Author's Note: Okay, I'm not sure how clear this was in the last chapter, but if I don't explain it right, things won't make sense. Fitzwilliam Darcy grew up in England. In his senior year of high school, he transferred to the US to finish up school, because money was running low at Pemberley and his mother's family in Boston (the Darlington's) offered to pay for the rest of his education. They registered him at his new school as Fitzwilliam Darlington, and because Will wanted to fit in, he adopted an American accent. Only Charlie knew that he was really British. Then Will and Charlie are accepted to and attend Boston University, and Will still pretends to be American because it's easier than switching. After B.F.D. gets popular, Will keeps pretending that he's a Bostonian named Fitzwilliam Darlington, because he's a private person and doesn't want the paparazzi following him back to England. So, at the beginning of the story, he's really upset that he can't go home to Pemberley, because the paparazzi will probably follow him and reveal his secret. Also, with strangers, he has to talk with an American accent, but he can revert to his British accent with people who know that he's actually British, mainly the Bingleys and the Bennets. (Basically, I just wanted Darcy to stay British, because I'm a sucker for the accent.)
Anyway, thank you to the people that reviewed! And to Lootz, thanks for correcting me on Mike Myers' nationality; I went back and changed it. :o)
1.
Lizzy stumbled out of her darkroom and noticed that a wedding had exploded in the living room. Or a wedding magazine at least. The floor was strewn with catalogues of white dresses, of place settings, of ice sculptures, of bridesmaids' dresses and flower arrangements. Lizzy stopped staring at the floor and looked to the kitchen, where Charlotte Lucas was seated with Mr. Collins.
Then Lizzy snorted so loudly that Charlotte glanced up from the selection of ribbons she was selecting. "Lizzy, where are you going?"
"Out," replied Lizzy, reaching for her backpack.
"Again? Why?" Charlotte was getting up, and Lizzy stuffed a stack of folders and books into her backpack.
"Gotta study," Lizzy said, walking to the door. "Exams next week, remember?"
"Yeah, and my graduation," Charlotte said, half-smiling.
"And then, your wedding," Lizzy said, and the word wedding hung in the air between them.
"Charlotte, darling," called Mr. Collins.
"Bye," said Lizzy, yanking open the door.
"Lizzy, I—" called Charlotte, but Lizzy was already stuffing her head in her cap and tramping down the stairway.
It took her three minutes in the wintry wind to get to the mall, and another four to sidestep the Christmas shoppers to get to Caribou coffee. Those seven minutes were all the time Lizzy allowed herself to waste thinking about Charlotte Lucas, soon-to-be Mrs. Charlotte Collins.
They hadn't forgiven each other yet.
It'd been over a month since the Bennet twins had been snowed in at Netherfield. The thirty minutes Lizzy spent walking back to her apartment were enough to get her cold, irritable, and overdue for a long, hot shower. So, she hadn't been very happy when she drew out her keys, fumbled with the lock of the apartment door, and walked into her living room to discover Mr. Collins on her couch. Lizzy hadn't react well; in fact she'd screamed. She'd also stumbled backward and warned Collins loudly not to touch her, telling him that she knew tae kwon do, before Charlotte Lucas came out of the bedroom and announced, "Guess what, Lizzy? I'm getting married!"
Collins smugly excused himself, kissed Charlotte on the cheek, and left to return to Rosings. When he was gone, Lizzy sat down at her kitchen table with a steaming mug of peppermint tea and stared at her roommate. "You're marrying Collins?"
"Yeah," said Charlotte smiling.
Lizzy stared into her tea and tried to process it. "Collins?"
"Why not Collins?" said Charlotte lightly.
"Well, you don't love him."
"No, I don't," Charlotte replied airily, "and he doesn't love me."
Lizzy frowned and rubbed at the handle of her Snoopy mug. "But—"
"Don't be so naïve, Lizzy," Charlotte scoffed. "Not everybody who gets married loves their spouse."
"Usually though, they at least think they do," Lizzy muttered, taking a sip of tea. "They're at least attracted to their spouse."
"He has what I need, and that's all that matters," Charlotte declared.
"What? A comb-over? Three-piece suits? A life of grateful slavery to Mrs. de Borough?"
"Money, Lizzy," snapped Charlotte. "Don't be stupid. I'm graduating this semester. My parents are cutting me off, so I can't go back another degree."
"I can help you, Charlotte," Lizzy offered, looking up hopefully. "We'll figure something out; I'll go with you to Financial Aid."
"Being a student is just an excuse to give me time to paint, Lizzy," said Charlotte. "You know that. You can understand; you're a photographer."
"But—" said Lizzy.
"I'm twenty-seven, Lizzy; you're only twenty. You're so young; you don't know yet that—"
"Women marry men for their money?" Lizzy asked sharply; the accusation began the wall that grew between them.
Charlotte's eyes were narrowed and her lips tight. "I'm a painter, Lizzy; that's all I've ever wanted to do, you know that. I'll do anything to achieve that goal."
"Support yourself," growled Lizzy. "Get a job."
"Think of it like a job," Charlotte said slowly. "It pays for everything in exchange for…"
"Sex," spat Lizzy.
"Companionship," replied Charlotte glaring.
"They have another name for what you're doing, no matter what the hell you want to call it," hissed Lizzy. "It starts with a 'P' and ends with—"
"Don't you dare judge me, Lizzy!" Charlotte screamed, and it scared Lizzy that Charlotte was crying. "Don't you see? I'm twenty-seven; I've never worked. The only jobs that'll take me are the ones that will use me up and suck me dry, and there won't be anything left of me to paint. This is the only thing I'm good at. I'm not pretty. Things don't fall in my lap the way they fall into yours and Jane's; I may never get another chance."
Lizzy refused to pity her. "You didn't even try, Charlotte."
That was when it got ugly: Charlotte accused Lizzy of being jealous and of being catty and fickle. She'd asked if Collins wasn't allowed to love someone else. She said maybe it was possible that he could love someone other than Lizzy, that maybe he actually did love Charlotte after all and had loved her all this time.
Lizzy stuck a finger in her tea to make sure that it was now lukewarm before calmly pouring it out over Charlotte's head. "You're hysterical," Lizzy informed her before locking herself in the bathroom for a well-deserved hot shower.
After that, despite Jane's attempts at reconciliation, they wouldn't talk to each other for two weeks. Charlotte refused to be wrong, and Lizzy knew she was right.
Charlotte broke down first; all she said was "good morning" in the kitchen while they were waiting for their morning coffee to brew, but it was deliberate. It was a peace offering.
"I didn't say anything that wasn't true," Lizzy said slowly.
"I need your support," Charlotte said, and Lizzy hated that she was begging.
"No," said Lizzy flatly.
"I can't do it, if you don't—" Charlotte snapped.
"Then don't do it," replied Lizzy, and Charlotte slammed her empty mug down and walked away.
Now, they were speaking again but barely. Lizzy was already counting down the days until the wedding (sixteen); it was going to be years before she could see a bridal magazine without feeling vaguely disgusted.
Lizzy arrived at Caribou and dropped her laptop bag in the corner next to the window, before ordering herself a mocha for comfort and flirting with Jack Wickham, the cashier, for kicks. Then she settled into her seat with her cup and books, making herself comfortable; it was going to be another long night.
2.
The visit of Mrs. Bennet hadn't damaged Jane and Charlie's "friendship," as both of them insisted on calling it, even though they were the talk of the town (but not thankfully, the press).
Lizzy and Jane didn't talk about it, but Lizzy didn't feel that they needed to. It was pretty obvious—from Jane's incessant smile, distracted air, frequent blushes, and conversation topic of choice (Charlie was mentioned every few minutes)—that Jane was in love. Since Jane was happy and Charlie seemed happy, Lizzy assumed that everything was going well. Also, she didn't see much of either of them, and Lizzy was sure that if Jane needed some sisterly comfort, they'd find each other.
So, when a certain redhead pre-med student walked into Caribou followed by a certain blonde rockstar, who was carrying an assortment of shopping bags, just as Lizzy finished the fifth page of her Anthropology paper, Lizzy wondered if this was an indication that she should take a much-needed break.
"Why's she so pissed?" Charlie was saying. "I thought Lizzy hated Collins."
"She doesn't hate Collins," Jane said, unzipping her purse, "but she definitely doesn't want to marry—"
"Jane," said Lizzy, snapping her laptop shut and grinning. Jane jumped and scattered the contents of her purse: mostly change, her wallet, and anatomy flashcards. "At least make sure I'm out of earshot before you start talking about me behind my back."
"Hey, Lizzy," said Charlie with a brief smile.
"Lizzy," said Jane, dropping to her hands and knees to scoop up the mess. "You didn't have to scare me."
"She didn't mean to," Charlie said.
"Of course, but—" said Jane, standing up and stuffing her purse full again; then, she tried to pry two Media Play bags out of Charlie's hand. "You should really let me help you with those; I'm feeling pretty guilty."
"Jane, I got it," he said, pushing her gently away. "You're supposed to let me feel manly and strong."
"Fine," Jane huffed and held up her wallet. "How about you be manly and hold my purse, while I buy you a coffee. You know, to fulfill my womanly qualities?"
"Don't be like that," Charlie said.
"You could just put all those down," Lizzy offered. "Even stay and chat for a while."
Charlie sighed scowling and nodded, before dropping the bags under Lizzy's table.
"I'm buying you coffee," Jane told Charlie.
"Fine—I'll just have a small. And Black."
"Two cappuccinos, please," Jane told the aproned cashier. "Lizzy, you want anything?"
"I try to limit myself to one an hour, thanks," Lizzy said.
"Jane, I asked for—" protested Charlie.
"Stop being such a gentleman, Charlie," Jane scolded, handing a ten to the cashier. "Your usual isn't going to break my budget."
"What if what I really wanted was a small coffee?" Charlie asked irritably.
Jane pushed her hair away from her face. "Good thing I just know you too well."
"Jane—"
Jane smirked. "No more, Charlie, or I'll start singing Christmas Carols at you."
Lizzy laughed. "Better do it, Charlie; Jane has lip-synched the Happy Birthday song for years."
"No one wants to hear me sing," said Jane shrugging, as the girl behind the counter handed her the coffees. "I just ruin the harmony."
"Fine," sighed Charlie; he and Jane dropped into the unoccupied seats around Lizzy's table. They weren't looking at each other.
Lizzy snorted. "Well, it's a relief to know that Christmas shopping makes even the most good-natured two people in town get cranky."
Jane glanced at Charlie, who grinned sheepishly.
"So, this is where you study nowadays," Jane said to Lizzy.
"Yep," chirped Lizzy.
"But you have an apartment," Charlie said. "Why do you need to come here?"
"Our apartment's being used as Wedding Planning Grand Central," Jane explained.
"There's a limit to how much a girl can take," Lizzy scowled.
"Where'd you draw the line?" Jane asked Lizzy.
"I got out of there the day they introduced me to Ivan," Lizzy said. "Who keeps telling me in a very thick Russian accent how I need to improve myself. You know—manicure, haircut, highlights, makeup, the works. I worked in a salon; I know how to take care of myself. I just don't."
Jane grimaced sympathetically.
"Who's Ivan?"
"Their wedding planner," Jane said.
"And Collins' ex-love," Lizzy said.
"Really?" said Charlie, gaping.
"No…" said Jane.
Lizzy's scowl was steely. "Yep. Collins told Charlotte that it was just one very drunk night in college, but by the look on his face, it meant more to Ivan than just a one-night stand."
3.
Fitzwilliam Henry Darcy was pissed.
Will hated malls. He couldn't believe Charlie had gotten him agree to meet here, to figure out something to give their sisters for Christmas. There were too many teenage girls for him to feel even remotely comfortable. One of them might recognize him. Or worse, talk to him. He might let something slip, and the Darlington-Darcy secret might be exposed again. Just as it had with Elizabeth Bennet.
Will scowled whenever he remembered her. He'd been forced to researched her when she hadn't contacted him; most people in his industry cracked down a week after he'd mentioned the word bribe. But Elizabeth Bennet was no longer a part of his industry. And even with all the reporters snooping around trying to find a new angle on the B.F.D., her discovery had been the quickest. He'd never had anyone call him out so quickly, so of course it bothered him that he knew nothing about her.
Except that she was, unfortunately, unpredictable.
So, he'd researched her and enlisted Charlie's help, who used it as an opportunity to reassure Will that he had nothing to worry about. Of course, what Charlie had found out wasn't really very helpful.
According to Charlie, who'd asked Jane, Lizzy had been a surprise to her mother. Mrs. Bennet's doctor had originally suspected twins but told their mother in the delivery room that one of the girls had died in utero. One healthy baby had been born first and named, and then twelve minutes and thirteen seconds later, a second smaller baby was born, the one predicted to be stillborn, that promptly began wailing loudly.
Mrs. Bennet had already used up both her names, so she named her younger daughter Jane Elizabeth Bennet II, Apparently Lizzy had never forgiven her mother.
"Where was their father?" Will asked horrified, when he found out.
"He'd already abandoned them." Charles scowled, and Will could only guess what else Jane had told him about her dad.
"Were they even married?" Will said.
"Jane says they were—"
"Jane's mother says they were," Will corrected.
"In Vegas," Charlie went on.
"Ah," said Will as if this explained everything.
Lizzy had run away at sixteen. In the middle of the morning. Through the front door even. With the suitcases on the steps and her ride to the city (a friend) in the driveway. And even goodbyes—a hug for her sister and a nod at her mother. She had a new name and life waiting for her in the city.
"She even found her father," Charlie had told Will. "She and Jane have both met him, but Lizzy was the one who found him. At a gallery opening; he's a photographer, too. For National Geographic or something. She figured out which one he was, ordered a tonic water, and threw it in his face." Will laughed, surprising himself and Charlie. "Then she introduced herself. As Jane Elizabeth Bennet. The Second. They've been friends ever since."
"Really?" said Will surprised.
Charlie shrugged. "Yeah."
"Shit," muttered Will.
"Jane says he's not married, but he travels a lot. He sends them postcards now from wherever he goes; they've got a whole wall of them hanging in their apartment."
"God," said Will.
"Yeah," agreed Charlie.
Most of the rest Will'd discovered on the internet: Lizzy had done well in New York under the care and counsel of her agent, Rebecca Gardiner. She'd held the three jobs that she'd named at Netherfield under the false name of Beth Bennette and the false age of nineteen. She'd earned enough to support herself and even saved enough to put herself through school with the help of an average-sized financial aid package, hers as long as she remained an honors student.
The only thing that the internet told him and he couldn't explain himself was the names of the Bennet twins: they were registered at Vickroot University as Jane Elinor Bennet and Elizabeth Zipporah Bennet.
"They changed them," Charlie told him when Will asked. "Their eighteenth birthday present to themselves. Made it legal and everything."
"She chose Zipporah?" Will asked aghast.
"No, Jane did," said Charlie, and when Will snorted, Charlie explained, "Lizzy wanted to name herself 'Zippy;' that's what her dad calls her because she was so busy in the city. Jane convinced her that Zipporah was an improvement." Will had to admit that it was.
Will still didn't know what to think about Elizabeth Bennet, despite all he found out. The only conclusion he'd come to was that she was independent, proudly so—her self-funded education and her own name were badges of that independence. He'd never known or heard of anyone who had done so much to make things happen for herself.
And she was relentlessly self-reliant. Excessively so. Will suspected that she hadn't depended on anyone else in a very long time. Pardoning, of course, her twin sister.
Elizabeth Bennet's relationship with Jane was what really convinced him he didn't need to worry about her leaking his real name to the press. If anyone understood what it was to protect a sister, it was the Bennet twins. They'd had to—to survive a mother like theirs.
So, Will really had no excuse for thinking about the younger Bennet twin. No excuse for having an entire file of sites still bookmarked on his computer. No excuse for still taking mental notes whenever she became the topic of Jane and Charlie's frequent conversations at Netherfield.
No excuse for his mind to present him with her again and again, as she watched her mother take her sister away from Netherfield: with her blue or green eyes—unhappy, but absolutely fierce.
No excuse for him to stop in his tracks when he noticed Lizzy—in a Vickroot sweatshirt with her hair in a ponytail—seated with her legs stretched out and resting on the chair across from her, laughing between her twin sister and Charlie's bandmate.
No excuse for him to catch himself smiling.
No excuse for him to lose his temper when he saw the man she was introducing to Jane and Charlie.
4.
Most college students—when they take a break while studying for exams—tend to limit themselves to a certain amount of break time; few actually hold to their limits. Lizzy had exceeded hers sixteen minutes ago.
"Come on," Lizzy begged.
"No, I really—" Jane said and stopped. "I don't think that we should have our eggnog party this year."
"But everyone loves our Eggnog Party," Lizzy complained. "It's not Christmas without our Eggnog Party."
"What Eggnog Party?" asked Charlie.
"We make huge bowls of eggnog with varying levels of whisky in it," Lizzy explained, "and then we invite everyone we know to our apartment. It's a tradition. It used to be Jane's cookie swap party," Lizzy confided to Charlie, "but my eggnog was more popular."
"This year's different," Jane reminded her.
"How's it different?" Lizzy asked, crossing her arms.
"There's a lot already going on in our apartment."
Lizzy's expression darkened. "You mean Wedding Central." When Jane nodded, Lizzy snorted and turned to Charlie. "Jane's wrong; I do hate Collins."
"Lizzy!" cried Jane.
"Well—" replied Lizzy.
"I'm the one Charlotte has to come to," Jane argued. "You aren't helping her."
"Of course not," Lizzy snapped. "She's throwing her life away."
Jane couldn't argue, and Charlie looked uncomfortable. Lizzy took pity on him. "Sorry, Charlie. I've been…well, this isn't me."
"Lizzy," said Jane with concern.
"Maybe," said Charlie cautiously, "we could have your party at my house."
Lizzy's eyes lit up, and her mouth fell open.
"At Netherfield?" Jane said.
Lizzy snapped her mouth closed. "I couldn't ask you to do that; it's too much work."
"No, I want to," said Charlie with a slow grin. "It's a great idea. I've been toying with the idea of having a party there for a while. Will keeps trying to talk me out of it, but this settles it. I'm having a Christmas party at Netherfield."
"Charlie…" Jane said, a smile creeping around her mouth.
"We'll invite everybody!" Charlie said, grinning and throwing his arms out wide. "Everybody in town."
"The press," Jane reminded him. "They're not going to be able to resist—"
"Hell," Charlie shrugged, still grinning, "we'll invite them, too."
The Bennet twins cheered, and Lizzy gripped his arm. "Charlie," she said, almost seriously, "I love you."
"Lizzy!" cried Jane.
"What?" said Lizzy. "I didn't say that I was in love with him, but Charlie, you're the nicest rock star I've ever met."
"Stop it, Lizzy," said Charlie, covering his face bashfully. "You're making me blush." He wasn't really, but Lizzy had to stop herself from pointing out that Jane was a deeper shade of pink than usual.
"Lizzy, who're you declaring your love to over there?" asked a British voice behind the counter. "Should I be jealous?"
"Hey, Wickhead," said Lizzy, reaching a hand toward the tall, brown-haired cashier in an apron. "Come over here and meet my sister and our friend."
"Wickhead?" Jane asked incredulously. "His name is Wickhead?"
Lizzy grinned. "That's just what I heard when he introduced himself; his real last name's Wickham, though. Unfortunately."
"Most people call me 'Jack,'" he said, smirking at Lizzy.
"Not me," chirped Lizzy.
"Yes, Lizzy—not you," Jack agreed.
"Charlie," the other man said, shaking Jack's hand.
"Jane," said Jane shyly. "Nice to meet you, Jack."
"A pleasure," said Jack with a nod.
"You're British?" asked Charlie.
Lizzy smirked, knowing that Charlie was thinking of Will. "Funny how things turn out."
"Unfortunately, yes, I am British" said Jack smiling, "but not for long. I'm applying for U.S. citizenship—"
"Hey, look! It's Will!" said Lizzy, pointing out the window. She even waved, even though Will was only standing ten feet away and staring straight at them. She watched his face contorting. "Wow, that's the most emotion I've ever seen him show. You know, that's a lot of expression for anyone in a few seconds. He just went from smile to shock to pissed in like—"
"Lizzy," hissed Jane.
"Hmm?" said Lizzy, and Jane frowned and jerked her chin to Charlie. Charlie's chair squeaked against the floor as he scooted back, watching his bandmate. Will turned abruptly, met Lizzy's eyes for a brief instant, and fled.
He's so weird, Lizzy thought. Are all British people lie this? She looked up at Wickham to check and guessed so, because Wickham looked as white as the sugar snowflake cookies Caribou was trying to sell in the glass display behind him.
"I better go see what's up," said Charlie slowly, stuffing his arms through his jacket.
"You want me to see if I can't go pick up the car and bring it around?" Jane asked.
"Yeah, that'd be great," Charlie said, picking up his drink. "Can you manage the bags by yourself?"
"If not, I've got Lizzy," Jane replied.
Charlie dropped a kiss on the top of Jane's head. "Thanks, sweetie," he said, walking out the door.
Jane sprouted a blush, and Lizzy stared at her twin. "Are you sure you're not dating?" Lizzy asked.
"We're not dating," Jane said firmly.
"Uh-huh."
"We're not."
"Okay, whatever. Should we get these bags out to the car?" Lizzy asked, standing and gathering bags.
5.
Will hated losing control. He hated it even more when he lost it in public. He hated it the most when he lost it in public in front of someone who knew him well.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Charlie asked, looking over at him.
"Fine, Charlie," Will said evenly. "Now, keep your eyes on the bloody road." He was pissed that he couldn't tell Charlie anything remotely resembling the truth, because Jane was in the backseat. On top of everything else, he was uncomfortable because he and Jane had argued about who would let who ride shotgun. Jane had won, and so Will was stuck in the front seat feeling ungentlemanly.
"So, Jane," said Charlie, glancing in the rearview mirror, "check and see if Lizzy's in earshot."
(Will also didn't understand how Elizabeth Bennet could come up again. Out of nowhere.)
"What?" said Jane startled.
(Of course, it might just have something to do with the fact that his best friend was having a fling with Elizabeth's sister.)
"I was going to ask about her and Collins," said Charlie uncertainly.
"Oh!" cried Jane with a little laugh.
(Will assumed there was a story behind this.) "Who's Collins?" Will asked in an undertone to Charlie.
"You remember Collins," Charlie told Will. "He's the one who came to Netherfield and proposed to Lizzy."
"Anyway, when Charlotte got engaged to Collins—" Jane started.
"Who's Charlotte?"
"Charlotte's their roommate, Will," said Charlie.
"That bugger Collins proposed to her bloody roommate?" Will said. "When did that happen?"
"The day we went home," Jane told him.
"You're a little behind, Will," Charlie mock-scolded. "Do try to keep up, old chap."
"Don't mock my accent now," Will snapped, settling back into his seat. "I'm not in the mood."
"Okay, let me get this straight," Charlie said to Jane. "Lizzy doesn't want to marry Collins, and Collins is going to marry someone else."
"Yes…" said Jane slowly.
"Then, I don't understand what Lizzy's problem is," Charlie admitted. "He's not bothering her anymore."
"Well, it's a little more complicated than that, Charlie."
"Is it because I'm a man?"
"What?" Jane asked, and she was laughing.
"I just assume that whenever I don't understand something complicated, it's because I'm a man," explained Charlie.
"Charlie, don't believe everything your sisters tell you," Will said, and Jane was laughing again.
"It's only that you're looking at the situation more from Collin's perspective than Lizzy's," said Jane. "Lizzy feels betrayed; she considered Charlotte one of her good friends."
"But if Lizzy doesn't want Collins, what's the problem?"
"Well…" said Jane, sighing. "Lizzy talked tough and acts untouchable, but she's really very…"
"Fragile?" said Will.
"Will, I think you're the first person who's met my sister and called her fragile," said Jane as harshly as Will had ever heard her speak; even Charlie raised his eyebrows. "She's just as lot more easily hurt than most people would expect. She's incredibly idealistic, and Charlotte's turned out to be not the person Lizzy thought she was."
"What do you mean?" Charlie asked.
"Lizzy believes very strongly that…" Jane said slowly. "Well, New York changed her a lot; lots of the stuff she saw there really pissed her off. Lizzy's now an artist, a feminist, and a romantic; she believes it's a man's world but she can succeed in it on her own terms. So, Charlotte's decision shook…not her confidence in herself, but more like her confidence in her ability to succeed. Ugh, I don't think any of this is making sense."
"I don't see what that has to do with Collins," Charlie said.
"Charlotte's marrying Collins for his money," Will explained.
"What? Will," Charlie said. "You can't say stuff like that."
"Why else would anyone marry Collins?" Will scoffed.
"No…" said Charlie, glancing in the rearview mirror at Jane.
Jane sighed. "Charlotte denies it now, but Lizzy says that at first, Charlotte told her that she wanted to have the time and means to paint."
"Charlotte's a painter?" Will said, turning around to look at Jane.
Jane nodded. "A pretty good one."
"Does she resent Lizzy?" asked Will.
"Who?" Jane asked.
"Charlotte," Will replied.
"Why would Charlotte resent Lizzy?" Charlie asked.
"Because Lizzy's more talented than she is."
"Will, can you just be a little less of an asshole?" Charlie said irritably.
"What?" Will said, looking at Charlie and then back at Jane. "Am I wrong?"
"I haven't thought of that," Jane said slowly, "but you might be right."
Will turned back and smiled at Charlie. "Oh, great," snorted Charlie. "Now you're a smug asshole."
"I'm a smug asshole, who happens to be right," said Will.
"Might be right," Charlie corrected.
Jane shook her head, smiling. "Charlotte's not a bad person; she's just…" Jane shrugged. "…misguided?"
Will glanced at Charlie to gauge his reaction.
"It's okay, Jane," Charlie said, smiling into the rearview mirror at her. "It's just us; you don't have to be the nice one."
Jane flashed him a grateful smile. "She's just lazy," Jane said. "She doesn't want to work at it; I don't think she understands how hard Lizzy worked in New York. Still works—not in New York, but here. She works all summer, you know."
"So she doesn't have to go home?" Will asked.
"Will," said Charlie through his teeth.
"Yes," said Jane simply.
The car was silent for a while, except for the run of the engine and the clicks of the turning signal.
"So, Lizzy's pissed, because Charlotte made her feel like she can't achieve?" Will asked.
"Yeah," Jane said. "Take another left turn here, Charlie. Well, that and she's always been skittish about love and marriage anyway."
"Because of your parents?" said Charlie.
"Yeah," said Jane. "Well, that and an asshole named Greg in New York."
Will and Charlie exchanged a look.
"I would've never expected Lizzy to be the type to be wasted and wary," said Charlie.
"Wasted and wary?" repeated Will snickering. "Is that a saying even in America? You might as well just say burned and burdened and kill it completely."
"This," Charlie told Jane, "is why we don't write our own lyrics."
"She's not scared exactly," Jane said. "She's just careful not to mess up a second time.—Charlie, you missed the turn."
"Aw, shit," said Charlie, glancing behind him. "I do this every time."
"It's okay," Jane said quietly, as she gathered her bags together.
Charlie signaled, pulled a U-turn, and laughed a little. "I just keep trying to take you back to Netherfield with me."
Jane didn't answer, but when she got out of the car and under the street lamp, Will noticed that she had blushed a brilliant red.
6.
Lizzy was contemplating Jack ("Wickhead") Wickham. (She was supposed to be researching for her second Anthro paper, but it had been three hours since her sister and Charlie left and Lizzy figured she deserved another break.) Jack was good-looking, she supposed. And the accent definitely added a little something. He was too charming for his own good, though. He reminded her of Greg in that way, but that wasn't his fault. Not all charming men took another model to his bed when their girlfriend went to visit her twin sister at college for the weekend.
"Need a refill, love?" asked Jack from behind the counter.
"Uh," said Lizzy, sitting back and closing her book with her finger between the pages to save her place. "What time is it?"
"Nearly nine."
"Decaf," said Lizzy decidedly, screwing her travel mug closed and tossing it to him. He caught it deftly with one hand. "I plan on sleeping tonight."
Jack grinned. "Alone, I hope."
"Dunno. You free tonight?"
"Is that an invitation, Lizzy?" asked Jack.
"Nope," chirped Lizzy smiling. "I was seriously about getting sleep."
"Ah!" Jack moaned, clutching his heart with both hands. "Don't tease me so; I can't take it from you, love."
That was another thing; Jack was a shameless flirt. He'd found a way to put a smile on the face of every female customer in Caribou, usually with really blatant flattery; he preferred blondes, though. Those were the customers he actually exchanged numbers with. Maybe Lizzy could introduce him to Caroline Bingley, but no, Jack was too nice. He didn't deserve to be inflicted with Caroline.
"You'll take a swift kick in the rear if you keep that up, Wickhead," said Lizzy.
"Touché, pet," said Jack, bringing her mug to the table. "Half-and-half and two raw sugars, just like you like it. And this one's on me."
Lizzy was also very aware that Jack flirted the most when he was trying to butter someone up for something; she'd once seen him tease a raise out of his middle-aged female manager.
"Aww, thanks, old chap," said Lizzy, taking her coffee from him. "Don't worry; I'll pay you back in tips later on."
"Counting on it," said Jack. There was a few seconds of silence, and Lizzy waited for the question she knew was coming. "So, Lizzy, how well do you know Will Darcy?"
There it is, Lizzy thought smirking, and she returned her mug to the table. "Well enough to know that he'd be pissed to hear you calling him Darcy."
"Oh," said Jack startled. "I see."
"Relax, Jack," said Lizzy, sipping her coffee. "Mr. Darcy and I don't exactly get along. He tried to ruin a roll of my film once."
"Heaven forbid," Jack replied grinning. "You haven't forgiven him, yet?"
Lizzy snorted. "He hasn't apologized yet."
"Well, don't hold your breath waiting," said Jack, glancing around to make sure there was nobody else around and taking a seat next to her. "Will was never one for apologies."
"How do you know Darcy?" Lizzy asked.
Jack laughed. "I knew you'd ask that."
"Of course," Lizzy replied. "It's too much of a coincidence that the only two British people I know in town also know each other; the UK just got a lot smaller in my estimation."
"Well, the states got smaller in mine," said Jack grimly.
"You're not following him, are you?" Lizzy asked.
"God, no!"
"And he's not following you?" Lizzy said.
"I certainly hope not," said Jack, fiddling with the cover of her Anthropology book. "What's this you're studying? The Banned and the Burka? Lizzy, love, what the devil are you reading?"
"Jack, don't change the subject," said Lizzy, and when Jack avoided her gaze, she added, "You can tell me."
"Will and I grew up together," said Jack quietly. "We were playmates, but never really friends. My mother worked for his father."
"And?" prompted Lizzy.
Jack smiled, a little too brightly to soothe Lizzy's curiousity. "And what, pet?"
"Well, obviously you too had a major disagreement," said Lizzy. "I've never seen two English dudes change color so fast in my life."
"An English dude? Is that all I am to you, Lizzy?" said Jack.
"Spill," said Lizzy sternly.
"It's was so long ago; he's probably changed by now," Jack protested, and Lizzy rolled her eyes and waited, watching Jack. "He threw me out."
"Of what?" said Lizzy. "Of Pemberley?"
"You do know your stuff, don't you?" said Jack admiringly. "Yes, Pemberley. A few years ago. I was residing there in the old servant's cottage when I wasn't at school. I was at Oxford, you see; I'd gotten a scholarship and in the late Mr. Darcy's will, the Pemberley estate offered to pay for the rest of my education. Will was in the States, of course; I think he'd just started his career. I was at Pemberley. With Giana."
"Georgiana?" asked Lizzy.
Jack nodded, staring into the desk, the corners of his mouth turned down.
"You love her," Lizzy guessed softly.
"Well, no," said Jack quietly. "Not anymore." When Lizzy gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, he swallowed and smiled gratefully, before continuing, "We had a beautiful summer, Giana and I; the whole world was ours. Or Pemberley, which was enough. Or seemed like it."
"And then…" prompted Lizzy.
"Will came home. Found us—well, not in bed exactly, but on the sofa, which was pretty much the same thing," said Jack. "He was livid. He threw me out; I wasn't wearing much but he wouldn't let me get my things. Sent them to me later when I went to visit a friend."
"Georgiana didn't tell him?"
"Well, she told him something, but it wasn't the truth." Jack shrugged, but the corners of his mouth were twitching down. "She told Will that I was about to um…" Jack took a deep breath, holding onto the edges of the table as if to steady himself. "To rape her; she told him I was going to rape her."
"God, Jack," said Lizzy, reaching for his shoulder again.
"I guess fraternal affection won out," said Jack, shrugging again. "She didn't want to disappoint him, I guess." He grinned. "I wasn't the most eligible of bachelors."
"No, I think you're pretty damn eligible," protested Lizzy and hugged him impulsively around the shoulders.
"Thank you, love," said Jack, patting her awkwardly on the elbow. "That's sweet.—And you smell good, too. Better watch yourself, or I might take advantage of you."
"Jack," said Lizzy seriously, settling back into her seat. "I—"
A customer, one with long sleek blonde hair and pink pants, walked in the door. "I'm fine, Lizzy," said Jack, getting up to return to the cash register. "This was a very long time ago."
Later, when Jack was closing up and kicking Lizzy out, Lizzy asked what else had happened.
"Well, I had to drop out of Oxford," said Jack slowly. "It's a rather expensive school, especially for England. Then, I enlisted, traveled with the army for a while, and ended up here."
"You didn't go back to school?" Lizzy asked.
"I couldn't," Jack had told her, sweeping up and not meeting her gaze. Lizzy couldn't help thinking that there could've been a way or a scholarship somewhere if Jack had really wanted to go.