“You’re not really a bad person,” she assured herself, “but you’ve got to face up to the fact that you have done an unkind thing. And, to make things worse, you lied to Thelma about it. Now you’ve got to think of some way to make it all right again.”

Eliza’s image regarded her doubtfully for a long time, then at last a rueful smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Well, it’s plain to see that there’s nothing you can do but eat a little humble pie,” she murmured.

Another hour passed before Eliza was able to compose an e-mail message that summed up both her apology and, she hoped, an acceptable explanation for her earlier behavior.


Dear Mr. DARCY,

My rudeness was unforgivable. I hope you will accept my apology and try to understand that I was reacting mainly to the shock of receiving e-mail from you at Pemberley.

SMARTIST


Staring at the MAIL SENT message for a few moments, she wanted to believe, but had no confidence, that it would do the trick. All she could do was hope that he was a tolerant and gracious man.

Chapter 10

The next several days flew by in a blur of activity as Thelma Klein completed her formal analysis of Eliza’s letters and began making discreet contacts within the small but elite community of rare-document collectors, dealers and Austen scholars. Though she disclosed the true nature of the astounding discovery of what she had now dubbed the “Darcy Letters” to only a few trusted associates, the researcher made it clear that she was subtly preparing academia and the world at large for an announcement so momentous that it would literally rewrite the book on Jane Austen.

Far from being shunted aside in the blur of activity that began swirling about the letters, Eliza suddenly found herself being consulted by Thelma at all hours of the day and night, regarding the timing of various announcements and the ultimate disposition of the documents. For they were, after all, still her exclusive property. And when she wasn’t on the phone with Thelma, she was meeting with the dynamic researcher and the representatives of various interested institutions that were expected to play important roles in the unveiling of the letters.

Timing, Thelma stressed at every available opportunity, was key. Timing and the acknowledgment of one Mr. Darcy of Virginia. Eliza had lost count of the number of times the researcher had quizzed her on whether contact had been reestablished with the elusive Darcy.

Unable to confess that she feared she had permanently blown the Darcy connection before even getting it started, the artist haunted her e-mail folder on an hourly basis, while putting Thelma off with a series of groundless speculations, the latest being that the reclusive horseman was probably just away from home for a few days.

Regarding Thelma’s interests in the matter, and the reason she had so readily assumed the complex and demanding task of managing the release of the Darcy Letters, it soon became clear to Eliza that Thelma Klein did not expect to go unrewarded. As an Austen expert with an intriguing, albeit unproved, hypothesis about the author, the abrasive Klein had for years been an unsettling force in the snug, predictable world of Jane Austen scholars.

Now, with hard proof in hand that seemed to support her theory about the origins of Darcy, who was arguably the greatest romantic character in English literature, the cantankerous researcher was relishing the prospect of blowing her stuffy colleagues right through the roof. Toward that end, Thelma had proposed, and Eliza had agreed, that she, Klein, would be given the exclusive rights to display Jane Austen’s vanity table and the Darcy Letters at the New York Public Library, until such time as the treasures were sold at auction. And, further feathering Thelma’s nest, Eliza had granted the researcher exclusive rights to coauthor a book about the discovery and meaning of the letters, a book that would be ready for press before anyone else even got a peek at the documents.

Of course, all of these arrangements took a great deal of time and required numerous discussions with attorneys, library staffers and others. As a result, Eliza’s online gallery business was beginning to be affected, as Jerry had so recently predicted would happen. Fortunately, Eliza had a fairly large stock of backup paintings that were easily uploaded to replace her diminishing stocks. And while she was unable to create any new paintings amid the frenzy of planning and contract signing, Eliza was able to keep up with her orders by working late at night.

The latter circumstance took its toll primarily on whatever was left of the relationship between Eliza and Jerry. Where once he had felt free to drop in for an evening, or call late for a last-minute dinner date, the investment counselor was now compelled to leave voice-mails or hurry through their occasional phone conversations. Conversations she purposely avoided the first couple of days after their disastrous dinner and then kept strictly to business when she did talk with him.

So it was that more than a week after he had openly chastised her for her foolishness in devoting so much time and emotional energy to the mysterious letters that Jerry finally got Eliza to agree to meet him for dinner.


Unlike the previous occasion when they had met for dinner at a booth in his favorite neighborhood deli, Jerry’s choice of a restaurant on this particular evening was elegant, candlelit and very French. As Eliza entered the expensive bistro wearing a positively smashing black cocktail dress, he rose from the small corner table he had reserved and ogled her though his shiny glasses.

“Eliza!” There was a nervous edge to his voice as he took her hand and actually planted a slightly damp kiss on her knuckles. “You look absolutely great tonight,” he said a little too loudly. Jerry gestured grandly as he pulled out a chair for her.

Retrieving her hand, Eliza allowed herself to be seated and flashed him a dazzling smile. “Why, Jerry, thank you,” she said, genuinely surprised by this sudden display of gallantry, a quality she had never even suspected he possessed.

“I’ve been missing you,” he said regretfully. “It seems like we’ve hardly had a chance to speak lately.”

Eliza looked at him carefully, wondering if their brief separation had at last uncovered some hidden reservoir of affection in the usually ultrareserved accountant. “I’m sorry I’ve been so out of touch,” she apologized. “But the week has been completely crazy.”

Thrilled to have someone besides Wickham in whom she could confide, Eliza leaned forward and lowered her voice to a near-whisper. “It’s all very hush-hush at the moment,” she told him, “but the library plans to make my letters and the vanity the centerpiece of their Jane Austen exhibit, and Sotheby’s will be announcing a special auction in the fall.”

Jerry beamed with enthusiasm at the news. “That is exciting,” he agreed. “What about that reclusive collector you told me about—Darcy? Have you heard from him again?”

Eliza’s smile faded and she slowly shook her head, her guilty feelings from several days earlier returning in a rush. “No,” she replied, “I’m afraid I offended him too badly…” She thought about that for a moment and a wonderful new idea suddenly popped into her head.

“I’ve been thinking about going down to Virginia,” she said, her words giving further form to the idea.

“Maybe if I met this Darcy and had a chance to personally explain about the letters—without his knowing I was the one who insulted him on the Internet…” Her voice trailed off as the thought continued to develop. Actually, she decided, it was the best idea she had had yet.

Still considering the new plan, Eliza was surprised to feel Jerry taking her hand in his. She looked up to see him scrutinizing her closely, a slightly worried expression on his narrow features.

“Eliza,” he began huskily, “before you go running off in search of this romantic character…”

Jerry swallowed hard and his eyes darted nervously around the room. “Well,” he continued after taking a sip of water, “we’ve known each other for a very long time. And I want to ask you something important.”

She had no idea what his question might be and found his nervousness curious. “What is it, Jerry?”

He flushed and cleared his throat. He looked around the romantic little café again, then peered directly into her eyes.

“Eliza, would you…Will you…consider investing part of the money you get from the sale of the letters in an Internet start-up?”

She sat in stunned amazement. It took only seconds for her shock to turn to anger. The nerve! How many days had it been since his declaration that her interest in the letters was a silly waste of time? She couldn’t believe it, now he wanted to cash in on them. His nervousness was obviously because he recognized his own hypocrisy, but that hadn’t stopped him. She quivered with outrage; casting his hand aside as hard as she could, she rose.

Surprised, Jerry asked, “What are you doing?”

Trying desperately to stay in control and remain calm she spat out, “I’m leaving. Good night.”

“But what about dinner?”

Eliza took a deep breath, picked up her water glass and threw the liquid in his face. “Go to hell, Jerry.” She stormed out.

Outside the restaurant, she stopped and leaned against the wall. Still quivering with outrage, Eliza took several deep breaths. She wasn’t sure why it had upset her so, it was, after all, typical Jerry behavior, completely bottom-line motivated.