Hiring Mr. Darcy

by Bowman, Valerie

  I’d grown up in a trailer park with a mother who should have gone to college but had ‘accidentally’ gotten pregnant instead. She’d had to wait tables and spend her spare time in the library. Both of my parents had told me since I was a kid that I would go to college, but I had been the one to want to go all the way. Getting a Ph.D. had been important to me since I was a kid. To me it symbolized being smart, something not often associated with kids from my trailer park. The day my new fourth grade teacher had looked at my address on the orientation paperwork and said she wasn’t sure if I was on a “college track,” I vowed to myself that not only would I be on a college track, I would blow her and all the other teachers at Morrison Grade School out of the water, education-wise.

  Harrison was highly intelligent, too. His parents were both professors as well (his mother a sociology professor and his father a history professor). Like me, Harrison had a Ph.D. in history. He couldn’t be more perfect than that.

  He also kept his apartment tidy. Even his bathroom was clean. Believe me, I’d checked. I was far too much of a neat freak to abide a potential husband who would leave a ring in the tub.

  My hatred of gambling also stemmed from my dad. When he wasn’t painting, he was taking my mom’s tips from the diner where she worked and gambling them away. It had made for a very unhappy marriage.

  As for being funny, Harrison and I had a whole string of inside jokes mostly relating to Dr. Holmes and the early nineteenth century. Who else would laugh at those? I mean, a cravat joke is only gonna play for certain highly specific audiences.

  When it came to sharing a vision of the future, Harrison and I had a talk early on in our relationship about marriage and kids. I wanted two. So did he. We agreed that marriage would be a precursor to such an arrangement.

  Then there was the no-cheating requirement. Having been cheated on a time or two before being dumped, I was adamant about item number seven. It was the proverbial deal-breaker. I asked Harrison early on about that too, and he’d indicated that he’d never cheated on anyone nor did he believe in it, which was why I did truly trust him with Lacey Lewis, even if I didn’t exactly trust her. Well, that and the fact that Harrison had never given me a reason not to trust him. He told me once that as far as he was concerned, cheating was the refuge of an unintelligent mind, too stymied to be forthright with one’s partner about being unfulfilled. Hey, it sounded good to me. Plus, I loved to think of my past boyfriends (all three) who’d cheated on me as stymied and unintelligent.

  As for attractive, well, that went without saying. Harrison was tall, blond, and had heavenly blue eyes. He was super fit and looked like the all-American, clean-cut boy next door. Cute, but in a super nerdy way, which was the male equivalent to me, or so I’d been told before.

  On top of all that, Harrison was never rude to waiters, or to anyone. He donated money to charity and participated in the monthly volunteer day at the college, where he did things like read to the elderly and serve ice cream to kids at the local Ronald McDonald House.

  He definitely shared my values too. We agreed on politics and religion. He understood that I didn’t need doors opened for me, and we both agreed that public displays of affection were unnecessary. And yes, of course I loved him. Luke’s earlier comment still rankled. Harrison was terrific and I loved him, so there.

  Sure, he sometimes informed me I was a bit dramatic and too competitive, but no one was entirely perfect. Besides, he was right on both counts, so I couldn’t exactly blame him for it. Plus, he didn’t seem to mind my hobbit feet, or the possibility that our future children might end up with them.

  I closed the planner and slid it onto the bedside table. Then I snuggled back down into the duvet, rewound the movie a little bit and pushed play.

  “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,” Colin Firth said again.

  Harrison and I had rehearsed those lines a hundred times for the talent portion of the competition. I hugged the pillow close and sighed, my eyes closed to fight back the tears I still hadn’t allowed myself to shed. For the time being at least, my own Mr. Darcy was gone.

  Chapter 4

  Saturday morning

  “I found a Mr. Darcy for you.”

  Those were the first words my brother said to me when I saw him in the kitchen the next morning, where I was fumbling around like a blind person in search of my Keurig.

  “What?” I turned and blinked at him.

  “I found a guy for you. He’s available and willing and everything. If you’re still willing to pay five thousand bucks and all the fees and whatever.”

  I eyed Luke with the sort of skepticism inherent in the uncaffeinated. “Just fell out of a novel, did he?”

  “Nah,” he replied, pouring himself a bowl of Cheerios. “It’s Jeremy.”

  I rummaged in the cabinet above the coffee machine, grasped the little white plastic Keurig cup, and held it aloft as if I’d just won gold at the Olympics. I sighed with relief. What had Luke just said? Jeremy?

  “Jeremy who?” My mind raced through the list of similar ne’er-do-wells with whom my brother associated. One of his band mates? None of those guys was Darcy material.

  “Jeremy Remington, you dolt,” he garbled around a huge spoonful of Cheerios. “You know, one of my best friends? Known him since we were kids?”

  I lifted the lid of the machine and pushed in the cup. Then lowered it again, lined up my mug underneath, and hit Brew. I turned back to face my brother.

  “While I appreciate your use of the word ‘dolt’—”

  “I learned it from you, of course.” He grinned at me. At least I think it was a grin. I needed to find my glasses. First coffee, then glasses. Obviously.

  “Why would Jeremy Remington want to be Mr. Darcy?” I asked, suspicion lacing my tone.

  Leaving my brother to ponder that question, I wandered to the living room in search of my glasses while simultaneously searching my cloudy memory for any information about this potential Mr. Darcy. Jeremy Remington was one of Luke’s oldest friends. I’d known him since I was ten or so. He had been a short, skinny kid, quiet and shy, who’d seemed less annoying than some of the others. Not much to remember, really. I hadn’t seen him in probably...ten years. But he was hardly the sort who would inspire jealousy in Harrison and Lacey, and I was highly skeptical as to how much he knew about the Regency era.

  I wandered back into the kitchen, my glasses now firmly planted on my face.

  “First of all,” Luke said in between bites of cereal, “Remington lost a bet with me last night and that was the forfeit.”

  I groaned. “What?”

  “I bet him that if he lost the hand of cards we were playing, he’d have to do you a big favor. I told him about the money after, of course.”

  “And secondly?” I asked, already knowing this was a disastrous idea.

  Luke shrugged. “He could use the money.”

  “Great.” I curled my lip. “No offense, but I’m not really interested in taking one of your deadbeat friends to England with me.” The coffee machine beeped and I scrambled over to it. I’d already prepared my hazelnut-flavored cream, which I added liberally into the mug.

  Luke rolled his eyes at me. “He’s not a deadbeat.”

  I took my first deep delicious sip of coffee and sighed. “Needs money? Free to spend nearly a week in England on short notice? I assume he can get away or you wouldn’t have suggested him, which means he’s unemployed and—”

  “Geez, Meg, you’re so judgmental.”

  It wasn’t the first time I’d been called judgmental, either. Much like “curt,” it was another favorite.

  “I’m not judgmental. I’m realistic and—”

  “Jeremy’s trying to get his business off the ground. He needs capital to buy some sort of machine.”

  “Machine?” I narrowed my eyes on Luke. “What’s his business? Tattoo artistry?”

  He smirked at me. “No, Miss Judgeypants. And, by the way, I happen to know s
ome frickin’ amazing tattoo artists.”

  “I was only joking.” I took another swig of coffee, more willing to listen to this tale now that caffeine was involved. “What does he do?”

  “Right now, he works construction. He’s a contractor, but he wants to open a business doing custom woodworking. Make furniture, built-ins, stuff like that.” Luke shoved more cereal into his craw. “You should see some of the things he’s made. Amazing stuff. He needs the money for some equipment. A band saw, I think he said.”

  I leaned my back against the counter, hugging the warm mug to my chest. “Woodworking, eh? He’s not convicted of a felony or anything, is he?”

  “Whaa? No.” Luke rolled his eyes at me. “Why would you think that?”

  I shrugged. “A lot of people who open their own businesses are felons. They can’t get a decent employer to hire them.”

  Luke rolled his eyes again. “Not everyone wants to work for the Man, Meggie. You’re cynical.”

  “I’m realistic.” I took another sip of coffee.

  “Well, Remington isn’t a felon and he’s not a deadbeat, either. He’s a hard worker. You should be thanking me for finding a male willing to dress up in fancy pants from two hundred years ago.”

  “He’s willing to come to England for a week?” I ventured, tapping my fingers along the sides of the mug.

  “As long as you foot the bill. His latest job ends next Friday, and he hasn’t agreed to another yet.”

  “Does he have a valid passport?”

  Luke leaned back in the chair, balancing it on two legs. “Really? Pretty sure he wouldn’t have agreed to it if he didn’t.”

  I set down my mug and rubbed the spot between my eyes where a headache was rapidly forming. “You really expect me to teach a construction worker how to be Mr. Darcy in two weeks?”

  Luke leaned forward again and dumped more cereal into his bowl. His cereal habit was alarming. He needed a twelve-step program. “Admittedly, he doesn’t know any more about it than I do, but he’s willing to learn.” He pointed his spoon at me. “Last night you said you could teach me in two weeks.”

  “That’s different. You’re my brother. I can boss you around, and you know how nerdy I am.”

  Luke splashed more milk into his bowl. “For five Gs, I’m positive Remington will let you be as bossy and nerdy as you want.”

  My shoulders sagged and I blew out a sigh. “He’s a construction worker? What does he know about nineteenth-century England?”

  “Uh, about as much as I do.” Luke scowled at me. “And he’s only a construction worker temporarily. Not everyone has had their whole life planned to the second since they were five years old, like you.”

  “I was nine.”

  “Not the point.”

  I pressed my glasses up between my eyes with my pointer finger and drew a deep breath. My chest was tight. “I really appreciate you trying to help me, but it’s just not going to work. Harrison knows every dance step, every line, every card trick. I doubt Jeremy even knows who Jane Austen is.”

  “You’re such a snob, Meg. Lots of people know who Jane Austen is. Just because he hasn’t read Pride and Prejudice five hundred times doesn’t mean—”

  “I haven’t read it that many times,” I mumbled into my mug.

  “But you have a copy of it in your purse as we speak. Am I right?”

  “Maybe.” I sniffed. “But anyway, I thought about it more last night. Even if you’d agreed, I couldn’t train someone in two weeks. It’s just not enough time. I don’t know what I was thinking when I suggested it.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Luke scooped a ginormous amount of Cheerios onto his spoon. “I saw how into it you were last night. You’re competitive as hell. You want to beat Harrison’s ass.”

  He was right of course. “Yes, but—”

  “It’s because Remington isn’t a snobby professor type with a Ph.D., isn’t it? You’re embarrassed to bring him around your history-nerd friends.”

  “No, it’s—” I stopped and blinked. I had to admit my brother was a little right there, too. But if Jeremy was one of Luke’s old friends—from the trailer park—he’d probably be horribly uncomfortable around my sort of friends. I didn’t want the poor guy to be in way over his head. That would be embarrassing for both of us.

  My brother let his spoon drop into his bowl. He gave me a hard stare. “You know what your problem is, Meg? You’re a snob. An intellectual snob.”

  I scrubbed a hand through my messy hair, suddenly feeling oddly self-conscious. “I thought I was bossy and controlling and a perfectionist?”

  “That too.”

  I tugged on the end of my robe’s belt. “You can hardly call me a snob just because I don’t feel up to the monumental task of teaching one of your poker buddies how to be Mr. Darcy in two weeks. Besides, if Jeremy’s working until next Friday, when would we even have time for lessons?”

  Luke raised his brows at me. “You were a tutor in high school and college, if I remember correctly. You seem to know how to teach people things after hours.”

  “But that was Latin and History and English and—”

  “Yeah. Sounds like a bunch of crap Mr. Darcy would need to know.”

  I took another sip of coffee. Why was Luke making this so difficult for me? “Ugh. It’s not that simple. Look, I hate to sound shallow in addition to my intellectual snobbery, but Mr. Darcy is tall, dark, and handsome. I seem to remember Jeremy being a short skinny kid with acne and—”

  Luke rolled his eyes and shook his head at me. “Oh, my God. That was in high school, you nut. When’s the last time you saw him?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, sometime around college, maybe.”

  “Haven’t you seen pictures of him on my Instagram feed? He’s—”

  The doorbell rang. I spun around. The clock on the microwave read 8:30 a.m. “Who the hell is that at this hour on a Saturday?”

  Luke pushed back his chair and stood. “I sorta told Remington to stop by this morning to say hello. You know...make the plan?”

  “What? Without even discussing it with me?” I took a panicky gulp of coffee. It burned my throat.

  “We’re discussing it now,” Luke said. “I thought you’d be happy. How was I supposed to know it would turn into a battle?”

  “Gah.” Dramatically tossing my hair over my shoulder, I marched into the living room. “Great! Now I’m gonna have to tell this poor little guy thanks but no thanks.”

  “Yeah, well, I thought you’d be thankful,” Luke called after me as I headed toward the front door.

  I paused just long enough to run my free hand over my rat’s nest hair. I probably still had sleep in my eyes, and I hadn’t brushed my teeth yet that morning, but I took another fortifying swig of coffee as I marched. “Next time maybe check with me before you invite one of your ne’er-do-well friends over at the crack of dawn.”

  The doorbell rang again right as I reached for the knob. Perfect. An impatient ne’er-do-well. Poor little Jeremy was just going to have to find another way to pay for his tattoo machine.

  I wrenched open the door, prepared to be polite but firm. There was no way I was inviting this guy in for even so much as a cup of coffee. I would just have to explain to him that Luke should have checked with me first, and—

  My mouth fell open. Standing in front of me was six foot two, two hundred pounds of lean, muscled...man. Dark hair peeked out from beneath the brim of a navy blue Remington Woodworking ball cap. Deep green eyes, long eyelashes, firmly molded lips, and the broadest, squarest shoulders I’d seen outside of the pages of a magazine.

  Holy Mary, Mother of God.

  A helpless, mildly hysterical giggle escaped my traitorous lips. This was poor little Jeremy?

  Chapter 5

  “Meg?” His voice was deep and a little rough and slightly hypnotic and—

  “Uh, yes?” I’d never been more aware of my rumpled bed head, and my big fat unattractive puffy bathrobe, which did nothing to h
ide my pot belly. If anything, it accentuated it.

  “It’s me, Jeremy Remington. I hope I didn’t wake you.” He smiled then, revealing perfect white teeth and tiny dimple near the side of his mouth. Swoon.

  “No. No. I was just...drinking coffee.” I lifted my “I’d rather be at Pemberley” mug in the air. Stupid, Meg. Of course you were drinking coffee.

  He stood there for a minute, a slight frown replacing his smile. “Can I come in?” he finally asked.

  “Of...of course.” Oh, crap. I’d been staring at him when I should have been inviting him in. Every single thought I’d had before I opened the door fled as I moved back and opened it wider to allow Jeremy to enter. “Come in.”

  I turned to lead him into the living room, super glad I’d cleaned so thoroughly the night before. I glanced back to notice that he was still standing on my blue flowered welcome mat.

  “Should I take off my boots?” he asked.

  One glance at his boots and I immediately wanted him to remove them. They looked dusty and speckled with what appeared to be wood chips. But years of being an overly controlling neat freak had taught me that other people tended to think you were a big weirdo when you did things like ask them to take off their shoes when they entered your house. “Oh, I don’t mind—”

  “Yes! Take them off,” came Luke’s voice from the kitchen. “She’ll freak if you don’t.”

  My free hand went to my hip. “I will not!” I called back before realizing that listening to a fight between siblings rivaled big fat puffy bathrobes for non-sexy things. I turned back to Jeremy to see him already dutifully removing his boots. Now that was sexy, and the fact that he had asked? Double swoon. I shut my mouth and gave him a sheepish, grateful shrug. “Thanks,” I said.