William, on the end, could see Lizabeth clearly from where he sat. She really was desirable. He hadn't been so overwhelmed by her beauty the night before, but it affected him even more today. She wore a green sweater that seemed to emphasize her perfect skin; her hair was down again. He wanted to touch it and was glad he had Charles and Jane between them. He was also pleased that she had a boyfriend as he had some scruples when it came to women (not many, but he did have a few). Seeing a woman who was dating someone else was crossing a line.

A movement made his eyes swerve over to catch Caro's gaze. She was staring pointedly at him. One eyebrow was arched, and she moved her gaze very briefly in Lizabeth's direction as if to ask about his interest. He thought he had been discreet, but she always knew. Caroline was probably tired of cleaning up the wreckage when he tired of a girlfriend, date, or lover.

Lizabeth talked as the others ate. Mainly, she asked questions. "Are you all actors?"

"No," Caroline answered. "Chuck and Mandy are the actors. William and I are producers—behind the scenes."

"What does a producer do?" she asked, looking at Caro. He could see her face in profile. William wondered if she could sense his eyes on her. Everyone asked what a producer did. They usually assumed it was about money and being bossy when it wasn't. There were so many details involved. People assumed that producers were on an equal level with directors when producers hired the directors.

Caroline had her patented two-minute speech about what they did and answered her. Then Lizabeth countered with more questions about their individual jobs. "And both of you are?" She turned her eyes from her companion on the one side to look across the table at him.

"Yes," both William and Caroline said in unison.

"Is, like, he your boss?" she asked next, turning to Caroline. "Or do you share responsibilities, are co-producers?"

Caro looked across at him before she answered. "I did learn the ropes as William's assistant. But we're equals on this new production."

"What are you working on?" Lizabeth asked.

Before William or Caroline could answer, Charles let out a little laugh. "I only seem to do period pieces, Lizabeth, don't you know?" William thought she wasn't as familiar with Charles' work as his ego believed.

His friend continued, "it's Downton Abbey, but with a California twist. Think of a rich California family in the Twenties." He flashed his actor's grin, and Lizabeth laughed. Charles couldn't help flirting with any pretty face. When William turned his eyes away from Lizabeth's, he noticed that Charles wasn't looking at the figure across that semi-circular booth from him; Charles was gazing at Jane Sweet who looked alert, amused, and interested as she sat tucked next to him.

He wasn't sure what had gone on between Charles and Jane after the party, the night before, and the extent of this infatuation. Charles was the first in the lobby when they agreed to meet at noon. William had been surprised that Jane Sweet was there as well. She was a local and perhaps had merely driven over. It didn't mean she had spent the night with his friend, but maybe she had.

"What roles are you to play?" Lizabeth asked. Her face was animated. The producer in him mentally stepped away from their conversation as he watched rather than listened to Charles and Amanda discuss their roles in this upcoming drama: Bella Montaña. Charles was to be the son and heir. Amanda was to play a sister and not a love interest in this story—a wild, impetuous, and resentful sister.

William sat with his face unmoving, not engaged in the conversation as he watched the other five—though his eyes were mostly on Lizabeth. Even Caroline, who was often just as snarky as William about their work, was engaged in the discussion. But everyone was interested in talking about the proposed American equivalent to that highly popular British drama.

"Lizabeth!" A voice cut through the laughter and discussion, and six pairs of eyes turned to stare at a figure that stood on the unadorned side of their table. Lizabeth's boyfriend stared at her.

"Edgar!" she cried.

William could hear the surprise in their guest's voice. There was something else, some other emotion he couldn't name.

"I've been searching for you," accused the boyfriend. Lizabeth's eyes were focused entirely on the man looming over their table. William had the idea that she wasn't happy to see him. Uncomfortable, given the way she fidgeted, just slightly in the booth as she moved closer to Caroline.

"You weren't home when I came by, and your uncle and aunt didn't have any idea where you were." It was an accusation.

"Why would they?" she asked.

"I thought you always checked in with them," he answered. William watched her get angry then, that a grown woman needed to account for her movements. She didn't answer, because the boyfriend spoke again. "But your uncle discovered that you were here," he explained.

"How did he know?" her anger increased—her face reddening.

"I guess he could see that your phone was here." Edgar Stone didn't appear bothered by his explanation.

"What!" she cried. William watched her bristle about being hunted down. She sat up a little straighter, as though she found some inner strength to calm herself.

"I need to speak to you," the man demanded then.

William would speak for her, even if she appeared to be calming as her color faded. He noticed that even Caroline had ruffled feathers. He wondered how the always-gallant Charles was feeling in the face of this man's insults. After all, Charles was the romantic hero. William felt inclined to see the man off of the hotel's premises.

"Okay," Lizabeth agreed, just like that. He thought she was stronger, not so biddable. But this was not his battle to fight; it was between a man and a woman. You could never tell with boyfriends and girlfriends. William had learned not to get involved in those dramas.

She was very polite and turned to Caroline and Amanda. "If you would excuse me?" Then she turned to her right. "Jane, thank you for inviting me to breakfast." They all realized that Lizabeth was not coming back.

Was William disappointed? He wouldn't admit that as she scooted out of the booth and walked away with Ed, the boyfriend. He thought the couple would leave, so his eyes trailed them, waiting for them to walk out the doors, but that bastard of a boyfriend merely took them to an empty table not too far away. Ed sat down, and Lizabeth hesitated before she took the chair opposite.

The voices were low enough that William couldn't hear what was said, but he could read body language. She was uncomfortable; she was embarrassed. Her cheeks were colored. She did nothing to control the hair that fell in her face as she talked to Ed, the presumptuous boyfriend. He spoke rapidly, often with his fists clenched and waving and as the color never quite left her cheeks. An argument then. It appeared that they had had an argument the night before which had unnerved Mr. Edgar Whoever, and he had come to claim his girl. But Lizabeth wasn't conceding or placating him the way he wished.

Then he saw something so unexpected that William figured he was staring with bug eyes. The man produced a tiny box and opened it. A jewelry box: a ring box. Was he proposing marriage in a hotel bar? With fifty or a hundred people around them as witnesses?

That prize was placed prominently in front of Lizabeth. More words were spoken. The color faded from her cheeks.

"No," she answered.

William could read that much on her lips. Her answer: no. She was turning Ed, the idiot, down as the box was pushed forward a few inches. More words were said.

"No," was her reply again.

Edgar got angry, and his hands splayed on the table on either side of the box. One of them drew back into a fist and thumped. William could hear, "think about it," drift his way as those hands pushed him to standing. The boyfriend left the box and the ring in front of Lizabeth and walked away.

"Well…I'm wondering if we need to write that scene into our latest production," Caroline quipped.

William looked over at his assistant. Actually, he needed to stop thinking about her that way since they were working in tandem on Bella Montaña. He also realized that everyone at their table had done nothing for the past fifteen minutes, all the knives and forks were down. Even the mimosa glasses on the tabletop weren't in anyone's hands. Everyone had watched Lizabeth and Ed's drama.

"It was rather compelling," William agreed.

"Poor Lizabeth," murmured Jane.

"How long have they seen each other?" Amanda asked.

"Not that long, as far as I understand," said Jane. "Several months."

"She wasn't in love with him then?" Mandy pressed.

"I can't speak for Lizabeth. We've been acquaintance who've become friends lately," Jane explained. "But I only got the sense that they were casually dating. I'm sure it's taken her quite by surprise to have him ask her to marry him if that truly was a marriage proposal."

"He's not the most romantic fellow," Charles quipped. "He seemed more angry than in love."

"I agree," said William.

"Do you think we ought to go rescue her?" Caro suggested. They all turned to stare at that lone table. Lizabeth was gazing down at the box in front of her. "Are you good enough friends to talk to her?"

Caroline was looking directly at Jane. The young woman seemed concerned as if there was quite a weight on her shoulders. The expectations of her being Lizabeth Bennet's best friend and having to console her seemed too much to ask, but Jane Sweet wouldn't say so; William thought that it was not in the lady's character. Jane liked to believe she was a good friend. Maybe Jane just needed a few minutes to warm up to the idea.

"I think, for sure," Mandy piped up, "we shouldn't all go and speak to her."

"Yes!" Jane readily agreed to that assessment.

"Having five people come over and quiz her would be making a mountain out of a molehill. Though a marriage proposal is not a molehill," said Charles.

"Have none of you the backbone?" cried Caro. "Amanda, if you will let me out?"

Mandy dutifully scooted over. Caroline got out of the booth carrying her half-drunk mimosa, and William watched as she went to sit with Lizabeth Bennet. He couldn't look away when she sat down. The box had disappeared from the table by that time, but Lizabeth looked up, surprised when Caroline spoke to her. She glanced over at the booth, and William was sure he looked guilty. He was sure they all did and turned away. He looked across at Mandy before glancing at Charles and Jane.

"I suppose we're done?" he asked.

"Yeah," Charles agreed.

The four of them stood to leave. Charles focused on Jane again. William realized that they still hadn't decided on plans for returning to LA (and whether anyone was riding back with him). However, he had at least another day in town because of family responsibilities. But then his phone buzzed, and he looked down to see a text notification from Caroline.

Bring me a mimosa.

She already had one, but it would fulfill his curiosity to discover what was going on with Lizabeth. He went to get one from the bar.

The two of them weren't where he had last seen them. Caroline had moved them to a more secluded table. She was being a good listener: another part of the job. Sometimes you had to command as a producer. Sometimes you had to sit and listen. Lizabeth was talking in a very soft voice, and he couldn't hear the tale as he approached.

"Caroline!" he said in a projected voice, to announce his presence. Lizabeth stopped speaking.

Caro looked up, "thanks, William. It's for Lizabeth."

"How are you?" he asked, handing it over. "We couldn't help but notice that something uncomfortable happened." He couldn't think of any other way to put it. He wasn't a writer, not really. The most he did was edit scripts from time to time.

"It's been a difficult day," Lizabeth said to him. "Thank you for the drink. Caroline insisted."

"I'm sure it will calm you down," he said. There was nothing to learn. "I'll say goodbye." He supposed Caroline would tell him the details later, but as William walked up to his hotel room, he wondered if she would.


Lizabeth couldn't call and say she was sick to avoid Sunday dinner at the Gardiners. That morning, Edgar had told her that Uncle Edward had told him where she was. Ned and Chrissie must know that something was going on between them, but she didn't want to discuss it. She went intending to do her best to avoid any mention of what had occurred in the last twenty-four hours.

She only wanted to talk about the Metcalfe's party and how much fun it had been. There had been that sense of joy when the fireworks broke in the sky and that man, William Darcy, had twirled her in his arms as they had shared a moment, strangers yes, but shared a moment of collective joy in the dark. She had never experienced anything like that. Spontaneous joy.

How did her life become so complicated since that point at the party? She was working on stretching boundaries and defining herself and figuring out who Lizabeth Todd Bennet was (her middle name was her father's first name). But she had never considered becoming Lizabeth Stone. She had been startled and surprised and overwhelmed by the events in her second bedroom and then at the hotel.

Edgar had outlined everything for her when he gave her the ring. He would buy a house down the street from the Gardiners and his parents. He didn't exactly call her a trophy wife but said that she would never need anything, never want for anything, never need to do anything.

Lizabeth assumed that she wouldn't need a job, but to her ears, it sounded as if she would never be allowed an occupation; there wouldn't be any career that she would be permitted. She would be told to leave the Registry Office job. If the ideal library job became available, she was sure Edgar would veto it. Her only career would be to furnish the house and work on giving birth to Edgar Stone, IV, and any other children who came their way.

Lizabeth was smart; she knew that. But just because she didn't have a particular next step outlined, didn't mean she had to take this one and become Mrs. Stone. She had repeatedly told Edgar no, which had made him angrier and angrier until he said Lizabeth needed to calm down, and take the ring home, and think about it. (She needed to calm down? Lizabeth thought it was Ed who was angry.) He left her with his prize and stormed off, saying he would call her after dinner.

She wondered if her uncle approved? Had Edgar asked Uncle Edward for permission to marry her? No one at the Gardiner's house mentioned the elephant in the room when she arrived or during dinner. But there was a sense of anticipation when she walked in as if she was bringing news. Within five minutes, she was convinced that if he hadn't formally asked her uncle, he had at least strongly hinted that he was going to propose.

She didn't rise to any bait and talked exclusively about the Metcalfe party. Any time Lizabeth came close to mentioning a word which seemed to indicate that she had good news to share, she felt as if her uncle and aunt were leaning towards her as though they expected her to say 'and Edgar asked me to marry him!'

At one point, her Cousin Scott declared, "this is just ridiculous," asked to be excused, and took off. He could skip Sunday dinners. Lizabeth wasn't allowed. She had to stay, so her mother wouldn't drive over and make an appearance. Lizabeth wanted to do everything to prevent Dawn coming to Merton right then. Usually, Aunt Chrissie wasn't pushy, but perhaps she was caught up in the idea of a wedding (she had no daughters) as she finally asked, "how else has your weekend gone, Lizabeth?"

"It's been a hectic," she admitted, considering her trip to the Hilton, the talk with Mary, and then her interesting discussion with the LA crowd. "I decided to go out to eat this morning."

"Yes!" Her aunt was a little over-eager. Uncle Ned leaned forward.

"Did you know that there are some producers here from LA scouting Merton as a potential site for a TV series?" It was almost comical, the disappointed look on her uncle and aunt's face, and would have been funny if Lizabeth felt humorous.

"No," said Uncle Ned.

"They're thinking of using Merton to film a new TV show. I didn't get too many of the details."

"And Friday was…okay?" Aunt Chrissie asked.

"Actually," said Lizabeth.

"Yes?" Both Uncle Edward and Aunt Chrissie prompted.

"That's where I met those LA types. It was at the country club," said Lizabeth. Again there was disappointment from her family.

"I don't recall Edgar saying he met those people," said her uncle.

"Ed abandoned me because he met some business people. He wasn't there when I ran into them. But they were at the country club too," she explained.

"Ed abandoned you for business interests?" said Uncle Ned.

"Yes, there were some people there from a software company, and we joined forces for dinner. They spent so much time talking business that Ed eventually just saw me off in a taxi," she explained.

"But you saw Ed just the next day," Chrissie pointed out.

"Yes, but he was busy most of Saturday, again with business. I think it was related. We drove separately. I didn't see much of him at the party. We didn't even end up on the same team. Well…we did when he refused to be on Team Pink, and he stole a lanyard for me so I could be on Team Blue with him."

"I guess that is sort of romantic," said her aunt, though she sounded disappointed.

Lizabeth hoped she'd been discouraging enough, and found she had. There were no other hints or questions about what she and Ed had done together. And there were no other direct questions about whether Edgar had found her Sunday afternoon. She claimed fatigue because of the party and left to go home to bed.

Though there was an unfinished romance novel by her bed, Lizabeth only managed a page before she heard the sound of a text.

You have to marry me. I want you

She wasn't sure how to respond to such a text. Edgar hadn't even bothered to call. She shut the sound notifications off on her phone, turned out the light, and fell asleep.


On Monday, she woke before her alarm and lay in bed. Lizabeth thought about her up-coming day. She recalled that she had promised the then-unknown and disgruntled man that she would be on-time, if not early on Monday. Now she knew that his name was William Darcy. It was a good thing she'd gone to bed early and had gotten a decent night's sleep given yesterday's drama. Altogether, Lizabeth was surprised she had slept as well as she did.

She could get in and make sure the computer was booted and logged on by the time William showed up. After running into him so many times that weekend, and even having brunch with him on Sunday, Lizabeth wondered if they weren't becoming acquainted. Did she like him a little better? They had shared that moment of joy on Saturday. He was an odd man, different from others she knew, but she also didn't know a great cross-section of men and didn't know any Hollywood types or even film or stage people.

She arrived about 7:35, far earlier than she'd intended as traffic was light. Sometimes, leaving ten minutes earlier made quite a difference in the number of cars on the road. She turned on the office lights and went into the backroom to brew a pot of coffee.

Lizabeth thought she heard a cat meowing frantically.

The sounds of a cat in distress seemed to come from inside the walls. She couldn't explain how a cat could be stuck there. At first, she imagined that a cat had gotten into the ceiling, and had fallen through to get wedged in the walls. But then she wondered if it wasn't outside.

She went out to check, walking around the windowless side of the recording office. It shared one side with a parking lot, but on the other was a vast three-story parking garage. The structure sat right up against their office with a walkway in between. The recording office windows looked into the garage.

She walked to the back corner of the building where there was a utility closet on the outside wall of their office. Lizabeth snooped around and discovered a hatch with a sign above it that read 'Night Deposit.' It was an opening similar to those at the library, that allowed people to return books after the library was closed. This one had a lock, but it looked like it had been forced as there were scratches around it. As Lizabeth stared at the hatch, she could hear the cries of a cat coming from inside.

In the days before there were electronic files, the office must have allowed people to drop off documents of note after-hours in that overnight bin. The access on the outside had been left in place, though to Lizabeth's knowledge, there was no access on the inside. When the city had renovated the building, they must have boarded the inside access door up. But she stood on her toes and pulled down on the handle. She found that the lock had been jimmied. Using her cell phone's flashlight, she peered inside and saw orange fur through the small crack.

She ran back to the front door, let herself back in, and shut and locked the door as it still wasn't opening time. Lizabeth called Shirley, one of the facilities people for the downtown civic buildings. She preferred Shirley to Larry, who was older, grumpy, and likely just to tell her to ignore the kitten's cries and hope it wouldn't smell too bad when it died. But Lizabeth was confident that Shirley would help. She was in luck.

"There's a cat stuck in the wall, a kitten!" Lizabeth cried when Shirley answered.

"Where?" she asked.

"In an old night deposit. The inside of the access bin is blocked. We have to rescue it," she exclaimed. "Can you come? We might have to take the wall out."

"I'll come," Shirley agreed.

As soon as she hung up, Lizabeth started pulling items off of the shelves and placing them on the tiny table in the break room. Then she got up on the counter to look at how the shelves were mounted: they rested on pins but were seated firmly. She had to maneuver her shoulder underneath to lift up one end to be able to get it down. The noises she made as she worked made the creature cry all the more.

There were the sounds of pounding on the outer door, and Lizabeth went to answer it. Shirley was outside with a huge toolbox and a shoulder bag, but Doug Morris was there as well.

His eyes flew back and forth between Shirley and Lizabeth. "What's going on?"

"There's a cat stuck in the wall," she explained as she unlocked the door, relocking it. "We're going to get him out. He's back here," she led them to the break room.

Doug asked, "how did it get there?"

"I can only guess that someone put it there. He's in an old night deposit, and I could see scratches on the lock."

Shirley and Doug took in the state of that small employee break room. "What are you going to do?" asked Doug. He leaned against the table and looked at Shirley, who was examining the wall as though there might be some hidden latch that she might simply press to make the drywall swing out on hinges without ruining it. Frantic cries came through the wall as they talked.

"I say there's no way but to remove the drywall, and I have no authority to do that. I'm supposed to repair, not destroy," said Shirley.

"Do you suppose there's any way to get there through the ceiling?" Doug asked, pointing up at the tiled ceiling. Shirley spent a few minutes pulling them aside and poking her body in to look around with a flashlight.

"No good. There's no way to get into the wall from above," said Shirley.

They made one attempt at getting the kitten through the outside of the deposit, speculating on whose arm was the skinniest. But it seemed that whenever they opened the flap, it set the kitten off howling. The flap was also designed to prevent anyone from reaching inside to pull out something that had been placed there.

"We're going to have to take the drywall off," Lizabeth decided.

"Again, I can't authorize that," Shirley cautioned. "It would have to be on your head."

"I'm sure the Judge would understand. Doesn't Mimi have a cat? I would rather ask forgiveness than permission. Do you have a saw or a hatchet?"

Shirley pulled out tools and handed them to Lizabeth, giving directions, but no help as she and Doug watched Lizabeth saw into the drywall. Finding a pocket between the studs, she peered into it with a flashlight, then pulled the drywall off with a small crowbar. Shirley quipped that the crowbar was called a 'catspaw.'

In short order, Lizabeth had removed the drywall from the backside of the night deposit. There should have been a handle on that side too, but it had been removed to place the drywall over it. The catspaw was used to pry open the bin. Doug was helping by then as there was a frantic chorus of meows. They thought the kitten might expire before they could get him out.

Shirley held the flashlight as Doug helped to pry open the bin. Inside was a bedraggled, orange kitten. He protested when Lizabeth reached in to pull him out and held him against her chest. He was exceedingly cold to the touch. The kitten squirmed now that he was free. His detention in the night deposit had not been pleasant, and the kitten had a poor opinion of human beings since one had put him there. Even though three had got him out, he wasn't accepting of their help just then. Lizabeth held him tightly as she tried to warm him and pet him in an attempt to soothe the creature.

"That was a much more exciting Monday morning than usual," Doug quipped, laughing as the kitten squirmed in her hands. The creature finally seemed to be calming the more he warmed up.

"Shirley, can you get my coat?" Lizabeth asked. (She had removed it the better to tackle the drywall.) Shirley handed it to her and tucked it around the cat as best she could. The kitten finally complied with her mental note to stop wiggling. Shirley had her phone out and had taken pictures to document the process as they had destroyed the wall, but now she took pictures of Lizabeth with the kitten in her arms.

"I'll share this with Janice!" cried Shirley. Janice was a secretary over at city hall. "She'll get a kick out of it."

"I hope I don't get fired over this," Lizabeth remarked. "But I couldn't let him die in there. I suppose I should have a vet check him out too. You know, Charlene's office is right next to a vet. You should send me one of those pictures, and I can ask her about it. Maybe I can bring this little guy over at lunchtime today. What time is it anyway?"

Lizabeth was surprised to hear that it wasn't even 8:30 yet, roughly when the Judge was due to arrive. She would confess everything—that it had been her initiative to rip open the walls and to allow a member of the public behind the counter (which was very against the rules).

There was knocking on the front door. "Oh my gosh, I forgot to open up! I haven't even turned anything on!" She had at least turned on the overhead lights. "Doug, you'll have to leave the employee area before the Judge gets in."

Lizabeth, with the cat still in her hands, made her way to the front door. There seemed to be a crowd of people there, including a tall man. It was then that she remembered her reasons for coming in early: William Darcy wanted to use the proprietary computer terminal, and she had promised to have it ready for him. But it seemed Janice had told half of city hall about the cat in the wall and everyone had come to see. When she got to the door, Janice demanded to see the kitten, and even one of the men on the city council wanted a look.

The cat protested vociferously when hands grabbed him out of her arms. She passed over her coat, saying, "Keep him warm! It'll keep him quiet!"

Someone exclaimed, "it's not a he, it's a she! Lizabeth, you've given birth to a daughter!" There was a lot of laughter as the tiny kitten was passed around.

"What's going on?" William asked. "You promised to open early today. I need to get on the road back to LA. I came with my thumb drive for those files."

She was taken aback as it seemed obvious to her what was going on. She pulled a long strand of hair out of her face, reached up to touch the top of her head, and realized that she had dust and other junk in her hair and probably looked a mess.

"There was a kitten stuck in the wall when I came to work. That's why everyone else is here." Lizabeth pointed at the group who were still exclaiming about the kitten.

"I hate cats," he said. "Is the computer on?"

"I never got around to turning the computer on, but I'll do that right now." She turned away, angry that he couldn't understand the overall situation and see the forest for the trees—that it was only his needs just then. She powered on the computer and stared at it, knowing it would be many minutes for it to boot and connect before she could enter the password.