Page 96 of All For You

Finally, he said, “I do promise. I will put all my efforts into this.”

“Thank you, Seb.”

“And, Darcy?”

“Yes?”

His breathing sounded harsh at the other end of the line. “Fuck. It wasn’t worth it, Darcy.” His voice cracked. “I-I miss you. So much.”

Oh God. No. I couldn’t get into this. I didn’t want to anger him. I desperately wanted him to work on this case, but I couldn’t pretend I was open to digging up our dead friendship.

Instead, I didn’t answer.

He coughed out a bitter laugh. “Oh yes—how could I forget?” he drawled. “Lose my trust, and you don’t get it back.” He quoted me in a pompous voice that was obviously supposed to be mine.

“Thank you again, Seb,” I said as calmly as I could. My chest was heavy with the weight of nearly two decades of good times, now a soured memory. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

“Yep.” He sniffed and made a noise. Like he was choking back tears?

A deep, gouging sadness clashed with my raging anger. I’d missed him too. I hadn’t realized how much until now.

“I’ll stay in close touch,” was all I said.

CHAPTER 43

Lizzy

“Ialways knew Wickham was a demon in disguise,” Mum said, bustling through my front door Monday morning. “Oh certainly, he was quick with the smiles and the flattery and the always wanting to take my photo.” She shook out her blond extensions with a flourish. “Which is understandable because Jane, after all, did get her beauty from me, but I alone suspected he would strike one day.”

I rolled my eyes. Mum was already not being helpful—in reality, she’d been completely taken in by the slimebucket Wickham’s obsequious charm, more so than any of us.

Jane leaned by my kitchen sink and stared hopelessly out the window onto the fields. She looked even sadder and more frustrated. She’d taken the day off work so we could brainstorm ways to take action before the six p.m. deadline tomorrow, when Wickham planned to send the nude photos to the much-visited “Where are they now?” celebrity website.

I could only imagine she was going to be immediately besieged by calls from newspapers and websites, photographers appearing at her door, and inevitably, a delegate from her school, telling her not to bother to come in.

“Did you hear anything more back from the lawyer?” Mum asked, drumming her fingers on my kitchen table, ratcheting up the tense thumping of my heart.

After I’d arrived back from Pemberley yesterday afternoon, Jane and I had talked to a local lawyer. Then we’d followed up with him early this morning.

“Same as his initial reaction yesterday,” Jane said. “There’s nothing he can do at this point. I willingly signed a contract, and he can’t find a loophole.”

Mum strode up and down my tiny kitchen and living room, a whirlwind of restless energy in her pink velour sweatsuit, crashing through the serenity of my blue-and-white kitchen, cozy rugs, and comfortable sofas. With its unusually large windows, my old thatched-roof stone cottage was like a sunny, warm glasshouse surrounded by wildflower gardens and pastures. I loved it, but today with Mum’s pacing, I felt by turns exposed to the elements and claustrophobic.

This wasn’t what Jane needed.

“Mum, I think Dad needs you at home,” I said, trying to be gentle. “He’s as worried as the rest of us, and maybe you could wait with him there? We’ll call you as soon as we hear.”

She snorted. “That man can’t even make a cup of tea for himself.”

He actually couldn’t, but for once, I was grateful for it. She hustled out, muttering about hopeless husbands, and I went to make a cup of tea for Jane, sure it wouldn’t get drunk, but to have something to keep my hands occupied. And to stop my mind from thinking about Darcy. I hadn’t heard from him, but I had been with Jane every second and couldn’t call.

I kept replaying the look of anger on his face when he’d first heard about Jane’s situation and wondered if his continued silence was because he was busy trying to help or if I’dmisinterpreted that aspect of this thoughtful man I’d gotten to know.

I handed the tea to Jane on the couch when a loud knock sounded at my door. We both jumped. Mum again? No, she’d barge straight in.

Wickham hadn’t released the photos early, had he? That bastard. Were the paps at the door? Jane must have thought the same thing because her face was etched with fear and dread.

Gingerly, I edged up to the door and peered through the peephole, which I rarely used. A whirl of red hair and bright blue eyes filled my vision.