Eligible (55 page)

The ceremony occurred in the courtyard; during the night, rather miraculously, the pool had been overlaid with a clear acrylic cover on which rested the guests’ chairs, divided into two clusters to create the aisle. At the pool’s far end stood a wooden altar off which hung yards of gauzy white fabric adorned with freshwater pearls in a pattern that echoed Jane’s veil, and around which coiled white roses that echoed Jane’s bouquet. Six camera crews were present, one of whom was responsible for the large jib camera on a crane. Also on a crane was a thin rectangular lighting panel that measured perhaps six by ten feet. The officiant was Rick Price.

From his first sighting of Jane, Chip’s face crumpled; and the subsequent gush from his eyes would surely have been sufficient to bathe a medium-sized dog: a corgi or, perhaps, a border collie. As maid of honor, Liz stood just behind Jane and had the best view of anyone of the storm twisting Chip’s features. When Jane and Mr. Bennet had made their way down the aisle, Mr. Bennet had lifted her veil, kissed her on the cheek, then taken her right hand and held it out for Chip to grasp with his own. (If only, Liz thought as this sequence then occurred twice more for the cameras, she were a person who could see the tradition as charming rather than queasily patriarchal.) As Mr. Bennet sat, Chip squeaked out to Jane the words “You’re so beaut—” but was unable to finish, interrupted by a fresh torrent of emotion. Jane set her hand on his upper arm, patting gently, and though Liz could not see her sister’s expression, she felt confident it was one of enormous affection.

“Greetings,” Rick Price intoned. “We have gathered here today for a truly blessed event, a celebration that is the pinnacle of life and love. Chip and Jane, before your families, God, and the world, you’ll affirm your commitment to each other.” He paused and winked toward the guests. “Now, who’s ready to have some fun?”

A confusing pause ensued, and then Jane said, “I am.” Chip tried to speak, couldn’t, sniffled even as new tears fell, and simply nodded.

“Rick, let’s do that again without the wink,” a bearded producer standing behind one of the film crews interjected, and the ceremony proceeded thusly: a progression of do-overs and tears that made what likely would have been a ten-minute rite last over an hour. At intervals, makeup was reapplied, particularly to Jane but also to Chip, Rick Price, and the rest of the wedding party; a break was taken while Jane, accompanied by Liz and three members of the wardrobe department, went to urinate; and for multiple minutes at a time, everyone simply waited as Chip tried to collect himself, with Jane murmuring reassurances that were in fact audible to all.

Yet Liz was never bored; the entire ceremony was a surreal and delicious purgatory that she could have contentedly existed in forever, making uninterpretable but possibly flirtatious eye contact with Fitzwilliam Darcy. Liz had walked down the aisle as the final bridesmaid before Jane and had by some trick of vision managed to ignore both Chip and Rick Price standing before her and seen only Darcy: impossibly tall and serious and handsome. His handsomeness, still, was astonishing. But it was the import of what she wanted to say to him combined with her uncertainty about how he’d respond that left her in no hurry for the ceremony’s conclusion. Given that Darcy was not Caroline’s boyfriend, and given also the rumor that Darcy still had feelings for
her—
the swoon-inducing rumor unwittingly propagated by Caroline—Liz felt some degree of optimism. But optimism could always be quashed, and her heart could be broken once again.

Eventually, even with Chip’s voluminous tears, the ceremony finished. The couple made their victorious promenade down the aisle as husband and wife, to great applause; then, so as to ensure that the cameras didn’t miss a single angle, they circled back and made the same promenade two additional times. At this point, the guests were free to mingle, though Liz knew there was much more to endure, including her own toast. Presumably, the documentation of both the first dance and the slicing of the wedding cake would also require extra patience. But champagne was being served, appetizers were being passed—stuffed mushrooms, crostini smeared with goat cheese—and there was for at least a few minutes an interlude of comparative freedom. Darcy stood by the hot tub talking to Shane, and as Liz hurried toward them, she was intercepted by Lydia.

“This is the most boring day of my life,” Lydia said with her mouth full of stuffed mushroom. “Aren’t you bored?”

“I guess you’re not cut out for reality TV,” Liz said. “Which is good to know, right?”

“Does Jane get to keep that dress?” Lydia asked, and Liz said, “There’s something I have to do. I’ll be back in a second.” As she pushed past Jane, Chip, and the small throng encircling them to issue congratulations, she turned off the microphone discreetly clipped to the inside of her dress, near her collarbone. At the edge of the hot tub, she tapped Darcy on the arm. When he looked at her, she said, “Hi. Hi, Shane. Can I steal Darcy for a second?” Up close, she could unmistakably see the makeup Darcy wore—base and powder, it appeared—which might have been disconcerting if she had not felt so preoccupied with the mission she had assigned herself.

“You look great, Liz,” Shane said. He lifted his champagne glass. “Cheers.”

Liz held no glass, but she repeated, “Cheers.” To Darcy, she said, “Will you come with me?”

“Where?” He said it without particular warmth.

She had decided on a spot beside the path that led around the side of the lodge. She pointed. “That way. And can you turn off your mic?”

“Can I what?”

It was easier to do than to explain—she stood on tiptoe, reached up to his lapel, and switched it off herself. Turning, she walked quickly toward the path, still carrying her bouquet, avoiding eye contact with family and crew members alike and hoping that Darcy and no one else was following her; surely some audio guy, perhaps someone in the control room, had already taken note of having lost sound for the maid of honor and the best man and was en route to rectify the situation. She glanced over her shoulder—Darcy
was
following her—then stepped off the path and behind a large boulder bordered by desert grasses and bleached, sandy soil. He joined her, his expression quizzical, and they stood facing each other.

“You talked to my mom about Ham, didn’t you?” Liz said. He looked surprised, and Liz added, “Lydia and Mary both mentioned it.”

Darcy scanned Liz’s face before saying, “I’m afraid the birth defect explanation isn’t politically correct, but I was trying to find terms that would be understandable to someone of her generation.”

“Did you talk to her over the phone or in person?” Liz hadn’t planned to ask, but she found herself wondering.

Darcy smiled. “That’s a very Liz Bennet–ish question. I took both your parents to lunch.”

“That was brave.” After a pause, she said, “Is a Liz Bennet–ish question a good or bad thing?”

Darcy said, “Actually, that’s a very Liz Bennet–ish question, too.”

“You guys didn’t go to Skyline, did you?”

“We went to Teller’s. Would you like to know what we ordered?”

But there was growing affection in his tone, not sarcasm. And the thought of him inviting her mother and father to lunch, sitting with them at a table in Teller’s, helping them, with the authority conferred by his medical degree, to understand that having a transgender son-in-law wasn’t a terrible thing—it was very moving. Liz said, “Thank you. And thank you also for getting Jane and Chip back together—for making the dinner in New York happen.”

“I’m glad you feel that way after the paces we’ve been put through in the last few days.” He grazed his jaw with his fingers. “And me standing here like a fool in makeup.”

“It kind of suits you. Is the stroke center okay with you taking time off?”

“I’ll be working Christmas and New Year’s, which is fine. Georgie’s flying to Cincinnati for the holidays.” Their eyes met again, and he said, “Georgie called me last night. She’s worried that she sent you a confusing text on Labor Day.”

“It wasn’t Georgie’s fault. It just—” Liz swallowed. “I jumped to conclusions. I didn’t know you and Caroline had been in a car accident, and I thought you’d gotten together, like as a couple. It didn’t seem that far-fetched, because I could tell I’d annoyed you by interrupting our breakfast and flying to Cincinnati when Lydia eloped. Then when you texted me right after I got back to New York—I wish now that I hadn’t responded so coldly, but that’s why I did. And it’s why I didn’t behave very well at the dinner with Jane and Chip.”

“Yes, it was clear that night that I’d done something to displease you,” Darcy said. “Even if I wasn’t sure what.”

“I actually wanted to ask you in New York how Georgie is doing,” Liz said.

“Much better,” Darcy said. “Thanks.”

There was a brief silence, and Liz gathered her courage. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry because I’ve been rude, and you haven’t deserved my rudeness. In Atherton, I felt like things between us were good in a way they hadn’t been before. I really enjoyed being around you, and even though I’d been obnoxious in Cincinnati, I thought maybe you’d forgiven me. But after Lydia eloped, it seemed like I’d ruined any shot you and I had.”

“I wasn’t annoyed that morning. I was disappointed. And later kicked myself for taking too long to follow up, but you were so consumed with your family that at the time it seemed better to give you space.”

“Well, you were right about my family being a disaster, as the rest of America will soon learn. And about my being gossipy and not as funny as I think I am.”

“Liz.” Darcy reached a hand out and set it on her bare forearm, and the gesture made her heart volcanic. “I hope you know that your talent for gossip is a large part of why I enjoy your company.” He was regarding her with an expression that was both appraising and tender. “I’ve never met anyone with your interest in other people. Even when you’re judging them, you do it with such care and attention. I can never predict who you’ll like or dislike, but I always know your reasons will be very specific and you’ll express them with great passion. I’ve also never known anyone more loyal to her family.”

“Are you kidding? I don’t even like all my sisters. Or both of my parents.”

“Yet you think nothing of hopping on a plane or running through the midday heat to help them the minute they need you.” Darcy looked away, though his hand remained, electrically, on her forearm. He said, “If it’s not obvious, I was wrong about a lot of things, too. That morning at your sisters’ apartment, I guess I thought—” He paused. “I thought I needed to be rude to overcompensate for being in love with you. I was afraid that I was chasing you like a schoolboy, and you’d find me corny. But I went much too far in the other direction.”

Simultaneously, Liz felt a rapturous hope at his reference to having been in love with her and a panic that he no longer was. Couldn’t he indicate one way or the other, to put her out of her suffering? It was difficult to speak, but she said slowly, “Caroline told me last night that I’m not allowed to be your girlfriend. Because of my tacky family and all that. But it made me wonder—” Liz hesitated. “It made me wonder if she was mixed up. If she thought you were planning to tell me you were interested in me because she didn’t know you already had.”

Darcy was looking at her with seriousness. He said, “If I told you again that I was interested in you—do you think it would be a good idea?”

Liz nodded. She tried to keep her voice steady as she said, “I’m old enough to know that sometimes you don’t get a second chance.”

“My darling—” Darcy lifted his palm from her arm to her cheek, and she leaned into it; she thought she might weep, and closed her eyes. “I would—I will—give you as many chances as you need. My feelings for you have never changed. And all the mushy things I was too cowardly to say before, they’re just as true now. You’re different from any woman I’ve ever met. Even when you’re arguing with me, you’re easy to be around. And those times you came over to my apartment—those were the most fun I’ve ever had.”

Liz opened her eyes. “You look at diseased brains all day. No offense, but your bar for fun might be kind of low.”

“No,” Darcy said. “It’s not. I used to watch from the window as you left in your running clothes, and I’d think,
One of the times she leaves will be the last time I see her.
It destroyed me. I didn’t want us to have a last time, and that was how I realized I’d fallen in love with you.”

Such compliments—they were thrilling but almost impossible to absorb in this quantity, at this pace. It was like she was being pelted with a magnificent hail, and she wished she could save the individual stones to examine later, but they’d exist with such potency only now, in this moment. And in any case, the clock was ticking.

She still was holding her bouquet, and in her plum-colored silk pumps, she crouched, setting the flowers on the uneven ground; then she stood again and extended both her arms toward him. After a very brief hesitation, during which Liz silently summoned the guiding spirit of Kathy de Bourgh, he took her hands in his.

“Darcy,” she said. “Fitzwilliam Cornelius Darcy the Fifth. I know your middle name because I googled you. Is that creepy or impressive?”

“Will it hurt your feelings if I say neither?”

She grinned. “Fitzwilliam Cornelius Darcy, I admire you so much. The work you do, the way you literally save lives, how principled you are—you’re the most principled person I know. Even if it means you’re insulting sometimes, you’re the only person I know, me included, who never lies. And you’re amazingly smart, and when you’re not telling harsh truths, you’re incredibly gracious and kind and decent. I love you, Darcy—I ardently love you. And I want to know—” One of them was, or maybe both of them were, shaking; their clasped hands trembled, and inside her chest, her heart thudded. She gazed up at him and said, “I want to know, will you marry me? Will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

She hadn’t known he could smile so broadly. He said, “I thought you’d never ask.”

“I don’t have a ring,” she said, “but here.” She bent her head and kissed the lower part of the ring finger of his left hand, which was still joined to her right one.