“I’ll be right there with you, sister.”
“At least I’ll be in good company, then.” I especially felt guilty at the knowledge that while I’d found Harrison handsome when he’d tried on his Regency clothing, I’d never been this slobbery and lecherous.
“I should keep on the cravat, right?” Jeremy called from the dressing room.
“Yes, please,” Mitchell replied in his singsong Southern voice. Then he turned to me. “Girl, I hope you know it’s going to take every ounce of your self-control to keep your hands off this Darcy in England.”
I bit my lip and whimpered. I was afraid that Mitchell was right.
Chapter 18
Friday night
We spent the rest of the week practicing our runway walks, going over our lines, and dancing. Every night, Jeremy and I broke our time into thirds and did all three, with a bit more time spent waltzing to make sure we had the moves down pat. We spoke with English accents as much as possible and laughed uproariously when we mispronounced words or said mundane things like, “Please pass the ketchup,” in the manner of a time-traveling Jane Austen.
On Friday night, Ellie came over again to help us practice whist. It would be our only other opportunity to practice because Luke was leaving for Nashville in the morning. This time Luke and Ellie managed to beat us, which had me feeling all sorts of nervous. Had our initial win been a fluke? Nigel and Mary, one of the couples from the Austen Society who would be in the competition, were crack whist players. Jeremy and I had to be good if we were going to beat them, not just okay.
I was cleaning up the cards when Luke came banging down the stairs with his beat-up, crappy-looking suitcase.
“What are you doing?” Ellie asked, watching him, her arms tightly folded across her chest.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m packing.” He pulled the suitcase into the living room, hoisted it onto the leather club chair and opened it.
“Ever heard of folding?” she drawled as he dumped the laundry he’d left on the couch into his suitcase.
“Folding is for suckers.” Luke pointed to himself with a thumb. “And I ain’t no sucka.”
Ellie rolled her eyes. “I suppose we should be glad that you actually washed them first.”
“Who said I washed them first, Nurse Jackie?” Luke asked, batting his eyelashes at her.
She opened her mouth to retort, but I jumped in. “I can assure you, he did wash them.”
“Why ya gotta bust me out like that, Meg?” Luke replied, grinning at me. “I wanted Judgey the Nurse to think I was gonna take dirty clothes to Nashville.”
“How long will you be gone?” Ellie asked him, taking a small sip of her wine.
“Six nights.”
“Oh, so not long enough then,” she shot back.
“Just long enough to get a record deal out of it.” He gave her a smug smile and zipped up his suitcase.
Jeremy and I exchanged exasperated looks. “Don’t worry,” I said to Jeremy. “They’re always like this.”
“I’m done packing,” Luke announced before Jeremy could reply. “And Remington and I are off to play one last round of poker with the guys before I leave in the morning.”
I shook my head and pushed my glasses up my nose. “Don’t beat them all too badly.”
“I’ve got to. I need cash for my trip,” Luke said.
“You use poker games as your ATM machine?” Ellie sneered.
“I never thought of it quite that way before but yes, I suppose I do,” Luke replied. “Easier than earning it the old-fashioned way.”
“You mean by actually working,” Ellie said.
Luke shrugged. “I’m working. I’m using my brain to make money. What’s wrong with that?”
“Break it up, you two,” I finally said.
Jeremy pulled Luke toward the front door. I gave him a grateful look before turning to my best friend. “Ellie, come upstairs with me. I need to start packing too.”
“’Kay,” Ellie said. “I’m tired of trading insults with Rockabilly anyway.”
“Don’t miss me too much, Hoffman,” Luke said as we started up the stairs to my bedroom. “Meg, wait.”
I paused on the third stair while Ellie continued to the top of the staircase. Luke came jogging over to me, leaving Jeremy waiting by the front door.
“I’m leaving for the airport early tomorrow so I probably won’t see you before I go.” Luke rested his palms on the tops of my shoulders. “Don’t let ‘em give you any crap over there.”
I frowned. “Who?” I glanced at Jeremy, whose hands were folded in front of him. He was conspicuously looking at the rug in front of the door.
“Dr. Strangelove and Megan Fox,” Luke replied.
“What do you mean?” I wasn’t entirely sure what my brother was getting at, but I had a feeling he was being sweet and brotherly and I did not want to cry.
“I just mean that you explain away bad behavior sometimes. Don’t do it. Give them hell, not the other way around,” Luke said.
“Got it, Luke.” I nodded, tears springing to my eyes regardless.
“Aww,” Ellie said from above us. “That was actually sweet. If I didn’t know any better, I might not think you were such a deadbeat after that speech, Rockabilly.”
“Shut it, Hoffman,” Luke growled, not looking at her.
I patted Luke on the shoulder, and continued up the stairs. Once Ellie and I reached my bedroom, I made my way over to my closet and pulled out my small roller bag and my giant going-someplace-for-ten-days mama suitcase. I wouldn’t be in England for ten whole days, but the Regency costumes necessitated the use of the serious luggage. I pulled both empty suitcases over to my bed and hauled them up. Then I went back to the closet to gather all of the Regency clothing that I’d been working on for the last year. Arms full, I waddled over to the bed and deposited it all on the mattress next to the suitcases. Seeing it altogether in one spot like that made me realize how much hard work it had been. I’d made all the clothing by hand so it would be more authentic. I’d spent hours and hours sewing, pricked my fingers countless times. I’d drawn blood, even. I deserved to go to this competition and have a shot at winning. Harrison, Lacey, and Dr. Holmes could suck it.
“You don’t have to wear a corset, do you?” Ellie asked, eyeing the pile of clothing warily.
“No. Women in the Regency wore stays, not corsets, and I’m only wearing one of those to the costume portion because I’m convinced that Mr. Periwinkle will be able to tell if I’m not. But I draw the line at not wearing underwear.”
“Who’s Mr. Periwinkle?” she asked, gingerly picking up one of the gowns and studying it. “And why would you be in danger of not wearing underwear?”
I grinned. I loved to share impromptu and surprising historical tidbits when the occasion arose. “Mr. Periwinkle is the English tailor who’s judging the costume competition, and Regency women went around, er, quite “free and clear” down there beneath their shifts.”
Ellie’s eyes looked like they might bug from her skull. “Are you serious?”
“Entirely.” I sorted through the clothing. I would put the gowns in the suitcase in the order I intended to wear them so they’d be lined up for steaming once we got to Bath.
“Wow. That’s surprising,” Ellie replied. “I always thought they were a bunch of prudes who covered it all up.”
I laughed. “You’re thinking of the Victorians. The Regency people wouldn’t show an ankle or touch a gloveless hand, but thought nothing of being panty-less.”
“Those sneaks.” She laughed and shook her head, then held up the silver gown I’d wear for the ball on the final night. “This is so pretty, Megs. You’re really talented.”
My mom had taught me to sew when I was a kid. At the time it had been a necessity because we couldn’t afford to buy new clothes for the school year. I spent my summers sewing. It turned out to be a handy skill for a Regency re-enactor.
“Thank you,” I said, curtsying
. “I only hope these clothes are good enough to win.”
Ellie ran her hand over the embroidery on the gown. “You’re going to win, Meg. I have faith in you.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to Harrison and Lacey, or Dr. Holmes for that matter.”
“I don’t need to tell them,” Ellie said, carefully laying the gown back on the bed. “They’ll find out soon enough when they see you holding the trophy. There is a trophy, right?”
“God, I hope so. I’ve already cleared a space for it on my shelf at the office.”
Ellie smiled and shook her head. “That’s what I love about you, Megs. You’re so confident and smart and hardworking. If only you would be that way about everything you love to do.”
I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Ellie gave me a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look. “Uh, writing your historical romance novel.”
Crap. I’d made a classic mistake, giving Ellie an opening to give me grief about not starting my historical romance.
“Hardy-har-har,” I replied, fumbling through my sock and underwear drawer to find the best candidates to bring on the trip. Several pairs of my panties were simply not travel-worthy.
“What’s funny?” Ellie plunked a hand on her hip. “I wasn’t joking.” She had that look on her face she always got right before she turned really bossy. I knew it well. No doubt it was an excellent trait in a nurse practitioner. In a best friend, it sometimes got on my nerves.
“I’m not going to write a romance novel,” I said, gearing up to win a conversational argument we’d had many times before.
“Why not?”
“You know why not.” I located the decent underwear candidates and shuffled back over to my suitcase with them. Then I returned to the drawer to inspect the socks.
Ellie shrugged. She was examining my white cotton day dress. “Because you’re a snob and you’re worried that the other snobs will look down their snobby noses at you?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll have you know I’ve been seriously rethinking my snobbery lately. But that’s not the only reason why I can’t write a romance novel.”
“Oh, really, what’re the other reasons?”
I waved a hand in the air. “You seem to think writing a romance novel is just something you decide to do one day, like having a bagel for breakfast.”
Ellie crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t give me that crap, Meg. You’re one of the best writers I’ve ever known and you’ve been reading books about writing for years.”
“Yeah, well, a lot of people are good writers and study it, but it doesn’t mean they should actually write a book. Besides, I’m really busy trying to get tenure and write articles and be taken seriously in my field.”
Ellie rolled her eyes too. We enjoyed attempting to out-eye-roll each another upon occasion. “You have a freakin’ Ph.D. That’s pretty serious.”
“Yes, and I’d like to get tenure. It’s time.”
“So after you get tenure, will you write the damn book?”
I tossed a couple of pairs of socks on the bed. I liked to get everything onto the surface before packing, like a general going to war. I had a sketch of my perfect packing plan in my day planner. “I’m probably never getting tenure.” I winced. “Dr. Holmes kinda threatened me.”
“What!” Uh-oh. Ellie was about to go full mama bear now.
I scrunched up my nose. “He kinda told me I shouldn’t jeopardize Harrison and Lacey’s chances.”
Ellie’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, yeah? I hope you kinda told him he could go eff himself.”
I unzipped my matching packing cubes that I’d left dryer sheets in. “He’s my boss.”
Ellie paced toward the window. “He’s a jerk. Damn it. Why didn’t you tell me this before? We’ll sue his ass.”
“If I sue his ass, I’m never getting tenure.” I sighed.
Ellie turned back to face me. Her eyes narrowed on my face. “Megs, have you ever wondered why you’re going to the competition to try to win if you think it will put your job in jeopardy? That doesn’t sound like someone who values tenure above all else. Not that I don’t think you should do it. Believe me, I do. I’m just sayin’.” She picked up a pair of my Regency slippers and rubbed her hand over the white satin.
“I know. I can’t help myself. It just doesn’t seem fair and I can’t stand it when things aren’t fair. Besides, Lacey and Harrison are probably going to win anyway. Let’s face it.”
“No. Don’t say that. I can’t wait for you to beat those assholes. And doing it with that super-hot new Mr. Darcy you’ve got is just going to make it that much better.” She smiled from ear to ear.
“You think Jeremy’s hot?” I tried to sound nonchalant, like, “Oh, I hadn’t noticed.”
Ellie made a surprised semi-snorting sound. “Is there any debate on the subject?”
“No.” I couldn’t help the sly smile that popped to my lips. “Mitchell thinks so, too.”
A half-smile curved her lips. “That’s because Mitchell isn’t blind.”
I put both hands on my hips and eyed the huge amount of clothing and accessories that I needed to fit into my suitcases. “He told me I’m going to have a hard time keeping my hands off of Jeremy in England.”
Ellie crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out one foot. “Uh, if I were you, I wouldn’t bother trying.”
“Ellie! I have a boyfriend.” I shook my head at her.
“A boyfriend who’s being a total dick right now. Sorry, Megs, but it’s true.”
I’d always known Ellie didn’t particularly love Harrison. They weren’t much alike, and she was always going to have my back, which was how it should be, but I did wish she’d make an effort to get along with him better. I had, however, told her how he hadn’t defended me and my maxi dress.
“Harrison meets all my criteria,” I insisted.
“Ah, yes, the infamous Future Husband Checklist.”
“What? It’s useful.” I picked up my planner to consult my packing list. I needed to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything before I began.
“I’m sure it is, but Jeremy looks like he stepped out of the pages of a romance novel. A hot one.”
I rolled my eyes again. “The right way to find a good husband isn’t like the silliness in romance novels, however amusing they are to read,” I added before she read me the riot act. “The right way to find a husband,” I continued, “is to write a list of deal-breaker attributes and ensure the man you date has them all before you go and do something reckless like fall in love.”
Romance novels and Pride and Prejudice were fanciful. In real life, couples fell in love in solid, easy, friendly, dependable ways. Just like how I’d met Harrison.
It had been my first day at Everton. He’d been there only a month longer than I had and agreed to show me the ropes around the history department. I thought he was handsome immediately, and he had kind eyes. He took me out for sushi. I was impressed that he ate sushi and not just things like hot dogs and hamburgers like my dad did. Harrison was tall, thin, and wore sweater vests and khakis. My perfect vision of a history professor. He had a Jimmy Stewart-like charm and a ready smile on his face. We were inseparable from nearly that first day on, but we were only friends. He was kind and polite to me. He took me for sushi again on my birthday. He asked how my day was. Little things like that. I was hoping he’d ask me out, but he never did. At least not for a while. We’d been friends and colleagues for nearly a year before I finally just asked him.
He said yes, and we went to this restaurant called Bartolotta’s Lake Park Bistro and we had fun. He admitted he hadn’t asked me out because he didn’t want me to think he was sexually harassing me, a highly visible issue on PC college campuses like ours. But after our date, he asked if I’d like to go on another and I said yes, and after that it was simply implied that we were a couple.
He didn’t kiss me until date number four. We were sitting on my couch after coming home from dinner, talking
about history as usual, and he stopped and cleared his throat and said, “Meg, I hope you won’t be offended, but I’d like to ask your permission to...to...kiss you.”
I’d said yes immediately and he’d leaned over and pressed his lips to mine. His were shaking, he was so nervous. The kiss lasted all of maybe five seconds and there was no tongue involved.
Afterward, Harrison took a deep breath and looked completely relieved, like he’d just finished his dissertation. I was a little relieved too because truthfully, I had begun to wonder if he was ever going to do it. He was perfect and everything, but I needed to find out if we were sexually compatible, of course, and if he wanted me that way. The kiss had restored my faith in his desire for me. Though the excitement of it had been somewhat dimmed later as I recounted the entire night over the phone to Ellie in excruciating detail. She said she preferred a man who grabbed you and kissed you as if he couldn’t keep his hands off you. I told her that sounded like assault. She said I’d been in the college environment too long.
“Hot is hot, Meg, and if a man wants me, and I’m obviously digging him, I don’t want him to ask my frickin’ permission first. That’s just so...so...”
“Harrison?” I offered.
“I guess.” Even over the phone I could tell that she’d rolled her eyes when she’d said it.
So, Ellie didn’t think Harrison was hot. That didn’t matter. He and I were so much alike. And anyway, Ellie could have her hot-alpha-male types. The kind of men who kissed first and asked questions later. Harrison was...thoughtful.
The night we first made love, it was sweet—if over a bit too quickly—and he asked me half a dozen times if I was okay. Then he’d cradled me in his arms and we talked about how our future children would be the world’s foremost scholars on nineteenth-century British history. You know, postcoital nerd talk. Harrison had studied at Oxford. I’d studied at Cambridge. Our paths had not crossed in the UK. The first year we were together, we went on a trip to Brighton and studied in-depth about the Prince Regent’s social habits. The second year we went to Bath for the Jane Austen Festival. That was before they’d added the competition. Our third year, we’d planned for the trip for months. If we couldn’t win it, who could? It was a sure bet. We’d been so excited about it...until Lacey Lewis had stuck in her perfect button nose and ruined everything, and Harrison had let her do it.
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