Seducing Mr. Darcy by Gwyn Cready

Author:Gwyn Cready
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Characters in Literature, Darcy, Contemporary, General, Romance, Fitzwilliam (Fictitious Character), Fiction, Love Stories
ISBN: 9781416541165
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2008-07-28T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

As before, Flip swam through thick layers of consciousness toward the vivid new scent, but this time it wasn’t Grandma Thompson’s floral bathroom spray. This time it was…popcorn?

“I do so love toasted kernels,” a pleasant male voice remarked, “though I may not have them.”

“Why ever not?” an equally pleasant female voice inquired. “This is your house.”

“My sisters cannot endure them. They say they are impious.”

“Impious? But why?”

“I believe both the noise and the sudden change in turgidity. But I am glad we have found a quiet spot to share our secret delight.”

“Oh, Bingley, as your wife, I assure you, we shall always find time for that.”

The lovebirds. Flip smiled. Bingley was Mr. Darcy’s friend and Jane was Lizzy’s good older sister. Together they are the couple who share a double wedding with Lizzy and Darcy at the end of the real book. Was it possible things were back to normal?

“All right,” he said. “Take a handful. It is your turn to count out your 168

kernels.”

Jane giggled. “One for you; one for me; one for you; one for me; one for you; one for me; one for you; one for me and—uh-oh—one for you.”

“The last one’s mine, Jane. That means I shall have a kiss—” How sweet and Bingley–like.

“—and one more button.”

Flip’s eyes shot open.

“Mr. Bingley,” Jane said with a happy squeak, “I think you are quite aware that is not my button.”

Oh, dear! Flip was clearly in a nineteenth-century sitting room, but it was decidedly not the stuffy, dark room of her first visit, which was a deep relief to her. It had an altogether more pleasant feel. This room was filled with the glow of several oil lamps and a small fire, not to mention the diffused light of a spring moon shining through a pair of magnificent French doors. But, despite the voices, the room appeared to be empty, as was the balcony beyond the doors.

“Poor Jane,” Bingley said. “Two more of your buttons and you shall be quite undone.”

“Poor Bingley,” she replied. “Two more of your buttons and you shall be quite overdone.”

They laughed, and Flip realized they must be sitting on the floor across the room, behind the green brocade couch in front of the looming fireplace. She herself was curled up in an overstuffed wing chair, facing a corner and turned partly from view. Jane and Bingley thought they were alone. She hoped Jane and Bingley thought they were alone.

The door latch jiggled and Flip froze. A dark-haired woman of around twenty with an open, thoughtful face and a simple cream silk frock strode in and went to the window. Flip held her breath, and she felt quite certain Bingley and Jane were doing the same. The woman brushed back the curtain, peered into the distance and sighed. Then she pulled a flask from 169

her pocket, popped the cork, and drank.

A stray kernel popped at the fire and the woman spun around. In the act of spinning she caught sight of Flip and quickly hid the flask.

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