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“She didn’t scar me at all. I just haven’t found anyone else I want to date.” Lie number two of the evening, and this one hit harder than the first, because I hadn’t known it was a lie until I said it. There were plenty of things I wanted to do to Elizabeth, but I hadn’t previously considered dating her to be one of them.

“I wasn’t talking about dating, mein homme.”

“I don’t know what’s worse, you talking about my sex life or your profound disrespect for foreign languages.”

She laughed again—or rather, she kept laughing, because she hadn’t stopped. “I have to go—Francesca’s calling. Do yourself a favour and sign up to Tinder or something, okay?”

She hung up. I threw my phone on the sofa and ran a hand over my face. Perhaps Georgiana was right; maybe I did need to get laid. It might get out of my system whatever had me acting so crazy over Elizabeth. Except I wasn’t interested in hookups. They were never as uncomplicated and rarely as rewarding as they were cracked up to be. I needed a different sort of distraction.

I retrieved my phone and, unlocking it one last time, sent an email to Felicity Lancet, asking whether she had any availability this weekend. It had been too long since I reached out to her—work and my own demons had kept me away. But a session was overdue, and it would at least fill one of the three evenings I now faced alone in London this weekend.

I hit send and strode to the gym at the back of the flat, intent once more on sweating out my frustration on the bike and pretending that the two phone calls between putting on my gym gear and climbing onto the saddle had never happened.

13

ELIZABETH

I was just packing up my things to leave work on Friday when I got a text from my sister.

I’m getting an earlier train, so I won’t be here when you get home.

I smiled, completely unsurprised. She was heading back up to Scotland for the weekend to be with Bingley, since his stay had been extended and they apparently couldn’t go more than five days without breathing each other’s air.

That’s okay, I’m heading out for work drinks tonight so I wouldn’t have seen you anyway

Drinking? Tsk-tsk! You’re pregnant, remember!

Don’t joke! It’s bad enough that I’m pretending to be you—I don’t need to be confused with Fiona as well!

Because, to complicate matters further, Darcy had told Bingley that I was sick, and Bingley had told Jane. But since no one had mentioned that I took the day off, I was able to deflect my sister’s worry by suggesting that Darcy must have confused me with Fiona after our encounter with her on Tuesday.

She’d accepted the fabrication, because Jane never expected anyone to lie to her; she saw only the good in everyone. I felt rubbish about being dishonest, but given the far bigger secret I was keeping about our dad, I’d decided it was daft to sweat about that tiddler. Besides, she’d convinced herself that me lying to Darcy on her boyfriend’s behalf was just dandy, so I figured that absolved me to some extent.

I was more surprised that Darcy had mentioned it to Bingley in the first place. I wouldn’t have thought my presence or absence from the office would register one way or the other on his radar. In the end, I’d chalked it up to him simply being a good friend, looking out for Bingley’s other half while he was away. Shame Bingley was being such a terrible friend in return.

Have a great time with your big fat liar of a boyfriend

For a full thirty seconds, three dots appeared and disappeared as Jane typed. I could practically hear her fretting through the ether. I put her out of her misery.

I’m winding you up! Your man’s secret is safe with me (for now!) Now go, before you miss your train. I’ll see you Sunday x

She hearted the message at the same time as another popped up from Fiona.

Stuck in a meeting. Might be a while so don’t wait for me, I’ll meet you there. Mine’s a lime and soda please x

We’d agreed to walk to the pub together, but I had no problem going ahead—most of my own team were there already. I grabbed my bag and headed out to the lifts. There were stairs, but I never took them, because whilst I was not averse to physical activity, I was pathologically opposed to the open atrium that provided a clear view of the thirty-six-floor drop to the main foyer below. No safety barrier existed that could persuade this chronically acrophobic wimp to go near those stairs. The lift was my friend.

At least, it was, until it betrayed me by reopening its doors just before they fully closed and admitting the man I was still doing my best to avoid. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to Darcy—I’d been telling Kev the truth when I said he was growing on me. But I wasn’t enjoying lying to him, even if it was mostly harmless.

He frowned when he saw me. Clearly I wasn’t growing on him.

He cleared his throat. “Good evening, Elizabeth.”

“Hi,” I replied. “Going down?”

He blinked. “Please.”

I could have sworn something flashed in his eyes as he said it, although that may have been me projecting. Thanks to Lydia, whose mind was a veritable cesspit, my ear for double entendres had been well honed over the years, and that little gem of an exchange brought an instant quirk to my lips. I turned away to conceal my smile and pressed the button for the ground floor.