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Darcy didn’t have the luxury of time to be confused by a pretty woman. Very well, he resolved as he stepped into the hubbub of the East Room. Time to get my head in the game.
***
Elizabeth watched President Darcy’s retreating back. On the bright side, he didn’t seem inclined to have her arrested, but he had taken off like she had the plague. His contempt for her was so glaring that she practically needed sunglasses. What had she done to deserve that?
Besides venturing into a restricted area, hiding in his closet, and nearly giving him a heart attack. Oh, yeah. Oops.
What she wouldn’t do for a time machine. Or failing that, a complete memory wipe of the past half hour. Since no amnesia was forthcoming, Elizabeth turned to face Mr. Bingley. No doubt her cheeks were bright red, and her hair was a dusty mess. Nevertheless, he gave her a reassuring smile. “Will you join us at the dinner, Ms. Bennet?” The chief of staff had a reputation for being far more affable than the president, and Elizabeth could see why.
“Um…sure…” It was as if she were caught in the White House version of good cop, bad cop.
He continued to smile pleasantly as he gestured for her to precede him down the hallway. As she hurried toward the East Room, Elizabeth wondered if anyone would see them emerge from the hidden door. Or would the president tell his friends about her mishap and laugh? She swallowed hard. What could she possibly say to her family?
Dad, I consider it an honor to be smirked at by the president. Most Americans couldn’t claim that distinction. Mom, someday it will be an amusing anecdote to tell my children about the time the President of the United States thought I was an idiot.
That would not go over well.
I wasn’t expecting to see the freaking President of the United States, so forgive me if I use words like “thingy” and can’t remember the name of the East Room. That infuriatingly superior grin had grown wider with her every mistake and fumble. The bastard had enjoyed her consternation.
He had been chivalrous enough to help her exit the closet with some grace, but then he had wiped his hands clean of her germs. And what man under sixty carried a handkerchief in this day and age?
“Will the president report me?” she asked Bingley as they neared the East Room door. It would be a terrible blow to her family. And Elizabeth had worried that Lydia would embarrass them!
“No,” Bingley said immediately. Then after a moment, he said, “I don’t think so.” How reassuring.
By the time Bingley and Elizabeth emerged through the concealed door, the president had disappeared into the crowd. That’s good. Maybe I can avoid him for the rest of the evening—and the rest of my life.
However, Elizabeth’s hopes were quickly dashed. The moment she became visible, her mother marched up to her, grabbing
her by the wrist and dragging her away. “Where have you been?” she whispered harshly. “Walter is introducing us to the president!”
President Darcy’s eyes, cool and assessing, perused her as she joined the semicircle of her family arrayed before him. Ugh. Elizabeth did not have any interest in another encounter with the man. On the bright side, at least he’s not out searching for the Secret Service to have me arrested.
As Elizabeth and her mother slipped in next to John Bennet, everybody stared; Lydia smirked, no doubt pleased by her timely escape from the hallway. The president gave her father a superior smile. “Do you often misplace your daughter?”
As if she were a wallet or a puppy. Could he be more condescending?
Her mother curtsied—curtsied!—and said: “We’re so sorry to keep you waiting, your highness.” This was followed by a violent coughing fit from Bing and a disdainful look from President Darcy.
Walter hurried to make introductions—as if anything could cover up for that faux pas. “Mr. President, Mr. Bingley…” He gestured to the Bennets. “Please allow me to introduce John Bennet’s wife Fanny, and his daughters: Jane Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet, Mary Bennet, Kitty Bennet, and Lydia Bennet.” He chuckled a bit over Lydia’s name as if to acknowledge that yes, there were a lot of Bennet sisters.
President Darcy’s smile was tight and pained as if such introductions were a necessary duty, but the chief of staff gave the whole family a relaxed and easy grin. “What a lovely family!” Bingley exclaimed to Elizabeth’s father. “You are a lucky man.” His eyes lingered on Jane’s face. Unsurprisingly, Jane blushed, which, naturally, made her even lovelier.
The president, on the other hand, surveyed her family and their bewildering array of colors and styles of dress with a slight curl in his lip. Elizabeth added “snob” to her list of nouns describing the man.
Bingley had already commenced shaking hands with the assembled Bennets. The president followed suit, plastering on a grin and slowly offering his hand to Elizabeth—the first in line. What an “honor” to meet a man who grimaces at the thought of shaking my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Bennet,” the president said mechanically.
Their hands met, and as before, the touch triggered a strange reaction. Her entire body loosened, with knees so weak that they threatened to collapse. A lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead, and her fingers tingled with the desire to touch it. His eyes darkened as he regarded her searchingly as if she represented some mystery to him. He was near enough that she caught a whiff of something spicy, perhaps an aftershave.
The president seemed to have an adverse effect on the speech centers of her brain. Her lips couldn’t even manage to form words such as “pleased to meet you.” But if she’d been capable of speech, she might have blurted out something about the color of his eyes. And that would have required her to flee the country in shame.
He was still squeezing her hand—it felt so right—but there was no actual handshaking. I really should say something. And maybe smile. Or am I already smiling?
His lips parted as if he needed to catch his breath. “Ms. Bennet—”
Chapter Three
Before he uttered another word, Elizabeth was pushed to the side as her father, tired of waiting, waved his hand in the president’s face. “Mr. President? John Bennet.”
