Hiring Mr. Darcy

by Bowman, Valerie

  Luke had already tossed down the ten of spades. “How do you win the overall game?”

  “The winner of the trick leads the next,” I said. “When all thirteen tricks have been played, the team that won more tricks scores one point for each trick in excess of six. The team that first reaches five points wins the game.”

  “This is going to take a while, isn’t it?” Ellie asked.

  “It depends,” I replied, shrugging. “Sometimes you can make a slam and win all the tricks in one hand. Then you win automatically.”

  “I’m going to need more wine.” She stood and made her way to the counter near the refrigerator to retrieve the wine bottle while Jeremy tossed down the ace of spades.

  I raised my brows. “Ooh, good play.”

  Jeremy half-bowed over the table. “My lady.”

  “Oh, don’t start that stuff yet,” Luke said, making a gagging sound. “I don’t think I can take it.”

  “Can’t take someone speaking in a gentlemanly manner?” Ellie asked snidely as she returned to the table with the wine bottle in one hand and her refilled glass in the other. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Don’t drink too much, Nurse Betty, I want to win,” Luke replied.

  “Only drinking enough to drown out the sound of your voice, Rockabilly.” Ellie lifted her wine glass in the air.

  “What else do we need to know, Meg?” Jeremy asked.

  I was thankful for his interruption. “During the Regency, the game would have been played with honors.”

  Luke scrunched up his nose. “What are honors?”

  “The top four trumps,” I replied. “The ace, king, queen, and jack. If you and your partner hold all four between you, you score an extra four points, which you can’t claim until the game is over, obviously. If you and your partner hold three of the four honors, you score two points.”

  Luke waved his hand in the air impatiently. “Okay, got it. Enough explanation. Your play, Nurse Hoffman.”

  “Hmm, using my actual last name? I could nearly swoon from the gentlemanliness,” Ellie snorted.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I ran out of insults,” Luke said.

  “So soon?” She batted her eyes at him, but tossed the two of spades onto the pile.

  “Do we need to know anything else, Meg?” Jeremy asked earnestly.

  “Just a couple more things. A team that already has four points toward the total five can’t score honors on that deal, and if on the same deal, one team scores for tricks and the other scores for honors, the tricks are scored first. That’s about it. We’ll play a rubber.”

  Luke nearly spit his beer. “Excuse me?”

  I rolled my eyes. “A rubber, you dolt. It means the best of three games.”

  “If you say so,” Luke replied.

  We collected the trick that Jeremy and I had won due to his ace, and Jeremy played the next card.

  After several rounds in which Jeremy and I dominated, I was fairly certain he understood the game.

  “I don’t like whist. Poker’s way better,” Luke said, groaning after losing the first game.

  “Poker has less chance involved,” I pointed out. “Whist is a much more easy-going game.”

  “If we lose, I’m blaming Nurse Wino over there,” Luke replied.

  “Oh, no you’re not,” Ellie said. “You were all bragging earlier about what a card sharp you are. You’re not about to pin a loss on me. Where’s your genius math mind now?”

  “Poker should’ve existed in the Regency,” Luke said in a semi-pouty tone.

  “Just be glad I didn’t have to teach you Faro,” I chimed in.

  “Hear that, Remington? We’re lucky to be playing whist,” Luke said with a laugh.

  “It’s not so bad,” Jeremy replied, winking at me. “I think I got the hang of it. Finally, a game I came beat you in, Knightley.”

  My insides did a little flip due to the wink. Harrison wasn’t a winker. I found it endearing.

  In the end, we won two games to one. I had just begun collecting the cards to put them away when Ellie grabbed her purse. “I gotta go. I need to be in the ER tomorrow morning by seven. Thanks for the game and the wine, Megs. Too bad your brother is a big loser.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere,” Luke said, batting his eyelashes at her.

  Ellie left and Jeremy helped me finish cleaning up the cards. When he handed his stack to me, our hands touched and warmth spread up my arm. “I’ve got these,” I said.

  “I’ll put the wine back in the fridge then,” he offered.

  “Oh, great, be all gentlemanly and stuff and make me look bad,” Luke moaned. He nodded toward the door where Ellie had disappeared. “Why do you think Hoffman is such a tight-ass?”

  I blinked. “You’re asking me, the ultimate tight-ass, why my best friend is a tight-ass?”

  “You’re not a tight-ass,” Jeremy chimed in from the kitchen.

  “You don’t know her well enough,” Luke called. “Or you’d know she’s totally a tight-ass.”

  “Ellie didn’t seem like a tight-ass either,” Jeremy said.

  “Look, Remington, I know my sister’s your boss and all for the next couple of weeks, but there’s no reason to get all brown-nosey,” Luke said grumpily.

  Jeremy came strolling back in from the kitchen. “I threw away the pizza box and wiped off the counter tops.”

  I put the back of one hand against my forehead. “Be still my heart.”

  Luke scowled at both of us. “Okay, I’ve had enough of this Regency gentleman act for one night. I’m going to bed. Let’s just say whist isn’t my game.” He took the stairs up to the guest bedroom two at a time.

  I was left alone in the darkened living room with Jeremy with my apple-scented candle flickering on the coffee table. “Thanks for cleaning up,” I said hesitantly, trying to remember a time when Harrison had ever helped clean up at my place. He’d cleaned up his own, of course, but I couldn’t remember him ever pitching in to help me. It was part of our relationship-of-equals thing. But I had to admit it was nice to have a man pitch in without being asked.

  “Thanks for the beer and pizza and the whist.” Jeremy gestured toward the door. “I’d better get going.”

  “Yep.” I walked with him to the foyer. “Thanks for coming tonight,” I said as he opened the front door. Why was I reluctant to see him go?

  “It’s my job,” he replied with a smile.

  “Yeah, of course, but it still feels as if you’re doing me a favor.”

  His eyes gleamed in the shadowy foyer. “I had fun.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, I like cards, and an old game is just as good as a new one.”

  There it was, his fatal flaw. I mean, I already knew he and Luke played poker together, but for all I knew, he lived in a shanty, unable to make rent due to his untenable gambling addiction. Luke usually won at poker so that meant Jeremy must lose. No wonder he needed five thousand dollars.

  “So, you really love to gamble, eh?” I said.

  “What?” The pleasure in his expression faded. “Where did you hear that?”

  I nervously stuck my fingers in the back pockets of my jeans. “Well, I mean...you and Luke?”

  “Have poker night once a week. That’s it.”

  One night a week was plenty to lose your shirt. Plus, addicts were always in denial about how often they actually played.

  I rocked back and forth on my safely sock-covered feet. “Oh, only once a week?”

  He must have heard the skepticism in my voice. “Yes, and did Luke tell you what we usually play for?”

  “I know Luke pays his bills with the earnings.”

  “Luke doesn’t have any bills. He takes the bus and lives with whoever will take him in.”

  Hmm. The man had a point.

  “The only other thing Luke needs money for is pizza. And beer. And that’s what we play for. Winner doesn’t have to pay for the pizza and the beer.”

  I scrunched up my nose. �
��Really? That’s it?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded me down the length of his nose. “Really. That’s it. Sometimes he and some of the other guys keep playing for money but I’m long gone by then.”

  Very well. Perhaps my overactive imagination had been at work thinking of Luke and Jeremy strung out at the poker games, drinking and smoking with red-rimmed eyes, refusing to stop until dawn.

  “And you only play once a week?” I asked doubtfully.

  “Luke does. I play less than that. Friday night is usually when I go to the retirement home with my dog. They love him there. Seems to cheer them up.”

  “Oh,” I said lamely. So far from being a rampant gambler, this guy preferred to spend his Friday nights at the old folks’ home with a friendly volunteer dog.

  Jeremy leaned his hip against the open door. If the circumstances had been different and I hadn’t just made a complete ass of myself, this would feel an awful lot like the end of a date, and the perfect time for a...kiss. I stared up at him dreamily. I couldn’t help myself. It was like being in the pages of a romance novel. I’d always preferred historical ones, but this one could have easily been a perfectly good contemporary.

  He reached out and for a moment, the shortest moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead, he brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. My eyes were nearly closed. I cleared my throat. No, you dolt. He was not just about to kiss you. Plus, you have a boyfriend and wouldn’t want him to anyway. Jeez.

  “Jeremy,” I breathed nearly against his lips. “I have to ask you something.”

  “Yes?” he replied, searching my face.

  I hastily stepped back. “What’s your shoe size? I need to order your boots.”

  Chapter 13

  Friday

  I’d agreed to meet Jeremy at his place to go over our scene. With Luke at my house, I didn’t think he’d give us a moment’s peace if we were pacing around the living room, quoting Jane Austen. Privacy was best for such things.

  I was a little apprehensive about going to Jeremy’s place. The address he’d given me was off campus and not in the best part of town. Visions of him being a hoarder flashed through my head. Then my entire fantasy about him would be completely shattered. I could not fantasize about a hoarder. I just didn’t have it in me. But given the fact that I’d had more than one uncomfortably awkward moment of wanting to kiss him in the last several days, while simultaneously confirming with my fiancé that we would become engaged before the holidays...I thought it best to go and confront the hoard and put my unwanted fantasies about Jeremy to bed, once and for all.

  Wait. Perhaps ‘to bed’ wasn’t the best use of words in my head. To rest. Yes, to rest!

  I pulled the Jetta to a stop in front of a small, craftsmen-style bungalow that had a white picket fence and a perfectly kept yard, complete with flower beds in front of the neatly trimmed hedges that lined the porch. The small house was painted a pretty olive-green color. I think I’d been expecting a dirty apartment building or a town house or something. Like the places Luke tended to end up when he wasn’t at my place. I certainly hadn’t been expecting this charming little home.

  I pulled my bag (complete with two copies of P&P) from the passenger seat, opened the door, and hopped out. I locked the car with the fob and made my way carefully up the steps to the front porch. I’d decided to go casual tonight. In addition to my ubiquitous glasses, I had on jeans, as skinny as they got on me, a longish T-shirt with a black shrug, black flats, and my hair up in a ponytail. I hoped it said casually cute without trying too hard.

  When I got to the door and knocked, a series of loud barks came ricocheting through the brass mail slot.

  Oh, yeah. The nursing-home-volunteer dog. I smiled. I’d always wanted a dog, but they seemed like a lot of work. Something I didn’t have time for. This particular dog was a good citizen, too. Last night, after he’d told me his shoe size, I’d asked Jeremy if I would be ruining his visit at the retirement home by coming over tonight. He told me the retired people had some sort of a field trip to the outlet mall planned. No worries.

  Moments later, I heard Jeremy’s deep voice through the door. “Huckleberry, down.” The barking stopped, and the door opened to reveal Jeremy standing there, sawdust on the shoulders of his heather gray T-shirt that hugged his flat abdomen. Dark blue jeans rode his hips and a smile rode his lips. My breath caught in my throat.

  “Hi Meg,” he said in a sexy voice, his fingers curled around the edge of the door above his head. “Welcome to my house.”

  “Thanks,” I replied inanely as he opened the screen door for me. The room smelled like pine needles and wood shavings. A clean, brisk scent. I could sniff it forever. The space was small but completely devoid of a hoard. Obvi this was the one room he kept clean for guests. The floors were solid wood, and a dark gray couch and dark brown leather chair sat at right angles against the far walls. A brick fireplace painted white was in the center of the room, and a painting of a Golden Retriever that looked suspiciously like Huckleberry hung above the fireplace. There was no TV.

  Huckleberry sat at attention at Jeremy’s side, his giant pink tongue hanging haphazardly out of his mouth. I swear the dog was smiling at me. I liked him immediately.

  Jeremy ushered me farther into the living room.

  “Great name,” I said, gesturing to the dog.

  “His namesake is the infamous Mr. Finn, in case you’re wondering.”

  A man who named his dog after a literary character? Could Jeremy be any sexier?

  “Excellent choice,” I said in my best professorial tone.

  “I also have a cat named Tom Sawyer around here somewhere.”

  I glanced around, suddenly a bit panicked. “Allergic to cats,” I admitted.

  “I’m just kidding. I don’t have a cat.” He brushed a bit of the sawdust from his shoulder.

  “Oh, okay. Great.” I tried to laugh.

  “Yep, it’s just Huck and me.”

  I leaned down to pat the dog on the head. “Who’s gonna watch him when we’re in England?”

  Jeremy pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “My neighbor’s a great lady. He loves her. He’s going to go stay over there.”

  Unexpected jealousy bubbled in my chest. “Your neighbor?”

  “Yeah, Mrs. Timms is about eighty,” he added. “But still spry enough to take care of Huck. She says he keeps her young.”

  “Ah, sounds perfect.” Why was I inordinately pleased to hear that Mrs. Timms was eighty? “Show me around the place?” I said before my courage fled. I needed to see how bad the hoard was.

  “Sure. Let me just go brush off this sawdust. I was working in the shop just now. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back. Huckleberry, stay.” Jeremy disappeared down the narrow hallway, presumably into a bathroom.

  I’d noticed that he had his shoes on, and since I wasn’t wearing any socks and wasn’t in any hurry to reveal my hobbit feet, I kept my flats on.

  I dropped my purse on the wooden table next to the couch and stared at Huckleberry. “Are you a good boy?” I asked the dog, returning his smile.

  Huckleberry flapped his long furry tail against the wooden floor. Thump. Thump. Thump. Other than that, he didn’t move, obviously taking his master’s last words quite seriously. He continued to smile at me and pant, however. Both were endearing.

  I walked to my right and peered inside what appeared to be a sunroom. Three of its walls were filled with large windows. The room was empty except for a big, cushy outdoor chaise and a small wooden table next to it. Hmm. The hoard must be in the bedrooms or perhaps whatever he called ‘the shop’.

  “Where it is, boy?” I asked Huckleberry in a whisper. “Where’s the hoard?”

  “Ready?” came Jeremy’s friendly voice.

  I cleared my throat and spun around, guilty for asking his dog about his hoard and peering into his sunroom without permission.

  “Yep.” I grabbed my bag from the table.

 
; Jeremy turned in a circle. He seemed the slightest bit flustered, which I found adorable. “Looks like you already saw the sunroom. This is the living room.” He walked over to the room that adjoined the living room on the other side and flipped on a light. I followed him. “This is the dining room.”

  The dining room consisted of a medium-sized wooden table and four chairs. The furniture fit perfectly into the space, as if it... “Did you make this? This table and these chairs?”

  He turned to me and grinned. “Sure did. Took me damned near six months, but I’ve gotten a lot faster since then.”

  I stared at the perfect lines of the Mission-style furniture, my mouth open a little. “It’s amazing. How do you know how to make all this stuff?”

  “Self-taught, mostly. I’ve been to some workshops up in New England, but you can learn a lot of it from YouTube actually. Plus, there’s this great blogger called The Wood Whisperer.”

  “Wow,” was all I could say.

  “I made the tables in the living room, too.”

  “What?” I glanced back into that room, still in awe. The tables were equally impressive. “So, do you own this place?” Great Meg. Way to be overly nosy.

  “Yep. The house isn’t much, but there was great land in the back. I was able to build my shop out there.”

  “So you made all these things out of some wood with your own two hands? That’s amazing!”

  “Well, some wood, my own two hands, and a boatload of really expensive tools. I built the shop myself too. Wanna see it?”

  “Sure.” I hesitated. “What exactly...is a shop?”

  “It’s what a woodworker calls the space where he works. Basically, it’s where I keep all my tools and machinery. It takes a lot of stuff to have a complete shop. I’m still outfitting mine.”

  “That’s what you need the money for, right? Luke mentioned something about it.”

  Jeremy pet Huckleberry’s head. “Yeah, for a band saw. I already have one, but I want to get the Rolls Royce of band saws.”

  I laughed. “I didn’t know Rolls Royce made band saws.”