Undressing Mr. Darcy (2 page)

Chapter 2

T
wo women mate
rialized from the arrivals door and flanked him. They were dressed scantily for having just disembarked from an air-conditioned plane and looked extremely well made-up for having endured a seven-hour flight. They giggled and flirted and batted their fake eyelashes at him.

All the women and even a gay guy in the crowd proceeded to fall under his spell.

The young woman next to her squeezed Vanessa’s arm. “He’s so handsome and has such presence, just like Mr. Darcy.”

No doubt about it, he carried himself well. Was it his posture?

His posture reminded her of his rare e-mails and more usual posted, handwritten letters: stiff, formal, and polite. His formality worked for her, though, especially since he would be staying at her aunt’s condo, which happened to be right across the street from Vanessa’s. This was a first for a client. Her aunt had already informed her she hoped her niece would spend meals and evenings with them.

“And that accent. I
love
British accents,” the young woman said.

Was Vanessa the only American woman who didn’t swoon over men with British accents?

She stepped out from behind the wheelchair to turn it around.

For a brief moment his dark eyes darted from her eyes to her breasts, then down to her peep-toed sandals revealing her black pedicure. He lingered on the tattoo above her ankle, a small heart wrapped in barbed wire, and then his gaze shot back up to her face—stopping himself from giving her the complete once-over.

Maybe he wasn’t as proper as he’d like to be. Was his attitude toward women as evolved as his nineteenth-century clothing? His expression soon revealed his determination not to let his eyes wander below her neckline, though, giving her a sense of relief.

She nodded toward the back of the arrivals area. “We’ll meet you over by the elevator, okay?”

“Absolutely. Thank you for taking the time to collect me.” He turned his face, revealing dark square-cut sideburns on his clean-shaven skin.

“Of—of course,” Vanessa said. “My aunt wouldn’t think of your taking a cab.”

“The English call an elevator a ‘lift,’ Vanessa dear,” Aunt Ella said. “We’ll see you at the lift,” she said to him and then lowered her voice for Vanessa. “If only you’d agreed to travel with me to England, you would know these little things. But you never wanted to go. I still can’t fathom it.”

True. She’d been to France, Germany, and Italy . . . but never had the desire to go to England. She wasn’t the type to watch the young royals on TV or buy tea towels that said
Keep Calm and Carry On
. And tea wasn’t her cup of tea. She liked coffee.

One of the two women next to Julian piped up, handing Vanessa her phone over the rope. “Wait! Will you take a picture of us with him? He’s so amazing! We had the
best
time sitting next to him on that flight!”

He smiled. “Everybody needs a little Mr. Darcy in their lives, don’t they?”

The women laughed and agreed.

Vanessa wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want to take a picture of them with him. She’d taken thousands of pictures of clients before; why not now?

“Smile,” Vanessa said and took the picture, then she took another one with her phone to add to the social media sites. This phase of the PR job had begun in earnest, and to make sure everything would work out well for him, she had taken this week off from her other clients, but the e-mails and texts from them persisted. The twenty-four/seven of running her own business never really allowed her time off. “Here, take a postcard with all of his appearances on it. Hope you can make one of them!” She handed a postcard to the gay guy, too.

Vanessa hadn’t read
My Year as Mr. Darcy
yet. It sat on her e-reader along with a litany of other books she meant to read. Getting all her other clients’ work taken care of so she could take this time to focus on him had absorbed so many late nights and weekends. Thankfully, she didn’t have a boyfriend at the moment—that, too, took time.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Darcy.” The blond woman who’d asked for the photo waved and winked.

Julian delivered a nod.

The other woman fluffed her red hair. “We’ll see you at one of your signings! And, like, thanks for inspiring us to read Jane—Jane—”

Vanessa smiled. “That would be Jane Austen.” She had to admit, though, it was cool that he mingled with the masses so easily, took his “Mr. Darcy” persona so seriously, and clearly made Austen converts out of a younger market than she’d been targeting. All this would make her job easier, at least.

The young woman who had asked for the picture signaled with her hand for Julian to call her and, just for emphasis, she mouthed the words with her shiny lip-glossy lips: “Call me.”

“Call you what?” He bowed.

The women laughed at the joke.

He rolled his leather trunks along behind him.

No wonder it had taken him so long to get through customs! Vanessa made a mental note that getting from A to B might take a little longer with a man who attracted so much—attention. But that was good, right? What she wanted in a client, really.

She wheeled Aunt Ella around toward the elevators, thankful that she wouldn’t have to struggle getting him to wear the Regency outfit for the cable TV interview. He seemed to be more than into his role.

Once at the elevators, she kneeled down alongside her aunt, asking the usual questions before any car trip. “Do you need to go to the washroom? Are you hungry? Thirsty?” But her aunt only wanted to get Julian settled in the guest room of her Gold Coast condo.

Vanessa took a moment on her phone to upload the photo of him with the two women and key in on all the social networking sites she’d set up for him:

Mr. Darcy has landed. #JASNAagm #UndressingMrDarcy

A male cleared his throat, and out of the corner of her eye a pair of black leather equestrian-like boots came into her sight. She deliberately looked right into his face and tried not to stare at his gorgeous dark eyes. He, meanwhile, looked away from her and downward, to the headline on Aunt Ella’s magazine.

“Miss Morgan, I see you are reading about the archeological excavation recently completed at Austen’s childhood home. It seems the Austens were not even as well off as the Bennet family.”

Aunt Ella nodded in recognition of a kindred spirit and her gold earrings bobbed in agreement. “Amazing what can be gleaned from broken china plates and rusty nails.”

He switched his leather-bound book to his other arm. “She was an author with great gifts, not the least of which were a rich imagination and spunk.”

“Shall we head off to my chaise-and-four in the parking lot?” Vanessa asked. “Or would you like to check your phone first, Julian? There’s free Wi-Fi here.”

“Check my phone? No, no, thank you.”

“Let’s get Julian settled,” Aunt Ella said.

The September heat created mirages in the distance on the blacktop, and surely he had to be hot in those boots and tailcoat.

Certainly he was one of the hottest clients she’d had in a while, literally and figuratively.

“I’m reminded of a Jane Austen quote,” he said as he shielded his eyes with his book. “In a letter to her sister Cassandra, in September of 1796. Perhaps you’re familiar? ‘What dreadful Hot weather we have!’”

Aunt Ella nodded her head and chimed in on the second half of the quote with him: “‘It keeps me in a continual state of Inelegance’!”

They both laughed, and Vanessa did, too, thrilled to see her aunt enjoying herself. Resigned to what was sure to be more than the usual dose of all things Austen, she navigated them toward the car.

Julian laughed. “Did I mention that Security asked me aside and gave me a thorough search?”

“No!” said Aunt Ella.

“Regency-era profiling?” joked Vanessa.

“Yes. I suspect they half assumed they’d find a sword in my luggage.”

“That’ll make a fabulous post,” Vanessa said. “Hold on, it’ll only take me a minute.” She pulled out her phone.

“Oh, dear, Julian,” Aunt Ella said. “I must apologize for my niece.”

“No apologies necessary.”

Vanessa keyed in:

Mr. Darcy gets a pat down at the airport. #JASNAagm #UndressingMrDarcy #shocking

“The poor dear is always on her electronic devices for work, Julian.”

“Three replies already.” Vanessa smiled as she pushed the wheelchair with one hand.

“It is most unfortunate,” Julian said. “I cannot tell you how I valued my year without all of that as I wrote my book by candlelight. I’m extremely skeptical of modern technology. When it comes to reading, I like a real book. When it comes to conversation, I prefer it in person, preferably over a cup of tea.”

“My sentiments exactly!” Aunt Ella said.

Louis Armstrong singing “You like tomato and I like tomahto” played in Vanessa’s brain. But she couldn’t call the whole thing off, could she?

Once at the car, while Julian and Aunt Ella played the politeness game over who should sit in front, Vanessa whisked the wheelchair back to the cart corral. By the time she got back, she found Aunt Ella sitting in the back and Julian waiting on the driver’s side, where he opened her door for her and made a flourish with his hand.

The last time a man had held open a car door for her was . . . what? Senior prom?

“Thank you?” was all she could muster. He was attractive
and
polite.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he said.

Once he’d opened his door, he leaned in.

“I’m sorry, would you mind if I removed my coat? It’s a bit warm.”

Sorry? And “a bit warm” for a woolen tailcoat? She had to smile at his British propensity for apologies and understatement.

“No, I don’t mind,” Vanessa said. “By all means, take it off.” She laughed. “With your
Undressing
show I’m sure you’re used to women encouraging you to take it off.”

“Yes, quite.” He smiled.

He proceeded to fold himself into her small car. His broad shoulders invaded some of her space. He was so tall his legs barely fit, even with the seat pushed back. She tried not to watch, out of the corner of her black sunglasses, as he maneuvered to get comfortable.

“Buckle up, Mr. Darcy.” She smiled.

He finally noticed that she had mounted a plastic Jane Austen action figure, all of about five inches high and wielding a quill, on the dashboard where a hula girl might be.

“Whatever might this be? A plastic Jane Austen?” He smiled.

“I thought she might bring us good luck,” Vanessa said.

With that she turned the key in the ignition and they were all blown away by the simultaneous blast of hot air-conditioning and super-loud, blaring rap music. She scrambled to turn off the music as Julian and Aunt Ella covered their ears.

“Sorry about that! Forgot I had cranked up the music after I dropped Aunt Ella at the door.”

Julian looked at her askance while her aunt said, “My goodness! It’s enough to scare our poor guest all the way back across the pond!”

“It’s quite all right,” he said.

“Do you prefer classical, Julian? I have that, too.” She’d pegged him as a classical guy and handed him her phone as she ramped onto the highway. “Take your pick. I have lots of choices—operatic, jazz, or blues playlists.”

He stuck the phone back in its mount under the dash.

It was so strange to witness a man
not
check his phone after an eight-hour flight and refuse a playlist.

She felt his eyes on her.

“Perhaps we might—converse?”

Talk? What man ever wanted to talk?

* * *

I
n the condo, as they prepared for dinner, Aunt Ella headed toward the screen door to her rooftop garden terrace. “I like a young man who enjoys conversation,” she said over her shoulder to Vanessa.

Julian opened the door for her with a smile.

“Now, where were we, Julian? Discussing how the Austens abandoned poor little seven-year-old Jane and Cassandra at a girls’ school in Oxford, I believe.”

In her aunt’s kitchen, Vanessa opened the freezer for the tray of ice cubes. Her aunt preferred them, and not the ice-maker cubes, for the cut-crystal water goblets. She could hear everything through the screen door.

“Yes,” Julian said. “And after nearly a year the poor dears contracted a vile infection whilst at school and came very close to dying. Yet, just a year later, the Austens sent the two of them off to another girls’ school in Reading.”

The ice tray froze Vanessa’s fingertips. She didn’t know much about Jane’s younger years, nor that she had been in any way . . . left.

“Children are only too aware when they’re being forsaken,” Aunt Ella said to Julian. “It’s no secret that I practically raised Vanessa once her parents separated. We’re like mother and daughter, really.”

“I can see you have a very special bond.”

Vanessa nursed a lifelong prejudice against Austen’s
Pride and Prejudice
after being assigned it in high school, during her parents’ divorce. That was when she decided, at seventeen, after spending so much time with her aunt, that she might as well just live with her when her parents sold the family home. The judge granted her request, in part to keep her in her high school. Her mother moved into a more affordable apartment in the suburbs while her father moved out to California for a new job and, ultimately, a new wife and family. They all stayed in touch, but her aunt was her family.