could tell by their mother’s tone that Lydia, her baby, was on the phone and probably asking for a favor. Kitty and Lydia were working for their aunt and uncle as nannies over the summer.
“You know, dear, they don’t have much time off,” Mrs. Bennet spoke into the phone. “All right, all right, I’ll ask them.”
“That was Lydia,” Mrs. Bennet said, unnecessarily, as she hung up. “You know how they have been working so hard all summer, and their friends are going to the beach next week, and they wanted to know if one of you could fill in for them, so they could have a little vacation.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Mary was away at the Tanglewood Music Center for an eight-week fellowship, which left her and Jane to cover for Kitty and Lydia. It was pointless for Elizabeth to remind her mother that she and Jane had been working hard for the past four months. She sighed and looked at Jane.
Jane’s expression surprised her. The deep sadness that had shadowed her since Tuesday lifted, and she smiled slightly. “Tell Lydia I’d be happy to go to Aunt Maddie’s.” Jane then looked to Elizabeth and winked.
Elizabeth considered her sister’s hint. She had to admit the idea had merit. Getting away from Mom and spending a week with her aunt would actually be more relaxing. Watching her young cousins would give her something to do besides thinking about Darcy and how she had screwed up with him. “I’ll come too,” she volunteered suddenly.
“Hey,” she said excitedly as a thought occurred to her, “we could go and stay with Aunt Maddie, and when Lydia and Kitty come back next weekend, we could go see Mary at Tanglewood.”
“That is an excellent idea, Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet pronounced. Elizabeth and Jane had been disappointed that they would be back on tour during Mary’s big performance at the end of her fellowship, but at least this way they could share some of the experience with her. Mrs. Bennet called the Gardiner household back to finalize the plans. After dinner, Elizabeth found Jane staring at the two bouquets of flowers sitting in vases in the living room. Both were of pure white roses. One arrived Wednesday, and the second had arrived today. The first card said simply, “I’m sorry”; today’s read, “Forgive me, please.” Neither had been signed, but that was unnecessary. Jane knew exactly whom they were from, as did Lizzy.
“Are you going to call him to let him know where to send tomorrow’s flowers?” Elizabeth teased gently.
Jane smiled slightly. The sadness was back on her face. “I don’t think so,” she answered vaguely.
“Jane,” Elizabeth said, all her concerns expressed in that one syllable, “you have to do something. You are so miserable, and I know Charles is too. I saw him at the De Bourgh party. He looked like he was dying.”
Jane looked up to her sister with gentle reproach in her eyes. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Lizzy,” she said softly.
“Couldn’t you just talk to him?”
Jane shrugged. “And say what?” She looked away, shaking her head. “No, I made a mistake. I moved too fast, and I trusted him before I should have. Now I have to pay the price.” She held up a hand to stop Elizabeth, who was already drawing breath to protest. “I know; you think I should talk to him and let him explain. But I don’t trust him, Lizzy, and if I don’t trust him, how is anything he says going to make a difference?”
“But you love him.”
Jane closed her eyes for a long time, then she opened them slowly and said, “I thought I did. Maybe I do. I’m just not sure.” With a sad look, she left the flowers and went to her room to pack.
Elizabeth couldn’t be sure whom she felt worse for: herself or Jane. It was a tough call. She sat alone in her room and felt a pang of intense loneliness. She lay down on her bed, arranging the pillows so that, just for a second, she could try to believe she was back in the loft, in his bed, her head resting on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and tried to remember his scent and the sound of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek.
The memory failed; the moment faded. She sat up, feeling even more alone. The now-familiar dull ache settled upon her heart and she wished for the millionth time she hadn’t walked out on him, that he hadn’t pushed her so. Was it only three nights ago that she had slept in his arms? It felt like a lifetime ago. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She really hadn’t, but nothing could change the fact that she had.
She was filled with a deep longing to find him, to make it better. But did he even want to see her? It was so hard to know what to think. Caroline believed he did, but what if she was wrong? What if the time away brought him to his senses and he realized he wanted nothing to do with a moody bitch like her?
She drew her Gibson into her lap. A memory of his words returned to her, surprising her. “My home is yours,” he had told her that morning. His words comforted her, even as she questioned them. Did he still feel that way? Could he understand that she had just needed time? Could she somehow make things right with him again?
As her fingers begin idly picking out a tune, she laughed softly to herself. What exactly was “right” for her and Darcy? The moments when they were together and happy seemed dwarfed by all the times they were fighting or angry. She wished they had shared more good times together, but with a surge of regret, she realized how much of it was her fault that they hadn’t. He had said it; he had loved and admired her for months. How had she missed this? Why had she been so dead set on disliking him, so blind that she missed the warmth he offered her? It was mostly because she misunderstood him. And a moment of fairness made her admit that he was so very hard to understand. But she realized that the fact of the matter was that she had been prejudiced against him from the start.
She felt stupid now. Stupid and unworthy of anyone’s love or admiration, and yet, even as she felt she didn’t deserve it, she craved Darcy’s love more than ever. She longed for the warmth in his eyes when he spoke to her, the dry jokes that made her burst out laughing, and his soft, deep voice saying her name again.
Her hurting and sorrow were too much, and she found herself stringing words together into a song. It was rough and unfinished, but it expressed her feelings better than her heart could.
Tears ran onto the paper on which she wrote the words and chords. On a whim, she created a song file by recording it on her computer. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she just needed Darcy to hear her song, to know that she was hurting too, and to maybe feel better. She agonized a moment, questioning her actions. Was she being a fool? The file sat on her desktop for a long time as she stared at it and thought. If she sent it, she would be committing herself. She would have to trust him.
That thought made her stomach turn over. Trusting others had never been her strong suit. She was much more comfortable trusting herself. But then she looked at her small, lonely, empty room and realized that she didn’t want this and that if she were ever going to move beyond it, she would have to trust him. In a rush, she sent the file to Caroline, with a request for her to forward it to Darcy. She bit her lip, wishing she had Darcy’s email address, but this was the best she could do.
Then she sat back on her bed and pulled her Gibson tight. It was done, and she hoped that he would understand.
“Hey!”
Charlotte’s heart lurched in her chest as she recognized the voice on the other end of the line. It was last person in the world she expected to hear from.
“Richard?”
He laughed, a warm, rich, touchable sound. “Don’t sound so surprised, Char. I can dial a phone, you know.”
Charlotte grinned. “I know. So how are you?” she asked, puzzled by his call.
Richard sighed. “I’m good. I’m kind of missing all the company of the tour. You get used to living in the middle of a hive of people, you know? It’s hard to readjust to the quiet when you’re home.”
“Oh, so that’s why you called? You’re lonely for the tour?”
“Something like that, Char,” he said, in a way that let her know that it had nothing to do with his call. “What have you been doing? Keeping busy?”
Charlotte struggled to steady her breathing as she answered him. “I’ve been hanging out mostly. Getting caught up with things at home and going to some of my old haunts.”
“Going out with Lizzy?”
“No, she and Jane have gone off to stay with their cousins for a week.”
“Oh, that explains it.”
