Hiring Mr. Darcy

by Bowman, Valerie

  “They don’t. An Italian company called Laguna does.” He grinned at me. “It’s pretty sweet. The one I want is a little under six Gs.”

  “Wow. That better be one nice band saw.”

  “Trust me. It is.” He led the way through the dining room into the small, but perfectly appointed and completely not-hoarded kitchen, through a tiny back porch that obviously served as a laundry room in that it housed a washer and dryer and smelled deliciously like fresh clean soap, and out the back door onto a wide wooden deck. Huckleberry trotted behind us.

  “Don’t tell me,” I said, gesturing at the deck as we crossed it. “You made this too?”

  “Yep.” Jeremy stopped and dipped his hands into his back pockets. He rocked back and forth on the deck slats. “What do you think?”

  “Just wow.” I shook my head. “Harrison probably couldn’t make a pencil holder. Or a pencil, for that matter.”

  “He’d need a lathe for those.” Jeremy pulled his hands back out of his pockets and turned toward the steps that led down to the lawn.

  “What’s a lathe?” I asked, following him.

  “I’ll show you,” he called over his shoulder.

  We walked across an expanse of green lawn to a medium-sized building across the way, about the size of a two-car garage but without the garage door. It had a quaint off-center front door with a small roof hanging just over it and flowerpots on either side filled with red geraniums. It looked like the set of a movie.

  When Jeremy opened the door, the smell of fresh wood hit my nostrils. The three of us stepped inside. The shop was a wide space, completely open with tools nearly everywhere. It was filled with machines and cabinets and some big, tube-like contraption that ran along the roofline. “That’s for collecting sawdust,” Jeremy explained, following my gaze. “There’s a whole air filtration system in here.”

  “Nice,” I said, to be polite because I had no earthly idea what I was looking at.

  Huckleberry took a seat atop a comfy-looking gray dog bed that sat near the door. He circled around in it two or three times before settling into it.

  “Here’s the lathe,” Jeremy announced, distracting my attention from the dog.

  Jeremy stood next to a shiny, metal machine near the wall that looked a lot like a black and silver sawhorse. “It’s for making anything round. Bowls, pencil cases, pencils.”

  “So this is what I should buy Harrison for Christmas to get his pencil-making business off the ground?”

  “If he’s interested.” Jeremy rubbed the line of his jaw. “I got this one off of eBay for about one thousand, used.”

  I nearly choked. “One thousand dollars?”

  “Yep. It was a pretty good deal, actually.”

  “Sounds like the custom woodworking business is a pretty expensive hobby, Mr. Remington.”

  “Yep.” He blew out a breath. “It’s a good thing it’s not a hobby for me. It’s my career.”

  “Oh, yeah. Of course.” I nodded a bit too vigorously to cover my guilt. There, I’d gone and stuck my foot in my mouth again, insulting him once more. “I’m sorry,” I murmured.

  I must have looked as guilty as I felt because Jeremy laughed. “No apology necessary, Doc.”

  Doc? I hadn’t decided if I liked that particular nickname coming from someone as hot as Jeremy, but I’d always appreciated a good nickname in general. Harrison and I had never seemed to come up with nicknames for each other. He called me Meg and I called him Harrison. Not exactly creative. We certainly couldn’t call each other Doc. That would be weird. But coming from Jeremy, the nickname held a certain charm.

  “Okay, so I guess we should get started,” I said lamely, wanting to change the subject and begin before I obsessed about my new nickname all night like a crazy person.

  “We’re acting, right?” Jeremy asked.

  I nodded. “Memorizing a scene. Were you ever in speech class?” I pulled the two copies of P&P out of my bag.

  “I was in Drama Club.” Jeremy cracked a smile.

  “You were?” I frowned. I’d been in that Drama Club too.

  “Yeah, you don’t remember?” He narrowed his eyes on me.

  I rubbed my forehead as if that would make me recall more details. “I remember being in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum my freshman year.”

  “Yeah, I was in that too. I played Hero.”

  “You did?” Why didn’t I remember that? My memory had always been spotty, which was why we needed to begin practicing right away. Memorizing the scene was my worst skill in the games. We’d need to practice as much as possible.

  “Yeah, you were one of the courtesans, right?” Jeremy asked.

  “Yes, believable, wasn’t it?” I snorted. “I think Mrs. Randall was just throwing me a bone.”

  “Mrs. Randall was a great teacher. I’ll never forget how she made us all memorize the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet.”

  “I still remember it,” I said, sighing. For some reason it was burned into my memory.

  “So do I.”

  “You do?” I asked, surprise evident in my voice. I wished I could hit rewind and say it again with less disbelief.

  Jeremy cleared his throat. “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon.”

  I took a deep breath and shook my head. “Everyone remembers that part. You—”

  “Who is already sick and pale with grief,” Jeremy continued. “That thou her maid art far more fair than she. Be not her maid, since she is envious. Her vestal livery is but sick and green. And none but fools do wear it.”

  I whistled. “Okay, color me impressed.”

  He took a bow. “Now you.”

  “Seriously?” I eyed him, one eyebrow arched.

  “Yep, you said you remembered it. Go ahead. Prove it.”

  I expelled a deep breath. “Very well.” Prove it, I would. I clasped my hands together and stepped up on a nearby two-by-four. “Oh, Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love. And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”

  Jeremy stepped closer to me. “Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

  My pulse quickened at his nearness, but I pressed on. “’Tis but thy name that is my enemy. Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot, nor arm nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name. What’s in a name? That which we call a rose By any other word would smell as sweet.” I hopped from the piece of wood and took a bow.

  Jeremy clapped for me. I blushed and bowed again. I was slightly surprised that I remembered every word, but I was completely taken aback by Jeremy’s recitation. Every time I saw him, he managed to shatter my pre-conceived notions of him a little more. And usually made me feel like an ass in the process.

  “What scene are we acting out in Pride and Prejudice?” he asked.

  I bit my lip, trying to squelch my smile. “Well, Harrison and Lacey are doing the famous you-must-allow-me-to-tell-you-how-ardently-I-admire-you scene.”

  “Predictable,” Jeremy said, shoving his hands in his front jean pockets. I’d never been jealous of pockets before, but those things were sidled right up next to his... No! Inappropriate and not helping. I needed to get a grip on myself.

  “It is predictable, isn’t it?” I replied, shaking away my indecent thoughts about his jeans.

  He rubbed a hand through his dark hair. “So you don’t want to do the same scene as them, I take it?”

  “Well, I already have the lines memorized, but it’s sort of a moot point because...” I glanced up at him sheepishly.

  “Because you have all the lines memorized, don’t you?”

  “Sorta.” I scrunched up my nose.

  “Okay, so which scene are you thinking of?”

  I sighed deeply. “The one at the end where Darcy comes back and he and Lizzy are already together, an
d they talk about what they’ve mistaken in each other the whole time.” I clasped my hands together again. That scene never failed to get me. Just thinking about it made me happy.

  “Sounds good,” he said with a nod.

  “It’s a great scene,” I replied. “I tried to convince Harrison to do it to begin with, but he refused. He said that scene was the one that made the whole book the most like a romance novel, and he didn’t think it would be taken seriously in competition.”

  “That’s dumb,” Jeremy replied. “Isn’t that scene sort of the whole point of the novel?”

  “Oh, my God, yes! My exact argument.” Jeremy was really impressing me with not only his knowledge of the book, but also his lack of disrespect for my favorite scene ever written.

  “It’s a lot of words,” I cautioned, studying his face as I handed him his copy of the book with a flag poking out of the correct page.

  He grinned again. “Good thing I have an excellent memory.”

  * * *

  Three hours later, Huckleberry had fallen asleep in the dog bed and was snoring, and Jeremy and I had gone over the scene again and again. We mostly read from the book, but Jeremy had memorized the first few paragraphs by the end of it. He really did have a fantastic memory.

  I glanced at my phone. “I’d better go. I have a lot to do tomorrow.”

  “No dinner?” he asked, a frown on his face.

  “Not tonight.”

  “Rain check?” He stuck his hands in his pockets again. I tried not to notice.

  “Sure.” I gathered my bag and opened the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon for the next lesson.”

  “What’s tomorrow’s lesson, Doc?” Jeremy asked with a grin.

  “Waltzing,” I said with a wince.

  “Riiiight.” He drew out the word.

  I glanced around the space. “If we could move some this stuff out of the way, this would be the perfect spot for a dance floor.”

  He winked at me and my heart did an unexpected little flip.

  “You got it, Doc.”

  Chapter 14

  Saturday

  I arrived at Jeremy’s house around four o’clock wearing a black maxi dress with tiny eyelets covering it and a high waist. It was the closest thing to a Regency gown I had that I actually wore in public. I figured the skirt was the right length to dance in. I was also lugging two large boxes of size-thirteen boots and my copy of P&P, which was snuggled in my purse as always. I’d left the other copy with Jeremy last night so he could practice.

  When Jeremy opened the door, I caught my breath. How long would it take before I stopped doing that? The man was good-looking. Got it.

  He was wearing khakis and a tight black thermal long-sleeved shirt, which outlined his perfect chest and flat abdomen. He immediately grabbed the boxes from my hands. I’d given Harrison hell for doing similar things in the past, arguing that if the women’s movement taught us all nothing, we should at least agree that men didn’t need to carry boxes for women. But somehow, today, with Jeremy doing it, I found it both endearing and, more surprisingly, simply kind. “Thank you,” I breathed, shifting my purse over my wrist.

  “I’ve been practicing my lines all day,” he announced with a grin. “Well, I’ve been working in the shop too. But practicing my lines while I worked.”

  “Way to multitask,” I said. I appreciated the ability to multitask more than most, I suspected.

  Jeremy stood aside and I marched into the place, saying hello to Huckleberry, who sat at attention near the sofa, his tail thumping the wooden floor again.

  “The hardest part is definitely that whole diatribe about his childhood when he calls her dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,” Jeremy continued.

  “I love that part,” I sighed, staring dreamily into space.

  “I’ve been taking it in chunks.”

  “We should practice that later, definitely, but first...shall we waltz?”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Follow me.”

  I followed him out to the workshop and was delighted to see that he’d already cleared the space. He’d moved all of his expensive tools carefully against the walls. A copy of P&P rested on the high table near the door. That’s where he deposited the boot boxes too.

  “I hope you don’t mind if we have an audience,” Jeremy said.

  “Audience?”

  Jeremy nodded toward the door. “Huckleberry.”

  The dog sat on the threshold, staring at us both intently.

  I laughed. “Too bad he can’t tell us when our arms droop.”

  “Huckleberry, no droopy arms,” Jeremy said. The dog barked and I could have sworn he nodded, which made me do a double take.

  “What’s in the boxes?” Jeremy asked, nodding toward them.

  “Your boots. I thought it would be best for you to learn to waltz wearing them.”

  “Two pairs?” He quirked a brow. “In case one doesn’t fit?”

  “No. I’m hoping they both fit. You’ll need them for all of your costumes. One is a pair of top boots and the other is a pair of Hessians.”

  He scratched the back of his neck. “I really hate to ask this, but what’s the difference between top boots and Hessians?”

  “Oh, that’s funny. I just happen to know all about it,” I said, grinning at him.

  “You don’t say.” He grinned too.

  I opened the first box. “Top boots,” I said, pulling the long, black boots out of the box, “are your standard knee-height boot. A gentleman in the Regency would wear these to ride in. They might be what he would wear most of the day. They have no embellishment and aren’t particularly fancy.”

  “I like them.” Jeremy took one of the boots from me and examined it by running his hand along the smooth, shiny length of it. I was kinda jellie of the boot.

  I opened the second box. “Hessians began as a German boot. They were standard issue for the military, actually.” I pulled out one of the boots and set it upright on the table. The gold tassel on the top front flipped back and forth, and Jeremy grabbed it and leaned in to study it. “So, this is the fancy one?”

  “As you can see,” I continued, “they have a low heel and pointed toe. They were made to fit more easily inside stirrups.” Of course, I could talk about this stuff all day, but I worried that Jeremy would be super bored. “Anyway, the basic difference is really the tassel. The Hessian was more of a military boot. Darcy would probably have won top boots more often.”

  “But wouldn’t he have danced in a sort of slipper?” Jeremy asked.

  “Hmm. Someone’s been doing his research,” I said, pleasantly surprised once again. “It’s true that a sort of flat shoe would have been worn to balls, but the Jane Austen Society is a bit more interested in the pomp and circumstance of it all, which, I have to admit, I like too. Most of the contestants will be wearing boots to the grand ball, whether precisely historically accurate or not. Besides, boots are hotter.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Jeremy replied. “I think these things look a hell of a lot more manly than slippers.”

  “Try them on,” I prodded.

  Jeremy grabbed one of the top boots, sat on a nearby stool, and pulled it on. He did it amazingly gracefully. I’d always struggled with boots like I was trying to get an uncooperative python off my foot. Jeremy just kicked off his ankle-high work boot and pulled on the new one like it was nothing. Beautiful peoples’ lives had to be so much easier than hobbits’. I sighed.

  I handed him the second boot and he pulled that one on easily, too. When he stood, I gulped a little because he’d tucked his khakis into them and the result looked a little like breeches and hello...hot. Plus, his general foxiness abounded per usual. The black thermal long-sleeved shirt he wore continued to hug his abdomen and yep, he looked good. Really good.

  “What do ya think?” he asked, standing up straight and putting his hands on both hips.

  “Perfect,” I said, swallowing to wet my dry throat.

  “I have to admit
,” he said, his voice softening, “this is the part I’m most nervous about.”

  “What?” I blinked. “Dancing?”

  “Yeah.” The look on his face was vulnerable and boyishly handsome.

  “Don’t worry. The steps aren’t too difficult, and it’s basically doing the same thing over and over again. Once you get it down, you’ll be great at it.”

  “If you say so.”

  “So you’re not nervous about the acting, huh? Just the dancing?” I teased.

  “I’m a little nervous about the acting. I’m really nervous about the dancing.”

  “We’ll do the quadrille, the minuet, and the cotillion later, but it’s the waltz I’m most concerned with because the scores for it are weighted more heavily. Just follow my lead.”

  The afternoon sunlight poured through one of the windows and highlighted his features including the look of mild consternation on his face. “Isn’t the man supposed to lead? In 1813, that is?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll have to teach you first.”

  I moved to the center of the cleared space. “The most important dance is the waltz. Plus, it’s the most romantic.”

  “The most romantic?” Jeremy arched a brow.

  “Yes, during the Regency, most dances weren’t particularly intimate, but the waltz was the one where the couple could actually touch.”

  “How scandalous.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Exactly.”

  I held up both of my hands. Jeremy moved over to stand in front of me. His closeness and his height made goosebumps race along my skin. I could also smell his soap, which made me want to sniff his neck, and seemed highly inappropriate.

  “We clasp hands like this,” I said, holding up my right hand and entwining my fingers with his. His palm was warm and dry. It dwarfed mine, making me feel downright dainty.

  “And the left?” he asked.

  “You put your left hand on the small of my back.” I cleared my throat as he did so. “And I put my left hand on your shoulder.”

  We stood together for a moment while I swallowed and tried not to enjoy the scent of his soap too much. I briefly considered telling him that neck sniffing was part of the waltz but the odds of him buying it seemed low and I didn’t want to alienate him with my weirdness.