“Sure,” said Jim with a hint of pessimism in his voice. “I’m sure they are.”
Are they not? Darcy wondered. And if not, is it possible that—
No. She interrupted this dangerous train of thought. You’re engaged now. Luke is a thing of the past. A brief, thoughtless fling, and nothing more.
“Well, that’s really none of our business,” Carl decided. “It’s neither here nor there. Obviously I wish them the best of luck.”
“Let’s go tell my parents!” Darcy grabbed his hand, trying to change the mood back to a happy one, but that happy feeling was fleeing fast. Why did I have to come back to Pemberley? She cursed the circumstances, unable to help but feel grim about her decision. She had been fine in New York. Lonely, sure, but fine. But then she’d come home and had been reminded of Luke and that crazy way he made her feel, that way nobody else had ever made her feel before, and next thing she knew she had totally lost her cool.
“That’s a great idea. Are you sure you’re ready to do that?”
“Oh, definitely,” said Darcy, looking forward to the looks on her parents’ faces when she told them. She became painfully aware that she had said yes for all the wrong reasons. She had said yes partially to make her father happy with her again, and partially to run away from whatever the hell had just gone on with Luke. She felt nauseated then, knowing there was no way to undo this.
“Then let’s do it,” said Carl, turning to Bingley and Jim. “We’ll see you guys later!”
“See you later!” They said in unison.
“See you later,” said Darcy. Just before she turned away she saw Jim’s face and, for the first time, realized how much he looked like Luke. His prominent though elegantly crafted jawline and piercingly blue eyes set back in their sockets gave off an air of wisdom. It was a face, she worried, that would be haunting her for years to come.
13
“Oh my God,” said Mr. Fitzwilliam. “I think I might faint. I have to sit down.”
“Wow, honey,” said Mrs. Fitzwilliam, slightly less enthused. “Congratulations!”
Darcy and Carl had just told Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam the news, and both were now having their respective reactions.
“Is this really happening?” asked Mr. Fitzwilliam, sitting down in a brown leather armchair. “Because if it’s really happening, well then”—he shook his head—“I’m too pleased for words.”
“It’s really happening,” said Carl. “She said yes!”
Darcy let him drape his arm around her shoulder, which, in front of her parents, she would never let anyone else do. She was warmed by her father’s reaction, not realizing until that moment just how much she had always wanted him to approve of her life and her decisions. As a kid she had been close with him. He taught her almost everything she knew, how to swim and hunt and read and tell time. She had missed that feeling of closeness with him but had suppressed these feelings until now, and now that she was standing here, seeing how happy she had made him, the feelings came bubbling up, practically bringing tears to her eyes.
“Well,” said Mrs. Fitzwilliam, “we should go out to celebrate, don’t you think? How about drinks at Chateau Celeste?”
“Sounds marvelous,” said Mr. Fitzwilliam. “Darcy, how ’bout it?”
“I’m game,” she said.
“I can’t wait to hear everything,” said Mr. Fitzwilliam, on the verge of giddiness. “How you proposed, how you planned it, and of course your plans for the wedding.”
“I’m thinking a summer wedding, sir,” said Carl, which was the first Darcy had heard of this.
“Please,” said Mr. Fitzwilliam, “call me Dad.”
* * *
Call me Dad. The words echoed in Darcy’s mind as they sat around the table at Chateau Celeste. Everyone seemed deep in thought about the items on the menu, but Darcy couldn’t make herself focus. The first course and the second course and the main course and the side dishes and the desserts and the spirits and the prix fixe all blended together, jumbled in her head, so that she couldn’t differentiate between the roasted figs and the wild mushroom risotto and the garlic fingerling potatoes and the traditional free-range tom turkey and the caramelized apple strudel. It could have all been one dish and it wouldn’t have made a difference to her. She would barely be able to eat anyway, she knew, with the storm of knots and butterflies brewing in the pit of her stomach.
“The chicken Milanese looks good,” said Mr. Fitzwilliam, looking up from the menu. “Should I order one for each of us?”
“Mm, no,” said Mrs. Fitzwilliam, “I don’t think so. I think I’ll have the duck confit salad and then the hanger steak.”
“I haven’t decided yet,” mumbled Darcy, not looking up from the blurring words on the ivory page.
“You can’t have the steak, darling,” said Mr. Fitzwilliam. “You just had a heart attack … you wouldn’t think I’d have to remind you so many times.”
Mrs. Fitzwilliam stuck her tongue out playfully at her husband.
“The chicken Milanese sounds great,” said Carl encouragingly. “I myself would love to try it.”
“At least one person is on my side.” Mr. Fitzwilliam winked at Darcy. Gross, thought Darcy. If you like him so much, why don’t you marry him?
The waiter came by and Darcy managed to get out that she’d like to order the risotto and a glass of pinot grigio. She didn’t really want either, but both had stood out clearly on the menu and so she had committed to them.
“Okay,” said Mr. Fitzwilliam, folding his hands on the table. “So you’re thinking a summer wedding. I’d suggest June; it’s perfect weather here in Pemberley. July and August just get too hot.”
“What if we had it in New York?” asked Darcy.
“New York?” Her father laughed, confused. “Why would you do that?”
Carl blinked, quietly curious. Aside from ordering food, it was the first thing Darcy had said since they’d arrived.
“Oh,” said Darcy, unprepared, “I just sort of always imagined that one day I’d get married at the Plaza. Or at the Boathouse in Central Park.”
“Hmm,” said Carl. “Interesting.”
“Hmm,” said her dad. “I hadn’t thought of that as an option. I just assumed we would have it in Pemberley so that everyone we know could attend. But I could easily pull some strings to book the Plaza for this summer.”
Everyone we know. For this summer. Hearing these words made Darcy begin to feel a little light-headed. The scope and the nearness of this wedding were overwhelming. Especially considering how spontaneous and completely unexpected the engagement had been.
“Well,” said Darcy, clearing her throat, “we still have some time to figure that out.”
“Not really,” said Mr. Fitzwilliam. “Wedding venues book up fast. We should probably lock down a location by this time next week. I’ll connect you with Brindy. She plans everybody’s weddings these days. Mitch Abernathy said she was an absolute miracle worker during Samantha’s wedding. You remember Samantha, from summer camp?”
“Yes,” said Darcy, her voice getting stuck in her throat, quiet as a mouse.
The waiter came back with their drinks, placing the glass of white wine in front of Darcy. She picked it up and took a big gulp.
“I was thirsty,” she said, when she realized everyone was staring at her.
“Darcy, when are you planning on heading back to New York?” asked Carl.
“Well, I … I hadn’t really thought about it, actually.”
“I was thinking maybe you could get back soon and start looking at venues. Take a look at the Plaza and the Boathouse and see which you like better.”
“Mom…” Darcy turned toward Mrs. Fitzwilliam. “Are you well enough for me to go home? I don’t want to leave until you’re one hundred percent definitely going to be fine.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” said Mrs. Fitzwilliam. “It was so amazingly sweet of you to come see me in the first place.”
“Are you crazy? You
had a heart attack. What kind of daughter would I be if I hadn’t come to see you?”
“Well, I’m just very happy that you did.”
“Me too,” said Carl. “It led you back to me. It’s almost like it was meant to be.”
Darcy couldn’t help but glare at him from across the table. How typical of him, to make her mom’s heart attack somehow about him.
“Okay then.” Darcy forced a smiled. “I’ll go back tomorrow. I’ve been away from work long enough as it is.”
“Perfect,” said Mr. Fitzwilliam. “I’ll have my assistant put you in touch with Brindy, and also Monty Bismarck—he’s my connection at the Plaza.”
“Great.” Darcy stared into her now more than half-empty wineglass. She took out her phone and started looking up the earliest flights out of Pemberley.
14
“I’m surprised your parents were okay with me spending the night,” said Carl, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt. They were alone in Darcy’s childhood bedroom, sitting on the foot of the bed. She had booked a flight for ten the next morning and had invited Carl to be with her on her last night in Pemberley. It seemed like the polite thing to do, considering he was her fiancé now.
“Please,” said Darcy. “They’ve been waiting for this for eight years. At least my dad has.”
“Still, I wouldn’t think your dad would want me sleeping in our bed out of wedlock.”
“He can be surprisingly liberal from time to time,” she said. “And besides, he’s basically in love with you. In a noncreepy way, I mean.”
“Well, that’s all fine and good,” said Carl, inching closer to her on the bed. “But all I really care about is if you’re in love with me.”
Dammit, thought Darcy. He’s drawn attention to the elephant in the room.
She responded by kissing him on the mouth and hastily unbuttoning the rest of the buttons on his starched Ralph Lauren dress shirt. It was better than having to talk about whether she was in love with him, a conversation that would no doubt be awkward, considering not even she knew the answer. He kissed her back, running his hands through her hair.
“Ouch,” Darcy said, reacting to a sharp pain on her scalp.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing … just, my hair got stuck on your finger and you pulled and it was just, like, bad for a second, but it’s fine now.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, pausing to study her face, as if waiting for a cue telling him what to do next.
“You can keep kissing me,” she said.
“Okay,” he sighed, relieved, and went back to kissing her, this time with his hands on her shoulders for safe measure.
From their very first kiss until now, his kissing technique had evolved in no way whatsoever. It had always been good, sure, but not incredible. It was nice, practiced, wholesome, almost regulated. He had reliable rhythm and predictable moves. Rhythm and moves that she enjoyed but that lacked the excitement she longed for. The excitement she got when she was kissing Luke.
No, she interrupted herself, don’t even think about going there.
To keep herself from thinking about Luke, she continued pulling at Carl’s clothes until they were all the way off. Impatiently, she let him undress her. He tried to pull her shirt up over her head, but it snagged on one of her earrings.
“Wait, wait,” he said. “I’ll get it.” He furrowed his brow, examining the place where the earring and shirt fabric intertwined, and got to work untangling them.
“Forget it,” she said. “I’ll just take my earring out.” She slid the gold post out of the hole in her ear and threw the earring-shirt tangle onto the bed. He reached around her ribs to unhook her bra but Darcy didn’t want to wait, so she pushed his hands away and did it herself. It’s not that she was dying to get into bed with Carl but that every second it was getting harder and harder to put Luke out of her mind, and she felt compelled to rush the action forward, as if the speed might leave Luke and his memory in the dust. But she soon found that she was wrong. Nothing she did could successfully block out the thought of Luke, and she fell asleep next to her fiancé, wondering how on earth she had gotten herself into this mess.
* * *
When the sun rose, Darcy got dressed quietly, careful not to wake Carl, who was sleeping deeply, with a soft smile on his lips. Lucky, naive jerk, she thought, finding that she envied him. He knew what he wanted and he had gotten it. Meanwhile, Darcy had no idea what she really wanted or what she should do about it, and she worried that she never would. And if I never figure out what I want, I’ll never be able to even begin going about getting it, she thought, and then will I just be trapped in a limbo of dissatisfaction for the rest of my life?
For a second, the fear paralyzed her, but then Carl’s arm twitched and he rolled over, and the fear that he’d wake up before she could get out eclipsed the first fear. She put on her peacoat and took a pen and paper from her vanity station.
Carl,
By the time you read this I’ll be on the plane to New York. I look forward to seeing you there soon. Will keep you posted about the Plaza.
XO, Darcy
She lugged her suitcase down the elegantly curved staircase and found Edward waiting for her in the foyer. He looked bright and cheery as always.
“To the airport, then?” He smiled.
“Yes, please.” Darcy nodded, feeling the rims of her eyes stinging with exhaustion.
“Are you all right?” Edward asked, taking her suitcase. “You seem…”
“I had a hard time sleeping,” she said, following him out the front door and onto the cobblestone driveway. “It’s been a long week.”
“Looking forward to being back in the Big Apple?”
“More than you know.” She smiled. “Hey, you should come visit me there sometime.”
“Me?” He laughed, opening the black car’s back door for her. “What would I do in New York City?”
“Lots of stuff,” she said. “You’d love it.”
“Maybe one day,” he said, humoring her, then shut the door and got into his seat.
“Partition open or closed?” he asked.
“Open,” she said. “I barely got to see you this whole trip.”
“Open it is, then,” he said, seemingly pleased.
“You know,” she began, curious to see how he’d react, “I might be getting married in New York.”
At first he said nothing, but from the look in his eyes, which she could see in the rearview mirror, he might as well have slammed on the brakes. Edward was not a brake-slamming type of man, and so instead he said calmly, “Who’s the lucky man?”
“Carl Donovan,” she said. “You’ve met him.”
“A very nice young man.” Edward nodded.
“Do you think I should do it?”
“Do what?”
“Marry him.”
“You’re asking me if you should marry Carl Donovan?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve already said yes, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but … Edward, I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?” he asked. “Why wouldn’t you marry him?”
“Because I’m not…” She paused. “I’m not in love with him.” She heard the words come out of her mouth and was shocked by them. She’d never said this out loud, and certainly wasn’t expecting to say it for the first time to Edward.
“Oh dear.” Edward was clearly not expecting this either.
“What? If I don’t love him, I shouldn’t marry him?”
“I can see how you’d think I might say that.” He smiled sadly. “But the truth is there are reasons to marry someone even if you’re not in love with them. There are financial reasons, though I hardly think that’s the case here; there are familial obligations; there are biological purposes—let’s say you’re ready to start a family, for example. Some people are romantic types, you know? They want to hold out for that one special person that they know is out there, but others are more practica
l. Neither is right or wrong; it’s just a matter of who you are and what you want for yourself. Do you want to spend the rest of your life with someone who you get along with perfectly well but you’re not in love with, or would you rather be alone until the love of your life shows up? There’s pros and cons to both, my dear.”
She felt her heartbeat rise with an odd combination of panic and excitement.
“What if the love of your life is already in your life?” she blurted.
“Uh, well…” Edward was no doubt confused. “Then you should be with that person. Life is short. Why would you not be with someone you’re in love with?”
“Edward, we have to make a quick stop.”
“Oh?”
“It’s on the way. It won’t take long, I promise.”
Edward chuckled.
“It can take as long as you want,” he reminded her. “I just don’t want you to miss your flight.”
“If I do,” she said, “it will be worth it.
* * *
As soon as they pulled up at the Bennet house, Darcy flung her door open.
“I’ll be back soon,” she told Edward, though in truth she had no plan and no idea how this was all about to play out. The sky was gray and there was a light drizzle that dampened her hair as she made her way to the front door.
What are you doing? a sharp voice inside her head hissed at her, as she raised her finger to the doorbell. I’m doing what I have to do, she hissed back at it, and rang the doorbell. Just as she did so, the rain picked up speed and started falling heavily.
The door opened and there was Jim, wearing a festively green cardigan.
“Darcy? What are you doing here? It’s pouring!”
“It wasn’t a second ago,” she said, her teeth starting to chatter.
“Come in, come in,” he said, pulling her inside.
The Bennet house smelled of gingerbread and burning wood. It was a comforting smell that made her feel at home, although her family home smelled nothing like it. The Fitzwilliam home smelled chronically clean, like Clorox and artificial pine needles.