Chapter 12 – Encounters
By Wednesday, Eliza had fallen into her routine at the Met. Jane had called her earlier that morning to tell her that she was already settled at the Gardiners, and Eliza expressed her happiness, hoping that her sister couldn't tell she wasn't entirely sincere.
Around quarter to ten, Victoria joined Eliza in the gallery where Eliza was helping to open paint cans for the stencils on the walls.
"Eliza, you may want to hold up for a moment," Victoria said. She looked a little upset, so Eliza immediately ceased what she was doing to join Victoria.
"What's wrong?" Eliza asked.
Victoria sighed. "Mr. Rochester is arriving in fifteen minutes to have a look around."
"Charles Rochester? Really?" Eliza said excitedly, but then calmed down at the look on Victoria's face.
"You won't be so excited after you meet him, I'm afraid," Victoria said.
"Oh," Eliza mused, her shoulders falling.
"I don't know what he's complaining about, he signed the contract, we told him exactly what we were going to do with the exhibit; now he's having an absolute cow over it."
"What's wrong with exhibit?" Eliza asked, feeling a little hurt; she hadn't designed the exhibit, but even after only two days she felt an enormous responsibility for it.
Victoria sighed again, gazing around. "He doesn't want mugs," she said, throwing up her hands.
"Come again?" Eliza asked, confused. Victoria smiled and chuckled a little.
"Never mind," she said, laying a comforting hand on Eliza's shoulder. "He and Mr. Darcy will be here any minute, we'll talk to them."
Eliza's heart stopped for a moment. Mr. -?
"Mr. Darcy?" she asked.
"His lawyer," Victoria said offhandedly.
It couldn't be… well, of course it could, Eliza thought, he is a lawyer, and he was going back to work… She groaned quietly. She'd thought she'd seen the last of that man! He was so… arrogant, so stoic. Not to mention heartless and cruel, she thought as she thought of George. Poor George… she would have to call him tonight. Surely he could offer some words of encouragement on dealing with the callous Darcy. Because it wasn't personal this time; it was business.
Sure enough, at precisely ten o'clock, a guard was leading Will Darcy and Mr. Rochester into the gallery. If Eliza weren't so tense, she would have found the image hilarious: Darcy, in his crisp, immaculate suit, complete with unsmiling, cold face could not have been more different than Mr. Rochester, who was wearing what looked to be his pajamas, splattered in dried paint, his hair uncombed and wild.
"Mr. Darcy," Victoria said with a smile, reaching out to shake his hand. He merely nodded as he took her hand. As Victoria moved on to Mr. Rochester, Darcy turned to Eliza. A twitch in his eyebrows seemed to be his only form of recognition as he nodded to her.
"Miss Bennet," he said.
"Mr. Darcy," she said, shaking his hand quickly.
There was no time for small talk, thankfully; Mr. Rochester had immediately launched into ranting about the gallery, the color of the walls, the words that were half finished… Eliza waited patiently by Victoria's side, who made no effort to interrupt. Finally, when Mr. Rochester stopped to take a breath, it was Darcy who spoke.
"Ms. Emerson, we both know what is said in the contract," he said, referring to Rochester and himself. "And while the majority of the responsibility for the creative presentation of this exhibit rests with you and your staff, Mr. Rochester does have some say, which so far he has not been able to express."
"Well, of course, Mr. Rochester can tell us his thoughts on-" Victoria began to say.
"No mugs! I do not want my paintings on mugs!" Mr. Rochester immediately burst out.
Eliza heard Victoria take a deep breath.
"There doesn't necessarily have to be mugs, Mr. Rochester," she said slowly, "but you must realize that there will have to be merchandise. There is no admission fee to this exhibit; if you, and the museum, are going to make any money off of this, there must be merchandise associated with it, and with you."
"We understand that, Ms. Emerson," Darcy cut in; Eliza noticed him putting a hand on Rochester's elbow, as if to pull him back. "I believe what Charles is more concerned with is the general presentation of his work."
"Well, we showed you the plans for the gallery weeks ago," Victoria said. Darcy's eyes hardened.
"Well, now Mr. Rochester has had time to think on it," he said.
"And?" Victoria asked, her eyebrow raised.
They all looked toward Rochester, who was wandering about the gallery, looking at the stencils on the walls. Eliza narrowed her eyes; she had spent all of yesterday preparing those, getting them just perfect on the walls, and had left last night very happy with the way they looked. The stencils spelled out bits of poetry that went quite well with Mr. Rochester's scenic watercolors, and lent a nice ambience to the whole room.
"We're not too pleased with these words on the walls," Darcy said after a few moments.
"Why not?" Eliza quipped.
He turned to her, expression unreadable as usual. "They're a bit childish, don't you think?"
"On the contrary, they fit in nicely with the theme of nature," she countered.
"I don't think the patrons of this museum need to be told what to think of the paintings," Darcy said, his eyes taunting her.
God, how she hated him. Luckily, before she fired back with something she might regret later, Victoria jumped in.
"Do you two know each other?" she asked with an amused chuckle.
Eliza hitched a smile on her face and turned to her boss. "Only a little," she said.
Darcy was dreading going to the museum with Rochester for two reasons: one, Rochester was a pain in the ass who would probably make a fool of both himself and Darcy, and two, there was the chance he would see Eliza. Ever since he'd left Long Island, she'd been on his mind, and he couldn't help but wonder: if he felt this way, did she?
As he'd feared, there were two people waiting for them in the gallery. Victoria Emerson, a tall, thin blonde woman was standing next to Eliza, whose hair was curlier than usual and sparkled a little in the sunlight. Mustn't act unusual, he reminded himself. Directing his eyes firmly away from Eliza, he approached Ms. Emerson.
"Mr. Darcy," she said; he shook her hand quickly, not especially caring for the woman. She moved on to greet Rochester, while he slowly turned himself to Eliza. She looked especially lovely in khaki cropped pants, high heels, and a chartreuse blouse. He wasn't sure what sort of greeting she would expect, so he just nodded.
"Miss Bennet," he said, very business-like.
"Mr. Darcy," she replied.
He wished they could have spoken a little longer, but Rochester wasted no time in commencing his tirades about the exhibit. Darcy took a moment to look around; yes, those words on the walls would have to go. They just looked silly… and some of them were crooked. The color of the walls was a bit pale; he had seen the frames, and this just would not work. For once, he was actually agreeing with Rochester.
After a minute or so, Rochester paused for a split second. Will seized the opportunity.
"Ms. Emerson, we both know what is said in the contract," he said, referring to Rochester and himself. "And while the majority of the responsibility for the creative presentation of this exhibit rests with you and your staff, Mr. Rochester does have some say, which so far he has not been able to express."
Ms. Emerson looked harried, and Darcy shook his head slightly. If she couldn't deal with one demanding artist, how did she ever expect to make it as a curator?
"Well, of course," she began, "Mr. Rochester can tell us his thoughts on-" she started to say.
Will could feel Rochester bristling next to him.
"No mugs!" he exclaimed. "I do not want my paintings on mugs!"
Ms. Emerson breathed deeply for a moment; Eliza was still standing calmly by her side.
"There doesn't necessarily have to be mugs, Mr. Rochester," Ms. Emerson said slowly, "but you must realize that there will have to be merchandise. There is no admission fee to this exhibit; if you, and the museum, are going to make any money off of this, there must be merchandise associated with it, and with you."
Darcy laughed silently to himself. Honestly, if she was going to be this dull about it, he would just have to give up and leave.
"We understand that, Ms. Emerson," he said, holding back Rochester, who was glaring daggers at both Ms. Emerson and Eliza. The last thing he needed was Rochester to make a scene. "I believe," he emphasized, pulling harder on Rochester's elbow, "what Charles is more concerned with is the general presentation of his work."
"Well, we showed you the plans for the gallery weeks ago," Ms. Emerson said coldly. Will couldn't help but glare at her a little, too. Yes, he wanted to say, and we thought they were rubbish then, too. He settled on something more diplomatic.
"Well, now Mr. Rochester has had time to think on it."
"And?" Ms. Emerson countered, her thin eyebrow raised. Will was suddenly forcibly reminded of Caroline. Shaking that horrible image out of his mind, he turned toward Rochester, who had wandered a bit off. He was examining the stencils, and Will could tell the artist with displeased with them, too.
"We're not too pleased with these words on the walls," he said after a few moments, receiving a nod of confirmation from Rochester.
"Why not?"
Will jerked his head back to Eliza, who had spoken for the first time. Her head was cocked to the side, her eyebrows raised. He turned fully to her.
"They're a bit childish, don't you think?" he said. He couldn't believe she would actually like these stencils; he had taken her for someone to be highly appreciative of fine art.
"On the contrary," she replied, her voice icier than he had ever heard it, "they fit in nicely with the theme of nature."
He looked around at the walls once more; yes, Rochester's exhibit was all about the outdoors, and the stencils spelled out bits of Whitman and some quotes from Thoreau. But it was as if you were being told what to think while viewing the paintings, and surely Eliza had to see that.
"I don't think the patrons of this museum need to be told what to think of the paintings," he said to her, trying to challenge her. He was slightly shocked, but altogether delighted when he received not a gracious smile in return, but a cold, hard stare.
"Do you two know each other?" Ms. Emerson suddenly asked, looking back and forth between them. Will watched as Eliza's face immediately melted into a smile.
"Only a little," she answered.
Will nodded in agreement, but inside he was thinking he knew everything about her just from her eyes.
Snapping out of his momentary lapse of reality, he found Rochester and Ms. Emerson heatedly discussing something much further down the gallery while Eliza was standing near to him, frowning at the walls. Surely she must feel something toward him… how could he be such a mess whenever he was near her, and she not feel a thing? It wasn't possible… was it?
"Do you really like these stencils?" he asked quietly, coming to stand next to her.
She shrugged, her mouth tense and thin. "Yes," she said.
He nodded, considering them again. Maybe they weren't so bad… perhaps with a different font…
"You left Netherfield rather quickly," Eliza suddenly said.
This took his mind off stencils quite completely.
"Yes, well, I had to return to work," he replied slowly.
"Hm," she murmured. "I'm sure Caroline was… eager to leave, too," she went on, her eyes still fixed on the wall.
Will chuckled dryly. She looked quickly up at him, her brow quizzical. He abruptly stopped, awkwardly turning it into a cough.
"Well, Caroline… doesn't really like the sand," he said, remembering Caroline's jubilation upon returning to the city.
"That must have been it," Eliza said sarcastically. Will frowned; what did she think was the reason they left? From the look on her face, it seemed as if she thought it had been something bad. They did leave rather quickly, and with no real explanation, but Will hadn't really thought anyone would care; perhaps he'd been wrong.
The morning progressed as slow as if Eliza was trapped in molasses. Although Victoria had suggested they break for lunch, Mr. Rochester had been too engrossed in detailing his displeasures with the gallery to let them go. Finally, around two in the afternoon, with all of their stomachs screaming in anguish, Mr. Darcy and Rochester left, promising to return on Friday. Eliza had barely processed anything that had gone on for the last hour, so she and Victoria dined silently together in the museum cafeteria. When they finished, Victoria sighed deeply and looked at Eliza pityingly.
"I'm so sorry, Eliza," she said. She looked down at her notepad, every inch of which was covered in scribbles and notes. She looked back up to Eliza, her eyes frustrated.
"Just tell me what to do," Eliza said with an encouraging smile. Victoria smiled as well, patting Eliza's hand.
"Thank you so much," she said, ripping off the top sheet. "You know, I think I'll just send you home for now… take this and try to make sense of it. We'll go over our lists tomorrow morning and see what we can do."
"No problem," Eliza replied, taking the paper.
"Normally I can handle these crazy artists a lot better than this," Victoria said, looking almost apologetic. Eliza chuckled and smiled sympathetically.
"Plus his lawyer…" Victoria went on.
"You didn't like him?" Eliza asked excitedly.
Victoria furrowed her brow. "Well obviously you don't," she said with a chuckle. "How do you know him anyway?"
Eliza leaned back and waved a hand. "He lived in my neighborhood for a short period."
"He's just so… cold," Victoria said. "It's hard to reason with someone so reserved."
"Exactly," Eliza said, taking a nice sort of vengeance in the fact that a complete stranger also disliked him; she felt validated, in a way.
A half hour later, Eliza was the leaving the museum. Too bad Jane's not home, Eliza thought sadly… it would have been the perfect opportunity to visit her. Sighing, Eliza made her way down the steps and was just about to cross the street to the bus stop when a voice called out behind her.
"Eliza! Wait a moment!"
Victoria hurried up behind her, her perfect blonde hair slightly escaping from its bun. She skidded to a halt next to Eliza and paused to catch her breath.
"What is it?" Eliza asked, checking her purse quickly to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything.
"I meant to give you this today," Victoria replied, handing Eliza a small sheet of thick, cream paper.
"It's the invitation to the gala… you need to RSVP by next Tuesday, so I thought I'd better give it to you as soon as possible," she explained.
Eliza flipped over the paper, and scanned the fine writing quickly… the gala was in two weeks, the Friday of opening weekend. She could bring a guest…
"Don't worry about the guest part, it isn't required," Victoria added quickly.
Eliza looked up at her, eyebrows furrowed. Was her nonexistent love life really that apparent? Victoria smiled, rather shakily, said goodbye and started walking back to the museum. Eliza sighed and tucked the invitation into her purse. Well, even if she couldn't find a date, she could at least find a kick-ass gown.
Darcy returned to his office from lunch with Rochester exhausted, both in body and mind. Charles never slowed down, not for an instant. And it certainly didn't help that his voice was a grating, high-pitched squeal that made one's ears hurt after only five minutes. His mind, on the other hand, had been working overtime ever since they had stepped foot into the gallery. On the one hand, he needed to pay attention to his client and to what sort of agreements they were reaching with Ms. Emerson; on the other, Eliza had proved to be much too distracting. Something had been amiss in her demeanor today; there had been no twinkle in her eye, and the one time he saw her smile it had been completely insincere. He had seen an entirely different side of her, and it was utterly captivating… so much so that he found it very difficult to remember what exactly had taken place business-wise that morning. Luckily, Rochester had taken dozens of notes, albeit half of them were chicken-scratch and completely illegible.
Looking over Rochester's scribbles, Darcy couldn't help but feel disappointed that he had to spend time with Eliza. She diverted him from his work, and his work was his whole life. Thinking of her was useless; in a year, after he graduated, he would marry Anne. Anne was the perfect woman for him: she came from a noble family, had a good education, and had survived for years with his aunt, so she must have a strong disposition. After they married, she would look after the estate, and he could focus on his work. I love to work, Darcy thought to himself. Proving himself to be every inch as worthy as his father had been his life's goal since he had started college, and working day in and day out would eventually confirm that perhaps he was even better than his father.
Besides, he thought for the millionth time, it was against his nature to feel this way about anyone, let alone a woman like Eliza. He just needed to get this one crush out of his system. Shaking his head, he focused on Rochester's notes, and smiled. They were so convoluted and illegible, they were sure to keep him occupied all night.
At six o'clock, Will was the last to leave the office. Locking the door, he breathed in the muggy summer evening air and began walking home. He was just about to decipher one of Rochester's cryptic notes when he ran headlong into someone.
"Oh, I apologize," he immediately said; he saw a flash of blonde hair, and then focused his eyes on the young woman bending down next to him, trying to recover the contents of her briefcase. He bent down as well, but she had already picked everything up; they straightened and the woman looked up at him.
"Will!"
Will had to take a moment to register the fact that in front of him stood Jane Bennet. He had never seen her dressed in a suit before, her hair pulled back into a twist. She smiled, as usual, and extended her hand.
"Jane, how lovely to see you," he said quickly, taking her hand. "What are you doing in this part of town?" he asked, moving them away from the center of the sidewalk.
"Oh, I was relocated to Manhattan," she said; Will noticed her smile was gone. "I just moved in with my aunt and uncle on Fifth."
"Ah," was all Will found to say. He found this situation very awkward, indeed. Should he mention Charles? He remembered Eliza's sarcastic tone that afternoon when he'd mentioned why they'd left Netherfield so soon. Lied about why we left so soon, is more like it, he thought.
It seemed Jane could feel the awkwardness of the situation, too, but she motioned for them to continue walking; after all, they were heading in the same direction.
"I… I'm sorry you all left so soon, there wasn't any time to say goodbye," she said. Will looked over at her, hoping to evaluate her expression. Her face, however, was smooth and calm, and Will nodded to himself… if he'd been wrong about her affection for Charles, surely she would look at least a little upset.
"Yes, well… we really should have planned ahead a little better. The last day of our vacation sort of snuck up on us," he said. He looked over again; despite his continuing conviction that Jane had never loved Charles, he couldn't help but be slightly put off by the sudden diffidence of her demeanor. During their time at the beach, he'd been amazed that one person could smile so much and not have their face break. Now she seemed cooler, more distant. But perhaps that's the way she was at work, he thought. Lots of people have different personalities for their work and home life.
"Understandable," she said.
They had reached Will's building. Jane did not look at the door, but again smiled at Will.
"Well… tell everyone I said hello," she said slowly. Will could tell she was just being polite.
"I certainly will," he replied.
Waving a hand, she walked away. Will sighed and walked into his building. What's done is done, he thought.
When he walked into the apartment, Charles was in the kitchen, preparing dinner.
"There you are, Darcy!" he said. "You're late… who'd you run into?" he asked with a smile.
Darcy shook his head. "No one," he said. "No one at all."
A/N: Deep sigh – finally! I've had this chapter half-done for a bunch of weeks and now I've finally had a horrible, rainy day to finish it!
I feel like I'm always saying this, but I do apologize for the wait! College is ridiculously busy, but only two weeks until summer break! Not that that will afford me lots more time to write, but oh well.
Thank you everyone so much for reviewing – I love you all so much! I'm so happy people like this story, because it is SO much fun to write.
Next chapter, we'll fast forward to the gala – this story is actually turning out to be longer than I'd originally planned! That doesn't happen very often… but I'm dying, as I'm sure you all are, to get to Rosings and all the fun stuff after it, but there's still a ways to go, sadly.
So please review! We're over 100, which equals happy Nazgul Queen! But that's not even close to breaking my record for most reviews, so keep 'em coming! I love to read what you guys think.
Love, luck, and flying Ringwraiths,
Emma the NazgulQueen