wanted him to bring Elena. They’re staying the weekend—Charles booked a suite at the Fairmont.”

“I suppose Charles wanted to stay the weekend so he’d have more time to visit with William,” Elizabeth suggested, hoping to distract Jane from the image of Charles spending a romantic weekend in San Francisco with Elena.

“Well, no, I don’t think that was his plan. He knows that I’m going to see to it that William is fully occupied this weekend,” Caroline cooed. She glanced over at him. “The poor darling boy, having to stand all that time in the receiving line when I know he’d rather sit down somewhere with me and relax.”

“He does look tired,” Elizabeth remarked.

“It’s nothing compared to the way he looked earlier this summer, right after he got out of the hospital. I’ve been visiting him regularly, you know. His grandmother said that my visits seemed to cheer him up, and that I was always welcome, so I’ve been flying from coast to coast all summer. What a relief to have him here at last where we can see each other whenever we like.”

“Caroline, you never mentioned all your traveling,” Jane said mildly.

“I don’t tell you all my secrets, Jane, dear,” Caroline replied, her expression coy. “William wanted us to be discreet at first. Now that he’s decided to come here to be with me, of course all of that will change.”

The last of the guests had finally passed through the receiving line, and Caroline’s eyes lit up like a bloodhound on the trail of an interesting scent when she saw that William was finally free. She quickly stripped off the matching bolero jacket she wore over her emerald green satin gown, and Elizabeth had to feign a coughing fit to cover her loud snort of laughter. Voluptuous cleavage swelled above the almost indecently low-cut neckline of the dress, in sharp contrast to Caroline’s formerly nonexistent curves.

“Excuse me, ladies. Enjoy your evening,” she said abruptly, her stiletto-heeled shoes clattering on the wood floor as she hurried in William’s direction.

She’d better slow down or she’s going to bounce her way right out of that dress. Elizabeth couldn’t hold back her laughter anymore.

“Lizzy,” Jane whispered, “did you see—”

“Yes, of course I did,” Elizabeth said gaily. “They were impossible to miss in that dress. I wonder when she had that done?”

“Well, let’s see. We had lunch about six weeks ago. It’s definitely been since then.”

William looked utterly disgusted when Caroline nearly tripped Anne de Bourgh in her haste to thread her arm through his. Caroline glued herself to his side, standing with her back arched in a peculiar manner which Elizabeth finally realized was designed to display her newly-acquired curves even more prominently. She watched William intently, curious to see his reaction, and at last she saw his gaze flick in Caroline’s intended direction. He executed a perfect double-take and then looked away again, his former annoyed expression replaced by a look of bewilderment.

Elizabeth shook her head, grinning as she watched him disengage his arm from Caroline’s. If he really came out here for a rest, I wish him luck. At any rate, it was nice to be momentarily diverted from her own frustrations involving William.

Some time later, Jane and Elizabeth stood in the drawing room, each nibbling a pastry. Bill Collins bustled past with a jaunty wave. He had, blessedly, been too busy supervising the party to join them.

“People are going to think he’s the head waiter,” Elizabeth snickered.

Jane giggled. “But he means well—he’s just doing everything he can to help Dr. de Bourgh.”

Elizabeth’s response died in her throat when she saw William approaching. The last time she had seen him, he was deep in conversation with Charles and Elena.

“Hello, Elizabeth, Jane.” It was the deep, gentle voice she knew so well.

“Hello, William,” Jane said. “It’s a lovely party.”

“Catherine pulled out all the stops,” he agreed. “But she always does.”

Elizabeth forced herself to look into his eyes. His expression was warmer now than it had been in the receiving line. “I’m glad to see you,” she said quietly.

“Would either of you like a glass of champagne?” Jane asked. “I’m going to go get some.”

Elizabeth and William refused, and Jane left them alone together.

“I’ve been concerned about you, I mean, about your health,” Elizabeth stammered. “When I stopped by the hospital, the nurse wouldn’t tell me—”

His eyes flickered. “So you did come to the hospital.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth shrugged. And left you the note that you completely ignored.

“That was kind of you.” He seemed uncomfortable, as though he were choosing every word with care.

“I wish I’d been able to say hello, but you were asleep, and I had a plane to catch. Besides, you had lots of other people there to take care of you.”

William looked at her. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but no words came out.

“How are you feeling?” Elizabeth asked.

“I get tired easily, and occasionally I get dizzy or breathless, but I’m doing well overall.”

“I’m glad. Do they expect the remaining symptoms to go away?”

“There are no guarantees. That’s why I’m taking time off, to try to reverse the damage.”

“Damage?” This sounded serious.

William looked away, shaking his head. “I’m making it sound worse than it is. Allen said that he saw you at the hospital.”

“Yes. He’s such a nice man. He offered me a ride to the airport, but I knew he had plenty to worry about already.”

“How did you know I was in the hospital?”

“I promised I wouldn’t reveal my source.”

“Please?” A hint of a twinkle lightened William’s solemn expression. “I’ve been curious.”

If you really wanted to know, you could have called me and asked. “You have to promise not to get her into trouble.”

“Her?”

“Do you promise?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, his lips curving up in a slight hint of a smile. “I promise. Who are you talking about?”

“Her name is Serena. I think she helps Mrs. Reynolds sometimes. I stopped by the house to return the orchid, and she was there. She said something about everybody being at the hospital, and at first I thought Mrs. Reynolds was sick. So of course I kept questioning her till she explained.”

“Oh. I see.” She saw the twinkle vanish. He looked somber now. “You were returning the orchid?”

“Yes, because I thought …” Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Look, William, I—I owe you an apology. I completely overreacted that night. I was rude and insulting, and you didn’t deserve it. I kind of flashed back to something that happened to me a long time ago. But I shouldn’t have behaved that way. It was—well, I’m sorry.”

“So am I. It was ungentlemanly of me to behave that way.”

“I suppose neither one of us was at our best that night.”

William nodded. “That’s for sure.”

“Anyway, with both of us working at the conservatory, it would make things easier if we could just put the past behind us, don’t you think?”

“Yes.”

“So I was thinking,” Elizabeth continued, “that maybe we could be friends?”

“Friends.” His tone was neutral, his expression unreadable.

“It would be easier than constantly trying to avoid each other, don’t you think? And we used to have some nice conversations. Like those nights on the phone when you were in Chicago?”

A hint of a smile touched his lips, but his eyes were grave. “Yes, we did.”

“So what do you think? Can we manage cordial chats in the hall? Maybe even a friendly lunch once in a while?”

William looked at her in silence, and she felt her stomach tighten. Is he going to tell me he doesn’t even want to be my friend? Then, at last, he spoke. “Elizabeth, I—”

“William! There you are. We’ve been looking for you everywhere. Please come with me at once.” It was Catherine de Bourgh, speaking in a strident voice.

William looked at Elizabeth, sudden lines creasing his forehead. “I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

“Yes. You will excuse us, Ms. Bennet,” Catherine said in a regal tone.

“It’s fine,” Elizabeth said, ignoring Catherine and giving William a smile of false cheer. “Duty calls.”

Friends. It wasn’t what she wanted. But it’s the most you can expect, especially after everything that’s happened.

Elizabeth found Jane in the main hall, conversing with an attractive man who bore a faint resemblance to Charles. It was satisfying to see the genuine Charles Bingley standing a short distance away with Elena and Caroline, completely ignoring them while he glared at Jane and her companion. Hard as she tried, Elizabeth couldn’t work up any sympathy for him. He had to live with his choices … just as she did.

William and Catherine had vanished after their abrupt departure from the drawing room. I wonder what that was about? Maybe she just didn’t like seeing her future son-in-law talking to someone as worthless as I am. I really wish I knew why she hates me—I should just ask her some day.

Bill Collins strutted importantly into the hall and raised his voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?” He repeated himself twice before the guests fell silent.

“Lady Catherine de Bourgh requests that you join her in the ballroom. Our guest of honor, Mr. Darcy, has consented to play for us, and of course you won’t want to miss his performance.”

He moved on, no doubt to make his announcement in other rooms. Amidst a buzz of excited conversation, the guests began moving in the direction Bill had indicated.

Jane ended her conversation with a cordial goodbye and turned to Elizabeth. “Ready to go to the ballroom?”

Elizabeth saw the strain on Jane’s face as she watched Charles and Elena join the crowd walking ahead of them. “Would you rather leave?”

“Of course not. I’ll stay as long as you want.”

Elizabeth looked closely at her sister. “I’m so sorry. I should have gotten you out of here ages ago.”

“No, Lizzy, I’m fine, really,” Jane protested. “I had a nice talk with Jordan.”

“He looks like Charles.”

“I suppose so,” Jane said, her brow furrowed. “I hadn’t really noticed. At any rate, he asked for my phone number. Did you get a chance to straighten things out with William?”

Elizabeth hesitated. “More or less.”

“Did you ask him why he didn’t return your calls?”

“I don’t need to ask. It’s completely obvious.”

“No, it isn’t. You shouldn’t automatically believe what Bill said about William and Anne de Bourgh.”

“I don’t see why not. It makes perfect sense.”

The hall was nearly deserted. Jane took Elizabeth’s arm. “Come on, Lizzy, I know you want to hear William play. I’ve never known you to turn down an opportunity.”

Elizabeth nodded reluctantly. “Okay, let’s go.”

They arrived in the ballroom to find it nearly full. With the guests drifting from room to room, it hadn’t been obvious how many people were in attendance at the party. Now, all assembled in one placed, they made a large and impressive group, sleek and elegant in their formal wear.

The crowd, though, was eclipsed by the room itself. It was as though a gang of intoxicated artists had been permitted to run amok with cans of gold paint. With the exception of the gleaming parquet floor, every surface was either gilded, covered with an ornate fresco, or both. Heavy brocade drapes in a rich shade of blue hung from windows that soared to dizzying heights. Huge, sparkling chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling completed the effect. The room contained yet another buffet table and a fully-stocked bar.

Elizabeth and Jane found a place to stand near a bank of French doors that opened onto a terrace. Elizabeth was disappointed that they would be unable to see William’s hands moving across the keyboard; however, he would be facing them while seated at the piano, allowing them to see the emotions playing across his features. He stood beside Catherine, scanning the faces in the room, his expression anxious. It seemed impossible that playing for this gathering would make him nervous.

Catherine raised an imperious hand to silence the crowd.

“Good evening,” she said. “I am very pleased that you’ve joined us this evening to honor William Darcy, Pacific Conservatory’s Artist in Residence for the fall semester. He has consented to play for us as a special favor to my daughter, Anne.”

The crowd applauded as William stepped to the piano, his eyes still surveying the crowd. When he looked in Elizabeth’s direction, his eyes widened and he held her gaze. At last, perhaps recalling the waiting audience, he looked away and sat at the piano. He glanced at Elizabeth again, hesitated, and then began to play.

Elizabeth made a small, choked sound when she heard the opening phrase of the piece he had chosen. It was the Intermezzo by Brahms** that he had played for her the night of their dinner date. Images and feelings from that evening flooded her mind—the warm intimacy as she sat beside him on the piano bench, the heartbreaking beauty of his music, his gentle concern for her tears, and the passion that had erupted between them. Yet now he played it for another woman.

She turned toward the French doors, searching blindly for an exit. She had to get out of the room, away from the music. At last she managed to fling a door open. She emerged from the house onto a large terrace overlooking the bay, with a startled Jane close behind her.

“Lizzy, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“No,” Elizabeth said, her voice thick with tears. “I just need to be alone for a while. Go back inside, Jane—really, I’m okay.”

“I can’t leave you like this.”

“Yes, you can. Please. I just need some quiet time alone. Please, go back inside.”

Jane took Elizabeth’s hands in hers. “Are you sure?”

Elizabeth nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I know it doesn’t look that way, but, really, I’ll be fine. I’m going to go for a walk on the grounds. I’ll see you later.”

Jane reluctantly released Elizabeth’s hands. After a long, searching look, she slipped back into the ballroom.

The terrace on which Elizabeth stood was too close to the house—she could still hear the music filtering through the doors—so she followed a pathway onto the lawn. Even through her tears, she saw that Bill had been correct in his assessment of the views from Catherine’s secluded hilltop. The San Francisco skyline twinkled in the distance as though lit by millions of fireflies.

She rambled around the grounds until she was far from the house and all was quiet. At last she found herself beside a swimming pool on the hillside. A waterfall, lit for dramatic effect, splashed into the pool. She stepped onto the cement deck and stared into the water. As the minutes passed she began to relax, soothed by the gentle splashing noise of the waterfall. A search of her evening bag yielded a tissue, which she used to dry her eyes.

Now that she was calmer, Elizabeth began to regret her idiotic behavior. She could only hope that only Jane had observed her frantic exit. Get a grip, Lizzy. Once upon a time he played that piece for you. Big deal. You can’t be falling apart every time he plays something, especially not if you have any hope of following through on the whole “being friends” bit.

Elizabeth wished that she had her shawl, but she had surrendered it to a servant on her arrival at the house. She rubbed her bare arms to warm herself, finally deciding that it was foolish to stand outside freezing. It was time to return to the house, find Jane and go home before anything else happened to unsettle either of them. And when we get home we can gorge ourselves on peanut butter ice cream, with hot fudge, of course. The only men we need tonight are Ben and Jerry.

She turned to go back inside, but stopped abruptly when she saw a tall man striding down the path. Her heart began to pound before she knew the reason—it was quicker than her brain to recognize his silhouette and the powerful grace of his movements. He stopped a short distance from her, and even though his face was hidden in the shadows, she could feel his intense gaze burning into her.

“Elizabeth,” he said, “we need to talk.”

------
*—“Times Like This” from the musical Lucky Stiff (Flaherty & Ahrens). Sung by Christiane Noll on Broadway Love Story.
**—Intermezzo in A, Opus 118, No. 2, by Johannes Brahms. Performed by Van Cliburn on My Favorite Brahms, © 1999, BMG Entertainment.

 

Copyright © 2003-2010 by the author
Last updated May 20, 2010