Eligible

Chapter 147

FOR THE MORNING of the Women’s League luncheon, Liz had ordered a large bouquet of pale pink roses, hypericum berries, and sweet peas to be delivered to the Tudor, along with a card bearing her and Jane’s names. During the luncheon, she texted Mary and Kitty to ask how it was proceeding.

Fine, Mary texted back. Almost over.

Picture a sorority that time traveled 50 years, Kitty texted back. Except drunker.

Neither of which exactly answered Liz’s question.

The day before, Liz had heard from Shane Williams that another couple was preparing to make an offer on the house, and she had purposely withheld this information prior to the luncheon. Upon calling the Tudor in the late afternoon, she learned from Mr. Bennet that her mother had retired to bed.

“In defeat or triumph?” Liz asked, and her father said, “It’s hard to tell sometimes, isn’t it?”

Chapter 148

THE INITIAL OFFER was for $899,000; after negotiations, it stalled at $920,000, which Shane told Liz and Mr. Bennet in a conference call he strongly recommended accepting. “Unless you want to take the house off the market, make improvements, and put it up for sale again in the spring,” he said. “But with the school year under way, and the holidays on the horizon, now just isn’t when most people are looking to move.”

The second time around, the inspection did not yield surprises; a closing date was set for October 18, and Liz booked a ticket to Cincinnati accordingly.

Chapter 149

SEPTEMBER IN NEW York was still prone to unpleasant hotness, but by October, which had always been Liz’s favorite month, the city was at its best — the leaves in Central Park were changing color, the stylish women who worked at Mascara and its sister magazines were wearing belted coats, and her favorite deli was selling pumpkin soup. It had occurred to Liz that her extended stay in Cincinnati might distance her from her New York friends, or even from her own habits there, but in fact, she appreciated the city anew, and the affection appeared reciprocal: She went out often for drinks, dinner, or brunch, in many cases with people she hadn’t socialized with for over a year, and there was much to gossip about and discuss. Though she made a point of calling her parents every other evening, and texting her sisters as often if not more so, the absence of constant familial obligations made her feel as if additional hours had been inserted into each day, hours in which she could read novels, attend movies, go for long runs, or visit museum exhibits that she probably, the previous spring, would have intended to see without actually doing so, believing herself to be too busy.

A few weeks had passed before Liz realized that these auxiliary chunks of time were attributable not simply to no longer being at the beck and call of her family but also to the conclusion of her relationship with Jasper. It was in the second week of October, with neither delight nor vengeance, that Liz discarded the red sheer teddy and matching thong underwear, never worn, that he’d sent her in Cincinnati. She also recycled the piece of computer paper on which, over a decade and a half, she had written what she’d once deemed Jasper’s best sentences: I talk way more openly with you than I do with her. Sometimes I think you and I would be a good couple. I love you in my life. How meager these offerings had come to seem, how provisional their compliments. Yet surely she was as culpable as he was; recalling her casual speculation about when Jasper’s wife’s grandmother might die and thereby free Jasper and Susan to divorce, Liz wondered if a stronger sign of a relationship’s essential corruptness could exist than for its official realization to hinge on the demise of another human being.

In any case, when the autumn nights most filled Liz with yearning — when, as she was leaving work, the smell of candied cashews and fallen leaves wafted through the cool air — the person she thought about wasn’t Jasper.

Chapter 150

CONGRATULATIONS, KATHLEEN BENNET! read the email Kitty had forwarded to Liz. The Kenwood Institute of Cosmetology is pleased to offer you a place in our rigorous and state-of-the-art 16-week Manicuring Program; your session will begin on MONDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 2013.

Happy now? Kitty had typed above the institute’s digital letterhead, and Liz wrote back, Yes, very. Good for you!

Chapter 151

MRS. BENNET WAS the one who called Liz, which was unusual, unless there was a sale on bath mats at Gattle’s. “Your father has gone to a lecture with that deviant,” Mrs. Bennet practically hissed. “Can you imagine?”

“Do you mean Ham?” Liz asked.

“I don’t know what your father’s thinking.”

Liz had been pleased to hear that Mr. Bennet and Lydia had met on more than one occasion for breakfast at the Echo, but as far as she knew, this was the first time since the elopement that he had socialized with Ham.

“What’s the lecture about?” she asked.

“That has nothing to do with anything,” Mrs. Bennet said.

A modicum of research revealed that the two men had heard a professor at the University of Cincinnati speak on law and politics in ancient Greece.

Are u a history buff? Liz texted Ham.

Whatever it takes, Liz, Ham texted back. Whatever it takes:)

Chapter 152

USING A SMARTPHONE matchmaking app that hadn’t existed the last time she’d been single, Liz embarked on a series of dates that were neither terrible nor particularly promising. The fifth man she met for a drink turned out to be someone with whom she had gone on one date seven years earlier, though neither of them realized it until they were seated across from each other at a restaurant on East Thirty-sixth Street and had been talking for ten minutes. The man’s name was Eric, and he was now living in the suburbs of New Jersey, divorced, and the father of a five-year-old and a two-year-old.

He was a perfectly pleasant person, but as they spoke, all the things that had bothered her the last time around bothered her again, with only the slightest particulars changed. She hadn’t been aware of storing this list of Deterrents to Dating Eric Zanti in her brain for seven years, but once it got reactivated, there was no denying that it was there: He didn’t read much, he said, because he was too busy. He enjoyed small-game hunting, though on a recent guys’ weekend with his buddies, he’d taken down a 150-inch whitetail deer. He thought his ex-wife spent too much time on Facebook.

In her twenties, Liz had lived with a roommate named Asuka who loathed grocery shopping; she said that looking at all the food in the aisles, thinking of the meals she’d need to fix, day after day and year after year, filled her with despair. Parting ways with Eric outside the restaurant — they kissed on the cheek, and Liz stifled the impulse to make a joke about seeing him again seven years hence — Liz understood Asuka’s despair, except with men instead of food. Even before she returned to her apartment, she had deleted the matchmaking app from her phone.

Chapter 153

DURING THE FORTY-EIGHT hours she was in Cincinnati for her parents’ move from the Tudor and the subsequent closing at the title company, Liz looked for Darcy. She looked for him running on Madison Road as she drove back and forth — her own trips were staggered with those of the movers — between the Tudor and the Grasmoor, which was the building where her parents had, after all, decided to live, though they were renting a two-bedroom rather than buying a three-bedroom and using the funds that might have served as the down payment to maintain their country club membership. She looked for Darcy downtown, when she and her father went to the title company’s office (she had never previously encountered Darcy downtown), and while she waited at the Dewey’s in Oakley to pick up a pizza for her parents’ first dinner in their new dwelling. She looked for him on her own run the next day, and it would have been a lie to claim she didn’t consider stopping by his apartment, but it was seven-twenty in the morning and he had a complicated work schedule and a girlfriend. (I’m sure you’ve heard from my brother about him and Caroline.)

Before flying out, Liz met Ham and Lydia for lunch at Teller’s. “I don’t know if Lydia mentioned that I wrote a letter to your mom,” Ham said. “Unfortunately, I haven’t heard back.”

Over pizza the previous night, Liz had inquired about whether her mother had considered breaking the silence between herself and her youngest daughter and her husband. “I certainly haven’t,” Mrs. Bennet had declared.

“I think she still needs time,” Liz said to Ham. “Maybe after they get settled into the new place, she’ll be more receptive. But I’m glad you’re trying.”

“Lizzy, I have a question,” Lydia said. “Have you ever gotten your eyebrows threaded?”

The three of them had stood to leave the restaurant when they saw a middle-aged woman Liz recognized as Gretchen Keefe, who decades earlier had been their teenage babysitter and neighbor on Grandin Road. Gretchen was accompanied by another woman, both of them wearing black leggings, recognizably overpriced hooded sweatshirts, and large diamond rings.

“Hey, guys!” Gretchen said warmly. “Is it true that Mary eloped with a transvestite?”

Liz winced as Ham extended his hand and said with equal warmth, “Actually, I’m transgender, not a transvestite, and married to Lydia here, but nice to meet you. Hamilton Ryan.”

“Oh my God.” Instead of shaking Ham’s hand, Gretchen brought her own hand to her mouth; her face had drained of merriment.

“Is it true,” Lydia said to Gretchen with feigned brightness, “that you and your husband haven’t had sex in fifteen years? Because that’s what he told Kitty last summer while she was trying to swim laps.”

“I didn’t realize—” Gretchen said, and Liz said, too loudly, “Yeah, lots of changes in our family. In fact, our parents moved from Grandin Road yesterday. The house had just gotten too big for them.” This was what Mrs. Bennet had explained to Abigail Rycraw, a widow and Women’s League member they’d run into in the Grasmoor parking lot, and her mother had said it so convincingly that Liz briefly thought she believed it.

Gretchen looked to be on the cusp of tears, and Liz said, “Anyway, nice to see you!” She glanced at Ham and Lydia and pointed toward the front of the restaurant. “Shall we?”

Outside on the sidewalk, Lydia said, “Gretchen Keefe sucks.”

“You need to grow a thicker skin, baby,” Ham said. “You’ll get there.”

“Sorry,” Liz said, and Ham shrugged.

“I’ve heard worse.”

Chapter 154

REMEMBER THAT GUY Darcy who dissed u at the Lucases bbq? Mary texted Liz on Halloween. Just saw him at Skyline but he was bizarrely nice.

Liz was at her desk at Mascara, preparing to enter a one o’clock meeting.

Another text arrived from Mary: Maybe he’s bipolar.

What did you talk about? Liz typed, then deleted.

Was Chip’s sister Caroline with him? she typed, then deleted that, too.

Did my name come up? she wrote, and this she also deleted.

Finally, she wrote, I guess he likes chili, and that was the text she sent.

Chapter 155

JANE’S FORTIETH BIRTHDAY fell on the first Saturday in November, and Liz traveled by train to Rhinebeck to help set up the dinner party Amanda and Prisha were hosting. Liz had made two earlier trips to Rhinebeck and been reassured both times to see that her sister’s coloring was rosy, her demeanor was upbeat, and a small, enchanting bump protruded a little more from her midsection with each visit. By her birthday, Jane was twenty-two weeks pregnant and downright voluptuous. She wore empire-waist shirts that emphasized her full breasts, and jeans whose stretchy belly panels she revealed to Liz with amusement. “You’re like a fertility goddess,” Liz said, and Jane laughed but didn’t seem displeased.

Mr. and Mrs. Bennet called in the afternoon to sing “Happy Birthday”—this was the only duet Liz had ever known her parents to perform — and the guests arrived around seven: friends of Amanda and Prisha’s whom Jane had recently come to know, a Barnard classmate and her husband living in nearby Kingston, a pair of yoga studio colleagues who, like Liz, had made the journey from the city. Though Jane didn’t drink, Amanda broke out several bottles of what Liz recognized as expensive wine. Liz had brought a cake from a Cobble Hill bakery — on the crowded train, she’d sat with the cake box on her lap like an obedient child, holding above it the book she was reading — and despite the filling meal, no one declined a slice.

Liz shared the double bed in the guest room with Jane and her body pillow, and on Sunday morning, while Amanda and Prisha were still asleep and their son was watching television, the sisters went for a stroll on the woodsy, sidewalkless roads around their hosts’ home.

“Does being forty feel fabulous and foxy?” Liz asked.

“More like fatigued and foolish,” Jane said, but she sounded cheerful. “Thanks for coming up to celebrate.”

“How are you doing on money?”

Jane shook her head. “Amanda won’t let me pay for anything, and their friends have been amazing with hand-me-downs. Now I just have to figure out how to break the news to Mom and Dad. Mom still hasn’t spoken to Lydia and Ham, has she?”

“I don’t think so. Did you hear that Lydia registered? Which, not to sound like Mom, but is that allowed if you elope?”

“I’ll have to order her something,” Jane said.

“How about dinner china that’s $240 a setting? Or perhaps you’d prefer the $650 juicer.”

“Are you making those up or are they real?”

“To be fair, the juicer also chops and purées.”

Jane laughed. “Maybe I can afford to buy her part of a fork. Lizzy, I don’t know what I imagined my financial situation would be when I was forty, but mooching off friends — it wasn’t this.”

The surprise, Liz thought, wasn’t that someone rich would swoop in to subsidize Jane’s pregnancy; the surprise was that Jane had arrived at a point where she needed subsidizing. So refined and delicate was Jane, so charming and beloved, that a certain inevitability had surrounded her courtship with Chip, and it was their breakup rather than their coupling that felt like a deviation from the script. Also, Liz wondered, was it indecorous of her to feel relieved that obscenely successful Amanda rather than middling Liz herself was supporting Jane — should Liz insist on taking responsibility, as a family member? Aloud, Liz said, “They seem fine with your so-called mooching.”

“You would never do it. In fact, the opposite — aren’t you paying Kitty and Mary’s rent?”

“Only until they finish their classes and get jobs. I have one more thing to tell you about Lydia. She took Ham’s last name, so she’s Lydia Ryan now.”

“Hmm,” Jane said. “I guess she’s traditional after all.”

Chapter 156

IT WASN’T UNEXPECTED to run into Jasper; given the smallness of the Manhattan media world, the only question had been when the encounter would happen. The answer turned out to be a Wednesday evening publication party for a White House memoir by a former national security advisor also known for her magnificently toned calves.

The party occurred at an event space on the twenty-second floor of a building on Columbus Circle. Three other people entered the elevator in the lobby with Liz, and just before the doors closed, an arm shot through them, followed by a male voice saying, “Hold up!” Presently, the rest of Jasper appeared. He and Liz made eye contact, and he smiled. “Hey! It’s you.”

Guardedly, Liz said, “Hi.”

He had always been handsome and still was, but Liz noticed for the first time how old he looked: His curly blond hair was more silver, and the corners of his eyes were marked by crow’s-feet. When had this happened? She didn’t derive pleasure from her observations; instead, they made her sad.

Everyone disembarked on the twenty-second floor, and Jasper set a hand on the sleeve of her coat to hold her back. He said, “I’m trying to respect your wishes here, but do you really need to starve me out?”

“I’m not starving you out.”

“What, then — we’re just done? After everything?”

“You had your chance.”

“If you’re boning some other dude, just promise me it isn’t Darcy.” She said nothing, and as more guests spilled out of another elevator and passed them, Jasper added, “Can’t we at least grab coffee? I miss our conversations.”

She pulled her arm away from his grasp. “Then I guess you shouldn’t have treated me like you did.”

Chapter 157

THE TEXT FROM Kitty arrived while Liz was pulling laundry from the dryer in the basement of her building: M & D took L & H out for dinner at country club last nite. Thot u want to know.

Liz called her sister immediately. “This is huge,” Liz said. “Don’t you think?”

“I guess.” Kitty’s voice sounded flat, possibly bored.

“Are you painting your nails right now?” Liz asked.

“If I was,” Kitty said, “how would I just have texted you?”

Chapter 158

LIZ TELEPHONED HER mother next. “I heard you and Dad had dinner last night with Lydia and Ham.”

“There’s a new shrimp pasta on the menu,” Mrs. Bennet said. “I wasn’t in a seafood mood, but I think I’ll get it next time. And Lydia had the filet mignon — the club always does a good job with that.”

Knowing she should leave well enough alone, Liz said, “Are you okay now with Ham being transgender?”

“Oh, that’s a birth defect,” Mrs. Bennet said quickly. “It’s like a cleft palate. It’s not for any of us to question God’s plan, but all you need to do is look around to know some people aren’t born the way they should have been.”

Was this a theory espoused in Transgender 101: A Simple Guide to a Complex Issue? Not having read the book, Liz couldn’t be sure.

“Ham is thinking of opening a second gym,” Mrs. Bennet was saying. “All his classes have wait lists, so expanding would make sense.” She sounded, Liz thought, uncannily like the version of herself she had always yearned to be: a mother-in-law bragging about the successful husband of her daughter. Then she added, “Lizzy, I can’t find a very nice throw pillow that I bought at the old house. It has a pineapple on it. Do you remember seeing it?”

For a few seconds, Liz froze. Then she said, “Maybe it got mixed up with the donation items for the auction.”

Chapter 159

THE TEXT FROM Darcy, which arrived just after ten o’clock on a Thursday night, read: Hi, Liz, I’ll be in NYC next week, and I’d like to take you and Jane out for dinner. Are you free either Tues or Wed? I realize this is short notice.

How perplexing these few lines were! Why would Darcy wish to have dinner with her and Jane? Did he remember that Jane no longer lived in the city? Perhaps, Liz thought, he hoped to avoid issuing an invitation that might otherwise sound like a date.

And then, as sometimes happened, the memory of Darcy’s declaration (he’d been in love with her, he’d wanted to be her boyfriend) flew through Liz’s head, followed by that dreadful echo: I’m sure you’ve heard from my brother about him and Caroline.

Yes, there’d been extenuating circumstances; but none, Liz thought with sorrow and regret, had been extenuating enough to absolve her.

Chapter 160

LIZ’S PROFILE OF Kathy de Bourgh appeared in the December issue of Mascara, and Jasper’s article about Cincinnati’s powerhouse squash tradition appeared in the December issue of Sporty; the two magazines hit newsstands within a day of each other in early November. By the afternoon, six people had texted or emailed Liz about Jasper’s article, four of whom knew she knew him and all of whom knew she was from Cincinnati. She read it that night.

Only after finishing it — the focus switched between the coach and the eleven-year-old boy with the intense father — did she realize that a part of her had expected Jasper’s article to morph from a straightforward sports feature into a breaking-the-fourth-wall direct address to Liz herself, a postmodern confession or self-exculpation on Jasper’s part. Yet it was none of these things; it was only about squash. Was she disappointed or relieved? She’d have expected the former but instead, without doubt, felt the latter.

The next morning, Liz discovered that after going to bed, she had received a two-sentence email from Kathy de Bourgh: Dear Liz, Thank you for taking the time to depict me with respect and accuracy. I enjoyed meeting you and am most appreciative. Kathy

Liz hadn’t previously communicated directly with Kathy de Bourgh and was briefly unsure how to address her. Then, decisively, she typed, Kathy, the pleasure was mine. I’m delighted you enjoyed the article. Liz. She forwarded Kathy de Bourgh’s email to her editor, Talia, prefacing it with the word Nice and three exclamation points.

Chapter 161

THROUGH AN EXCHANGE of texts with Darcy that didn’t veer in subject from logistics, Liz had agreed that she and Jane would meet him at seven o’clock at a bistro in lower Manhattan. Jane, who was reluctant but obviously sensed Liz’s wish for her attendance, arrived in New York via train in the afternoon.

Though Liz wished she could be as indifferent to Darcy as Jane was, an irresistible curiosity gripped her. The evening might leave her bruised or remorseful, but she was compelled to know why he wanted to see them. As they entered the restaurant, Liz’s heart pounded and her body pulsed with a jittery energy.

Following the maître d’, Liz made eye contact with Darcy from several feet away, and when he stood — without smiling, he held up his right hand — an odd happiness swelled within her.

“Oh my God, Chip’s here,” Jane said.

It was true — Liz had been so focused on Darcy that she’d failed to notice that Chip was also waiting at the table.

Liz glanced at her sister and said, “I had no idea, I swear.” Jane bit her lip, and Liz said, “Is this okay? We can leave.”

“It’s fine,” Jane said quietly.

Even before they reached the table, Liz felt herself oversmiling, talking too loudly and with excess enthusiasm. “Hi!” she said to Darcy and Chip. “Chip! What a surprise!” Chip was now standing, too, and the physical and symbolic intricacies of all of them greeting one another seemed nearly insurmountable. Thus, despite her misgivings, Liz threw her arms around Chip in the friendliest and most midwestern of hugs, and he half-hugged her back while kissing her right cheek. She then hugged Darcy. Had the two of them ever hugged? Not, she was pretty sure, while clothed. Even as this thought formed, the hug had concluded, and they were all sitting. She wondered if the men were shocked by the size of Jane’s belly.

“What are you doing here?” she said to Chip with great energy, and though she willed herself to turn down both the volume and the chumminess a notch, the strange and ambiguous situation was impelling her to take the reins of the conversation. “Are you in New York for long?”

“I’m not.” Though he was considerably more subdued than Liz, his voice contained its usual sincerity and kindness. “But it’s really good to see both of you.” It was clear that the sentiment was directed at Jane; every molecule of Chip’s body seemed turned toward and attuned to her. Was it possible, Liz wondered, that he found this lushly curvy version of Jane to be as beautiful as Liz herself did? When he said to Jane, “I hope you’ve been well,” such depth of feeling infused his tone that the wish did not seem inordinate.

“I’ve been living up in Rhinebeck, which is very relaxing.” Jane removed the napkin from the table in front of her and unfolded it on her lap. “Are you still in California?”

Chip nodded. “We wrapped the Eligible shoot in October.”

Liz wanted to ask if he’d found love, of either the genuine or the scripted variety, yet posing the question in Jane’s presence seemed cruel. Instead, Liz said, “So what’s next for you?”

“Funny you should ask. I’ve gotten an agent, actually, who’s talking to some folks about my hosting a medical talk show on cable. It’d be a roundtable thing — me, a nurse-practitioner, an alternative type like an acupuncturist or chiropractor. I’m hoping it’s a way to use my expertise without fighting in the trenches like this guy.” He gestured with his thumb at Darcy and added cheerfully, “If there was any lingering doubt that I’m a lightweight.”

There wasn’t, Liz thought, but Jane said, with more force than Liz would have expected, “I think you’re being too hard on yourself. If working in an ER isn’t what you want to do, you shouldn’t be miserable.” Was she, Liz wondered, talking only about medicine?

The waiter approached, and Darcy said, “Shall we get a bottle of wine? Jane, I don’t know if you’re drinking.” Both he and Chip already had a cocktail in front of them.

“I’m not,” Jane said.

Liz said, “But your doctor self sounded impressively nonjudgmental, Darcy.”

The expression on Darcy’s face then was hard to read — it might have been irritation — and Liz thought, You’re the one who invited us here.

“I’m sure Jane knows that she doesn’t need to answer to me,” Darcy said, but he said it stiffly, and it occurred to Liz for the first time that he was not entirely at ease, which was all that was necessary for the last of her own nervousness to vanish. Besides, between them, the two men at this table had broken both her and her sister’s hearts. They didn’t deserve her nervousness!

She said, “Chip, have you ever considered auditioning for that dance competition show?”

“Believe it or not, it’s very hard to win a spot. Not to mention, I’m sure I don’t have what it takes. No, if I have any self-respect, the Eligible reunion will be my reality-TV swan song. If I stay in television, I’d like it to be more service-oriented.”

As the four of them selected then received their entrées, Chip spoke the most, Liz the second most, and Darcy and Jane only intermittently. Chip never uttered the words pregnant or pregnancy but seemingly without discomfort alluded several times to Jane’s condition, inquiring about how she was feeling, where she planned to deliver, and whether she envisioned continuing to teach yoga after the baby was born. Darcy paid for the meal — when Liz pulled her wallet from her purse, he shook his head sternly — and after he had passed his credit card to the waiter, Jane went to use the restroom. When she stood, so did both men. In her absence, Chip said to Liz, “She really seems good.”

“She is.”

“And she’s — she’s well-settled in Rhinebeck, it sounds like?” Did he wish to be contradicted? During the meal, Liz had concluded that they were all gathered so that Chip and Darcy could officially absolve themselves; they could go forth into the rest of their lives confident that they hadn’t wronged the Bennet sisters in any deep or permanent way, assured that they were all on Waspily amicable terms. And this belief that they were entitled to absolution — it seemed the most self-indulgent act of all. But were they gathered instead for Chip to attempt to rekindle the relationship? The possibility was intriguing and alarming.

Carefully, Liz said, “I don’t think she’s made a concrete plan for after the baby comes.”

“I’m glad she—” Chip began, at which point his phone rang. When he checked the screen, he said, “If you’ll forgive me, it’s Caroline.” He stepped away from the table, and Darcy and Liz were alone.

“Do you want to join the call?” The question came out as less joking and more bitter than Liz had been aiming for.

Darcy looked at her curiously.

Liz held up her own phone. “I just downloaded a solitaire app, so I can keep myself entertained.” When he still said nothing, she heard herself add, “That sounds like a euphemism for masturbation, doesn’t it?” In her head, she thought, Liz! Stop! I command you to stop at once! Aloud, she said, “Why are you in New York anyway?”

He nodded once toward the table. “This dinner.”

“No, seriously. Why?”

“I flew to New York this afternoon, and I fly back to Cincinnati at six A.M.”

A new confusion seized Liz.

“Does Chip leave tomorrow?” she asked.

Darcy shook his head. “He’s here for a few days.” Then he said, “It sounds like your parents are coming to terms with Lydia’s marriage.”

Liz squinted. “Who’d you hear that from?”

“It’s good news, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Liz said. “It is good news.”

“You also might be interested to know that Georgie has agreed to donate Pemberley as a historic landmark. She wants us to perform some type of ritual farewell before the handoff, and I understand I have you to thank for that.”

“Actually, that’s Jane’s bailiwick, not mine,” Liz said. “I did mention it to Georgie, though.” Liz wanted to inquire after Georgie’s health, but the enmity between herself and Darcy prevented her. She was grateful when Jane reappeared, and a minute later, so did Chip.

“I hope my manners won’t seem lacking if I suggest that just Jane and I go for a little stroll,” he said. “Jane, would you consider it?”

Jane flushed radiantly. She glanced at Liz. “Are we expected anywhere else tonight?” Which, Liz knew, her sister was fully aware they were not.

“Nope,” Liz said.

Turning back toward Chip, Jane said, “Then I’d love to.”

Liz and Chip embraced once more, and Jane somberly thanked Darcy for the meal (again Liz envied the way Jane was compelled to show Darcy neither phony friendliness nor conspicuous derision). Jane and Chip had scarcely left the table when Liz asked, “Is he trying to get back together with her?”

“That’s for him to answer,” Darcy said.

Liz rolled her eyes. “You put way too much stock in discretion.”

He smiled thinly. “Or maybe you put too little.”

A silence arose, a silence in which neither of them looked elsewhere or fiddled with their phones; he seemed to be scrutinizing her. If she wasn’t careful, Liz felt, she might blurt out, How could you have picked Caroline Bingley over me?

Surely, surely, he had to say something. But no. He said nothing at all, and when Liz could withstand it no longer, she said, “I guess you’ll be getting up at the crack of dawn, huh?”

“A car is coming to my hotel at four.”

“In that case, you shouldn’t even go to sleep. You should go on a bender.”

“I imagine my patients tomorrow would prefer I didn’t.”

Did he understand that she had, under the guise of a joke, been putting out a feeler about if he’d like to get an after-dinner drink? She scooted back from the table and reached for her coat. “Then I’ll let you get your rest.” She pulled her purse onto one shoulder. “Take care, Darcy.” It was borderline rude, she knew, not to wait for him and leave the restaurant together; it was borderline cold to wave with false jauntiness rather than exchanging either an Ohio hug or a New York kiss on the cheek. But he was welcome to complain about her manners to Caroline — what did it matter at this point? And anyway, when the tears burst over Liz’s eyelids and streamed down her cheeks, she wanted to be away from him, alone on the sidewalk in the cool night.

Chapter 162

LIZ HAD FALLEN asleep on the couch in her living room while waiting for Jane. Thus the lights were on, and the novel Liz had been reading had dropped to the floor, when Jane knocked. Liz was still only partially alert as she opened the apartment door, saying, “I really had no idea Chip would be there. You believe me, right?”

Jane rested one hand atop her belly. “Lizzy, he proposed.”

“What? Are you serious?”

Jane nodded.

“Holy shit,” Liz said. “What did you say?”

Jane was practically whispering. “I said yes.”

“Oh my God!” Liz embraced her sister. “This is insane. Start at the beginning.”

“Let me get some water. Want any?”

“No thanks.” Liz glanced at her watch and saw that it was three-thirty. “Did you guys have sex?” she asked.

Jane moved from the sink in Liz’s galley kitchen to the living room. As gracefully as was possible for a woman twenty-four weeks pregnant, she perched on the arm of the couch, to which Liz had returned. Jane’s expression was both bashful and joyous. She said, “I was worried he’d be”—she waved a hand over her midsection—“freaked out. And I think it was strange for him at first, but then it was really nice.”

“Was this before or after he’d proposed?”

“After. Lizzy, I know you think he acted flaky, but I was ambivalent, too. The situation was so confusing, and now we both know what we want.”

“I take it he didn’t have a ring?”

Jane shook her head. “He had no idea how I’d react.” Her brow furrowed. “There’s kind of a crazy part to all of this. The Eligible reunion will start airing in January, and, obviously, the network wants what happens to be a surprise. For all those shows, they make the contestants sign confidentiality agreements, and the agreements last until the whole season has aired. Even if a couple falls in love during the shoot, they’re not really supposed to see each other for months, until after the last episode. If they violate the contract, they’re liable for the entire budget of the show, which is something like five million dollars.”

Jane took a sip of water, then went on: “The reunion took place at this fancy compound by the ocean in Malibu, and Chip said from the minute he got there, he knew he’d made a mistake — not in leaving medicine but in leaving me. He’d let his doubts about being a doctor, which he’d had for years, cloud his judgment about our relationship, and after he found out about my pregnancy, he was overwhelmed. But when he got to California and was supposed to be in romantic settings with other women, all he could think about was me. He wants to raise my baby as his child. The catch is that because of the contract he signed, we can’t be together for at least four months — unless, and this is the crazy part, he thinks that if I’m willing to do it, we can get married now as part of an Eligible special. During the reunion, he talked a lot about me with a producer he’d known from his first season, and she tried to convince him to invite me on the show, to come out to Malibu, but he thought that wasn’t fair to me, because the whole thing would have been filmed. In fact, he wasn’t even planning to reach out to me at all until Darcy suggested it — Chip was worried I hated him. Anyway, he saw this producer last week, and she’s pretty sure that if we get married on the air, the network will pay for the wedding, and afterward, before the special runs, they’ll rent a house for us somewhere secluded while we wait for the baby.”

“That’s bonkers,” Liz said.

“He’s not pressuring me to do it,” Jane said. “He said the choice is mine, and if we have to wait until March or April to be together, it’s fine. But, Lizzy, by March I’ll have a newborn. I’ll be in a different place emotionally, and so will Chip. I want us to become parents together. There’s no guarantee that if we try to pick up later where we left off tonight, it’ll work.”

After a few seconds, Liz said, “I wish I didn’t agree with you. Here’s what I don’t get, though — why can’t you just move out to L.A., rent an apartment, and see him really discreetly?”

“I asked that, too, and he said he thinks the producers won’t allow it. He thinks they’re okay with us being together if it’s sort of under their control, or if they’re benefiting from it, but otherwise, they’ll say it’s too great a risk. Chip gets recognized much more in L.A. than in other places.”

“Jesus,” Liz said. “And I thought Mom tried to boss us around.” Both sisters were quiet, and Liz added, “Just the idea of you, the sweet yogini, having your wedding nationally televised — it’s very weird.”

“I know,” Jane said. “I used to have such specific opinions about what my wedding would be like. Remember that game we’d play where we’d pick out our bridesmaids? But that was a long time ago. I’m forty, and I’m about to have a kid. I don’t care about the ceremony. I’d rather just be married to Chip and get on with our lives.” Jane glanced at Liz. “Maybe I’ve lost my mind.”

“Well, I agree that you’d be ratings gold,” Liz said. “I’d tune in to see Chip Bingley marry a beautiful pregnant lady. But do you realize what you’d be opening yourself up to? You’d be on the cover of celebrity gossip magazines.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Jane. Without a doubt. You’d have to sign a contract just like Chip, and one of the things it would require you to do is talk to the media. Plus, tons of trashy websites that you hadn’t talked to would say whatever they want about you guys. Did Chip mention compensation?”

“Like money?”

Liz nodded.

“Vaguely,” Jane said. “At this point, it’s still not definite that Eligible wants to do a wedding special with us. The next step is for Chip and me both to sit down with his agent and that producer.”

“Has the producer seen a picture of you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I bet Chip showed her one. Trust me, Jane, they’ll want to do it.”

“The only way I’ll agree to it is if all of you are there,” Jane said. “Mom and Dad, obviously, and you and Mary and Kitty and Lydia and now Ham. Do you think they’ll go on TV for my wedding?”

Liz laughed. “Some of them.”

“Will you?”

“Sure,” Liz said. “For you.”

“Does this all seem crazy?”

“Yes,” Liz said. “But I think you and Chip genuinely love each other.” She patted her sister’s arm. “I’m glad he wised up.”

Chapter 163

ALMOST IMMEDIATELY, A maelstrom of activity was swirling. The following evening, while it was still afternoon in Los Angeles, Liz, Jane, and Chip participated via speakerphone from Liz’s apartment in a conversation with both Chip’s agent, whose name was David Scanlon, and the Eligible producer with whom Chip had discussed Jane, whose name was Anne Lee. It was decided that two days hence, when Chip flew back to Los Angeles, Jane also would journey west, on a different flight. In the meantime, Jane would begin filling out the many forms meant to facilitate her background check.

“Why do they need to do a background check on me if we already know each other?” Jane asked Chip when the call had concluded.

Chip and Liz answered at the same time. “They’re being thorough,” Chip said as Liz said, “Because they don’t want Chip’s family to sue them if you turn out to be a psychopath who kills him on your wedding night.”

Jane and Chip were seated on the couch, holding hands, and Jane looked at him. “I’ve never even met your parents,” she said. “I hope they’re not mad at me.”

“How could anyone be mad at you?” Chip said, and he kissed her.

But given that Chip’s parents were also the parents of Caroline, Liz thought, who knew what they’d be like? Even if they were genial in the extreme, watching their son marry a pregnant woman they’d never met, on national television, could not be a cherished dream. Then again, since that same son had chosen to appear on two separate seasons of Eligible, perhaps his parents would understand how much worse than Jane they might have fared with a daughter-in-law.

As for Caroline herself, spending time in her presence at the wedding filled Liz with a dread exacerbated by the assumption that Darcy would be Caroline’s date. For no one other than Jane would Liz have subjected herself to such circumstances.

Chapter 164

IN THE MORNING, Chip and Jane rented a car and drove together to Rhinebeck, where they would stay the night before Jane collected her belongings and bid farewell to Amanda and Prisha.

The following day, Amanda called Liz and said, “This is really what Jane wants? To get married on TV to the guy who dumped her the minute he found out she was pregnant?”

Even under normal circumstances, Liz found Amanda a bit intimidating — if Liz hadn’t suspected Amanda would scoff at the idea, she’d have loved to write about her as a Woman Who Dared — and Liz tried not to sound meek or defensive as she said, “I certainly didn’t try to talk Jane into it. And if you’re upset about her quitting her job, you should talk to her, not me.”

“We can find another yoga instructor. But I’ve always thought Chip Bingley was a total phony.”

“Had you met him before yesterday?”

“No, but I swear those were crocodile tears he cried in his season finale.” Quickly, Amanda added, “I don’t watch the show, but Prisha does. Liz, if Chip leaves Jane again, I’ll do him bodily harm.”

“I’ll do it for you,” Liz replied.

“Prisha wants to talk to you,” Amanda said. There was a lull as the phone was passed, then Prisha’s excited voice. “Do we get to come to the wedding?” she asked.

Chapter 165

WHAT THE PRODUCERS envisioned, Jane explained to Liz over the phone from California, was a three-day event at a resort in Palm Springs. The first night would be separate, simultaneous bachelor and bachelorette parties. The second night would be the rehearsal dinner. The third afternoon would be the wedding. Jane and Chip would be permitted to invite twenty guests total, all of whom would stay at the resort and all of whose travel expenses would be covered. The couple would receive a payment of $200,000, which Chip insisted should be Jane’s and which Jane insisted should be equally divided among her family members after Chip’s agent — now their shared agent — kept his 10 percent.

“You don’t have to pay me to come to your wedding,” Liz said. She’d been washing dishes when Jane called, and she turned off the faucet. “It would give me more peace of mind if you opened a secret bank account and put the money there. Are you and Chip signing a prenup?”

“We haven’t talked about it,” Jane said. “But if we didn’t trust each other, we wouldn’t be getting married.”

Said like a woman blinded by love, Liz thought, but not signing a prenuptial agreement could only be to her sister’s advantage.

“They want everything to happen two weeks from now,” Jane was saying. “From a Wednesday to a Friday, because that’s when they can rent out the whole resort. Do you think that’ll work for people?”

“Kitty probably has the most rigid schedule of any of us now that she’s in school,” Liz said. “But I bet she can miss a few days.”

“One of the things the agent negotiated is that the hair and makeup artists will help all of us get ready, not just me,” Jane said. “So maybe Kitty can even learn from them.”

“And if she doesn’t, that’s fine, too,” Liz said. “Jane, your wedding can be at least a little bit about you.”

“I haven’t told you the reason the producers want to do it so soon.” Jane sounded wry. “The quote from Anne Lee is ‘Because you’re not getting any smaller, Jane, and the fantasy that American women have of marrying Chip Bingley doesn’t include looking like a whale.’ ”

“Wow,” Liz said. “Tactful.”

“No, she said it in a funny way,” Jane said. “I wasn’t offended. The producers are really cool and smart. They remind me of you and your magazine friends.”

“They’re not your friends. Their goal is to make entertaining TV.”

“I know.” Jane seemed untroubled. “Although they’re giving us free rings, too. Did I tell you that?”

“I’m sure some jewelry maker is doing it as part of an advertising deal.” But Liz could hear the cynicism in her tone, and, more gently, she added, “What do they look like?”

Jane laughed. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Chapter 166

“I HAVE SOMETHING to tell you all,” Jane said into the speakerphone. “Actually, a few things.”

It was Thanksgiving Day, and Jane was back in New York. She and Liz were expected in two hours, along with a dish of marshmallow-topped sweet potatoes, at the Park Slope house of Liz’s editor, Talia. In Cincinnati, the Bennets would celebrate the holiday, as they often did, at the Lucases’. It had been after much prodding from Liz as well as Jane that their family members had assembled in advance of the Thanksgiving meal in Mr. and Mrs. Bennet’s living room at the Grasmoor.

Jane hesitated, and Mr. Bennet said, “Do go on.”

Jane and Liz made eye contact, and Jane bit her lip and furrowed her brows. Liz nodded.

“I’m pregnant,” Jane said. There were then several family members exclaiming — it was difficult for Liz to determine if their exclamations were supportive or oppositional — and Jane said, “Wait, there’s more. The way I got pregnant is using an anonymous sperm donor. The baby is due in late February.”

In a high, emotional tone, Mrs. Bennet said, “Jane, I didn’t have the slightest idea you—”

“No,” Jane said. “There’s even more. I’m marrying Chip Bingley, and I know it might sound odd, but we’ve decided to let our wedding be filmed for an Eligible special. Even though the special won’t air until April, it’s supposed to happen very soon — this December eleventh to thirteenth in Palm Springs. The thing I want most in the world is for all of you to be there. Okay, now I’m finished.”

There was a cacophony of voices, and at last, Liz said, “It’s really hard to understand you guys unless you speak one at a time.”

“I thought Chip was back in Los Angeles, and you were living with those ladies in the country,” Mrs. Bennet said.

“He is,” Jane said. “And I have been, although I’m moving to L.A. But Chip came here to visit.”

“I wonder if they can film you just from the neck up,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Or they can do what they did when that curly-haired gal on the sitcom got pregnant, and you can carry a grocery bag in front of you.”

“My pregnancy won’t be a secret,” Jane said. “They’ll definitely show it.”

“Can they tell people the baby is Chip’s?” Mrs. Bennet asked.

“Aren’t you guys excited to be grandparents?” Liz said. “And aunts?”

“Jane, now that you mention it, your tits did get kind of huge before you left Cincinnati,” Lydia said.

“There’s no way I’m going on Eligible,” Mary said. “And why would you want to marry Chip? He has no backbone.”

“Mary, men get confused,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Chip comes from a lovely family, and he’ll make a devoted husband.”

Deploying a strategy she and Liz had discussed in advance, Jane said, “Mary, I was hoping you’d read a poem during the ceremony.”

“No,” Mary said.

“Jane, congratulations,” Ham said. “This is fantastic news.” Until he’d spoken, Liz hadn’t been certain he was present.

“As long as we’re making announcements,” Kitty said, “then I have one, too. I’m dating Shane now, so he should come with me.”

Simultaneously, Mr. Bennet said, “The realtor?” and Mrs. Bennet said, “The black man?”

“We’re expanding your horizons,” Kitty replied. “Welcome to the twenty-first century.”

“Then I also have an announcement,” Lydia said, and her voice sounded more tentative than usual. “Mary, I still don’t like you, but I shouldn’t have tried to force you out of the closet. Your gayness is your business.”

Snippily, Mary said, “I’m not gay.”

“She bowls,” Kitty said. “That’s what she does.”

In a shaky voice, Mrs. Bennet said, “Now what on earth is bowls?”

“As in bowling balls,” Kitty said. “The sport.”

“How do you know?” Mary asked, and Kitty said, “Mary, I’m your roommate now.”

Mr. Bennet cleared his throat. “Anyone else with a confession?” he said. “Lizzy?”

“Not today,” Liz said.

Mrs. Bennet said, “Jane, we’ll need to invite the Lucases and Hickmans and Nesbits to your wedding. Oh, and the Hoffs. They’d all be very hurt otherwise.”

“They’re only letting us invite twenty people,” Jane said.

“Everyone will know it was just immediate family, Mom,” Liz said. “The proof will be on TV.”

“You’ll all need to sign nondisclosure agreements, and the producers are very serious about them,” Jane said. “That means you can’t talk about the wedding before it airs. Especially not on social media, Kitty and Lydia. But something fun is that there’ll be wardrobe and makeup people to help us look great. Isn’t that neat?”

“Tell them my look is contemporary but classic,” Mrs. Bennet said. “And I don’t care for navy blue.”

“I’m not wearing makeup,” Mary said. “The texture of foundation disgusts me.”

“Dad, what do you think?” Jane asked. “You’ve been quiet.”

Before Mr. Bennet could reply, Mrs. Bennet said, “Why don’t they come here and film at Knox Church? Knox does an elegant service.”

“I think it’s easier for them to shoot in California,” Jane said. “Dad?”

“You’re forty years old, Jane. If you want to make a spectacle of yourself, I can hardly stop you.”

“Fred, Chip is a Harvard-educated doctor whose family started Bingley Manufacturing,” Mrs. Bennet said. “He’s very distinguished.”

“Is that really what you think, Dad?” Jane sounded distraught.

“Jane, let them get used to the idea,” Liz said. “You can’t expect them all to be jumping for joy right away.”

“You do realize we can hear you, right?” Mary said.

“Tell them the last thing,” Liz said to Jane, and Mr. Bennet said, “To top what’s come so far, it had better have to do with alien abduction or bestiality.”

“You’ll each get paid about thirty thousand dollars,” Jane said. “Sorry, Ham, not you. But the rest of you.”

“Ha,” Kitty said. “Do you still not like the texture of foundation, Mary?”

“In that case,” Mr. Bennet said, “this sounds like an excellent opportunity for our entire family.”

Chapter 167

TWELVE DAYS LATER, on the plane to Phoenix, where they’d board a second plane for Palm Springs — for both flights Liz was disappointed but unsurprised to find they were flying coach — Jane said, “In all the hubbub, I haven’t even formally asked, but I’ve been assuming you’ll be my maid of honor. Will you?”

“Of course,” Liz said.

“Just so you know, Darcy will be Chip’s best man. You’re okay with that, right? You and Darcy seemed very civil at the restaurant.”

That Darcy would attend the wedding was a likelihood to which Liz had reconciled herself; after all, as Chip’s friend and Caroline’s beau, he was doubly connected to the Bingleys. She had considered the possibility that what she presumed was his disdain for reality television, combined with his inflexible schedule, would result in his absence, but she’d recognized that such a conclusion was probably wishful thinking. However, that he would be the best man was not an eventuality she’d entertained.

“Chip feels indebted to Darcy,” Jane continued. “We wouldn’t be getting married if not for him making that dinner happen.”

“Or maybe if not for him you wouldn’t have broken up in the first place,” Liz said.

“But I still would have been pregnant.” A look of worry crossed Jane’s pretty features. “Lizzy, the media stuff will blow over quickly, don’t you think? When people appear in tabloids all the time, aren’t they in cahoots with the reporters?”

“Kind of,” Liz said. “But with the baby born by the time your wedding airs, I’m sure there’ll be a bounty for pictures of the Eligible offspring.”

Jane shuddered.

“Does Chip expect that Caroline will be your manager now, too?” Liz asked. “Do they want you to shill for, like, a diaper company?”

Jane shook her head. “He told me the night he proposed that I’m the only person he’s met since he appeared on TV who loves him for him and isn’t trying to ride his coattails. He knows I have no desire for fame. He wouldn’t say it, but, Lizzy, I think he even wonders if Caroline is using him a little.”

“A little?” Liz repeated. “He wonders?”

“The house we’ll live in after the wedding is in a gated community in Burbank,” Jane said. “I hope it’s not weird being so isolated. I’m actually excited about L.A., but I’ll be happy when everything with Eligible is finished.”

“I know you will,” Liz said, though what she thought was Everything with Eligible hasn’t even started.

Chapter 168

LIZ, JANE, AND Chip had arrived in Palm Springs a day earlier than their families in order for Jane and Chip to attend to various obligations, including fittings for their wedding clothes, on-camera interviews, and filming of B-roll footage (Jane walked pensively and alone on the resort’s golf course, and then they both sat by the pool gazing at the sunset, his hands placed protectively on her belly). A team of six from the national jewelry chain that was indeed a sponsor of the show held a consultation in which the couple chose from an array of rings; this meeting was also, of course, caught on camera.

Liz had expected the Hermoso Desert Lodge to be mostly empty upon their arrival, but after being met at the airport luggage carousel by Anne Lee — who proved to be a poised, unpretentious woman with stylishly cut black hair and a quick laugh — as well as a driver who hefted their suitcases into his white van, Liz discovered that the resort was already abuzz with a production crew of perhaps eighty. Indeed, the entire grounds — the main lodge, with its pink stucco exterior and Spanish-tiled roof; the elegant courtyard featuring a slate hot tub and a heated infinity pool; the lush eighteen-hole golf course dotted with palm trees, beyond which stood the scrubby beige mountains — resembled a small but busy village. Men and women, though mostly men, wore dark T-shirts and cargo pants, moved about briskly, and spoke into walkie-talkies; trucks and vans came and went from the parking lot, around the perimeter of which trailers and tents had been set up; collapsed ladders, large black plastic buckets, coils of thick orange extension cords, and mysterious equipment inside stacked black suitcases were transported on large dollies; long tables of craft services food appeared at intervals in the parking lot, crew members flocked to them, and then just as quickly both the people and the food disappeared again. Eventually, Liz deduced that some sort of control room was being set up in a first-floor guest suite that opened onto the courtyard; black twill fabric was unrolled to cover the windows from the inside, and people seemed to enter and exit with particular urgency.

The room Liz and Jane were sharing included two double beds, a balcony (Liz’s point of observation for outdoor activity), and a fireplace. On the desk, a gift basket contained a fat white scented candle, two pairs of pearl earrings, hair-removal cream, razors, mini-bottles of rum and vodka, and three string bikinis with padded breast cups. The attached card read, Liz and Jane, welcome to Palm Springs from all your Eligible friends!

Liz held up the bikini top. “Is this meant for me?”

Jane smiled. “It’s not for me, obviously.”

In her other hand, Liz held up the package of pink razors. “Very subtle.”

Much wasn’t quite as Liz had expected: Her cellphone would not be confiscated, nor had the television been removed from their hotel room. “That’s just for the longer shoots,” Anne Lee had explained when she’d escorted them upstairs, before pointing out what she referred to as a Pelco camera — it looked to Liz like a security camera — hanging in one corner of the room near the ceiling. “Just to catch any fun, casual conversations you guys might have,” Anne said in a lighthearted tone, and for Jane’s sake, Liz refrained from jokes about Communist surveillance.

The hair and makeup artists Jane had mentioned would be working with guests besides Jane and Chip only for the wedding itself — Jane seemed surprised to learn this, and apologetic — so otherwise, Liz was responsible for her own appearance. And though, as the sister whose wedding wasn’t imminent, Liz had anticipated having time to enjoy the lodge’s amenities — perhaps by booking a massage or, before she realized how public it was, soaking in the hot tub — she, too, was kept busy.

Her own sit-down interview occurred the first evening, while Jane and Chip enjoyed an “intimate” dinner in the hotel restaurant that Jane subsequently told Liz had been filmed by two camera crews of three men each. (Upon discovering that prior to the wedding, she and Jane rather than Jane and Chip were sharing a room, Liz had assumed Jane would sneak out during the night to see her fiancé. But if she did, Liz realized, the Pelco camera would alert the producers, and a camera crew would likely materialize.)

It was Anne Lee who conducted Liz’s interview, in the living room of a first-floor suite. A man stood behind a camera set on a tripod. Two panel lights were mounted on separate tripods, and there was much adjusting of the lights, the furniture, and even of Liz’s posture. She sat in a brocade-covered chair, and Anne sat off-camera in an identical chair facing her. “We’re so excited for this amazing love story between your sister and Chip,” Anne said warmly. “And America will be so excited, too.”

Since the initial conference call, Anne had been Jane’s primary contact; when Jane spoke positively about the Eligible people she’d met, she mostly meant Anne, and indeed, it was Anne and a crew of four who had flown to Cincinnati the week prior to interview assorted Bennets. An impulse to travel there herself for purposes of supervision and possible intervention had arisen in Liz, but she’d been scheduled to conduct two Mascara interviews of her own on back-to-back days in New York; plus, wasn’t all this Eligible stuff not in her jurisdiction? Still, she had been unsettled rather than reassured by her family members’ universal praise of Anne Lee (or, as Mrs. Bennet referred to her, “that nice Chinese girl,” though Liz suspected Anne was of Korean descent). The more favorable everyone else’s opinion, the more suspicious of Anne Liz had become, and meeting in person hadn’t allayed Liz’s concerns. It was that Anne was so upbeat, so easy to talk to, so reassuring about what a nutty situation this was, and above all so totally not fake-seeming that Liz distrusted her primarily on the basis of her very trustworthiness; it was no wonder that, at this woman’s behest, hundreds of Americans had gotten inebriated, fought, stripped, canoodled, and divulged secrets, all with cameras rolling.

“What I need you to do,” Anne was saying, “is talk in complete sentences, which should be no problem since you’re obviously super-smart. But if I say, ‘What’s your favorite color?’ I need you to say, ‘My favorite color is blue,’ as opposed to just ‘Blue.’ Is that cool?”

“You might already know that I’m a journalist,” Liz said. “I’m the writer-at-large for Mascara. So I’m definitely familiar with how interviews work, although I’m accustomed to being on the other side.”

“Fantastic.” Anne beamed. “Now, TV is a different medium, and I won’t be saying ‘uh-huh’ or laughing, even if you say the most hilarious thing ever, because I don’t want to make noise while you’re talking. If you lose your train of thought, no worries. Just pause and start over. And you don’t need to censor yourself — talk how you normally talk, and if you drop an F-bomb, we’ll bleep it out. This isn’t live.”

“Just please don’t Frankenbite me,” Liz said, and Anne looked at her blankly. “Isn’t that what it’s called?” Liz said. “When you take one word I said here and one word there and put them together into a sentence that you use as a voiceover?”

“I’ve never heard that term.” Anne was still smiling. “You’re funny, though. Okay, to get us going, how about if you tell me your name, your relationship to Jane, your age, and where you’re from?”

Bullshit, Liz thought. Bullshit you’ve never heard it. Aloud, she said, “I’m Liz Bennet. I’m Jane’s sister, the sister closest in age to her. I’m thirty-eight years old, and I live in New York.”

The interview lasted for an hour, and Anne was, Liz had to admit, highly competent — she asked all the questions Liz herself would have — and also skilled at disguising her attempts to look for points of tension or vulnerability. The bulk of the questions were about Jane — her “journey” as a single woman, her “love story” with Chip — though Anne also inquired about alliances and discord within the Bennet family and about Liz’s own love life. (On this front, Liz was graciously tight-lipped.) Liz learned with relief that Anne was aware of Ham’s transgender status, and thus it was not up to Liz to divulge or conceal it; but on one topic, Liz was unhappy with her own lack of discretion.

“You know Chip’s sister Caroline, don’t you?” Anne asked near the end of the hour, and Liz said, “Yes, I know Caroline Bingley.”

“What’s your opinion of her?”

Liz was tired, both from traveling — it was midnight Eastern time — and from answering Anne’s questions.

“She’s fine,” Liz said.

“You sound kind of tepid,” Anne said, and, as ever, her tone was friendly. “Are you sure that’s how you feel?”

“Caroline Bingley is charming,” Liz said in a jokingly posh voice. “She’s delightful.” Then she looked directly at the camera guy and said, “Don’t use that.”

“Why don’t you want him to use it?” Anne asked. “Are you being sarcastic?”

Simultaneously, Liz felt regret surge through her, and she felt a desire to speak candidly to Anne — to say, I’m exhausted. I need to go back to my room and sleep. I don’t like Caroline Bingley, but surely you can understand how publicly disparaging my sister’s new sister-in-law will only create problems that will long outlast your television special. As one professional woman to another, let’s strike that from the record.

“Did something happen between you and Caroline?” Anne said.

Liz shook her head. “I do like Caroline,” she said. “I’m kidding around.”

“Do you find her bitchy?” Anne asked. “I’ve heard that some people find her bitchy.”

Liz laughed. She couldn’t help it. She said, “Which people?”

“It’s just the word on the street.”

Again, Liz was tempted to acknowledge the preposterousness of the conversation, to say, I understand exactly what you’re trying to do. Instead, firmly, she said, “Well, I’ve always gotten along well with Caroline.”

On returning to her room, Liz looked up Frankenbiting online. There were many search results, they went back as far as 2004, and the term meant exactly what she’d thought it did.

Chapter 169

“LIZZY, I DON’T know why you never got married,” Lydia said. “It’s really fun. I make steak for Ham when he’s finished teaching at night and I totally feel like a grown-up.”

Shortly after the Cincinnati contingent’s arrival at the Hermoso Desert Lodge — they were a party of seven, counting not only the Bennets but also Ham and Shane — Lydia and Kitty had come to inspect their sisters’ quarters. On the same hall, Lydia and Ham were sharing a room, as were Kitty and Shane; Mary had been assigned her own room, which made Liz wonder why she herself hadn’t, until she recalled Anne Lee’s remark about the Pelco camera capturing her and Jane’s “fun, casual” conversations. Liz was newly determined to provide no such thing.

Jane was away, but Lydia and Kitty had made themselves at home on her bed, in spite of the fact that Liz was sitting at the desk, laptop open, trying to finish writing the toast she would deliver at the reception.

Without looking up, Liz said, “When I started working full-time and paying my rent is when I felt like a grown-up. And that was, hmm…” She pretended to calculate “Sixteen years ago.”

“Don’t you want someone to come home to at night?” Lydia said. “I’d be so bored living alone.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing you don’t.”

“If Jane’s baby turns out cute,” Lydia said, “maybe Ham and I will use the same sperm donor she did.”

“Your kids will be doubly related,” Kitty said. “That’s weird.”

“It’s just some dude’s jizz,” Lydia said. “He won’t be part of their lives. Anyway, sometimes two brothers marry two sisters, and their kids are double cousins. Jessica and Rachel Finholt married brothers.”

“I hate Jessica Finholt,” Kitty said. “In kindergarten, she stole my Raggedy Ann out of my cubby.” Kitty was paging through a brochure that had been lying on the nightstand. “Do we have to pay for spa services here?”

Liz glanced over her shoulder. “I’m sure.”

“It’s such a waste that Jane is getting married on Eligible when she doesn’t even watch it,” Lydia said. “Don’t you think Ham and I would make a good reality-TV show?”

She wasn’t wrong, which wasn’t the same as the idea being a wise one. Mildly, so as not to encourage Lydia, Liz said, “I bet living with all those cameras would annoy you guys.” She stood. “Both of you follow me.” She walked into the bathroom, and Lydia and Kitty looked quizzically at each other. Lydia said, “Are you going to teach us how to do monthly self-exams of our boobs?”

“Just come here,” Liz said.

When they’d joined her, she closed the door and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Did you notice that camera hanging in the corner of the room?” she said. “Don’t say anything the whole time you’re here that you don’t want to be on TV. I’m serious.”

“Like what?” Lydia asked.

The lecture was probably, at best, useless; at worst, it could promote the opposite of the behavior Liz hoped to encourage.

“The producers don’t care if we look good or bad,” Liz said. “All they’re trying to do is create TV that people want to watch. Just don’t say anything nasty about anyone else, and don’t pick fights.” It was hard not to think of the intemperate remarks she herself had made the night before about Caroline Bingley. “They’ll be looking for conflict.”

Lydia laughed. “I doubt they’ll have to look that hard.”

Liz sighed. “Fine,” she said. “Do what you want. But I warned you.”

Chapter 170

IN HER PARENTS’ room, Liz found her mother bustling about and her father sitting in an armchair, an enormous hardcover book about the Renaissance open on his lap. The room contained just one king-sized bed; surely, Liz thought, it would be the first time in years her parents had slept beneath the same sheets.

From the bathroom, her mother said, “I can’t find the hair dryer. When I called the front desk, they said it’s here, but, Lizzy, they forgot to give us one.”

Liz entered the bathroom and pointed to the shelf below the sink. “It’s right there, Mom.”

Irritably, Mrs. Bennet said, “Well, it wasn’t there before.” As she picked it up, she added, “I think it’s much better if they say Jane’s baby is Chip’s. People who are watching will be confused otherwise.”

“Have you seen Jane yet?” Liz asked. “She looks good, doesn’t she?”

With great confidence, Mrs. Bennet said, “She’s carrying low. That means a boy.” In the hushed tone she used for delicate matters, Mrs. Bennet said, “Liz, I don’t know if Kitty and Shane are serious, but life can be very hard for mulatto children.”

Liz winced. “I wouldn’t say that to either of them.”

“Fitzwilliam Darcy is Chip’s best man.” Mrs. Bennet now sounded oddly approving, even before she added, “It speaks well of Chip that he has such high-quality friends. Is Fitzwilliam single?”

When, and why, had her mother developed a favorable opinion of Darcy? Back in July, at the Lucases’ party, Mrs. Bennet had been offended by him on Liz’s behalf. “He’s going out with Chip’s sister,” Liz said.

“What a shame.” Mrs. Bennet frowned. “Now we also need to make sure the Chinese girl knows to say on the show that Ham’s situation is a birth defect. People might think it’s disgusting otherwise, but if they know it’s a birth defect, they’ll understand.”

Her mother’s belief that she could, via Anne Lee, control the narrative of the Eligible special — it was, Liz thought, so utterly wrong that there was no point in trying to correct it. As if sensing Liz’s disloyal musings, Mrs. Bennet looked intently at her. “Don’t you think it’s confusing if they say Jane got pregnant from a man she doesn’t know?”

“Mom, that’s not the way anyone would describe donor insemination. And, no, I don’t think it’s a difficult concept to grasp.”

“I think it’s nicer if they say the baby is Chip’s.”

“But it’s not true.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mrs. Bennet said. “That doesn’t matter.”

Chapter 171

AS WHEN SHE’D returned to Cincinnati for the closing of the Tudor, Liz was constantly alert to the possibility of encountering Darcy. With the bachelor and bachelorette parties just hours away that evening, surely he’d arrived on the property, but even by standing on the balcony and surveying the grounds at regular intervals, she hadn’t spotted him. Though, she reflected, perhaps not seeing him at all was better than spying him and Caroline strolling arm in arm on the golf course.

The balcony did afford Liz a bird’s-eye view of the courtyard meeting between Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, which of course was also attended by Jane and Chip. This summit took place around a table on which was set a handsome flower arrangement, champagne flutes, and no food. Though Liz couldn’t hear the conversation, there was no doubt it would exist for posterity; a man held a boom mic a few feet above the heads of the family members, two more men with cameras on their shoulders stood just behind the families, and freestanding lights illuminated the proceedings as dusk fell.

Mrs. Bingley was a slim woman with a classic blond bob, wearing beige capri pants, a matching beige jacket, beige flats, a pale purple silk scarf, and no smile; she was recognizable to Liz as the sort of woman who played tennis at the Cincinnati Country Club, who was rather like certain friends of the plumper and frumpier Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Bingley looked like an older version of Chip, with gray hair parted on one side; he wore a dark blue suit, a white oxford cloth shirt, and a green bow tie. Liz felt too much anxiety on Jane’s behalf to observe the interaction in its entirety, and she soon went back inside to shower and dress for the evening.

Jane returned to the room an hour later, accompanied by Anne Lee, two makeup artists, and a wardrobe stylist. “How’d it go with the Bingleys?” Liz asked, and Jane said, “Great. His mom does a lot of yoga.” Jane was visibly mic’d — the mic pack was behind her back, and the actual mic was clipped to the inside collar of her shirt — but if there was some coded, contradictory message she wished to send Liz, Liz saw no evidence of it; Jane’s happiness seemed genuine.

While her sister’s makeup was retouched in the bedroom, Liz applied her own in the bathroom, with the door closed, before rejoining the others. Jane’s beautification process was still under way when, as scheduled, a production assistant and an audio guy knocked on the door. The audio guy mic’d Liz, and the assistant escorted her to the entrance of the lodge. Two film crews and a black limousine waited in the driveway, and when Liz entered the limo — she was purposely wearing fancy jeans rather than a skirt — she took care to angle herself into the car in the least buttocks-displaying manner possible. Inside the limo, she discovered yet another camera crew waiting, though she was the first guest. Addressing the man holding the camera — he was a forty-something guy with gray stubble and a baseball cap — she said, “Are we going to a restaurant tonight or more of a nightclub?”

After a pause, the guy said, “We’re not supposed to talk about the show with you. If you have questions, ask a producer.”

The production assistant who’d escorted Liz from her room had vanished. Glancing among the camera guy, a guy who wore thick black headphones, and a third guy whose role seemed to be related to lighting, Liz said, “Do you all work for Eligible full-time?”

“I do,” the camera guy said. He nodded toward the other men. “They don’t.”

“How long have you—” Liz began, but she didn’t finish the question because Caroline Bingley was climbing into the limo. In those first few seconds of their seeing each other, Liz could have sworn Caroline’s nostrils flared with distaste. “Hello, Liz,” she said in a cool tone.

“Hi, Caroline.” Liz was highly conscious of both the camera crew and her mic pack; she could feel the pack between her back and the seat. She said, “I guess none of us would have found ourselves here if you hadn’t nominated Chip to be on Eligible way back when, huh?”

“Your family must be thrilled,” Caroline said, and Liz tried to infuse her voice with extra friendliness as she replied, “And yours even more so.”

Liz’s acting experience had begun and ended with a chorus role in a Seven Hills Middle School production of Oliver! And yet as the evening proceeded, Liz had the odd sense of once again participating in a play, of being obliged above all not to break character, with her character in this case the kind and supportive sister of the bride. Caroline and Liz were next joined by Mary, then Kitty and Lydia appeared together, then Chip’s older sister, Brooke, whose existence Liz had been unaware of until the moment she entered the limousine. (She was the eldest of the three siblings, apparently, the married mother of an eight-year-old and a ten-year-old, all of whom lived near Mr. and Mrs. Bingley in the suburbs of Philadelphia.) At last Jane materialized, to applause that at least on Liz’s part was heartfelt. As the limousine pulled away from the lodge, the tinted window separating the driver from the passengers descended, and Anne Lee grinned and held up two bottles of champagne. (Of course Anne Lee was there, and of course she was holding up two bottles of champagne.) “Who’s ready for the best bachelorette party ever?” she called out.

Chapter 172

THEY ATE DINNER in the private room of a restaurant, where at first the conversation was highly stilted; when Liz went to use the restroom, Anne Lee, who’d been standing behind a camera, intercepted her and asked in her untrustworthily normal way, “How do you think it’s going?”

“Fine,” Liz said.

“You don’t feel like things are awkward?”

“We don’t know Chip’s sisters that well,” Liz said. “I just met Brooke tonight.”

“And there’s that tension between you and Caroline.” Anne’s expression was one of eminent sympathy. “Maybe it’s better to speak your mind to her before the wedding. Like, clear the air and come out closer, you know?”

Liz had decided in advance that she’d consume no more than two drinks; after champagne in the limo, a vodka cocktail upon arrival at the restaurant, and a glass of wine with the meal, she’d already exceeded this limit. But she still found Anne far from convincing. She smiled with her mouth closed. “I told you I have no problem with Caroline.”

It was shortly after the entrées had been cleared that a knock sounded on the door of the private room; Liz guessed it would be Chip, but when the door opened, it was a cop and a firefighter, or, as Liz soon discerned through her fourth drink, male strippers wearing cop and firefighter uniforms. Liz wouldn’t soon forget the sight of them gyrating around pregnant, sober Jane — she was the only one not drinking — their oiled pecs displayed as they removed their clothing, save for a pair of briefs each plus, in the firefighter’s case, a helmet, suspenders, and boots, and in the cop’s case, a peaked blue cap and handcuffs that dangled from one wrist. The strippers proceeded to dance with some of the other women to Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies”: Lydia and Kitty swiveled their hips and wiggled their bottoms with particular enthusiasm, Liz shimmied around enough to seem (she hoped) like a good sport, and even Brooke took a turn grinding the firefighter, which made Liz like her significantly more; but both Mary and Caroline watched with disdain and shook their heads when beckoned to join.

The strippers had just left when there was another knock on the door, which, once again, was not Chip; this time, it was Rick Price, Eligible’s host. Among the women, a spontaneous cheer went up, which Liz was surprised to find herself joining, and this was when (she was on her fifth drink) she realized both that she was completely drunk — not just tipsy, not merely buzzed — and also that she was much happier than she’d been an hour or two before. She felt a retroactive remorse for all the Eligible contestants she’d deemed trashy and idiotic from the comfort of her living room; apparently, like teriyaki pizza and bee venom facials, getting wasted on a reality-TV show was not to be knocked until tried.

“I hear there’s been lots of craziness going on,” Rick Price said in a teasing tone, and the women cheered again. “I’ve just come from seeing the guys, and they’ve issued you a challenge. They want you to join them at this super-cool club for a game we’re calling the Not-Yet-Wed Game. Are you girls in?” There was even more cheering, and as it wound down, Liz heard Mary say, “Can I go back to the hotel?”

When they were all in the limo again, however, Mary was next to Liz. “This sucks,” Mary said. “It’s exactly how I thought it would be.”

“At least you’re getting paid.”

Presumably, the acknowledgment that money was changing hands would never be aired; but in case there was any doubt, and also just for kicks, Liz looked directly at the camera and smiled grandly.

The club was empty except for Chip’s entourage. The game was to occur in a lounge area that contained orange and red sofas and chairs; even before she’d entered the lounge proper, Liz saw Darcy sitting between Shane and Chip, holding a glass of what looked like Scotch, his expression grim. The other men present were Ham and Chip’s brother-in-law, whose name was Nick, and Liz abruptly thought that if the women’s dinner had been awkward, the men’s must have been almost unendurable. Because truly, Shane and Ham were practically strangers to everyone present, including each other.

It was disagreeable to observe Caroline heading straight for Darcy. The two of them spoke, and as they did, Darcy’s eyes met Liz’s. Was Caroline denigrating her? Liz looked away.

The game required Jane’s and Chip’s respective wedding parties to take turns guessing how the bride and groom would complete sentences such as “I first knew I was in love when —”

Rick Price, who was asking the questions, stood at the front of the room; Jane and Chip sat in thronelike chairs on either side of him; the male and female teams faced each other; and on a low table between them were lined up what Liz estimated to be no fewer than a hundred shot glasses filled with liquids of varied hues. Initially, she was under the impression that you did a shot for getting the answer wrong, but it seemed perhaps you took one for getting the answer right as well.

Was it surprising, or not surprising, that the game was tremendous fun? Certainly it compared favorably to Charades in Cincinnati, or maybe it was just that this time around, Liz was the best player. Whether it was “Our first date was at —” or “The place we got engaged was —” Liz hardly hesitated. Although Rick Price encouraged her to confer with her teammates, she was soon simply shouting out answers, but by then a general chaos had taken over: Lydia was sitting on Ham’s lap, and Brooke had vomited in the corner, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and cheerfully rejoined the group. (“You guys are awesome!” she’d said to Liz, and Liz had barely restrained herself from saying, I’m so glad you’re not horrible like Caroline!) Rick Price frequently reminded them all not to interrupt one another, and for a few questions, the camera guys had to do additional takes because too many people had been talking at once. As, for the fourth time, Liz called out, “Their first date was at Orchids!” she wondered if it was possible she deserved a Best Supporting Actress Oscar.

Then she was in a different part of the club, and she and Kitty were dancing to a rap song they both knew all the words to, and Kitty was wearing a thin plastic headband with antennae off of which wobbled life-sized sparkly pink penises. How marvelous this headband was! Even more marvelously, Kitty pointed out that Liz was wearing an identical one. Truly, it was a magical night. Liz had lost track of Darcy — he wasn’t dancing — but she couldn’t remember a time when she’d more thoroughly enjoyed the company of her sisters.

As Lydia joined her and Kitty on the dance floor, Lydia put her mouth close to Liz’s ear and yelled over the music, “Do you know who Chip’s best man is?” Though their faces were inches apart, Liz could only just make out what her sister was saying.

“It’s Darcy!” Liz yelled back.

“It’s Darcy!” Lydia yelled. “I hate him! He’s the one who told Mom that stupid shit about transpeople and birth defects.”

“You mean the stuff she keeps saying about cleft palates?” Liz yelled. “That’s from Darcy?”

Lydia nodded. “He just left, but when I see him tomorrow, I’m telling him to stay out of other people’s business.”

“But you have to admit—” For multiple reasons, a dance floor didn’t seem like the place for this conversation; nevertheless, Liz forged ahead at the highest volume she could manage. “Don’t you think that gave Mom a framework for understanding Ham?”

“Mom understanding Ham is her problem!” Lydia yelled. “He’s not asking for her permission to exist!”

“But isn’t life better when you’re on speaking terms with your mother?”

Lydia smirked. “Hard to say.”

“Why did Darcy talk to Mom?” Liz yelled.

“Because he thinks he’s the smartest man in the world and he likes when other people listen to him.”

“No!” Liz yelled. “I mean, how did he know there was a need for him to intervene?”

“Exactly!” Lydia yelled back. “There wasn’t!”

Chapter 173

LESS THAN AN hour later, Liz lay in her spinning hotel room bed in the dark while poor Jane stood in the courtyard below, still being interviewed in front of blinding lights; although Liz had experienced one of the superlative nights of her life, surely by now Jane had to feel some doubt about the manner in which she’d decided to get married. Abruptly, and somewhat nausea-inducingly, Liz sat up, turned on the nightstand lamp, rose from bed, grabbed the plastic card that was her room key, and hurried down the hall.

After Liz had knocked on the door, Mary opened it with a toothbrush in her mouth, a foamy outline of toothpaste around her lips. “What?” she said.

“That time you ran into Darcy at Skyline,” Liz said, “did you tell him Mom still wasn’t speaking to Lydia?”

Suspiciously, Mary said, “Why?”

“I think he ended up talking to her afterward.”

“Oh,” Mary said in a slightly friendlier tone. “He did.” She turned and walked toward the bathroom, and Liz followed her. Mary spat into the sink and rinsed off the toothbrush’s bristles. “At Skyline, he asked if he should. Because of his job, he thought he could explain the trans stuff in terms of Ham’s brain.”

“So he told her it’s like a birth defect?”

“I wasn’t there for the conversation, but that seems to be Mom’s one and only talking point.”

Meaning Darcy had salvaged her family’s happiness in not one but two ways; in addition to bringing Jane and Chip back together, he had facilitated the reconciliation between Lydia and Mrs. Bennet. But why? For whose benefit? Neither situation affected him directly, and in neither case had he sought credit — indeed, Liz suddenly recalled Darcy deflecting the question when she’d asked at their dinner in New York how he knew Mrs. Bennet and Lydia were no longer estranged — yet his efforts far exceeded basic kindness.

Mary turned off the faucet, and the sisters made eye contact in the mirror. “In case you don’t realize it,” Mary said, “you got superdrunk tonight, and you reek right now.”

Chapter 174

HAM LED A CrossFit workout in the courtyard at nine in the morning; he had told Liz the night before that anyone was welcome, including parents, and that he’d modify the exercises to be compatible with the participants’ current fitness regimes or lack thereof. But no workout could have been modified enough to accommodate the dry-mouthed, head-pounding state in which Liz awakened. She didn’t attend the class; she didn’t attend the midday lunch for the two families; and it was only a short while before the rehearsal dinner, which also was to happen in the courtyard, that she forced herself out of bed. The rehearsal dinner was supposed to be casual; even bathing suits, the producers had mentioned a number of times, were acceptable.

Liz applied makeup, drank a cup of black coffee she brewed in the bathroom, and was visited by the same production assistant and a different sound guy from the previous night.

That the rehearsal dinner functioned both as a real rehearsal for the wedding and as an event that was itself being recorded for the entertainment of an audience represented a brain-hurting conundrum, but Liz’s brain hurt for other reasons, and she was mostly preoccupied with which hair-of-the-dog beverage she’d consume as soon as the walk-through of the ceremony concluded. While making chitchat with Mr. Bingley, she acquired from a passing tray a glass of white wine. Having learned of her job, Mr. Bingley was confiding that he’d always yearned to write a novel. With wine in hand, Liz’s prospects for the evening improved greatly.

Though Liz wore a sundress rather than a bathing suit, Lydia, Kitty, Ham, Shane, and Caroline all swam. (Liz attempted not to stare at Ham’s chest, but insofar as she did, she noted that it was impressively, masculinely defined; a trail of hair ran above and below his navel, and the only evidence of his previously female body were two thin red scars beneath male-looking nipples.) The women all wore bikinis that Liz assumed were courtesy of their own welcome baskets; Caroline’s was white, and at one point, she emerged from the water, approached Darcy — he wore khaki pants and a long-sleeved button-down shirt open at the collar — and was clearly trying to convince him to join her in the pool. He shook his head; she shivered sexily; he still shook his head.

Jane, who was standing next to Liz, said, “Are you planning to go in?”

“I’m afraid I’d accidentally become the role model for American women who shouldn’t wear bikinis but do.”

Jane pointed at her belly. “Then heaven help me.”

“Oh, please,” Liz said. “You get a free pass.”

There was a multitude of topics Liz wished to discuss with Jane, and no way of broaching them with any confidence that they wouldn’t later be broadcast. Was Jane having a horrible time or did she find this whole spectacle funny? Did she actually like the Bingleys or was she just pretending? Were their parents behaving, and had their mother yet delivered any on-camera rants? To Liz’s amusement, Mr. Bennet and Mr. Bingley had discovered a shared fondness for cribbage and cigars and apparently had spent most of the day at a table in the courtyard, puffing and playing.

A chicken fight commenced, with Lydia on Ham’s shoulders and Kitty on Shane’s, as Liz said to Jane, “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

Jane smiled. “I’m ready to start living the rest of my life.”

Because she found it difficult not to, Liz again looked directly at the camera and audio guys standing five feet from them. “You’re welcome,” she said.

Chapter 175

SHE WAS CROSSING the lobby with Mary and Mr. Bennet, all of them headed toward the elevators to return to their rooms after the rehearsal dinner’s conclusion, when Liz heard her name being called. As she turned, she was surprised to see Caroline Bingley walking briskly behind her. “Go ahead,” Liz said to her father and sister, and, warily, she waited for Caroline. The other woman had changed from her white bikini into dark jeans and a fitted gray hoodie sweatshirt that looked to be cashmere.

When Caroline was still a few feet away, Liz said, “What do you want?”

“You’re completely wrong for Darcy,” Caroline said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Liz. It’s obvious you’ve had your sights set on him since that awful Fourth of July barbecue. But he wasn’t available then, and he’s not now.”

“Okay.” What on earth, Liz wondered, had inspired this confrontation?

“Your sister is lucky to be marrying Chip,” Caroline said. “Very lucky. Don’t let it give you any ideas. I know your family thinks of itself as, like”—Caroline made air quotes—“ ‘Cincinnati high society.’ But that’s an oxymoron. And Darcy and I go way back. There’s always been an understanding that we’d end up together. We have this intense chemistry, and the moment is finally right for us to be serious.”

Liz smiled in as nasty a way as she could manage. “How wonderful for both of you.”

“If Darcy goes for you, it’ll only be because he’s lost perspective living in Ohio. It’s like when people start sympathizing with their kidnappers.”

If Darcy goes for you—were Darcy and Caroline not a couple? Because if they were, then this display was even more unhinged than if they weren’t. I’m sure you’ve heard from my brother about him and Caroline, Liz thought, and the revelation of her own foolishness was like a clap of thunder in her brain. Upon receiving that text from Georgie, she had, of course, wondered, Heard what? But she’d quickly gone from wondering to suspecting that she knew to being certain. Never would she have leapt to a conclusion this way when writing an article, never would she have allowed a fact to be alluded to without clarification. Trust but verify — that’s what she’d have done. Yet not once in the past three months had she even attempted verification. How sloppily, and with what slim evidence, she had embraced the disappointment of her own desires. Why on earth had she been so ready for, so complicit in, the denial of what she most wanted?

“But if Darcy goes for you,” Liz said slowly to Caroline, “would that be a more suitable match? No one would be embarrassing themselves?”

“Listen,” Caroline said. “It’s not a secret that your dad bankrupted your family. Your mom and your sisters are idiots, and now you have a tranny brother-in-law. You’re not girlfriend material for Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

“Let me see if I understand. Your brother is a reality-TV star, which you set in motion. But my family is too tacky for Darcy?”

“The TV stuff is business. Eligible has just been a way of establishing Chip’s brand and setting him up for his own projects.”

“In your defense,” Liz said, “I can tell that you believe what you’re saying, even if it’s completely illogical. But either way, Darcy is a grown man who makes his own decisions.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “Are you guys already together?”

Liz laughed. “How could we be when it would be such a breach of propriety? It would almost be worse than wearing linen after Labor Day. Maybe as bad as using a salad fork for your main course.”

“You find yourself very clever,” Caroline said. “We all know that about you.”

“I’m going to bed now,” Liz said. “Good night, Caroline.” But Liz had taken only a few steps toward the elevators when she turned back. “By the way,” she said, “we’re delighted to have Ham join our family, and no one uses the word tranny anymore. Or at least no one with good breeding does.”

It was inside the elevator, during the short ride up to the third floor, that Liz remembered that she had been mic’d for the entire conversation.

Chapter 176

IN THE HOTEL room, Liz grabbed her cellphone from the bureau where she’d left it before the rehearsal dinner and searched frantically for the text from Georgie. After rereading it (I’m sure you’ve heard from my brother about him and Caroline and now I feel very awkward about the conversation you and I had. I really wish I’d bitten my tongue), Liz typed hastily.

Georgie so sorry I never responded to this. It was great to meet u too. I know this is random but what did u mean when u said u were sure I’d heard from your brother about him & Caroline?

During the next ten minutes, Liz was so addled and impatient that she began doing jumping jacks to distract herself; after a few, as a courtesy to whoever was staying in the room under hers, she switched to sit-ups. Although she hadn’t smoked in years, she was considering trying to find a cigarette when, at last, Georgie’s response arrived: I meant the car accident. Your Kathy de Bourgh article was awesome! I knew it would be.

What car accident? Liz replied. Thanks about article!

Georgie’s subsequent response came in three separate bubbles.

Not sure how much you already know, the first one read, but coming back from hike that day, another driver hit my brother’s car in foothills and Caroline’s collarbone fractured.

The second text read, It wasn’t Fitzy’s fault but he felt responsible since he was driving. Caroline NOT happy the rest of the weekend. I think she is better by now!

The third text read, You’re all at Chip and your sister’s wedding, right? So funny to think Fitzy will be on eligible. I told him to get a selfie w/ Rick Price. He will probably “forget” so pls remind him!

Did the fact of Caroline having sustained an injury mean, Liz wondered, that she herself ought to feel more compassion and less loathing for the other woman?

Just to confirm, Liz wrote, your brother & Caroline aren’t a couple now & haven’t been since we were all in Atherton?

Nope! Georgie responded.

This, Liz decided, was the reason she shouldn’t loathe Caroline: not because she wasn’t loathsome but because she wasn’t Darcy’s. And then Liz understood with an abrupt urgency what she needed to tell Darcy and — even more important — what she needed to ask him. Indeed, the urgency was so great that she considered texting him immediately, or just figuring out which room he was staying in and knocking on the door. But surely such a conversation ought not to be initiated impulsively.

Thanks Georgie, she wrote. I’ll see what I can do to get a pic of Rick & your brother.

Chapter 177

THOUGH CHIP’S TEARS during the exchange of vows weren’t a surprise, their duration and magnitude was a spectacle unlike any Liz had ever witnessed. They began the moment Jane appeared, following the procession of her sisters and soon-to-be sisters-in-law: She was resplendent in an ivory silk organza gown; her blond hair was pulled into a loose chignon; she wore a tulle veil delicately dotted with freshwater pearls; and she carried a bouquet of white roses. On her feet were gold satin peep-toe pumps whose heels, Liz thought with some consternation, hadn’t been designed to support someone in Jane’s current condition, though it was undeniable that they contributed to an overall presentation of exquisite and even magical beauty; Jane resembled nothing so much as a pregnant angel.

She was accompanied down the aisle by Mr. Bennet, in a new tuxedo. In his suitcase, he had brought to California the Brooks Brothers one he’d acquired in 1968 as the Cincinnati Bachelors Cotillion escort of a debutante named Peggy Isborne, and inducements from various young and attractive members of Eligible’s wardrobe department had been required to convince him that he’d be even more dashing were his formal wear updated. The bridesmaids wore lavender chiffon dresses with plum-colored sashes, and though Liz remained generally wary of Eligible, she appreciated that the wardrobe department had chosen different cuts of the dress to most flatter each woman’s body; hers was sleeveless, with a V-neck and a knee-length skirt.

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.

He was leaning his face down to her, and she was lifting hers to him, when she said, “Oh, and I’ll totally sign a prenup. Obviously, your family has millions of dollars, and mine is borderline destitute, but that has nothing to do with why I want to marry you.”

“How romantic. I think we can figure out those details down the line.”

“And I realize I’ll need to move to Cincinnati. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I don’t even mind. The irony, huh?”

“Liz?”

“Yes?”

“Will you stop talking for a second so I can kiss you properly?”

Liz smirked. “As long as you’re not afraid of messing up both our lipstick.”

“That’s actually the one cosmetic I seem not to be wearing right now,” he said, and then — outside the lodge, behind the boulder, he in a tuxedo and she in a lavender bridesmaid dress — their faces met and they kissed at such length that the kiss contained multiple phases, including the one in which they both were smiling, practically laughing, and the one in which she forgot where she was.

When at last they paused, he said, “I guess it would be a violation of our Eligible contracts to go to my room right now.”

They were eyeing each other, silently conferring, as Anne Lee came around the side of the boulder, followed closely by a camera crew. Darcy and Liz instinctively stepped apart.

“You guys, your mics are down,” Anne said in a brisk tone. “We need to fix them.” Already, a sound guy was reaching inside the top of Liz’s dress; he was doing it as professionally as possible, which still didn’t eliminate the weirdness. “Did you disconnect your mics on purpose?” Anne asked.

Liz said, “No,” just as Darcy said, “Yes.”

Anne looked between them. “Why’d you disconnect them?”

“We wanted privacy,” Liz said.

“Are you two involved?” Anne asked.

After another pause, Darcy said, “That hardly seems relevant.”

“I know you are,” Anne said. “I just saw you making out.”

Was she bluffing?

Liz said, “Then I guess that answers your question.”

“How long have you been hooking up?”

Yet again, there was a silence, and with undisguised irritation, Anne said, “Fine. We need you both at the reception right now.”

As they followed the path back to the courtyard, Liz could sense Darcy behind her, and her body quivered with joy. Hate sex, she thought gleefully. Hate sex! Except without the hate!

The reception lasted until well past midnight, and during that time, she and Darcy were frequently near each other and rarely spoke, except to sometimes exchange banal pleasantries. “Are you having a good time?” he asked her at one point, with the utmost politeness, and she replied in kind, “I am. Are you?”

“I am, too,” he said. They danced just once — apparently, Darcy would only slow-dance, and even then he was a bit awkward, neither of which surprised her — and they hardly talked; but she rested her head against his chest, and the solidity of him felt like the promise of their future together.

As the various reception rituals were enacted and filmed, including Liz’s toast (ironically, her distraction seemed to make for a smoother delivery), Liz knew that the Eligible crew was only doing what they were supposed to do, what the Bennet and Bingley families had agreed to allow. But still, Liz was unwilling to grant them access to her new and wondrous romance; she loved Darcy too much to try to prove her love to anyone except him.