It was almost midnight when the phone rang. Darcy pounced on it like a cat and answered. “Darcy,” he snapped.
“It’s Linda.”
“What’s going on?”
Linda could hear the tension in his voice. “Elizabeth is okay. She’s being held overnight until her arraignment in the morning.”
“Is she safe?”
“Yes, they are handling her with kid gloves and even gave her a separate cell.” Linda waited, but heard nothing in response. “Darcy? Will?”
“I’m here,” he replied automatically.
“Will, she’s as safe as she can be. And I have good news: a witness came forward. I think I can get the charges dropped tomorrow.”
Darcy felt his heart start beating again with her words. “Linda, I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“If they know she is innocent, why can’t she be released now?”
“Procedure, Will. There is no way to get her out before the arraignment. You are just going to have to accept that and try not to worry. She’s safe.”
Darcy wished it were that easy. “How is she doing? Is she very upset?”
“She’s upset, but she’s hanging tough. She’s mostly worried about you.”
“Really?”
“She wanted me to tell you that she loves you.”
For a moment, Darcy was speechless. When he spoke again, his voice was rough. “Linda, whatever it takes tomorrow—bail, bribe, I don’t care—you have got to get her out!”
“I will, I will. They told me the news has grabbed this?”
“Yes,” Darcy said tiredly.
“That means that the press is going to be all over her after the arraignment tomorrow. How are we going to get her out of there and where is she going?”
Darcy’s voice changed, from depressed and defeated to hard and businesslike. “Linda, this is her home. My limo and my security will pick her up and bring her here.”
Linda smiled to herself. “That means the press will be all over you too.”
“Fuck the press.”
“I just wanted to be sure where we stand.”
“Just bring her home. That’s all I care about.”
Darcy looked at the phone he just turned off. Georgiana had called when she saw the news report on television. The first part of their conversation was a simple recounting of the facts. Darcy did his best to keep Wickham’s name out of it, but it was unavoidable.
Georgiana surprised him by handling it better than he expected. He wondered, as he walked through the quiet of the loft, if it was helpful for her to see Wickham doing his thing on someone else. From a distance, it was easier to see that he was a villain and to evaluate his actions.
Darcy smiled mirthlessly as he got himself a bottle of water. It would be ironic if the one good thing that came out of this ordeal were for Georgie to do better.
Darcy told his sister what Linda told him: it was likely that the charges against Elizabeth would be dropped, and in any case she would be released tomorrow. He wished he believed it.
Oh, he trusted Linda; there was no better lawyer that money could buy. It was his luck he feared. He occupied himself for almost an hour, thinking of ways and reasons that Elizabeth wouldn’t be released, that she would be taken away from him, or that, worse yet, she would hate him for what Wickham did.
Memories were triggered by these thoughts and he went noiselessly to his library. He said a silent prayer as he booted up his computer and opened his email. His breath rushed out as he found what he was hoping for: Elizabeth’s song.
He plugged in headphones to avoid waking the others and quietly, with a tear running down his cheek, he listened to the song she had written just for him.
He sang along with her voice, picturing her in his mind. He realized that he had to believe. Faith was all he had, faith that had not served him well in the past. Talking to Georgiana had brought it all back to him; he was terrified of losing Elizabeth at the moment when he drew closer to her, just as he had lost his parents. Was his life destined to follow the same script again and again?
It was almost too much to face, and he took refuge in Elizabeth’s song. Tenderly, he recalled the night he first heard it: the night she gave him her love. Oh, he believed she had loved him that first time, before the VMAs, but she wasn’t aware of it then. At Pemberley, she knew. She knew exactly how she felt about him and she offered herself to him completely.
He felt warmed by the memory, and a sudden realization dawned on him: no matter what happened, the situation with Elizabeth was different from his parents. Richard and Georgiana had hinted at it, but only at that moment did he see it clearly.
He would never lose Elizabeth as he lost his parents. His parents never freely gave their love. He always had to win it, to earn their approval. His mother had never focused on him until his child prodigy status deemed him worthy, and his father had only accepted him as a replacement for his mother.
Darcy had been so hurt by this he had lived his life trying to still win their approval, long past their deaths. His parents were his reason to push himself so hard, trying to be an industrial leader and a classical musician, as well as the driving force behind Slurry. They were the reason he never gave himself permission to make a mistake.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, didn’t care about that. She never required him to be something he wasn’t. She had offered her song and her love to him not because of what he did but because she knew who he was and she loved him. Him! Not some figure and not some achievement. She had seen the most awful he could be and still she loved him.
Suddenly everything was so clear. He felt like he had a new freedom he had never known before. Elizabeth proved that he was worthy of being loved, and even if his worst fears came to pass, and he never saw her again, nothing would ever take that away.
He couldn’t express it yet, not even to Elizabeth, but he had turned a corner somehow. The power his grief had over him was gone. He now knew he didn’t have to prove himself to his parents, or to anyone, anymore.
It was after six in the morning when the soft rumble of the elevator motor drew Darcy out of his thoughts. As he walked toward it, Richard and Charlotte, Jane and Charles, and Caroline and Faust exited from their rooms.
“Hey, Darcy, I’ve got some bad news,” Rebecca announced as the elevator doors opened and she walked out with an armful of newspapers.
“Rebecca?” Darcy said in a puzzled voice. “What are you talking about?”
“This,” she sighed, holding up the New York Post. On the front page of the tabloid was Elizabeth’s mug shot with the headline: Slurry’s Bad Girl.
“Fuck,” Darcy swore and his band mates echoed him.
“The media knows you and Lizzy are an item, too,” Rebecca continued. She walked into the loft and deposited the pile of newspapers on the bar.
Darcy picked up one and was grieved to read about Fitzwilliam Darcy and Black Lizzy: A Match Made in Hell! Pictures of Darcy and Elizabeth were everywhere. He was not surprised to see one from the night Jane was injured, with Darcy tenderly kissing Elizabeth’s head in the elevator. He went through them all, reading the tacky headlines. (Do Jailbirds Sing?) When he finished, he looked up to see the others watching him and waiting for instructions.
Darcy might have been feeling released from his obligations to his parents, but he gladly took responsibility for Elizabeth. “Where’s Tommy?” he asked, his voice soft yet commanding.
“In the lobby,” Rebecca answered quickly. “I felt it would be a good idea for the doorman to have some back up.”
“Good. Here’s what we are going to do. Our first priority is to get Elizabeth back. Rebecca, get some extra people ready. I want you to pick her up when Linda calls. Rachel?”
“Yes, Will?”
“I want you managing the phone. We are not giving out interviews or making comments.” He turned to the others. “What about tonight?”