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type. “I can’t believe all these things they’ve written about us. So many wild stories.”
    “What about all the stories about him ?” said Kitty as she entered the room.
    “Who?”
    “Fitzwilliam Darcy, of course,” answered Lydia. “I’ve heard he keeps three hot blonde masseuses to travel with him.”
    “Well, there’s a lot of tension on the road,” Elizabeth joked to Mary.
    “I’ve heard he does a lot of drugs,” Kitty said.
    “I think they all do,” Lydia confirmed.
    “Did you hear about the lawsuit?” Mary asked.
    “No, what?”
    “I heard that he is so big,” she lifted her eyebrows to indicate what she meant, “that he put a girl in the hospital and she is suing him, because she can never have babies because of him.”
    “Ewwwwwwwwwww!!!!” the sisters chorused.
    “Could a guy really do that?” Lydia asked.
    Elizabeth shrugged. “I guess, but he would have to be the size of a friggin’ oak tree.”
    “Girls! Girls!” Their mother’s sharp voice interrupted their discussion. “Look at the time. Our guests will be here in an hour and the house is nowhere near ready!”
    Exchanging guilty looks, the women separated to their various tasks. Elizabeth put on her grungy sneakers and went outside to begin mowing.
    ***
     
    Darcy pulled his car off the Taconic State Parkway, following the directions from his GPS. His mouth was set in its familiar frown. He couldn’t believe he was going to meet the girls’ families. He was hiring a band, for Christ’s sake, not asking them to the prom. He felt stupid, a feeling he hated.
    Caroline had succeeded in getting him to go by reminding him that they had lost three acts already in the last year and that if they wanted to keep this one there would have to be some changes. Always sensible, Caroline pointed out the girls would be much less likely to ditch if Slurry had actually made the effort to meet their parents.
    Darcy knew she was right. He was glad he had Caroline around. She seemed to understand people much better than he did, and she could make reasonable suggestions. The last thing Darcy wanted to do was spend a rare Sunday off doing something work related, but he knew that it was for the best.
    Charles had been completely delighted with the idea. He’d called Jane Bennet personally to get the details and, according to Caroline, had spent over an hour on the phone. It seemed that Darcy’s advice to his band mates had been ignored. Darcy would be keeping an eye on Bingley today, trying to keep things from getting out of hand, but the sinking feeling in his gut told him it was already hopeless.
    He was twenty minutes early when he pulled his jade green Mercedes-Benz CL65 AMG coupe into the driveway of the Bennet home. The house was modern, large, and clean, but that was the most that could be said for it. It was a colonial style on a large lot that was surrounded by trees.
    As he shut off the motor, he could hear the whine of a lawn mower nearby. He exited the car and immediately saw the source of the noise: Elizabeth, the guitarist from the other night, was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a ragged T-shirt as she operated the mower. She seemed oblivious to him, and Darcy took a moment to study her.
    She was not beautiful, he concluded again, she was simply pretty. Her figure was not perfect; her waist was too short and her hips and breasts too large to be perfect. Yet she was very attractive, he had to admit, as he watched the sweat dripping off her chin to land between her breasts.
    He wondered, not for the first time, what she had meant the other night: “ That is, if we’re not too dangerous to you. ” Had she overheard his warning to his friends? An uncomfortable feeling hit his stomach at the idea of getting caught, but he overcame it quickly. It was unlikely she had heard his remarks, he reasoned, and even if she did, she just had to deal with it. He was Fitzwilliam Darcy, and he did not have time to worry about every little