Chapter Three - First Impressions
William Darcy was not a fan of the silly charity fundraisers from which his best friend made his living. It wasn't so much that he hated the principle of them - he was never opposed to raising awareness for the arts, and literature in particular - but he did hate having to attend them. Mingling and small talk were not his forte, and he preferred to keep to the company of his close circle of friends, which was mainly limited to Charlie and, by extension, his sister, Caroline.
Tonight, he was especially frustrated at being in attendance. He had carefully planned his stay in New York to accommodate all of the business he needed to take care of at the fledgling New York branch of Pemberley Publishing. Then, out of nowhere, Charlie swept in with his big cow eyes and pouting face, and the next thing he knew, William had cleared his evening of paperwork for a night of socializing with New York's publishing middle-ground.
Charles was lucky he liked him so much.
William flagged down a passing waiter and handed off another emptied glass of champagne. He would credit Charlie this; he didn't skimp on the drinks when he threw a party, even when it was less than the highest class of people in attendance. Already, William had been forced to talk to several low-grade agents and authors who had made a small following through self-publishing online. He had taken temporary refuge with Caroline, but the model was naturally bored stiff by the literary crowd, and her mood left her particularly whiny and petulant.
It had been a welcome relief when Charlie finally emerged from the eyes of the Asian girl he'd been drowning in, even if it had only been to drag Darcy away to meet the girl in question. Caroline was giggling about something with the brunette woman when the men approached. "Jane," Charlie said, setting a hand on the small of the brunette's back. "This is my best friend, Darcy. And Darce, this is Jane Bennet."
Jane smiled brightly and extended a delicate hand. "Pleasure to meet you," she said.
"Likewise," William replied, shaking the offered hand. The other three immediately launched into a lively conversation and William was left to resume his preferred position of the silent observer.
Jane Bennet seemed friendly enough, albeit in a detached and almost uninterested way. She kept up the conversation with the others, but she lacked the same energetic passion that Charlie naturally exuded. Her participation came across as unerringly polite, but it was hard to detect any sincerity beneath her questions. William felt his suspicions rise immediately; it would hardly be the first time Charles was taken in by a beautiful woman with ulterior motives.
William was drawn back into the conversation by Caroline wrapping her hand around his wrist. "Ugh, Will, we should leave these two lovebirds alone before the cuteness kills us," she teased loudly. Even though it was meant as a joke, the heated look in her eyes made her opinion all too clear. He knew that if he gave even a small indication of agreement, she would be dragging him out to the nearest available club.
Formerly one of the highest paid couture models in New York City, Caroline had reached the weary age of twenty-nine – practically ancient in the world of high fashion – and found her fame was slipping away along with her youth. Her desperation to remain on top led her to do increasingly brash and wild things to stop her name from disappearing from the public mind altogether. Being photographed out on the town with one of Britain's most eligible bachelors would surely buy her a paragraph or two in the gossip rags.
Not that he really believed she only wanted him to be her arm candy de jour. She had been none-too-secretive about her attraction to him almost from the moment they met. Unfortunately for her, William was uninterested – and not just in her, but in women as a whole.
It was a carefully guarded secret he had revealed to no one, not even his best friend or his little sister, Gina. He had spent the better part of his life struggling to come to terms with the truth himself. Despite his best efforts, he had never been able to feel content with any of the women he dated, and he refused to allow himself the alternative. The upper-class, conservative society he had been raised in frowned upon anything out of the ordinary. His personal life already attracted far more attention than he was comfortable with by family associations alone; the last thing he wanted was to give them a reason to make it worse. So William dealt with the situation by remaining the perpetual bachelor, married only to his work and wholeheartedly devoted to his sister and his best friend. They served as all the relationships he needed.
Of course, all of the logic and rationale in the world didn't stop his disloyal heart from wanting more. He generally kept his feelings tightly bound, but they occasionally broke free and caught him off guard. Like earlier in the evening, when he'd momentarily locked eyes with someone across the room. William hadn't felt an instantaneous attraction like that since he was a teenager with his first crush. The eye contact had only lasted for a second, but something in those wide, dark eyes left his heart racing.
"Oh, Eli, Char!"
William was drawn out of his thoughts by Jane Bennet's abrupt greeting, and he looked up to see that the couple she was waving at had changed direction to join their group. The man was tall and bore a distinct resemblance to Jane, with a curvy redheaded woman on his arm, but William could focus on nothing but the man's eyes; the exact pair of eyes about which he'd just been thinking.
"Elijah Bennet, pleased to meet you," the newcomer introduced himself, shaking Charlie's proffered hand. William's stomach leaped into his throat when the familiar name connected all of the pieces in his mind.
Just earlier that week, his assistant editor had passed along a manuscript she thought he might be interested in: Chaos in a Bottle, by Elijah Bennet. It was a young adult novel, hardly the sort of thing William usually dealt in, but Mrs. Reynolds had insisted, and she had never led him wrong before.
William wound up spending the entire night reading the manuscript straight through in one sitting, spending equal amounts of time laughing aloud and crying. It was a work of pure, artistic genius with more heart and soul in its three-hundred pages than the entirety of the books currently in his publishing queue. He made his living from literature, but it had been a long time since a work had affected him so profoundly.
Now the author stood in front of him, one hand held out expectantly. It took William a second to realize that he was supposed to respond. "Pleasure," he said shortly, shaking Elijah Bennet's hand firmly.
"And this," Elijah continued, smiling at the redhead on his arm, "is my agent, Charlotte Lucas."
William shook her hand with a silent nod of acknowledgment, while his traitorous heart twitched hopefully at the realization that the beautiful woman had not been introduced as his girlfriend.
"Oh yeah, Jane was telling us about you, Elijah," said Charlie, drawing them back into the conversation. "She says you're an author."
Elijah smiled self-consciously, and a soft blush spread up into his ears. "Well, I will be once we find a publisher," he said and shrugged. "It's not the easiest field to break into."
"He's just being modest," the redhead next to him interjected. "His book is brilliant. It's just been difficult to find a publisher willing to take a risk on a first-time author."
William couldn't stop an eyebrow from arching in surprise at learning the manuscript hadn't been picked up yet. Any decent editor who read that manuscript would be stupid to pass up so much raw potential. "I find that if a manuscript is truly exceptional, the history of the author has little effect on the success of the book."
He meant the words to be encouraging, but they were apparently not taken as such, judging by the challenging look Elijah fixed on him. "Then it is a shame not all share your sentiment," he said, overly-pleasant tone still not enough to mask the sharp edge of defensiveness. "Countless authors continue to be published on the credibility of their names alone, despite the fact that their writing no longer manages to achieve the skill that earned their reputations. Then, while the publishers are wrapped up in their pet authors, hundreds of skilled new writers fall by the wayside."
The intensity of Elijah's response surprised him and, under the power of his fierce gaze and satisfied smirk, William couldn't find the words to explain himself. Charlie broke the tense moment by clapping William on the shoulder. "Looks like he's got you there, Darce," he said, chuckling. "So Elijah, as a writer, maybe you can weigh in on an argument Darce and I've been having for years. Where do you stand on poetry?"
William rolled his eyes. "It's hardly an argument, and your asking every person we meet for their opinions won't change mine. Besides, he's an artist; they are a notoriously romantic lot, and poetry is often used in wooing lovers. It is obvious which side he will stand on."
"Perhaps not, Mr. Darcy," said Elijah. When William turned back to him, the writer lifted his chin resolutely. "While you're not wrong in assuming I like poetry, I actually think it's a dangerous tool in romance, at least in the early stages. Poetry is best used for expressing the words that can't be expressed otherwise, the ones that get stuck in your chest that you can't get out. No intelligent person would be wooed by pretty words just because they're pretty. There has to be something more behind them; emotion and real conviction. Without that, poems are just empty words broken up into weird rhythms."
"Well said," Charlie said enthusiastically. "See, Darce, I told you there was more to poetry than just picking up chicks."
Elijah glanced at his red-haired partner, and they seemed to have a short, silent conversation. "Excuse us," the redhead said, smiling pleasantly, "but we should really be moving on. We've got a lot of other acquaintances to make tonight."
"It was nice to meet you all," Elijah added. "Oh, and Mr. Darcy? If you've not read it, I recommend Walt Whitman's Song of Myself. It's an incredible poetry collection with no romantic subplot." Elijah shot him one last smile, the corner of his lips curved up ever so slightly into a mischievous smirk, and then he and his partner turned and walked away.
William's heart hammered in his chest, although he managed to keep any of his feelings from showing on his face. Could fate really be so cruel as to bring such an ideal match into his life, just to remind him of what he couldn't have? Elijah Bennet was every bit as charming, passionate, and intelligent as his writing had led William to believe. He was also modest but confident, unafraid to voice his opinion but without the stereotypical American tendency to demand to be heard. And those eyes…
"You've got that look again." Caroline dragged him back to the present by looping her arm around his, leaning into his side. "What are you thinking about, Will? What a waste this night has been?"
"No, better thoughts than that, I'm afraid," he countered.
"Oh?" Caroline asked, a penciled eyebrow arching high on her forehead. "About?"
William couldn't stop his gaze from momentarily darting off in the direction that Elijah had gone. "I'm considering the benefit that a pair of fine eyes brings to a charming face."
Caroline tittered, and by the way she fluttered her lashes she apparently thought he was talking about her watery hazel eyes. "For a man who hates poetry, you sure talk like a poet sometimes. So, what woman's eyes have got you feeling so romantic?"
"None at all," he said honestly, and his lips sketched a move reminiscent of a smile. He carefully extracted his arm from hers and pulled out his phone. "If you'll excuse me, I need to send an email."
William slipped out onto the balcony, reveling in the feel of the brisk city air against his flushed skin. He took a seat on one of the plush white settees and opened his email browser on his phone. This was crazy, what he was thinking about doing. He didn't have the time or budget for this. Not to mention, there was the risk that he was straying into dangerous territory by mixing business with his, albeit limited, personal life.
Except, what if he was making a bigger mistake by letting this opportunity slip by? Charles had called him out on it the moment the words left his mouth. Decent enough? Damn, that's practically glowing praise from you, Darce. The book was brilliant and William was resolved.
Pulling up his assistant's office email, he typed out a quick message.
Mrs. Reynolds,
First thing Monday, I would like you to contact the agent who submitted that manuscript you gave me. Tell them we are prepared to make an offer.
-WD
