Dear Miss Darcy: I just met my fiancé’s family for the first time and I’m pretty sure they hate me. After the insults at dinner, the snubs in the drawing room, and the rather nasty telephone call I received from his sister, I’m having second thoughts. Is there a solution that will let us live happily ever after?
–Disgusted in Dartford
The stack of mail on her desk was the same as always: piles of envelopes, packages, and postcards from England’s favorite sites. For the first time in several days, she felt a surge of pride at the sight. Flipping over a postcard, she studied the message on the back.
I’m a big fan, Miss Darcy! Maybe you should think about giving seminars for clueless romantics here in Shropshire! The front of the card sported a thatched cottage with an herb garden straggling in front.
“Well, well, if it isn’t an appearance by the almost-too-famous Miss Darcy. Who proved to have more lives than a cat these past few weeks.”
“Good morning, Collins,” she answered, tossing the card into the pile. “And how are you today?” She favored him with a too-wide smile that showed her teeth.
“Better this morning. Having to fire people always leaves me with less stomach for coffee,” he replied. “Fortunately, a brief chat with some sod at PyroTech Media saved me the trouble.” His familiar leer disappeared behind his mug as he took a long sip.
“I suspect you would have missed me,” she answered.
“Then you suspect wrong,” he answered. “Have your piece in by five or I may change my mind again and run you off without a hint from the well-heeled crowd.”
She watched him go, her mouth twisting into a wry smile at the sight of his oily fingers brushing against Darlene the fashion editor’s back. As she reached for her letter opener, she noticed an unmarked envelope propped against her keyboard.
“What’s this?” She popped open the seal, curious.
“That came for you this morning,” Henry answered, as he sorted mail into piles on the art critic’s desk. “Delivered by some bloke in a messenger’s uniform.”
Drawing a piece of paper from inside, she unfolded a piece of hotel stationery. “Dear Miss Darcy. Your presence is requested at the Delaforte Hotel at two o’ clock with regards to your ‘Cottingley’ columns, if you will be so good as to come. Please announce yourself at the desk as having an appointment with the Surrey Suite.”
The Surrey Suite? Who could possibly be planning to meet her at such a formal establishment? Surely it wasn’t one of Stanley’s ex-girlfriends renting a business suite just to discuss the details of their breakup.
Refolding the sheet, she considered her options. If it was one of Stanley’s former girlfriends, she would make her excuses and leave. Otherwise ...
Otherwise, to ignore it would leave her too curious. Perhaps Eddie was right–her current karma was too good of an opportunity to waste.
*****
The desk clerk at the Delaforte instructed an employee to show Miss Darcy to the suite. She followed him down a long hallway lined in red carpet like a Hollywood runway, either side lined with decorative palms and small oil portraits.
At the end was a double mahogany door, which he opened on the right side. A spacious room with long drapes of gauze and furniture upholstered in damask. In the middle was a short conference table surrounded by chairs.
Leaning against the end of this table was Pauline Crane.
“We meet again, Miss Darcy,” she said. “Have a seat.” She swiveled one of the chairs from beneath the table.
“No, thank you.” Olivia remained rooted just inside the doorway. Her companion shrugged her shoulders.
“Suit yourself,” she answered. Taking a seat on the sofa, she drew a silver cigarette case from the pocket of a tailored navy blazer. “Mind if I smoke?” She popped it open and withdrew one.
“Not at all,” Miss Darcy replied. “Do you mind if I ask why you wanted to see me?”
Pauline drew a long breath from the cigarette, then exhaled. “Because my brother is a fool, Miss Darcy,” she said. “And very close to damaging his reputation by letting matters go too far.”
“I really have no idea what you’re talking about,” Olivia answered. “Your brother seems perfectly capable of defending himself in all our dealings.”
“Then why was my brother appearing in public with you?” she asked. “Why was he dining with you at a restaurant where all his associates could draw conclusions about his interest in you?”
A strange tingling sensation passed through Olivia’s body. “Are you implying your brother had a romantic interest in me?” She forced herself to laugh in reply. "Surely not, given his personal contempt for myself and my work."
“How little you know my brother,” Pauline answered. “He forms attachments to the strangest assortment of women. Even in his university years he was infatuated with shop girls and librarians.” She sighed as she blew another trail of smoke. "Even the ones who seemed lacking in ... well, personal charms."
Olivia’s cheeks crimsoned, then paled with anger. “I'm sure you consider me to be your brother’s inferior,” she said. “No wealth or title in my possession–”
She trailed off, as Pauline eyed her coldly. “My dear Miss Darcy, you are a columnist in the lowest section of a paper preferred by ignorant readers," she said. “Exactly the sort of girl who would intrigue someone like my brother, ready to fall prey to the first woman who doesn’t run away from his bungling errors. We were far more fortunate when he was preoccupied with those mindless chits he dragged all over town.”
Reaching for the ash tray, she stubbed her cigarette in the middle. “I thought we were rid of the problem when we sent the solicitor’s letter to your paper asking for the removal of your column.”
Olivia's jaw dropped open at the sound of these words.
“You sent the letter? The one demanding that Collins fire me?”
“That was your editor's discretion, of course,” Pauline replied. “It was nothing against you; it was for Chris’s own good. To protect his reputation, something he seemed to have no intention of doing himself. Of course, he ended up interfering in the whole affair. I only hope the aftermath has brought him to his senses for good.”
The urge to sit down was taking hold of Miss Darcy’s legs. She licked her lips, but her mouth had gone dry momentarily.
Pauline rose from the sofa and moved to the conference table again. “Since we can’t seem to defeat you in your field, Miss Darcy, we’re prepared to influence you in other ways.” She unfolded a sheet of paper from inside a leather planner.
“A contract with Crown Daily,” she explained. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it. The online site’s quite the rage with our youngest demographic. There’s a position open in the romance and dating section. The salary is quite impressive, the hours light enough that you can keep your position at the Post as well, if you insist.”
“In return for what?” Miss Darcy asked, after a moment of quiet.
“For retracting your column, of course,” Pauline answered. “Claiming it was a publicity stunt or such. And for keeping your distance from my brother, on both a personal and professional basis. To spare him unpleasant reminders.”
She placed a pen beside the papers. “Do we have a deal, Miss Darcy?”
“It’s very generous of you,” Olivia answered. A faint smile was beginning to form around the edges of her mouth. “A very tempting offer–” She paused momentarily, watching Pauline’s expression grow brighter as she listened.
"–for someone who was less principled in their career, that is." Olivia concluded. "But I’m afraid that even unsuitable girls often possess a sense of pride.”
Pauline’s expression shifted from triumph to dismay. "Miss Darcy–" she began. But Olivia's fingers were already turning the doorknob.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Crane,” she said, turning away without bothering to hear the rest. The reflection in a gilded wall mirror on the neighboring wall afforded her a glimpse of Pauline’s outraged face before the door closed.
The rush of anger and triumph was enough to carry her through the lobby and outside the hotel with her head high and shoulders straight. Thoughts of Pauline’s insults and bribery, however, were fast being driven away by the persistent recollection of Stanley’s role in the whole matter.
Surely it had all been an act. A farce to maintain his playboy image. Nothing more, or else you would have known it.
But how would she? She, who had never been in love in her whole life. She hadn’t achieved a second date since she was at university.
Tears stung her eyes as she forced herself to keep walking. She pulled her cell phone from her bag, uncertain as to why she was reaching for it in the first place. To call Stanley, perhaps.
And say what–thanks again for rescuing me from your family’s evildoing? For not being the rascal I believed you were when I scolded you in public? For not caring that I failed to thank you for slugging Hartshall Elliot for me?
She wanted to say something to him, anything, considering the last time they met she had been without the ability to speak.
It buzzed to life in her hand, startling her. Snapping it open, she answered, “Olivia here.”
“Everything all right?” she heard Mariah’s voice. “Henry saw the note on your desk and some of us got a bit concerned here that you got snatched up by some of Stanley’s bitter exes.”
“No,” Olivia tried to sound lighthearted. “No exes in the vicinity. Just a rather formal apology from the family with regards to yesterday.” She heard the sound of Mariah’s voice, slightly muffled as she talked to someone else. Undoubtedly her hand was pressed over the receiver as she passed the word along.
“Tell Collins I’ll email my column by five,” she shouted, to get Mariah’s attention.
“Aren’t you coming back?” Mariah asked.
“Not today,” Miss Darcy replied. “I have something important first. See you and Eddie later?”
She hung up before any more questions arose. Phone in hand, she debated dialing another number. A stupid idea, given the stiff tones with which he bid her goodnight at their last meeting.
She stuffed the phone in her purse and snapped it closed.
On the train back, she felt the first tear roll down her cheek, followed by another almost immediately afterwards. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed, her fingers digging for a handkerchief in her handbag. She felt ashamed of herself as a few passengers craned their necks to look at her, unable to stop the tide of emotion that washed over her now that the adrenaline was gone.
It had been true all along. Her feelings, the moment under the stone archway, the words he spoke at the restaurant. A look from him, a touch, had a profound effect that she had been unable to accept until now. His voice had a power over her that had never existed before.
How could she have failed to admit it to herself? They shared the same stubborn pride, the same keen ambition. Even, apparently, the same hopeless, helpless failure in romantic endeavors. Their arguments were proof of the spark, the conflict driving them both into corners of safety that avoided the connection.
Wiping her eyes, she drew a deep breath. Thinking about it would only make it worse for herself. Undoubtedly any attraction was already passing for Christopher, wherever he was right now. His tone when he bid her farewell was proof enough that his feelings had begun to cool in the aftermath of his offer.
Pulling her compact from her purse, she inspected her face in its mirror. A swollen red face and smeared eyeliner occupied its frame. Daubing at it with her handkerchief was useless at this point.
She closed her eyes, wishing she really possessed the answer. What advice would she give someone trapped in this scenario? No doubt to seek out new things, to forge a new connection. Maybe try a dating service, for instance. Advice they would accept as credible, since the modern-day descendent of Pride and Prejudice held the secret to happy endings, right?
But it was Christopher who was right. Their relationship was meant for tragedy.