“Bidding has now ended,” someone announced. I grinned. That journal was mine.
“I'll be right back,” I told Jane. “I'm going to check on my fancy journal. I have to figure out how to wrap it.”
“Gold ribbon and red wrapping,” Jane informed me with a smile. “And let me make the card. You always butcher the letters.”
I laughed as I walked over to the table with the journal, feeling light and happy. Until I looked at the bidding sheet, that is.
My name was no longer last.
His was.
William Darcy.
He stole my journal.
The dirt-bag must have come back while I was talking to Jane and outbid me. All my dreams of surprising my father and making him smile vanished. I was no longer the hero of Christmas. I was a loser.
I stomped back to Jane, nearly tripping over my heels in the long skirt of my fancy gown.
“You okay?” Jane asked, taking one look at my face.
“I didn't win it,?
?? I said simply.
“Oh, Lizzie, I'm so sorry,” Jane replied. “I'm sure you'll think of something else for your dad.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “If not, I can always resort to my classic mug and funny t-shirt gift.”
Jane patted my shoulder and gave me a commiserating look.
"Jane, I'd like to introduce you to someone," Charles said, coming up beside her. He was smiling, and his cheeks were just as flushed with pleasure as Jane's. If anything could make me feel better, it was that. He liked her as much as she liked him.
“Of course,” Jane agreed, her own smile getting brighter.
“Jane, this is my friend, William Darcy,” Charles announced. He turned and motioned to the man who stole my journal. “Will, this is Jane and her roommate, Elizabeth.”
It took everything I had not to slap his smug face.
But, then I decided to be the bigger person. Maybe he had a father that loved antiques as well. Perhaps he was a collector and had finally found his dream piece. If the journal were going to a good home, I could bare it.
Maybe he wasn't evil. I could at least give him the benefit of the doubt now that I had to meet him.
“It's nice to meet you both,” the man replied. He spoke with a British accent that immediately made me think of a Bond villain. It probably helped that he held himself like one too. He was all aloof and high and mighty.
“Likewise,” I replied with as genuine a smile as I could muster. “I saw you won the antique journal. Congratulations, William.”
“What?” Confusion crossed his handsome features. “And please, call me Mr. Darcy.”
I did a small double take and felt like an admonished child. Apparently, we weren't on a first name basis despite being introduced as such. I didn't realize we were still in grade-school and he was the teacher.
“Okay, then, Mr. Darcy. The antique journal. Item number thirty-two,” I explained, trying to remain patient. “You outbid me and won.”
“Oh. That.” He shrugged. His attention seemed to be elsewhere. “I just tried to buy up anything that wasn't selling. It's all for a good cause.”
“You mean, you didn't want the journal?” I asked, my temper starting to rise.
“Why in the world would I want an antique journal?” he replied, looking at me like I was the crazy one.