“Don’t say that.” Elizabeth pulled the grooming smock over her head and smoothed down the front of her dress. “It’s an insult to dogs.”
“Right.” Jenna winced. “I want to make it up to you. How about a latte? My treat, birthday girl.”
Elizabeth slid Bliss’s show lead around her neck. If Jenna left now for Starbucks, she’d miss seeing Bliss in the ring. Not that Jenna would really mind. She didn’t much care for dog shows. Elizabeth knew she’d only come because she was worried about her sister spending her birthday weekend alone. Trying to explain that she wasn’t alone—she had Bliss, after all—had only made her more determined.
Sweet Jenna. Always the protective older sister.
“That would be great.” Elizabeth tucked Bliss under her arm. “Pumpkin Spice. Skinny.”
“I’m ordering it with whip. It’s your birthday. Live a little.” Jenna slung her purse over her shoulder and grinned as she disappeared through the maze of camping chairs and portable tables in the crowded grooming area of the dog show.
Elizabeth gave Bliss a little squeeze. “Just you and me, girl. Are you ready? It’s showtime.”
The area ringside was abuzz with nervous energy, even more so than usual. Bliss was Elizabeth’s first show dog and, at nine months old, very much a puppy. They were perfectly matched in their inexperience, so butterflies were still an unquestionable fact of life. Ordinarily, the other handlers seemed to take everything in stride. Today, however, everyone was wide-eyed with concern and clustered in groups of two or three.
An eerie silence had fallen over the area around ring 5. Even the dogs had stopped barking.
Elizabeth tightened her grip on Bliss and sidled up next to one of the small groups of exhibitors who were busy whispering and furrowing their brows. “What’s going on?”
“There’s been a judging change.” A round-faced woman with a mass of blond curls wound the length of her tricolor Cavalier’s show lead around her fingers until her fingertips turned white.
“A judging change?” Elizabeth’s gaze darted to the ring, but it was empty.
“Yes. Some visiting judge we’ve never heard of before.”
Another of the exhibitors nodded and murmured behind her hand. “Rumor has it he’s from England.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile. Why were they whispering? The judge, whoever he was, wasn’t even there yet. For once she was relieved to be the new kid on the block. She wasn’t familiar enough with the judges to care one way or another if there was a judging change.
Simple curiosity propelled her to the giant white clipboard posted at the steward’s table beside the entrance to the ring. She glanced at the top of the board, where the scheduled judge’s name had been marked through with a bold, black line. Directly beneath it, simple block letters spelled out the name of the replacement.
Mr. Donovan Darcy.
Elizabeth lifted a brow.
Donovan Darcy. What kind of name is that?
A rich one, by the sound of it.
Plumbers and auto mechanics didn’t name their kids Donovan. Elizabeth had worked at one of the most prestigious private schools in Manhattan long enough to learn a thing or two about blue bloods. Thus she knew good and well that a man named Donovan Darcy wouldn’t have dirt under his fingernails.
She scrunched her face in disgust. Grant Markham had finely manicured hands, but that didn’t make him any less dirty.
“Donovan Darcy” came a clipped British whisper over her shoulder. “Aren’t we lucky?”
Elizabeth turned around to find the voice belonged to an older woman decked out in a matching tweed skirt and jacket. Rather than leading a dog around on a leash, she pushed a stack of four crates on wheels. Scruffy terrier faces peered out from the wire doors. The kind smile that reached all the way to the woman’s eyes told Elizabeth her comment was sincere.
She smiled back. “Lucky? How so?”
“He’s a breeder judge. His dogs are legendary. Haven’t you heard of Chadwicke Kennels? The big country estate out in Derbyshire?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just shook her head and made a few clucking noises before continuing. “What am I thinking? Of course you haven’t. This is America. I keep forgetting.”
Elizabeth could only laugh. “You keep forgetting?”
“Yes.” She waved a hand toward a red-faced man organizing a stack of armbands at a grooming table. “My husband’s company expanded last year. For fourteen months now we’ve been flitting back and forth between home and America. I’m afraid it’s beginning to wear me down. Sometimes I forget where I am entirely.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re in New Jersey.” Elizabeth offered her hand. “I’m Elizabeth.”
“Sue. Sue Barrow.” She nodded toward her husband, still at the grooming table, huffing and puffing while struggling with a wad of rubber bands. “And that’s my dear Alan. Poor thing. He’s not terribly fond of dog shows.”
Elizabeth nodded her understanding. Alan looked about as thrilled to be there as Jenna had before she’d made her escape to Starbucks.
She swiveled her gaze back to the posted judging schedule. “So, what were you saying about this mysterious Mr. Darcy?”
“Oh, yes.” A faint flush rose to Sue’s cheeks. “He’s wonderful. His kennel has excellent bloodlines.”
For some reason, Elizabeth doubted that rosy glow had much to do with his kennel’s bloodlines. “What kind of dogs does he breed? Terriers?”
Sue’s flush intensified. She fanned herself with a copy of the show catalog. “He’s here.”
A tall gentleman with a ramrod-straight spine strode past them and into the ring. His presence brought with it a flutter to Elizabeth’s heart. She tightened her grip on Bliss’s leash and tried to tell herself it was a simple case of preshow jitters. Bliss looked up at her with a crease in her furry brow. Even the dog seemed to know Elizabeth was kidding herself.
Mr. Darcy was handsome. Sweaty-palms, forget-how-to-breathe handsome. Apparently, his dogs weren’t the only genetic-lottery winners.
Elizabeth made an attempt to take a deep, calming breath and willed herself not to look at his intense, dark eyes or his broad shoulders, shown off to perfection with the tailored cut of his suit jacket. It wasn’t easy. Everything about the man was captivating. Noble, even. Which, when she thought about it, really should have disgusted her. She’d been right, after all. Mr. Darcy was clearly wealthy. What kind of person jetted all over the globe to judge dog shows?
Good grief. He was rich, imposing and handsome enough to cause heart palpitations. Next to Elizabeth, Sue’s fanning arm had gone into overdrive.
Life just wasn’t fair.
Of course, Elizabeth had learned that lesson long ago. And, just in case it slipped her mind, the recent Markham incident had served as a painful reminder.
“You’re up,” Sue whispered.
The comment barely registered in Elizabeth’s consciousness. She blinked. Somehow she was once again staring at Mr. Darcy. She must have also been hallucinating because he seemed to be staring back at her. All the breath whooshed out of her lungs. His intensity was almost crippling when it was aimed directly toward her, even though it was only in her imagination.
“Elizabeth,” Sue hissed. “You’re up.”
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