The Trials of the Honorable F. Darcy (5 page)

***

In his chambers later, Darcy sighed. It was absolutely impossible to ignore his attraction to her
,
especially after that display
,
but it was equally impossible to act on it. To act on his impulse would only cause professional trouble for each of them and if it didn’t work out
,
whatever ‘
work out
’
was, they would still have to work together. Awkward.

Besides, he had a strict policy of no workplace romance even before he became a judge. Too much drama.

His cell phone rang. It was Georgiana.

“Georgie, how’s London?” he grinned into the phone.

“Bloody freezing,” she laughed. “I’m spoiled by San Francisco weather.”

“Have you been to the house?” he asked.

“Yes,
Mrs. R.
says hello and something about getting your bloody arse back over to see her soon.”

Darcy laughed.

“So, the reason I’m calling is to tell you that Sylvia Matlock is getting married.”

“Good for her!” Darcy exclaimed. Sylvia was an old flame; it had not gone well when he broke up with her. He was glad she had moved on.

“She’s not inviting you,” Georgiana said bluntly.

“Why not?!” he exclaimed, shocked.

“Apparently she still thinks you’re a prick.”

Darcy laughed ruefully. “Ah, well, she was uncommonly attached to me and I didn’t feel the same. She has every right to hate me.”

“Well, that’s sort of the problem, isn’t it? She didn’t hate you nor does she now. Will, I think she’s still in love with you.”

“Oh, Georgie, don’t be melodramatic. I’m sure she’s over it by now, give her my best.”

“You know, I liked her. Why couldn’t you have married her?” Georgie chided.

“Uh, no.” Darcy shivered a little at the thought. Sylvia Matlock had been a beautiful woman, highly educated, within the same social sphere, and sensitive. She had also been quite certifiably insane. He’d never told Georgie of the frightening messages he’d received for months after their breakup. He was glad he hadn’t had a small pet that she could have left dismembered on his doorstep.

“Was she that bad?” Georgie laughed.

“No, of course not,” Darcy said. Yes, she had been that bad. But he wouldn’t impugn her character
,
both out of a sense of honor and for fe
ar of retribution
.

“Are you dating anyone yet?” she asked him. He jolted upright in his chair.

“What?” he said, choking on his drink.

“Are you dating anyone yet?” she repeated.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“As your adoring and devoted sister, I take it upon myself to monitor your happiness. I’m not seeing any
-
happiness, that is. You need a girlfriend.”

“I certainly do not!”

“Yes, you do. You’re commitment phobic, do you know that?”

“I am not!”

“Then why haven’t you had a serious girlfriend in the last 10 years?”

“I don’t know, I’m busy, I’m lazy, I don’t want the hassle, there’s nobody I’m really interested in making the effort with.”

“So you sell yourself short to Caroline Bingley because she’s convenient?” she challenged.

“There’s nothing going on with Caroline,” he stated. He heard her snort.

“Why do I find her underwear in your laundry?”

“Why are you looking in my laundry? And you haven’t found it there since last July, I’m quite certain.”

“Caroline Bingley is not what you deserve, Will. I can’t believe you dip your stick in that.”

“The mouth on you!” Darcy laughed. “I’ve done a poor job raising you.” He could hear her smile.

“No, you’ve done a great job; I’m not a crack whore, right?”

“Who knows what you do in your spare time,” he said dryly.

“Seriously, Will, you need to start dating. I don’t want you to be an old bachelor. You’re too good to waste on that. You’ll be a great dad.”

“Been there, not in a hurry to do it again.” He heard her end of the line go quiet. “Oh, Georgie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. You know that.”

“Am I the reason you aren’t moving on with your life?” she said confrontationally. He didn’t know what to say. She was the reason he had put it on hold but there was no excuse anymore.

“Of course not. I’m just lazy. Look, finding a woman takes a lot of effort. There’s the whole problem of where to meet them, weeding out the uglies, getting rid of the sots, avoiding the mercenaries, there’s really not much left in the pool once you’re done. At least there are no illusions with Caroline. She only wants what’s in my pants. She’s made her own money, she doesn’t want to be tied down, she’s not bad looking, and she’s tolerable company.”

Georgiana made a sound of disgust.
“Are you listening to yourself? Are you really that jaded? Don’t you want something more?”

He sighed. “Of course I do, Georgie. It just hasn’t happened yet.”

“Get off your arse and make it happen,” she replied.

They rang off and Darcy brooded. Sylvia had been his last serious girlfriend. They had worked at the same law firm in England, and when Darcy had been selected to open the California office, she had been part of his team. Although they had known each other in England, they had not started dating until their transfer to the States. She had moved back to England a few months after he broke up with her.

The breakup had been precipitated, at least in part, by that awful fiasco with George Wickham. Darcy had dropped everything: work, Sylvia, Pemberley, everything, to straighten Georgie out. The drug rehab, the abortion, and getting her back in school had all drained him emotionally. He could remember every detail of the night he had discovered them in his apartment, naked in his bed. He could remember the crunch of Wickham’s cheekbone under his fist, the sensation of Wickham’s throat squeezing under his hands. Darcy had never experienced blind, red rage before; he knew he would have killed Wickham that night had Georgiana not run to the neighbor for help.

He had been overwhelmed by guilt afterwards. He had failed everyone: Georgie, his parents, his law firm, Mrs. Reynolds. It was only his guilt that allowed Georgie to persuade him not to press charges against that pedophile. He had always regretted it. He made it up to her by devoting the next five years of his life to her.

He re
moved her from the care of her ‘
guardian
’
Mrs. Younge and recruited his cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam, to step in as co-guardian with him. He purchased a condo in a secure building from a down-on-his-luck rock star; the soundproof recording studio was converted to a music room for Georgie. He eschewed dating for three years completely.

He had avoided any relationship at first because he wanted to focus solely on Georgiana. Then he allowed himself to date casually but did not bring any women home and never stayed overnight with anyone. He had discreet sex but avoided any serious attachments.

By the time she was 20, Georgiana was sober and at the top of her class in Stanford. She had matured and blossomed into a beautiful woman. She had moved on.

But Darcy had not. He had forgotten the dance of dating, had no pool of women to choose from. He tried dating a few women but found the entire process painful. He felt out of practice, his manners w
ere archaic. He didn’t want to ‘
hook up
’
with these women nor did he want to marry them. He didn’t want to debate politics or religion; he wanted someone to go to the movies with. Unfortunately, the women he met were ambitious; they disdained popular culture as vulgar, yet rose little above vulgarity in their own lives and took too much interest in his holdings in England. He stopped dating again and devoted himself to work.

He told himself he was enjoying the carefree life of a bachelor, no commitments and now no worries about Georgiana. He told himself that he deserved this time to himself, to do whatever he wanted. Caroline had been persistent and, eventually, he stopped running and let her catch him. He had justified it as part of his new bachelor lifestyle but the truth was, she was comfortable; he knew what to expect from her. In any event, he had not succumbed to that comfort since last July and had no regrets.

***

Elizabeth was not in the habit of working weekends; she valued her free time and used it to perfect the art of laziness. So she was quite put out by the fact that she had to write yet another appellate brief against Judge Clayton the Saturday after Thanksgiving. She looked out her window nine stories below and watched a man run a circuit of the park across the street. She let herself be distracted by his long lean form. He was running in long, loping strides, faster than a jog but not an outright sprint. She couldn’t make out his features but she admired his figure. Curse it, why was every tall man reminding her of Speed Racer? She allowed herself a little smile as she pictured a helmet on the running man; yes, they were nearly identical. She watched him make another circuit in quick time, then he stopped and bent over panting. As if sensing her, the man looked up toward her window. She instinctively darted aside to avoid discovery.

Darcy completed another circuit around the park, trying to beat his last time. He had been a little miffed that his racing suit was so tight at Halloween. Granted, the years had not been unkind to his body but he had niggling doubts that being a judge was a little too “soft” of a job. He briefly fantasized about being a cattle rancher or construction worker. How his aunts, uncles, and cousins would howl!! They were already disgusted that he had chosen to have a profession at all.

He bent over panting and let his heart rate slow a little. He looked over to his building; he needed to get back to work on his trial decision but the run had been a welcome diversion. He thought he saw a flash in one of the windows but with the overcast sky and the reflection off the window, he couldn’t be sure. He did another circuit at a slower, cool-down pace
than
doubled back toward the building and jogged into the foyer. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her: Elizabeth
Bennet
. Briefly
-
very briefly
-
he wondered what she was doing there. He quickly ducked his head and used the water fountain so that she would not see his face. He drank until she was out the door and then jogged up the five flights to his office.

Elizabeth did not miss the fact that the jogger was in the foyer; she wondered who he was. He must have a security pass to get into the building on the weekend, so he must work here but she could not blatantly stare to identify him. She was interested, though, because of his resemblance to Speed Racer. She allowed herself to admire his legs while he drank from the fountain. He wore a black t-shirt, which clung damply to his torso, and blue nylon running shorts. He was wearing running shoes with no socks; she briefly admired his ankles which she found strangely attractive. She quickly left the building, determined to enjoy the remainder of her weekend.

***

Elizabeth spent Christmas with her family and endured yet another year without a fiancé, much to her mother’s dismay.

“Lizzy, you’re not getting any younger! Believe me, before you know it your eggs will be rotten and you’ll have to adopt from some third world country, then where will you be?”

“Mom, I’m only 28, give me a break!”

“I had Jane when I was only 20 and I tell you it’s better to have them when you’re young. I don’t think with my nerves I could have children if I had waited until your age, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Her mother’s nerves, indeed. She looked over at her father, who gave her a secret smile.

“Why don’t you pick on Jane, she’s not engaged either!” Elizabeth protested.

“Oh, but she’ll have no trouble, she’ll always be beautiful. But you, Lizzy, you must work to be married before your looks go! Besides, Jane has got her surgeon!” their mother said with glee.

Jane looked at Elizabeth and they rolled their eyes. It didn’t matter that Jane was also a surgeon. Jane had fairly begged Elizabeth not to mention Bingley’s wealth; the attack of nerves would be intolerable.

Her mother claimed to be of a delicate constitution, always complaining of flutterings and nerves, but she could often be seen in a fuchsia nylon running suit working on the elliptical machine in the garage while she watched the Dr. Phil show. Her father preferred to spend his evenings in the solitude of his study with one of his scientific journals or puttering on some invention in the garage. He had been excessively proud of Jane and Elizabeth when they went on to professional careers
,
Mary wanted to be a novelist, Kitty wanted to be an actress, and god knows what Lydia wanted to be
-
a stripper?
. At least there would be two daughters who could take care of themselves when he died.

“Well, Lizzy, do you have any prospects at all?” her mother asked. Sadly, she did not. Richard had not called her back and she had never had the nerve to ask Jane to discover the identity of Speed Racer. She supposed he was long gone. She shook her head. Her mother wailed.

“I’ll be in the garage,” said her father.

That evening, Jane and Elizabeth climbed into their old beds which had been pushed together into a king sized bed by Lydia. They laughed and then spooned in the bed.

“Lizzy,” Jane said sleepily.

“Mmm?”

“I really like him.”

“Good for you.”

“I wish he weren’t so rich.” Elizabeth opened her eyes.

“Why?”

“Because people will always think I only want his money and I don’t. I wouldn’t care if he were a shoe salesman. Except I don’t think I’d like the constant smell of feet. But really, I wouldn’t care.”

“Then you really deserve him. How did he make his money, anyway?”

“His father was a computer millionaire and his mother was an actress. They died in a plane crash a couple of years ago.”

“Oh, how sad.”

“Yes. His sister is his only family now. She’s in real estate. She’s got her own millions.”

“They have a very impressive home.”

“He wants to sell it. He thinks it’s too much. It came with the helicopter and he’s never used it. I told him he should just buy something a bit smaller, maybe with a bit more land and have some horses. He liked the idea.” Elizabeth smiled and hugged Jane.

“He seems like a really sweet guy,” Elizabeth said sleepily.