Mr. Darcy's Kiss Page 12

  Dear Elizabeth,

  I wanted to apologize and explain myself. I knew that I would only hurt you by coming to your home, so I am sending you this letter. It’s what I should have done in the first place.

  My breath caught. I thought about throwing it directly in the trash. I didn’t want to hear from him. Yet, I couldn’t let go of the paper. I had to read it.

  I wanted to address the issues that we spoke of. I do not wish you to think ill of me and would very much like to explain myself.

  The first matter I’d like to clarify is George Wickham.

  My father loved George as a son. George even took my father’s last name. When my father died, he left George a generous inheritance that I never disputed. I often thought that he deserved more. My father left George a trust fund to be paid out over the course of the next fifty years. He would never have to work. My father did this because George had stated on numerous occasions that he did not wish to work in the airline business.

  About a year after my father’s death, George had the payment changed to a lump sum. I did not fight this, despite it being against my father’s wishes. George proceeded to lose the entirety of his money in two years. He then asked me for more, which I refused.

  Upon my refusal, he attempted to steal my sister’s trust fund using a loophole in the language for its disbursement. Luckily, my lawyers were able to prevent this and my sister retained full rights to her inheritance. In doing this though, he betrayed my entire family.

  He has since changed his name back to his mother’s maiden name to distance himself from me.

  As for your sister, I believed I was doing the right thing. Charles had a previous relationship that nearly destroyed his company when his wife attempted to take over half. Luckily, an infidelity clause spared Charles from losing everything he has worked so hard to build.

  I am now very protective of him.

  For misjudging your sister, I am most sorry. Your sister did not deserve to be judged based on another’s mistakes.

  I hope that this clarifies our conversation from the other day. As I said before, I never meant to hurt you, and for that, I apologize.

  Yours,

  William Darcy

  My hands shook so hard I could barely read the last few sentences of his letter. I looked inside the envelope to see he had included several newspaper articles. One was a picture of Jane at Lux. Everyone else was leaning in, and given the angle of the picture, it looked like she was trying to lean away from Charles.

  Without knowing Jane and her dislike of photographs, I could understand how someone might think she didn’t like him. The picture certainly gave that impression.

  The next newspaper article was from a few years ago. A picture of Wickham pushing away the camera dominated the page with the headline, “George Darcy Filing For Bankruptcy.” His hair was longer, but it was definitely the man we knew as Wickham.

  Everything Mr. Darcy had said was true.

  I walked like a zombie out of the elevator and to the door of our apartment. My hands moved the keys, but my mind was on the letter.

  What was I going to do?

  I couldn’t call and apologize. I’d made too much of a show of telling him how terrible he was. I was so self-righteous in the video. Now I looked like a fool. I couldn’t bring myself to admit publicly just how wrong I had been.

  I’d burned the bridge between the two of us and then set off some explosives just to make sure it was impassible. If I were Mr. Darcy, I certainly wouldn’t forgive me.

  “Lizzie!” Lydia shouted as I walked in the door. “I got a gig!”

  She jumped up and ran over to me, excitement sparkling in her brown eyes. I set my purse down near the door and simply nodded. I wanted to be happy for her, but I just couldn’t seem to make my face show it.

  Luckily, Lydia didn’t seem to notice. “It’s just standing in front of another car dealership and looking pretty.”

  “That’s great,” I mumbled.

  “The only bad part is that I’m not getting paid,” she told me with a shrug. “Well, I mean, I am. It’s just that Wickham is using the money to get me more jobs. I told him that was fine since I’m loaded.”

  “That’s nice,” I replied, shuffling toward my room. I just wanted to lay down. I didn’t want to deal with Lydia’s issues today. I just couldn’t. Not after the letter.

  “See, Jane?” Lydia stuck her tongue out at Jane in the kitchen. “She doesn’t care. It’s fine.”

  “I still say it isn’t, Lydia,” Jane replied. She frowned at me, waiting for me to jump in and agree with her. I was just two steps from my bedroom door, so I didn’t say a word. I just opened it and went inside.

  I could hear the two of them yelling at one another as I shut myself in my room. Their words just jumbled and were noise in my head as I sagged against my door and slowly fell to the floor. My hands still gripped the letter and newspaper clippings like they were the only real thing left in the world.

  I didn’t know what to do.

  A sob escaped me followed by hot tears that I couldn’t explain.

  Chapter 15

  “Holy crap.” Jane stared at me with big eyes and an open mouth. “Wickham seemed so nice.”

  “I know,” I replied, setting down my breakfast bowl of ice cream on the counter to add a little more chocolate sauce. I needed chocolate after last night.

  Lydia was off at her photo-shoot this morning, so I’d told Jane about the letter. I only told her the part about Wickham, though. Telling her that she’d lost the love of her life because Mr. Darcy thought she was a gold-digger wasn’t going to do her any good.

  Jane shook her head before going back to scrubbing the oven. Jane claimed she was over Charles, but the fact that our kitchen was the cleanest it had ever been since the 1970’s said otherwise. He wasn’t answering her calls or messages. She said it wasn’t a big deal, but I didn’t believe her. She’d even gotten a toothbrush out to clean the grout between the kitchen tiles. She’d already done it to the bathroom. Twice.

  If I told her that this was all because of Mr. Darcy’s misunderstanding, she’d have to go on another cleaning bender. And, in this little apartment, we were running out of things to clean.

  “I checked out Mr. Darcy’s story about him,” I said. I pulled out my phone and handed the search results I’d found to Jane.

  “Holy crap,” she repeated, looking through the images.

  Everything about Wickham that Mr. Darcy said was true. Searching for George Darcy brought up hundreds of images of him partying and living it up. He’d apparently even capsized a million dollar yacht in Belize.

  Then came the pictures and articles of him declaring bankruptcy. The pictures went from fun and expensive to sad and poor quicker than I had expected. He had inherited a lot of money.

  “It’s actually kind of sad,” Jane remarked, handing me back my phone. She pushed some hair out of her face before returning to the oven with her scrub brush.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “But what do I tell Lydia?”

  “What can you tell her?” Jane asked, leaning thoughtfully against the oven door. “Even if you give her the letter and all the evidence, she won’t let him go. He’s her agent. She’s signed contracts, and honestly, he’s the only thing she talks about.”

  “I know,” I replied, taking a big spoonful of chocolate sauce. “It’ll destroy her.”

  Jane nodded, and I sighed.

  “At least she doesn’t have much money,” I said after a moment. “She keeps telling him she does, but he’ll figure out the truth sooner or later. She can’t be of much use to him.”

  “Yeah,” Jane agreed. “And don’t worry, I’m not lending her any more money. Not if it’s just going to go to that scumbag.”

  “Wow, Jane,” I said impressed. “I rarely hear you say anything negative about anyone.”

  She shrugged. “You just haven’t heard what I say about you when you aren’t around.” She looked up and winked at me with a laugh
.

  I rolled my eyes at her and chuckled. I took another bite of ice cream and a bigger bite of chocolate.

  “We’ll tell her after New Years,” I said, thinking out loud. “He won’t hurt her, and there’s not much he can do to her. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? If he thinks she has money, he’ll be good to her.”

  “New Years is good,” Jane agreed, nodding. Her blonde ponytail bounced up and down with the motion. “New Years will be a fresh start for all of us.”

  My heart ached a little at the way she said it. Charles had hurt her, and it was Mr. Darcy’s fault, though done with the best intentions. The whole situation made me sad, so I ate some more ice cream and chocolate.

  Jane went back to cleaning the oven, and I looked over the images and articles I’d found on Wickham. I was scrolling down when an article caught my eye. It had caught the name Georgiana Darcy up in my search for George Darcy. I only hesitated a second before clicking on her name.

  Georgiana was Mr. Darcy’s younger sister. I remembered him saying something about her, but now I knew her name. She was much younger than I expected, nearly half the age of her older brother. I could see why he would be protective of his teenage sister.

  I clicked further down to find a picture of Mr. Darcy and Georgiana standing in front of a St. George’s Hospital when they opened up a new wing last year. She was so thin and frail next to him, yet so many of their facial features were shared.

  I read further. Mr. Darcy had donated the entire wing. It was to be a cancer center with a specialty in leukemia. I looked back at the picture of the thin, frail girl that smiled like Mr. Darcy and felt my stomach twist.

  “What’s wrong?” Jane asked, looking up at me. “You gasped.”

  “Mr. Darcy’s little sister had leukemia,” I replied, reading the article as quickly as possible. The more I read, the more I knew I had pegged him wrong. “He not only donated a whole hospital wing to St. George’s, but he also added a new surgery center, and he runs a charity for kids who can’t afford their cancer treatments.”

  “That sounds like a lot of money,” Jane replied.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. I closed my eyes and banged my head on the counter twice before looking over at her. “I called him a selfish pig.”

  “Ouch,” Jane winced. “You okay?”

  “Am I okay that I called one of the leading cancer philanthropists a selfish pig?” I shrugged and then banged my head again. “I’m an idiot.”

  “We’re all idiots in love,” Jane replied softly. My head went straight up, and I looked straight at her.

  “What?”

  “Oh, not you,” Jane clarified shaking her head. “The expression just popped into my head. I was thinking about selfish pigs. I know you slept with him, but that doesn’t mean love. That’s lust. Apparently, lots of men confuse the two.”

  I raised my eyebrows, waiting for her to admit that she was thinking about Charles and how he was a selfish pig for letting her go. She just looked at me and shrugged.

  “So what do I do?” I asked her. “I’m in the wrong here.”

  Jane thought for a moment. “Do you plan on spending time with him?” she asked. “Do you want to sleep with him again?”

  “God, no,” I answered a little too quickly. My body did, but I knew it wasn’t going to happen. This time, Jane raised her eyebrows at me. “I mean, it was good, but, I don’t like him or anything. Lust, remember?”

  “Then just stay out of his way,” Jane advised. “If you do see him, apologize then. But, you two don’t exactly run in the same social circles, so I don’t see that happening.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, staring into my ice cream. “I’m beneath him.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say that,” Jane replied firmly. “Money isn’t everything.”

  “You should tell him that,” I told her. I took a bite of ice cream.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Jane asked. “You seem really upset over this, especially if he doesn’t mean anything to you.”

  “He doesn’t,” I assured her. I hated that my stomach twisted as I said it. “Why would I? He’s a spoiled, arrogant little rich boy.”

  “You forgot hoity-toity and Richy McRich pants,” Jane replied dryly. “I think those are the words you used last time.”

  “And British,” I added. “He’s so British.”

  Jane chuckled and stood up to hug me. She smelled like oven cleaner. “You’ll be fine.”

  “You’re right,” I told her after she squeezed me. “I’m not likely to run into him again, so it’s not something I need to worry about.”

  Jane nodded, then paused. “What about the Christmas party?”

  “The hospital one?” I asked. I shrugged. “He won’t be there. It’s the wrong hospital.”

  “You’re right,” Jane agreed. “He wouldn’t go unless he likes to torture himself.” She thought about it for a moment. “He’s not that kind of billionaire, is he?”

  We both dissolved into a fit of giggles.

  Chapter 16

  “He won’t be here, he won’t be here, he won’t be here,” I chanted softly as the taxi drove me to the hotel. If I said it enough times, then I knew it would have to come true.

  I knew I was right. He was part of a different hospital. There was no reason for him to be here. Still, there was a worry in the pit of my stomach.

  I looked out the window to see a beautiful old brick building come into sight. I could see why he’d picked this hotel.

  The annual holiday hospital party was being held at one of the fancy hotels on the other side of the park from me. It was close, but I would have to take a cab or walk across the park at night. That wasn’t really a problem until I found out that Mr. Darcy was known for staying in the penthouse suite of this particular hotel. It was his preferred location when in New York. Because that was how my life worked.

  I considered not going to the party. I considered simply returning the gorgeous dress I’d rented and staying in my apartment eating chocolate ice cream and watching lame Christmas movie specials where everyone ended up happy and celebrating the magic of Christmas.

  But Jane told me no. And Lydia told me no. They both told me that I had to get over myself and go to the party. Lydia even made sure I had the right shoes laid out this morning. She had left the house early, so I didn’t have time to thank her.

  I asked Jane to come with me, but she said she was partied out. She was going to a drawing class. I was on my own, but I was going to the party whether I liked it or not.

  So, now I was just hoping that either Mr. Darcy wasn’t here this week, or if he was, he would decide to just stay up in his room.

  As long as he did that, I could enjoy this night out with my coworkers. Tonight was for anyone and everyone who worked at the hospital to get dressed up and enjoy a party. There was supposed to be live music, free food, and a cash bar. If it was terrible, I could easily leave early.

  The taxi pulled up to the building, and I took a deep breath.

  “He won’t be here, he won’t be here,” I told myself, putting on a confident face. With more courage showing than I felt, I walked inside.

  I found the ballroom hosting our party easily enough. The hospital decorated everything with silver tinsel, and I felt like I’d stepped into a giant, shiny snow-globe. The band on stage was playing classic rock songs that felt odd at a holiday party until I noticed that the lead drummer was the head of cardiac surgery. The front singer was my favorite anesthesiologist. It was the perfect band for the party, even if they weren’t the traditional holiday songs.

  I grinned and walked around. Coworkers waved, and I caught up with nurses from other floors. Even if Mr. Darcy did come down from his penthouse, he wouldn’t come to this party. I was safe here. I began to relax and enjoy myself.

  I let myself wander and enjoy the decorations. One of the walls was covered in news articles from the year that had something to do with the hospital or medicine. Many of the stories were about fa
milies and finding diagnoses or cures, but one caught my eye.

  It was a picture of children meeting Santa. It would have been a normal Santa picture, except every child had an IV pole or wore a PICC line. Medical equipment dominated the background. These were not healthy children, but their smiles were so big and bright at meeting Santa that I couldn’t help but look.

  That’s when I saw him. It was just a small picture, but Mr. Darcy was there, sitting on the floor playing a game with a child in a hospital gown. I nearly didn’t recognize him with the smile on his face. It was strange to see the man who never smiled look so happy.

  The caption underneath the picture read: All Toys Donated by Oceanic Airlines to the Georgiana Cancer Wing.

  I stared at the smiling man in the background of the picture. Could I go anywhere without being reminded of him? Was it possible for me to go two days without seeing the good in him that I had so obviously missed?

  It was as if Fate were taunting me. He was a good man if I had just opened my eyes and given him a real chance.

  I sighed and walked away. I didn’t need to be reminded that I’d been wrong. I didn’t need yet another reminder that I had misjudged him so badly. He was still a pompous jerk. He was just a kind and charitable pompous jerk.

  The sound of piano music in another room caught my attention. The classic rock doctor band was taking a break, so the soft clarity of the piano tugged at me. It was definitely a live performance rather than the canned music playing over the speakers.

  I followed the sound to the next ballroom to find a young woman sitting at a giant piano. She had the most radiant smile on her face as her fingers made music, and I couldn’t help but stand at the edge of the room and listen.

  The young woman suddenly stopped and looked up, noticing she had an audience.

  “Please, don’t stop,” I begged, stepping into the empty room. “You play wonderfully.”

  The young woman smiled and blushed. “Thank you.”

  “You should be playing in there,” I said, motioning to the party room. “I think they’d all appreciate your playing.”