When I was in high school, there was this guy in my economics class that every girl loved: Captain of the football team, school president, and overall funny guy. I also have to admit he was really, really hot. With blond hair that shined like gold and blue eyes that looked like the Caribbean Ocean – there was no choice but to find him attractive.

Every girl wanted to date him and every guy wanted to be him.

There was only one problem.

He was a flirt and a player. That guy walked the hallways with a different girl every single day. I don't know why girls fell for him. I mean, I get it. The guy was hotter than a July day in the Texas desert. But what I don't understand is why would anyone want to be with someone who was just going to dump you the next day? Was it the adrenaline rush of being with a guy that good looking? Or did you just want the bragging rights of being with the guy everyone wants – even if it's only for a day?

You can always tell a flirt by how they carry themselves. It's in their eyes. It's in the way they smile and walk. It's in the confidence they project when they talk to a woman. You can see it in the way they seem so relaxed when with a woman they want; as if they were a predator in their native habitat.

The man sitting beside me reminds me of the guy from my economics class. The way he walks and talks with just the same ease and confidence. So sure of himself – I can see it in his eyes. He is oozing with the kind of confidence that only comes from being told you're beautiful every day since birth.

He's almost over-confident, but can you blame him? He was so amazingly handsome in his street clothes, never mind the custom fitted tux he's rocking right now. And the way he's tugging on his bowtie like he's not used to wearing them, is incontrovertibly adorable.

Even though there's no question about his attractiveness, like the guy from high school, he just doesn't do it for me. Unfortunately, I find William far more attractive. Tall, dark and handsome, William can wear clothes like nobody's business. His looks are sophisticated. He just reeks power . He's the type of man you would find leading large companies or running for office. The kind of man you look at from afar, know he is completely unattainable, and yet you cannot pull your eyes away from him.

Even so, when I met William, the thing I found most attractive about him was that he seemed completely oblivious about his looks. He had no clue how beautiful he was. It was as if he didn't know why people even bothered to look his way.

While the man in front of me is more handsome in a boy-next-door kind of way – the type of guy girls would fall head over heels for, the school jock, captain of a football team, the golden boy – he was nothing like William.

Or Darcy, for that matter.

"Richard Fitzwilliam, my fair lady," the man in question says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I look at him as he bows exaggeratedly in front of me, then grinning as he jumps onto his barstool.

"You didn't by any chance play football in high school, did you? Or maybe you were the senior class president?" I blurt out, still a little lost in my high school memories and having no control over my mouth.

He laughs. "The school I went to wasn't very athletic. Matter of fact, I don't even know if we had a football team." He looks at his empty glass and then at the bartender, "Can I get a shot over here?"

"So, what did you do in school?"

He grins. "'What didn't I do in school' is the question, princess," he says, wiggling his eyebrows. "Going to a boarding school where every single one of us were heirs to some dynasty has tremendous benefits," he says, with a faraway smile on his face, caught for a moment in the memories of days gone by.

I think about what he just said as he takes the shot from the bartender and downs it. I look at him more carefully, and I realize that his confidence doesn't just come from his looks. He's the whole package: Looks AND money.

Everything now makes so much more sense. But what was a trust fund kid doing working in a bookstore?

"Fitzwilliam. I've heard of that name before… Don't tell me your family is part of the mob?" I ask teasingly.

"No, my father is an earl, actually, but he doesn't really care about his title. He much prefers to run his business here in the States."

Looks, money AND a title? My mother would just love this guy. The second she spotted him, she would hound him until he married at least one of her daughters. Fortunately (for him and me… and my sisters…), she's not here.

Or, I consider, maybe he's just feeding me one of his standard pick-up lines?

"If your family is British nobility, why do you have an American accent?" I ask suspiciously. Holding my phone under the bar, I attempt to surreptitiously Google his family's name.

"Because I am an American," he responds – a little bored, as if he hears this a lot. "I was born here, raised here. And I decided to stay here with my father, since his company is here."

Stupid slow internet. It's so speedy-fast when I'm looking up stupid stuff, like the latest cat photo meme. But when I need crucial details, the information super-highway is more like being stuck in your car during rush hour.

"So how come you were working in a bookstore if your parents have money?" I ask him. Just a little more time for the page to load…

"Who said I was working in a bookstore?" he asks, inspecting his empty shot glass and completely oblivious to the fact that I'm stalking him on the internet. "Does this glass look dirty to you?" He waves his glass in front of me. I shake my head.

"You said, when we met in the bookstore," I respond, thinking about our interaction on the day I was there with Olive.

"I said I was working, not that I was working there."

"You knew that's what I thought. You should have clarified, not let me think the wrong thing," I say, clearly a little annoyed with him.

He lifts his eyebrow at my tone. "You sound like my cousin – always correcting my speech. You should meet him – total nerd. You seem like the nerd-loving type," he says, inspecting me. "And, nah… I had a day off from work and my family asked me for a favor. They own a publishing company and one of our authors had a book signing in Manhattan. So… I came to babysit, and make sure that everything flowed easily."

Yes! Wikipedia just finished loading!

Whoa! They call it the 'Fitzwilliam Dynasty'. So cool. It appears as though the Fitzwilliams are nobility. Just as Richard is discussing his dirty shot glass with the bartender, I scroll through the history and make my way to the present generation. Apparently, the Fitzwilliams had three children: Catherine Fitzwilliam – the eldest, James Fitzwilliam – the middle child, and Ann Fitzwilliam – the youngest.

Richard said his dad's an earl, so I'm guessing his dad is 'James'. I quickly click and, sure enough, it says that he is indeed an earl, with three kids, Richard being the youngest.

Well, damn. Richard wasn't just giving me a line. He was telling the truth.

I quickly put my phone in my purse as Richard turns towards me.

"So what do you do?" I ask.

He chuckles, as if the answer to my question was obvious. "What? My Wikipedia page didn't mention it?"

My cheeks turn red from embarrassment at being caught stalking. But I quickly get over it – nothing is too embarrassing if you know how to handle it.

"Actually, no, that wasn't in the biography. You should get that checked," I reply, trying to play it cool, like he didn't really catch me.

He glances over at me with an adorable grin. "FBI Special Agent in Charge. Criminals, narcotics, blah blah blah department," he says simply, noticing that I'm trying to hide my embarrassment.

Wow. His sexy points just went up. There's just something about a man in uniform. Especially if it includes a gun and protecting the innocent. He must really reel them in. Too bad he's not really my type, being a flirt and all. He does remind me of someone, though. I just can't put my finger on who…

His grin morphs into a mischievous smirk. "Why? You want to pat me down and check if I'm carrying?" he asks, leaning into me with his mouth almost touching my ear.

That move must really make the woman squeal, but I just find it kind of skeevy and annoying.

"There must be a hotel close by," not knowing when to stop, "so you can undress me and check."

God, he's like a child, I think, shaking my head and smiling. He winks at some girls at the end of the bar. They start giggling and whispering to each other.

Typical.

"Soooo… What is an FBI agent doing at a fundraiser?" I ask, knowing full-well that people here are either rich, or accompanying said rich person. Or they work in the hospital, like Jane.

"My anti-social cousin invited me. Apparently he didn't want to come alone," he says with a bored voice.

So, he has a shy cousin. Seems impossible to believe, having experienced the decidedly not shy Richard for the last fifteen minutes. I just don't buy shyness being in his family's DNA.

But, then again, I gave birth to the perfect example of opposites: James and David.

Complete opposites.

And they shared a womb.

"He's the nerd you were telling me about?" I finally ask him.

"Yeah, that's him. Super smart guy – genius, actually. A brilliant mathematician." He stops talking as he scrunches up his eyebrows together. He's deep in thought.

William does the very same thing.

Wow, get a grip, Lizzy! You're thinking of William again! You are so obsessed, you're seeing signs of him in random people.

"He and his mind swarming with numbers could actually take over the world, if he wanted. He could build himself an army of robots, kind of like the Terminator. Unfortunately, he has all the social graces of a turtle... a dead turtle," he finishes saying.

I try to imagine a guy matching his description. But the only picture I can come up with is Einstein. He sounds like he must have some sort of autism or maybe Asperger's.

"Sounds like a charming guy," I say sarcastically.

He raises his eyebrows, noticing I'm making fun of his cousin. "Actually he is, once you get over his lack of personality."

Awww… Richard is protective of his cousin. It's sweet; even though he makes fun of him, Richard still loves him. Reminds me of the relationship James and David have. Those two are always fighting – mostly because David can't stop picking on and bothering James. But when it comes down to it, they will do anything to protect each other. They're brothers, after all.

"OK, let's change subjects – talking about my aloof cousin is making me feel depressed." He takes a sip from his drink and moves himself on the barstool so he's facing me. "Want to be my wingman tonight?" he asks me with a grin. "I really need one, and I doubt my cousin will help me. He's too much of an ass and it gets in the way when I'm trying to convince a woman to go home with me."

I look at him, perplexed that he's asking for my help to hook up with some woman from the party tonight.

"Why would you need me?" I ask him; because, really, this guy can get any woman he wants. He just has to smile that annoyingly charming smile of his.

He starts laughing, as if the answer to the question was completely obvious. "It's not that I need you, it's more like you need me." Now, this really has me confused. "It's a 'win-win' situation. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. You help me find a girl for tonight and I'll help you get a man."

My cheeks pink up a bit as I spit out, "What makes you think I need a man?"

He gives me a look that screams: Are you serious? You so obviously do. "I'm not even going to try to justify that with an answer. You obviously haven't gotten laid in a very long time." He eyes me up and down, taking it all in. I cross my arms self-consciously over my chest.

"How would you know that?" I say, holding myself tighter.

He chuckles. That chuckle is starting to get really annoying.

"Obviously," he shakes his head, "you're not used to all this male attention. I can tell by the way you try to cover yourself up," he says, tilting his head to my covered chest and then to our left where a group of men are eyeing me. "That either happens to women who think they are ugly, who don't have enough experience with men, who don't want the attention of men, or who are just not used to having the attention of men… Now, I lean more towards the latter, because you have to know you're beautiful. I mean, come on, look at you! A woman who feels badly about their body would never wear a dress so clingy. You have three children, so I have to imagine lack of experience is not an issue. You don't seem like a radical feminist and we are having a nice little conversation, so I don't conclude that you are anti-male…" He pauses for a moment, considering. "It's clear that you aren't used to wearing such revealing dresses, so you wanted to attract some male attention, but you are uncomfortable how much attention you have generated thus far."

I continue to stand there, a little dumbfounded, as his monologue rattles on, "Which leads me to believe that something must have happened to get you to wear such a dress. Maybe you wanted to impress someone? Or just wanted to feel better about yourself? I'm leaning towards a fight with a boyfriend. But, no… you don't have a boyfriend… It must have been a fight with your ex-husband – perhaps the father of your children – to make you want to wear this dress, and give your confidence a boost," he says concludes, still eyeing me.

It's strange. He's not looking at me like a man looking at a woman. It's more impersonal, like a doctor examining a patient. Not looking to appreciate, but looking to gather facts.

Then I remember that the man in front of me is a detective with the FBI.

Now I know what he's trying to hide under all that pretty: He's smart. Scary smart.

He looks up and, looking at my eyes, fakes a cough and glues on a stupid grin. As if he just noticed his slip and hopes he hasn't blown it. Like he hopes that I still think he's all flash and no substance.

"I don't know…" he chuckles, "I just think you need to loosen up and get yourself a man. Hey, I'll volunteer. I think you're sexy as hell!" He winks at me as he stands up. This seems more like him; the easy flirt, not the man who can tell you who you really are with just one glance.

Still trying to hide behind the carefree façade, he downs the last shots laid in front of him. However, by the way his eyes are scanning the whole room – attentive and alert, like he's analyzing for potential threats – I don't think 'carefree' is a word I would use to describe him.

His eyes, his smile, his laugh all hide a darkness that envelops his being.

For those who are looking, you can see the sadness and regret deep within his eyes. This guy has seen and lived through some terrible things. He's probably done terrible, unimaginable things.

But here he is, in front of me at the bar and smiling. I wonder if his promiscuous behavior not only provides him a cover, but maybe it helps him forget the bad stuff.

As I'm looking into his smiling face and unsmiling eyes, I realize it's more familiar than it should be. It's that same smile Olive uses when she's hiding something. Huh.

"…but I don't feel like being a daddy," he says, snapping me back to attention. "I've protected myself all my life to avoid that situation… Plus, I don't want to ruin this kickass friendship we got going here," signaling his hand between the two of us, desperately trying to reassert his persona of bonhomie.

What were we talking about? Oh, yeah. Apparently I need a man and he'd volunteer, but doesn't want to ruin our 'kickass friendship'. Right. Well, good looking or not, it's clear he's got more baggage than me. And that's saying something.

On the other hand, a 'kickass friendship' might not be a bad thing. He looks like he'd be good with my kids. He's smart enough to stay ahead of them, he's clearly someone who would have no problem laughing and playing with them, and the way that he scans the crowd, I think they'd be pretty safe. He's speaking again. I have to keep my brain from wandering off.

"I'm sorry, princess, but I'm not the type to be changing diapers."

I turn and look at him. What is up with people thinking my children are four months old?

"The triplets are eleven. No more diapers," I tell him.

His eyebrow shoots up when I say this. He's confused. "How... no, don't tell me… I know how… Hold up! Hold up there! Triplets?! And they're eleven? How old were you when you had them? Twelve?"

"James, David, and Olivia are all eleven. I was 18 – pretty young, I know."

He looks like he wants to ask me something else (probably about their father), but he stops himself. Apparently, good manners trumps curiosity in this case.

"I'd set you up with my cousin, but he hates children. He doesn't understand how children can be so clumsy and have sticky fingers 24/7." He adds, "And you're a single mother of three, so that wouldn't really work out."

I roll my eyes. Yeah, let's skip the boring, socially inept, child-hating cousin then.

"Seems like my cuz stood me up," he says, changing the subject. He continues to scan the ballroom looking for his missing relative.

I keep thinking Richard reminds me of someone: The laugh, that look that tells me he's hiding something, the way he comes off as an idiot but underneath, he's all genius, those gorgeous mesmerizing green eyes you can drown in…

I don't want to sleep with the guy, but I'm not dead, you know…

I just can't think straight anymore. The champagne is really clouding my mind.

Wow, Lizzy, a few years without alcohol and you can't have a glass of champagne without getting buzzed.

Just great.

"Oh, well look at that! He didn't stand me up after all!" Richard chirps, looking at a group of people just entering the ballroom. "Get ready to meet my boring cousin!"

I laugh at how Richard describes him. I wonder what this prime bundle of child-hating manhood really looks like. Richard says he's a nerd, but I have to imagine he's not too ugly, sharing genes with Richard after all.

I scan the group and my heart stops.

My brain vaguely registers Charles walking into the ballroom with some people. None of them matter except the man behind Charles – dark hair combed back, impeccable tux, and icy blue eyes that are roaming around the room, finally landing on Richard and me.

Darcy has arrived.

Oh, no. No, no, no, no! This can't be happening.

I look between Darcy and Richard. Darcy can't be the cousin… He just can't be. Am I really that unlucky?

OK, Lizzy, take a deep breath and don't get all excited. Charlie could be Richard's cousin. Yeah… That makes sense. They are always both laughing. Yeah. Charlie must be his cousin.

I breathe and try to relax.

Nothing to worry about, Lizzy. Of course Richard and Darcy aren't cousins. They couldn't be more different! Just breathe and smile…

I look over at Darcy again, wearing his ever-present frown.

Oh, God. Richard said 'boring'.

My heart speeds up a little.

He said 'nerdy'.

I scratch my elbow, feeling a little fidgety.

He said 'anti-social'.

Not one of those words describes Charlie.

I close my eyes and attempt to keep myself from hyperventilating, hoping this will all just go away.

"Please, please tell me Bingley is your cousin," I beg Richard.

I can't quiet the mantra repeating in my brain: Please, please, God, make him tell me that Bingley is his cousin. Make him tell me that Bingley is his cousin. I'll never miss church – ever – if you do this for me. Please… please?

Richard looks at me a little strangely. "Noooo…" He answers hesitantly. "My cuz is the one behind him. You know… Tall, dark and awkward? Oozing social discomfort? That's the guy."

Well, crap.

So much for bargaining with the Supreme Being.

How in the world can Richard – the talkative, outspoken, hilarious guy – be related to gloom and doom Darcy? It's impossible! What have I done to deserve this?! God must really hate me!

And just to make my life even more perfect, Charles and the Merry Band of Gloom start walking towards us. Charles, as always, with a huge smile on his face. I'm starting to think he had some special surgical procedure, because there is no way on earth a person can smile that much.

I begin to take in the rest of the party. There's woman with a hand on Darcy's arm, who clearly thinks everyone in the room is beneath her. Her perfect, surgically enhanced nose is stuck in the air – a match with her made-to-order fake boobs. Red, wavy hair falls gently down her back. The dress she's wearing makes Oscar dresses look off-the-rack.

She's beautiful. Everything about her is purely and utterly perfect.

She must be Darcy's girlfriend.

I hate her.

My eyes go to where their arms are locked around each other, and then travel up to Darcy's face. He's frowning. Well, Darcy and Redhead Barbie are perfect for each other – both gorgeous and, considering their faces, both miserable.

I shake my head and start laughing. His frown deepens, confused by my laughter.

Yes, Darcy, I'm laughing at you. I'm laughing because it's easier to laugh than to cry.


Darcy POV

"Why the bloody hell are we going to this party again?" Caroline asks for the 16th time in 13 hours, 36 minutes since Charles told her they were going to a fundraiser.

"Because Jane will be there, and I want you to meet her," Charles says patiently, as we drive toward the party.

46368… 75025... 121393… 196418… I close my eyes and try to block out the sound of Caroline's whining. Most of the time, I really appreciate Caroline – she's like a sister to me. But sometimes I wish I had never met her. This is one of those times.

317811… 514229… 832040…

"I hope she's not a gold digger, like last one. I swear, Charles, if this girl turns out like the last one, I promise you this will be the last 'angel' of yours I meet," Louisa says, "… and please, in the name of the queen, don't bring her back to your flat!"

1346269… 2178309…

I open my eyes.

My numbers aren't working. I need to try something else.

I take my earphones from my pocket and plug them into my phone. I close my eyes and try to lose myself in the music. My fingers unconsciously tap my knees as if I were actually playing the piano music in my ears.

I think about the many times I would sit Georgiana on my lap (her doll, Olivia, sitting on hers), and let her watch me play. Her blue eyes would shine as she watched the movements of my fingers pressing the keys. I remember so distinctly the sound her sock-covered feet would make as she ran to meet me at the door and beg me to play for her.

But those moments are long gone – and probably long forgotten, on her part. Now, the only thing I have left of those memories is the music I would play for her.

I feel someone's hand on top of mine, stopping my fingers from tapping. I open my eyes, surprised at the intrusion.

"Are you okay?" Caroline asks worriedly.

These are the moments I appreciate Caroline – and why I put up with her dramatics and snobby behavior. She can be annoying and whiney sometimes, but she cares about the people close to her.

I let out a long breath, "Yes, why would you inquire?"

"Well, you started counting as soon as you got in the car," Caroline responds.

"And, then you started with the piano music," Louisa continues.

"And you only do that when something is bothering you," Charles finishes.

"I wasn't counting numbers, I was adding them," annoyed that I have to point out the difference. "The Fibonacci sequence, to be exact," I add, even though I doubt they know what I'm talking about. Ridiculous, they teach this stuff in grade second...

"Does this have to do with Elizabeth?" Charles whispers, looking at his sisters and brother-in-law, making sure they can't hear.

"No, Charles. I'm perfectly fine," I whisper back.

And it's true. I haven't thought about her the whole day. But now that you say it...

"How's your family?" I ask Caroline, trying to distract myself.

"Oh they're just great!" Caroline gushes. "Sophia won her school's pageant and talent show! Such an accomplished girl, my Sophia is! And of course Logan is running for senator again." Caroline continues to tell me about her husband and 10-year-old daughter, but I completely block her out. Caroline can talk for hours and hours about her family. Something I don't mind, since I can just listen and not be a participant in the conversation. I just nod whenever is necessary to make her believe I'm paying attention. I just need the calm that the white noise brings me.

"Oh look, we're here… Yippee…" Louisa says sarcastically, as all five of us get out of the car and head to the ballroom.

It's nice. Nothing as nice as any of the ballrooms I own, but I hardly think anyone could match their beauty, after all.

Charles, of course, the minute he steps into the packed ballroom, immediately starts to look for his blond angel. My eyes look around and land on a couple at the bar. I can only see the woman's back, but she is beautiful. She's wearing a backless white dress, and I can see her toned muscles contract every time she moves. The dress follows her every curve – it looks like it was poured on. Her thick black hair is pulled around over her shoulder, not impeding the glorious view of her back.

While I am appreciating the vision before me, she and her companion turn around and look straight at us.

My heart stops beating. My lungs cease to breathe.

3524578… 5702887… 9227465… 14930352… 24157817… 39088169… 63245986…

I can't stop the numbers flying through my mind. I swear, even the earth starts spinning.

In front of me is the reason I agreed to come with Charles tonight. I needed the distraction. I needed to keep my mind from thinking about her.

The goddess in front of me is Elizabeth.

I look at her.

She is magnificent.

She and her companion stand up. I pay him no attention because I cannot see past the vision she presents. Her beautiful face, the hair I remember running my fingers through, her body I can almost still feel beneath my hands, her legs that travel for miles before they reach her heels. She was right – she is tall. I don't think I would survive if those legs were any longer.

She is stunning in ways that no other woman could ever hope to be.

I barely remember to breathe. She says something to the man beside her. My whole body boils with anger and jealousy. Her head snaps up looking for something. She smiles and laughs as the man whispers something in her ear. Her eyes still search the crowded room for something. Or someone…?

Then her eyes meet mine.

Our eyes lock for what seems like an eternity. Those deep brown orbs meet mine and the world just stops.

She's shocked… confused… perplexed… As if she's seeing an impossibility turned real.

All this is compacted into a split second, between when I first see her and now, with our eyes locked to each other.

I start to move unconsciously towards her, like it's a gravitational pull and I have no choice. Caroline, Charles and the Hursts follow me.

Twenty-three steps it takes me to get to her. We both stand there, watching each other, feeling like idiots because neither of us knows what to say.

She takes a deep breath, lets it out. Shuffles her feet a little. Left hand pinky finger twirls a lonely strand of hair that has fallen into her beautiful eyes.

"Hello," I say, but no sound escapes my throat. I cannot move. It's as if someone has played a cruel joke on me and has left me glued into this place.

"Willy, dude! We were just talking about you," Elizabeth's companion says to me, taking me into a big embrace. I'm about to shove him off of me when I recognize the voice.

Only one person calls me 'Willy'.

"Richard." I glare at my idiotic cousin. I had completely forgotten I had invited him. I love my cousin, I honestly do, but sometimes his childish behavior drives me mad.

The only reason why I had invited him was because I was worried about him ever since...no, don't think about that. Richard would not want you to pity him.

"So… Darcy is your cousin, Richard?" Elizabeth's sweet, honey voice asks.

I could drown in that voice. So soft, so melodic – it soothes me in the same way my piano does.

"Yeah… Wait – how do you know him?" Richard asks, confused.

Elizabeth smiles a smile that could light up this whole country. "Do you really want to know, Fitzwilliam?"

"Hell yeah!" he eagerly responds.

"Well then, prepare yourself for the horrid story. The first time I met your cousin was outside a courthouse where he proceeded to call me stupid. Later on he had the audacity to call me ugly and accused me, quite loudly, of being a single mother who worked in a grocery store, trying to land myself a rich husband. Oh, and he also said I was single because no man wanted me, worst part is that he called my children bastards, " Elizabeth says with a twinkle in her eyes, teasing me in front of everyone.

My heart falls. Again. She still doesn't remember me. She only remembers me as the rude guy from court and from lunch with Charles.

Richard gasps, "Only a blind man would call you ugly because you, princess, are anything but ugly! What the hell were you thinking, Willy?"

I'm with you in that, dear cousin. A man would be blind to call Elizabeth ugly.

But then my brain registers something he said. Princess? Since when does my cousin know Elizabeth? How long has he known her for? Long enough to get a nickname, apparently

Caroline pipes up in my defense, "Well, if Darcy said it, it must be true. Since he has better taste then all of us here combined." Sycophantic, but at least she's got my back.

"Willy likes men, princess, so don't feel too offended," Richard tells Elizabeth.

Elizabeth laughs at his joke. All I want to do at this moment is to punch my cousin. Jealousy fills me up like poison would fill up a bomb.

You can't like Elizabeth, I tell myself. She has three children. She's a single mum for god's sake! She is not for you!

"How do you two know each other?" I ask them suspiciously.

"Oh, me and Lizzy go way back. Right, Liz?" Richard says, wrapping an arm over her shoulder.

I fight back and urge to go punch my cousin. He smirks and gets closer to her. We've known each other for so long he must know that this is bothering me. And of course Richard, being Richard, flirts even more just to provoke me.

Elizabeth rolls her eyes and shrugs his arm from her shoulders, "We met at a bookstore"

So, they didn't meet here at the party. I wonder if Richard knows that Lizzy is my Elizabeth from London.

"Oh! You're the single mum!" Louisa exclaims beside me. "Darcy told us about the little spat you two had at court."

"Oh, yes! You're Jane's sister – Charles told us you had three children. You have a three year old right?" Caroline says looking at Elizabeth from head to toe. She's probably figuring out how much her outfit cost, already having concluded that it is not a designer label.

"Three?" Richard looks confused and looks over at Elizabeth. She smiles and only I notice as she slyly throws Richard an elbow to the ribs. Richard looks back to the group and says, "Oh, yes… she has a three-year-old. Quite a lovely child, too." He gently cradles his side.

Richard glances back at Elizabeth, and I realize they are hiding something. I've known Richard for far too long to doubt that.

"Oh, you've met her then? What's her name again, Charles? Is it Olma?" Caroline asks.

"Olpa," Charles responds with his ever-present smile.

"Of course I have! All three of them, including Oli- …" he stops in mid name and looks at Elizabeth, "… including Olpa." he finishes.

He was clearly going to say something else. Elizabeth did the same thing when she first told us the name of her daughter. What is it that is not being said? And why is Richard in on it?

"Now, if you don't mind, I have to go to the bathroom," Richard says, whispering something in Elizabeth's ear before he walks off. She just barely nods her head at him and looks at us nervously as Richard walks away..

They are definitely hiding something.

A petite girl comes up to Elizabeth and whispers in her ear.

What's up with the whispering to Elizabeth tonight?

Elizabeth just laughs in response and shakes her head. Still looking uncomfortable, her phone chirps and she looks down to read the new text message.

She brings her attention back to the group and announces, "Everyone, this is my little sister Mary." She glances nervously at her phone again, and surreptitiously tries to respond to the text message. "Mary, why don't you go find Jane and Charlotte. They were looking for you."

I look at the girl. So this is Elizabeth's younger sister – the one she used to star gaze with. She has purple hair and she's wearing clothes more appropriate to a funeral. Who in their right mind dyes their hair purple? The girl doesn't even smile or acknowledge our presence; her eyes focused on the wall behind us. There must be something mentally wrong with her, I conclude.

How can this girl and Elizabeth be related?

I'm too distracted trying to figure the answer to this question, when I hear a loud gasp. I look up to find a beautiful, tall, blonde woman and a short brunette staring at me with a look of utter disbelief; their mouths open in shock and eyes as wide as saucers.


Elizabeth POV

At least Richard went along with my lie. If I had known who he was, I would never have told him the names and ages of my children.

"You're going to have to explain this later," Richard whispers as he heads to the bathroom.

I nod my head with a slight movement and look at the rest of the tiny group. Did they hear what he said?

"Do you need an escape route to get out of this? Because I can so act like I'm having an asthma attack," Mary whispers in my ear. I didn't even notice she was behind me. I laugh, loving that my little sis has my back. My phone chirps and I grab it out of my bag and read the new text:

From: unknown number

Time:7:05

Ok so I'm impatient. I have ADHD what can I say. WHY THE HELL DID I JUST HAVE TO LIE TO MY COUSIN OUT THERE?

-Richard

What do I say? How do I explain to him that his cousin is the father of my children?

Simple, Lizzy, you just don't. If you tell him, he will go straight to William and you just can't have that.

Looking back up I say, "Everyone, this is my little sister Mary," hopefully stalling for time. The two women in the group stare at Mary's clothes and hair in horrified wonder, as if their tiny minds can't conjecture how she got into the party. They size her up and clearly find her wanting.

My sister continues to stand there, staring at nothing, as they complete their investigation. Who knows what's going on in Mary's mind?

I quickly look back at my phone and reply to the text:

To: Unknown number

Time: 7:06

How did you get my #?

-Lizzy

I press 'SEND' and then it hits me.

Mary is here. Mary is freaking here!

And Darcy is here! Oh. My. God. This is not good.

"Mary, why don't you go find Jane and Charlotte. They were looking for you," I tell her in an effort to get her away from the group. The good thing about Mary is that she pays little attention to the people around her, quite happy in her own little world. If I can get her away, maybe she won't connect the dots.

And just as I'm comfortable thinking I've got a plan and it's all good, I hear a loud gasp. I face the sound and I'm confronted with Charlotte and Jane, standing there with mouths wide open and staring at Darcy.

Darcy.

Damn.

I realize the jig is up. Darcy looks exactly like my children. My 'red herring' description of the children's father or no, they are going to realize he's the father.

What the hell do I do now?!

Deep breath, Lizzy. Maybe you can save this. Just explain and stick to your story.

I turn towards the group, and spy a confused Darcy from the corner of my eye.

"I'll just borrow these three for a quick minute." I grab my sisters and Charlotte and lead them to the far end of the bar, hoping to do some fast talking and throw them off the scent.

They immediately attack me with questions:

"What the hell, Lizzy? –"

"He looks exactly like James –"

"Except the freckles –"

"And Olivia –"

"How can he look like your children? –"

"You said William had green eyes. So how can this man look exactly like your children if he's not the father? – "

Jane and Charlotte are talking over each other, both of them asking question after question. My mind feels like it's going to explode. Mary just stands beside them her eyes deep in thought.

"First of all," I say, "I don't know how he can look like them. Like I told you, the triplet's father is American and has green eyes. Darcy is most definitely British and has blue eyes that would never be confused with green."

"Maybe he's a family member?" Jane suggests.

"Brother, father, uncle… cousin, maybe?" Charlotte adds.

"Let's just ask him. See if he has an American cousin or something," Jane suggests to Charlotte completely forgetting that I'm even standing there

"Yeah! Let's do that!" Charlotte responds and takes Jane's arm, leading her back over to Darcy. I run after them, and all I can see is Darcy's frown as they approach.

"Hey, we have a question for you…" Charlotte begins, even before they get in front of him.

How the hell do I stop this? How the hell do I stop this?

And then I realize there's no way of stopping what's about to happen. There is no amount of fast talking that will get me out of this. They will figure it out. Darcy will figure it out. None of them are stupid.

"Holy God and all the saints! That restroom… " Richard says as he approaches me from behind, throwing his arm over my shoulder, "… was disgusting! I don't know who went before me but, damn! They have to get their stomach checked. It smelled like a skunk crawled up their ass and died!" he continued, flashing everyone with a huge smile. You could have heard a pin drop.

Charlotte, Jane – even Mary – look even more shocked than before. If that's even possible.

"Oh, hello! Where are my manners?" Richard points to William and says, "I'm Darcy's cousin." More silence. "I promise you, beautiful women, that my mother did teach me some manners. Please forgive me, but I just had to come and inform my cuz of my amazing bathroom discovery, in case he wants to conduct a scientific study in there." Richard's million-dollar smile still beaming.

Jane, Charlotte and Mary still haven't moved. Their mouths still hang open, but nothing comes out, not even a 'hi'. Richard stands there smiling and waiting for them to acknowledge him.

"Sorry… it's just… wow – you look so much like someone we know," Jane finally says, finding some composure. "I'm Jane, Elizabeth's sister… And you are?"

Richard gives her an appreciative gaze. Of course he would. It's Jane-freaking-Bennet. The perfect woman.

"Richard Fitzwilliam, at your service."

Their gasps are drowned out by the sound of Charlotte's dropped champagne glass breaking.

I look at Richard and that's when I see what they see: Green eyes. Black hair. I don't know how I didn't realize it before. The same humor – they even have the same nose! A perfect copy. Richard Fitzwilliam looks exactly like David. With 'Fitzwilliam' for a last name and his Boston accent, he is exactly how I described the fake father of my children.

"W… Wi… William…?" Jane stutters.

They think Richard is William.

Well, damn.