Man Who Loved Pride and Prejudice (20 page)

   How much should she tell them? They couldn't possibly know about her feelings for him. Nobody knew that except Rob, and he wasn't very likely to write a book. Her lips twitched at the idea of Rob writing anything without footnotes and citations. It was almost as funny as the idea of Calder applying for a job. "He's a very private person. The name is a pseudonym, which is why you can't find anything about him. Umm, I don't really know him well, but the salary wouldn't be an issue. He has an independent income." Enough to give away a hundred thousand dollars as if it were small change.

   Dr. Yang looked at her over his glasses. "This is starting to make more sense. Did you tell him about the position, then?"

   "No, not at all," she said, taken off guard by the question. "I didn't find out he was a writer until later."

   "Hmm. Do you have any other insights about him you'd like to share?"

   Cassie's palms were damp where she clutched the book. At least Dr. Yang hadn't asked what his real name was. "Not really. We talked once about the merits of liberal arts education and the advantages of a small college, but I can't think of anything else." That, and a few dinoflagellates. But the committee didn't know about that part, so she was safe. There was nothing wrong with having met a writer or giving him information for a book.

   The faculty member seated to her right, a young man named Hal Bailey, swiveled to look at her. "I have a question." He looked distinctly amused. "
Do
you understand why?"

   "Why what?" Cassie felt like she was missing something obvious.

   He took the book from her, turned it to the next page, and then handed it back. There were two lines on an otherwise blank page.

   A flush of heat rose in her, but then good sense reasserted itself. Why would he dedicate a book to her? Scott had said Calder never put dedications in books. "I expect he's talking about somebody else named Cassie. He barely knows me."

   Dr. Yang glared at the young man. "That is quite

enough, Dr. Bailey!"

   "Sorry." Dr. Bailey's apology was perfunctory, and directed more at Dr. Yang than Cassie.

   Calder was going to be at Haverford on Thursday, and he hadn't mentioned a word of it in his emails to her. Surely he couldn't have forgotten she worked there. She looked down at the book again and flipped open the front cover to read the flyleaf. Maybe there would be a clue there.

   
In this modern-day retelling of the classic tale of
Pride & Prejudice
, author Stephen West turns his keen
insight to the story of two people from different worlds.
Sparks fly when Elizabeth Bennet, a dedicated marine
biologist whose life is based on facts and rationality,
meets wealthy Fitzwilliam Darcy, born to a family
where power and prestige mean everything. Darcy's
early attraction to Elizabeth grows into a compelling
passion, consummated one magical night by the sea, but
in the morning light, Elizabeth rejects him. In despair,
Darcy realizes he will never win her friendship, much
less her love, because of his failure to be honest with
either himself or her. But modern life can prove even
more restrictive than the social strictures of the nine
teenth century, and West's tale takes a turn of its own
as its hero fails to achieve the fairytale ending of the
original Darcy and Elizabeth.

   
In
Pride & Presumption,
Stephen West brings his
recognized eloquence and perception to a story of deep
emotion, exploring the high cost of misunderstanding
and miscommunication and the barriers we erect
between one other.

   She stared at it in shock. A marine biologist? A magical night by the sea? Wealthy Fitzwilliam Darcy? No. He wouldn't have told their story. He valued his privacy too much. And a compelling passion? Men didn't conceive a compelling passion for women like her. No, he had taken a seed of truth and developed it into a completely different work of fiction.

   "May I borrow this?" she asked, her mouth dry.

   "Sure," Amy said. "You'll like it. It's a good read, though the ending's a bit weak."

   "Thanks." Cassie turned to Dr. Yang. "Is there anything else?"

   He shook his head. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Boulton."

   She hurried out of the building, not even taking time to put on her coat, and started down the path across campus to the science building. The book dug into her hand where she clutched it tightly. This must be what Calder was working on when he ran into her in Woods Hole that day in March. And it was the book Scott had said was driving Calder insane. So that was why he never contacted her in June. He couldn't have come to see her and pretended nothing was happening while he was writing this.

   She stopped beneath a gnarled oak tree and opened the cover to read the flyleaf again. A compelling passion. Heat rose in her cheeks.

   "Hi, Dr. Boulton!" The voice made her jump.

   She looked up guiltily to see one of the students from her seminar on marine biology, a worn backpack dangling from his shoulder. "Hi, Tony." She must look strange, standing there in the middle of campus, reading a book in the cold. "How's your lab report coming?" she asked, trying to at least sound professorial, rather than

like a teenager in the throes of a mad crush.

   "Not bad. I'll see you tomorrow!" Tony waved as he walked off in the opposite direction.

   She had to pull herself together. Tucking the book under her arm, she made her way toward her office, trying not to be curt when the department secretary stopped her to ask a question and then wanted to chat. Finally she was safe in her office, the door closed behind her.

   She sat down at her desk, pushing aside a pile of lab notebooks that needed to be graded, and set the book down in front of her. What if it said too much about her? And she was far from certain she was ready to hear Calder's feelings about her, even at one remove.

   Reluctantly, she began to turn the first pages.

Fitzwilliam Darcy sped down the highway to Woods Hole. The changing scenery made no impression on him. He was in a foul mood after being caught in a two-hour traffic jam at the bridge over the Cape Cod Canal. It did not help that his uncle had insisted he should fly to the Cape rather than drive for that very reason. The habit of resisting his uncle's demands was deeply ingrained in him, so flying had been out of the question. Nor was his mood improved by the memory of the charity ball he attended the night before, where in order to placate his aunt he danced with several impeccably groomed young women who were only interested in his last name. Had it not been for that, he would have been at his destination a week ago, isolated from the crowds, publicity seekers, and hangers-on, rather than fighting his way through a swarm of minivans filled with noisy tourists. Bingley's directions were accurate for once, though they did not mention having to dodge pedestrians constantly along the main street of Woods Hole. Not that he could have driven more than ten miles an hour anyway, given the narrowness of the street and all the cars blocking the road as their owners waited for parking spaces. By the time he made it through the town, his fingers were tapping impatiently on the steering wheel and his mouth was tight.

Fortunately, Bingley's new house was just beyond the edge of town, on a narrow peninsula whose one road was blocked by a guard, his sole purpose to protect the privacy of the inhabitants. Darcy was waved through with one glance at his note from Bingley, and his shoulders finally began to relax now that he was safe.

The house itself was less than a quarter mile farther. Darcy pulled into the driveway and examined it. It wasn't bad, as these things went; much larger than Bingley needed, but it did not scream "new money" the way some of his friend's impulse purchases did. The view over the water, though fading now into the twilight, was stunning. Even more important, the neighboring houses were far enough away to give the illusion of privacy.

He went up to the front door, pausing when he noticed an envelope taped to it with his name on it. He ripped it open impatiently and read Bingley's near illegible scrawl:

Darcy gritted his teeth. He would rather have a root canal than go to some local dance. God! He'd had plenty of that last night, and at least the people at the ball had decent manners and didn't stare, at least not much. He reached to open the door, only to discover it was locked.

Cursing, he tried again, but without success. Damn Bingley and his thoughtlessness. He walked around the house in search of a back door, but that proved to be locked as well. He tried ringing the bell in case there was a housekeeper or someone inside, but to no avail.

There was no point even thinking about the windows. There was no doubt a burglar alarm, though chances were good Bingley would have forgotten to set it. He could not take the risk. The tabloids would have a field day with it. He could see it now: Fitzwilliam
Darcy caught breaking and
entering!
The reporters wouldn't care that he had permission to be there; they would write it in the most damning way, just to attract their so-called readers. Parasites, more like.

He debated waiting until Bingley returned, but the wind off the ocean was cold, and he had no desire to sit in his car for what could be hours, especially if Bingley found some blonde he liked. No, the sensible thing would be to go get the key from him. Damn Bingley. Why couldn't he
think
for once?

Darcy decided to walk. It was not far, and he did not want to draw any extra attention to himself. Besides, he had been in the car all day, and the exercise would be good. Maybe it would help him sleep.

The walk calmed him. The evening was quiet, and for the first time he paid attention to his surroundings. Bingley was right; the privately owned peninsula was lovely, and it was isolated. Just what he wanted. No one to disturb him. He found the Community Hall easily enough. He
heard
it long before he reached it, the quick and lively music spilling out into the street. His tension returned as he entered and his senses were assaulted by movement and sound. The mass of dancers resolved itself into two lines of couples, but it was hardly the kind of dancing he was accustomed to. Voices echoed around the large hall, competing with the music of a piano and several string instruments. There were too many people in too little space. He could hardly think straight, which was why he always avoided places like this. He scanned the crowd for Bingley, and finally spotted him dancing with a beautiful blonde. Predictable to the last, that was Bingley. He waited impatiently for the dance to end, but as soon as it did, the dancers dissolved into an amorphous crowd, and Bingley was once again lost to view. Damn him! Darcy took a deep breath and was preparing with distaste to plunge into the crowd in search of him when he was accosted by a young woman. He had a vague impression of a cloud of dark brown hair and flushed cheeks. "Want a partner for the next dance?" She smiled at him all too brightly.

He expelled his breath between his teeth. As if he'd ever want to go into that chaos, especially with some idiotic local girl who had no doubt noted the expense of his clothes and thought she could catch a rich tourist. "I'm not planning to dance," he said in a tone designed to send her on her way. Unfortunately, she did not seem to get the message. "I'll be happy to show you how, if you've never done it before. It's easy to pick up." "I don't think so." He needed to find Bingley and get out of there, and she was in his way. She shrugged and turned away, searching out some other victim. With a sigh of relief, he scanned the crowd again, finally catching sight of Bingley. Darcy caught up with him just as he was lining up for another dance. "Charles!" he snapped. Bingley smiled, completely oblivious to Darcy's distress. "Oh, glad you made it! Grab a partner and join in!"

"Charles, I just came for the key. You left the doors locked." His patience was running out. Just then the music started up again, and Bingley took his partner's hand. "I'll catch you at the end of this dance, Will!"

"Charles!" But it was too late; the dancers were already off.

Having no choice, Darcy retreated to a dark corner of the room to wait out the dance. If he did not manage to get the key then, he vowed, he would go back and sit in the car all night if need be.

   Cassie smoothed the page in front of her. This didn't sound like the Calder she knew. He hadn't looked uncomfortable at the dance. Perhaps he had learned to cover it well.

   Or maybe Will Darcy was nothing like Calder Westing. Maybe this was all a fantasy, starting with a grain of truth. She paged ahead through the next chapter. The Dock of the Bay Café for their first lunch with Scott and Erin. The visit to Scott's house. It was their story, all right. Had Calder been frankly lusting after her already, like Will Darcy? If so, she'd been completely oblivious to it, but it wouldn't be the first time for that.