Mr. Darcy Broke My Heart (12 page)

He glanced around. “Are you ready to keep going?”

“In a moment.” It had occurred to me, while I was catching my breath, that James was the very person to answer a question that had arisen during my walk back from Harriet’s cottage.

“You know, I was wondering, what would happen if a famous author, somebody who’s been dead a long time. I mean, what would happen if someone found a manuscript by a writer like that and it had never been published?”

“A famous author?” The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. “Someone like, oh, Jane Austen, perhaps?”

I had to laugh. “Perhaps. But seriously, what would happen? If something like that turned up?”

He shrugged and shot me an inquisitive look. “I don’t know what would happen in the academic world, but in the publishing business, well, it would be a feeding frenzy. Can you imagine the publicity?” He lifted a hand in the air.
“Lost Austen Novel.”
He punctuated each word with a thrust of his hand. “It wouldn’t even need to have a title to become an instant best seller.”

“But who would get to publish it? Theoretically speaking,” I added, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Who would own the copyright, you mean?” He paused. “Whoever had legal possession of it.”

“But I thought all of her novels were—what do you call it?—in the public domain.”

“Yes. Because they were
published
novels. The copyright has long expired. But a new work? The owner and the publisher would stand to make a great deal of money.” He laughed. “Theoretically speaking, of course. If a manuscript like that existed, someone would have come forward long before now. For financial reasons, if nothing else.”

“Oh. I guess you’re right.” I let my gaze wander to a spire in the distance and thought about what James had said. I hadn’t thought about the money angle at all. I knew what was concealed in my purse was rare and important, from a historical point of view, but it was clearly worth its weight in gold as well.

“I’m sorry. You want to keep moving, not talk about wild Jane Austen theories.” I took pity on him and rose from the bench. “Let’s go. I wouldn’t mind something cold to drink.”

“Good luck with that in this country.” But he said it with a smile instead of a sneer. He was softening up a little bit.

We left the Botanic Garden and wandered up the road to Magdalen College. It sat along the High Street, somewhat apart from the other buildings, but it boasted the same golden medieval glow, dotted with red geraniums and emerald green patches of lawn. Some of those patches were tinged with brown after baking in the unusual summer heat.

Down the street toward the city center, we found a small shop, and I bought a room-temperature diet soda. We made our way back to the river near Christ Church and found a grassy spot underneath a sprawling tree. By then, the heat had finally taken a toll even on James’s restlessness. I sat, legs tucked to the side in my best ladylike position. He stretched out full length and put his hands behind his head, as if he had all the time in the world. I wondered if he was always like this—either anxious or blasé, with no middle ground.

“Sorry about the garden,” he said to the sky.

I took a swig of my Diet Coke. “It’s okay.” I paused. “Are
you
okay?”

“I guess I’m not used to being without my BlackBerry.”

I glanced over at him. “So that’s why you were twitching so much. CrackBerry withdrawal symptoms.”

He sighed. “Yeah. Don’t know what I was thinking, leaving it in my room. I thought it would be good for me.”

We sat in silence for a while, the stillness of late afternoon wafting over us. A few people strolled in leisurely fashion along the river, and the occasional punt glided by. I envied the young women who trailed their hands in the water while their male admirers did the heavy work of poling the craft down the river. The arch of the trees, the tangy scent of the grass, the occasional breeze that wafted across the water created a haven of peace.

“We should do that,” James said, nodding toward a punt as it passed.

“Looks like fun,” I replied in an attempt to sound noncommittal.
Don’t make too much of what he says
, I warned myself. I had never had an experience like this. I had never met a man and felt as if the earth were shifting position beneath my feet.

What about Neil?
a voice in my head asked, but I decided to ignore it. That voice was annoying, and really, my love life wasn’t any of its business.

To my surprise, in a few moments James was asleep. He snored, I thought with some amusement. Not a lot, but enough for it to be an imperfection. I need to find some imperfections in him so that I wouldn’t feel quite so imperfect myself.

My own eyelids had grown heavy, and I was drifting off myself when my cell phone started to ring. I scrambled to open my purse, careful not to open it too wide, and dug around until I found the phone. The name and number on the display made me groan.

Neil.

“Hello?” I answered in a soft voice.

“Claire?”

“Hi, Neil.” I pitched my voice low so that I wouldn’t disturb James.

“Hey,” he said. I did the mental calculation. It must have been late morning back in Kansas City. He was probably calling from work. “How’s England?” he asked.

How’s England?
I had to bite my lip so I wouldn’t laugh. Was this the same man who barely looked up from his copy of
Sports Illustrated
when I’d told him I was leaving the country?
The same man who couldn’t drive me to the airport because the Royals had a home stand?

“Um, it’s fine.” I clutched the phone and tried to speak loud enough for Neil to hear me but not loud enough to wake up James. “What’s wrong? Are Missy and the kids okay?” Panic squeezed my throat. I couldn’t think of any reason Neil would call, unless…

“Everything’s fine. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting you to call.”

There was a long pause. “I miss you,” he finally blurted out. “When did you say you were coming home?”

“Saturday, Neil. I told you.”

“I know, I know. Sorry.”

I sat there in the grass, watching James, not knowing what to do. The sound of Neil’s voice triggered a host of feelings I wasn’t ready to deal with. Frustration. Affection. Confusion. Probably the last most of all.

“Did you need something?” I said and then realized that the question sounded snippy. I could almost hear Neil frowning at the other end of the line.

“I didn’t think I had to need something for it to be okay to call.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Missy said you were meeting a lot of new people.”

What? My mind raced, trying to recall what I’d said to her on the phone the first night. Had I mentioned James?

I had. The memory hit me square in the stomach. What
had Missy said to Neil? She must have told him something about James. No way would he have placed a transatlantic call just to say hi.

“Yes, I am meeting people. Everyone ’s really nice. I’ve been to the botanical garden. And out to dinner at a very nice restaurant.” Maybe it was mean, but I couldn’t resist tweaking his nose just a little.

Was that a “harrumph” from Neil? I couldn’t hear well enough to tell.

“Well, I just wanted to see how you were.” He sounded as disgruntled as if I’d misplaced the remote during a big game.

“You’re sweet to call.” No reason why, if he was suffering from some pangs of jealousy, I couldn’t let him stew in his own juices just a little. Maybe he wouldn’t take me for granted quite so much when I got back home.

“Claire, is there anything you want to tell me?”

Subtlety certainly wasn’t his strong point. “No. Not that I can think of.”

He was silent for a long moment. “Okay, then. Well, good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Neil. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

I ended the call and let the phone rest in my palm while I looked at James. What was Missy up to? I knew she thought Neil took me for granted, but since Missy pretty much did the same thing, it was like the pot calling the kettle black. Whatever she had said, it had at least motivated him to pick up the phone and call me.

For a few moments, I allowed myself to indulge in the satisfaction of having finally gotten Neil’s attention. But being me, that satisfaction was quickly replaced by guilt. Not that I had done anything wrong, really. Going to dinner with James and enjoying our field trip to the Botanic Garden hardly qualified as romantic indiscretions. But not telling James about Neil… Well, on that score I would have to plead guilty.

I sat next to James on the grass for a long time as the sun sank lower in the sky. It was still full light, though, when at last I had to lean over and shake his arm to wake him.

“Dinner will be served soon.”

He made a face. “The dining hall? Wouldn’t you rather eat out again?”

My stomach gave a little leap at the question. More at the assumption, really, that we would share the meal together. I thought of the state of my finances and knew that I couldn’t afford to pay my fair share at a restaurant like the Cherwell Boathouse, and I really couldn’t, in good conscience, let him pay for dinner again. Not after Neil’s phone call.

“Let’s give the dining hall a try,” I said. “Besides, we should be mingling with our classmates.”

He sighed in mock resignation. “All right. You win.”

“That remains to be seen,” I muttered under my breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. Come on. We’d better hurry.”

Since hurrying came naturally to him, we made it back to Christ Church in record time. Still, we were running late.
Fortunately, the only places left at the long tables in the dining hall were on either side of Martin Blakely.

“Delightful,” he said when I asked if I could sit next to him. “Please, do join me.”

James looked less than delighted at the prospect of Martin’s company, but I decided to ignore him. If only I could ignore the manuscript pages still concealed in my purse. I had managed to get them and Martin in close proximity, but now I couldn’t show them to him or ask his opinion without James overhearing.

The meal seemed to go on forever, but finally dessert and coffee were finished. I was making my excuses to return to my room when one of the porters materialized at my elbow.

“Miss Prescott, there’s a package for you at the Porters’ Lodge. You can retrieve it this evening if you go straightaway.”

“For me? A package?” I felt my pulse quicken. “Yes, of course. I’ll just—”

I made my excuses to James and Martin, rose from the table, and made a beeline for the door of the dining hall. My feet practically flew over the quad as I raced for the Porters’ Lodge, because I had a feeling that I knew exactly who the package was from.

I
didn’t know Harriet’s handwriting, but I was sure that she was the sender. The package bore no postmark. I glanced over my shoulder, but no one had followed me from the Hall. With trembling fingers, I took the large manila envelope from the porter. I thanked him profusely and then scurried away, back across the quad and to the Meadow Building. The four flights of stairs seemed like eight, but at last I made it to the landing outside my door. I paused to catch my breath, and then I saw the note with my name on it taped to the dark wood.

If my heart could have beat any faster, it would have. As it was, my mouth simply went dry. I didn’t recognize the handwriting. I reached out with a shaking hand and pulled the note from the door. My fingers trembled as I unfolded the piece of paper.

There was no reason that the wording of the note should frighten me, but it did. I fumbled with my key, unlocked the door, and stumbled into the room. I dumped my purse, the package, and the note on the bed and then collapsed in a heap next to them.

Before I could stop myself, I reached over, picked up the envelope, and ripped open the end. When I tilted it, the contents slid onto the bed. Familiar yellowed pages. Only not exactly familiar.

Attached to the first page was a note written in a spidery scrawl very different from the one that had been taped to my door.

Mrs. Parrot, whoever she was, was certainly the determined type. I looked at the pages, sprawled across the bed, and then reached for my purse to retrieve the others. With careful movements, I stacked them in their proper order. Well, at least as close to their proper order as I could get, since whole chapters were missing.

My curiosity, though, couldn’t be denied for long. I made sure my door was locked, and then I reached for the stack of pages. I thumbed through them until I found the beginning of the newest section Harriet had sent. With a nervous glance at the door, I picked up the top page and began to read.