Man Who Loved Pride and Prejudice

by Abigail Reynolds

  The following day Dan made a point of catching him when he was by himself. "Will, I don't know if you ever feel the need to be off by yourself, but we have a little cabin out in the middle of the woods not far from here. I go there when I need to be alone for a while. It's pretty primitive— wood-burning stove and all—but you can go snowshoeing or cross-country skiing. If you'd ever like to go out there for a while, just say the word and it's yours."

  "Thanks, Dan." He understood that this offer was not coming out of the blue. He appreciated the kindness more than Dan knew; it meant something that someone cared enough to think of what he might need. "I might like to do that." Dan took him out to the cabin the next day. It was not quite as primitive as he had suggested. Darcy was almost disappointed to discover it had electric lights and running water. He was in the mood for some true deprivation to take his mind off his current misery. Dan showed him how to work the wood stove and how to split wood before he went, and Darcy spent the next few hours becoming marginally competent with an axe and then splitting enough wood to last for days. By the time he was done, his hands were thoroughly blistered and his feet painfully cold. He restarted the fire, which had gone out while he was taking his anger and frustration out on helpless logs, and heated some canned soup on the wood stove. After eating, he found a way to make ice packs for his palms out of snow and dish towels and sat with the lights out, watching the flames inside the stove and thinking despondently of Elizabeth. It made the pattern for his days there. He woke up to the cold each morning and shivered until he had the stove going. Then he would go outside and spend the day exhausting himself, letting the ache of sore muscles and cold feet distract him from his unhappiness. Afterwards, he would spend his evenings consciously reliving every moment he ever spent with Elizabeth, the good and the bad, until the pain became too much to bear. Then he would imagine her in Doug's arms, content with his affection and her compartmentalized life. He forced himself to examine it closely, to think how she would react to another man's touch, and the pleasure she would offer him with nary a thought for Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  No, that was not fair, he corrected himself. He had not imagined her response to him when he kissed her at the party, and she was not a woman who would take sexual pleasure from whatever man was nearest. She had clearly been upset with herself for being aroused by him, and it was understandable, if there was a man there to whom she owed her loyalty. No wonder she pushed him away with her anger; anger that he deserved for thinking she would fall into his arms just because he wanted her to. No, someone else had learned to be honest with her first and how to treat her the way she deserved. All he would have was memories and the knowledge that it could have been different, if only he had not tried so hard to protect himself behind a wall no one could breach.

  He stayed there a week. Dan came by twice with fresh provisions, never inquiring into the source of Darcy's distress, but providing a brief break from his brutal introspections. Finally, he acknowledged to himself that it was pointless to continue to brood on the impossible and called Dan to tell him he was ready to leave. As he looked around the cabin for the last time, he realized that an era of his life had ended there.

  Elizabeth Bennet was beyond his reach. He might never again meet a woman as engaging, with her combination of liveliness, wit, and passion for living and learning, but there had to be other people somewhere who could see him for the person he was rather than just a Darcy—if only he would let them, if only he knew who he really was. He had always looked for understanding in the wrong places, among the people most likely to value the Darcy name and money above anything else, but no longer. Now he knew there were other people out there. That was Elizabeth's unknowing final gift to him. If he could never have Elizabeth, he would look for people like her and try to turn himself into the kind of person he would have wished to have been with her. It would be enough. It would have to be enough.

  THE END

  Chapter 14

  BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU wish for. You just might get it. Wasn't that what people always said? Cassie had never fully appreciated it before.

  She dragged her mind back to the present. Some advisor she was. She couldn't even keep her mind from drifting when Chris was sitting right there in her office, waiting for her response. She tapped the paper listing doctoral programs in marine biology and oceanography. "If MIT/WHOI is what you want, Chris, it's worth taking a shot at it. It's tough to get into, but your grades are solid, and your MBL experience will help. They'll look at more than your test scores. Have you thought of other schools to apply to?"

  "Brown's program at the MBL."

  Yep, he was about as single-minded as she'd been at that age. Good thing there were two doctoral programs in Woods Hole these days. "Another great program, but hard to predict admissions because it's still so new. What else?"

  "BU, University of Maryland, Duke, and of course UNC." Chris twisted a pencil in his hand.

  "UNC's a safe bet, since Jim knows your work, and you could still spend summers in Woods Hole. What about Berkeley or Oregon?"

  Chris's mouth set in a straight line. "I want to study the Atlantic. I want MIT/WHOI."

  Just like she wanted Calder. And now it seemed he was within her reach. A few days ago, she would have said she'd be ecstatic to hear he cared about her. She was ecstatic. But facing the reality of it, she was also panicked. Reading his book, she'd realized how little they knew each other. What kind of basis for love was that? Was it really love at all? Maybe he'd get to know her and realize she wasn't what he thought she was. What about his family? They'd be horrified by her, and she wasn't so sure about them either. Fantasizing about Calder Westing was definitely easier than contemplating the reality of a relationship with him. And he'd be on her doorstep in two days.

  "I know, and I'll do everything I can for you there. But you need to be realistic and have some backups. The other schools are very good," she said.

  "They aren't in Woods Hole."

  "I know. Believe me, I understand." Hadn't she schemed for years to be sure she could go back to the MBL? But the only reason she'd been able to go back this summer was because of Calder. It all came round to him again. "I'll talk to a couple of people I know at WHOI and see what I can find out for you." She gestured to the journal on his lap. "That won't hurt, either. Not shabby, being third author on an article in Annals of Marine Biology as an undergrad."

  Chris's expression lightened. "Yeah. Can't complain about that!"

  "Wherever you end up, you can still work with me this summer, assuming my grant comes through." Not as safe an assumption as it used to be, but she intended to apply for more different types of funding this year. Better to be prepared.

  Once Chris left, Cassie's mind immediately returned to Calder and the book she had finished late last night. She couldn't pretend she didn't know he was coming. He'd find out soon enough. She wasn't ready to talk to him by telephone, that was certain. But she wanted to see him. She wanted it so much it hurt. Finally she opened his last email and pressed reply. After several attempts, she decided to stick to the bare bones.

  To: C. Westing From: C. Boulton

  So, what's a nice university boy like you doing applying for a job at an evil liberal arts college like this? Cassie

  She clicked on Send and then shut down her computer. Otherwise she'd sit there all day checking her email obsessively. She lasted two nervous hours before she turned it on again and waited anxiously while new messages downloaded. Her heart began to race when she saw his name.

  I should have known you would be a step ahead of me. How did you hear I was coming? Calder

  She smiled with relief before pressing Reply.

  I have friends in high places, or at least in the English department. CB

  I take it you've guessed about Stephen West. SCW3

  Scott spilled the beans when I saw him in July. Not his fault; he thought you'd already told me. And your new book was a little clue. CB PS—No fair. You have more initials than I do.


  The book? Sorry. I was going to look you up when I was there and tell you about that. SCW3

  PS—You could use your middle initial. What's your middle name?

  You still could, if you like. CB PS—My middle name? That's a deep, dark secret.

  I'd like that very much, whatever your middle name is. SCW3

  Dinner that night? CB

  You're on. Is there anything I should know about what you've told them about me? SCW3

  They had some doubts as to why you would consider the position—you're overqualified, you know—and I told them I didn't know if you were serious about it or not, but I doubted the low salary was an issue for you. That's about it. Nobody asked what name I knew you by, so I didn't say. Cassie

  I'm very serious about it.

  Calder

  The message gave Cassie an odd feeling inside. She suspected he wasn't just speaking of his job prospects. She let that one sit overnight before responding.

  Do you want me to tell the committee that? Cassie

  That's up to you, really. I'm trying not to make any assumptions.

  Calder

  It was amazing how much he could unsettle her with a few simple sentences.

  Calder massaged the back of his neck with one hand as he reread Cassie's latest email, which took two sentences to say nothing at all. Except that she was still speaking to him after reading his book. That was something, at least.

  It could have been worse. Once he decided to publish the story that had poured out of him compulsively after the ill-fated Christmas party, he hoped it would explain to Cassie and to himself all the things he should have said a year ago. Even if he could never have her, he wanted her understanding, to be free of the constant ache of knowing she was angry at him. If he could believe she might have forgiven him, it would be easier to bear. She would read the book sooner or later and recognize he was the only one who could have written it. It didn't occur to him until it was too late that it might make her more angry.

  Receiving her two short emails in the spring had meant an embarrassing amount to him. He'd been hard put not to betray himself by answering them immediately and in depth. Even knowing she had another man in her life, he couldn't help wanting more, but when he tried emailing her out of the blue in the summer, she didn't respond. He tried to pretend it didn't matter, but it left him feeling sick and rejected all over again, and it was weeks before he stopped watching for her name in his inbox. He hadn't hoped for anything beyond that until the end of the summer when he again visited the Crowleys. Unable to resist probing at his sorest spot, he asked them about Tim, Cassie's friend, and was regaled with a tale of his newest boyfriend.

  Later that week he received her Trivial Pursuit email. When he saw a notice for the writer-in-residence position at Haverford, he knew it was fate. He would meet her on her own ground, he would give her time to get to know him, and when she did, he would tell her how he felt about her, without demands or questions.

  Her email about meeting him at Haverford was an enormous relief, a sign he still had a chance. With each new message, he became cautiously more optimistic. Surely if she planned to reject him, she wouldn't go to this much trouble. Now he only had to keep the lines of communication open until he could see her. He thought for a moment and then began to type.

  I'm looking forward to seeing Haverford and meeting some of those students you're teaching how to think. Here's hoping they don't eat me alive—it's not as if I've ever taught anything in my life.

  Calder

  It's easy. Just listen to them, and talk to them like they're adults. You'll do fine.

  Cassie

  Talk?? Me? I hope they don't expect the seminar to last over five minutes!

  Calder

  Now, now, I've heard you talk very nicely on occasion. Sometimes even four or five words at a stretch. We'll advertise you as laconic.

  Cassie

  He never thought he would feel so grateful for being teased. If she was willing to tease him, especially about his inability to express himself, then she wasn't just tolerating him because she had to.

  He moved the mouse and clicked on a bookmarked site he had visited so often that his hand seemed to go there automatically. It was from a scientific conference two years earlier and contained small photos of the presenters. He gazed at Cassie's picture, wondering for the thousandth time what she had been thinking of when it was taken to give her that mischievous look he remembered so well. He closed his eyes and could see her before him again: toweling her hair dry at the beach, the look on her face when he touched her deep inside, her head on his shoulder as she lay asleep in his arms.

  Once more he reread her emails, though he knew them from memory. Tomorrow he would know the truth.

  Cassie's anxiety rose as Thursday approached. She began to remember some of Calder's annoying habits—his abruptness, his silences, and his sudden changes in mood. Even if she had a better understanding of him now, what would happen when he fell silent and she couldn't read him? How was she to judge what he really wanted from her when she was so ambivalent herself? What if he had already moved on from the feelings he had for her, or if his book was more fictional than she thought?

  She was glad she had a lecture to give on Thursday morning. It would distract her from thoughts of what Calder was doing across the campus. But when she returned to her office after the class, she found a message from Dr. Yang requesting her attendance at a meeting that afternoon. Puzzled, she rearranged her schedule to allow her to go.

  The entire English department was there. Cassie felt like a fish out of water.

  "Well, any comments?" Dr. Yang asked.

  "He seemed nice enough," said one person. "I couldn't see anything to object to, and as you said, we'd be hard put to turn down someone with his credentials, if he really wants the job."

  "Yes, that's still the question, isn't it?" asked Dr. Gottschalk.

  "For what it's worth," Cassie said, "he told me he's serious about it."

  "Hmm. That's good news, I suppose," said Dr. Yang. "He didn't really sound all that interested," said another doubtfully. "But then again, I found him pretty hard to read."

  Dr. Yang raised an eyebrow in Cassie's direction.

  "Don't look at me!" she said. "I could earn a second PhD in how to misread Ca— Stephen West."

  "But you would favor hiring him?"

  "I have no reason to think he shouldn't be hired," she said carefully.

  Hal Bailey asked, "Did our beloved president have anything to say about him?"

  "In fact, President Carroll said something quite curious on the subject," said Dr. Yang, watching Cassie closely. "He said, 'If you want my advice, hire him. I don't care if he can teach or write or even speak English, just hire him.'"

  There were exclamations of surprise from around the room. President Carroll was notoriously hands-off in matters of hiring, preferring to respect the independence of each department in those matters. The comment was remarkably out of character.

  Cassie hid a smile. If Calder was trying to pass unrecognized, apparently he hadn't been completely successful. Given that one of the major roles of any college president was fundraising, she had no doubt why President Carroll would want Calder Westing on the faculty. But it was a taste of things to come. If Calder took the job at Haverford, the secret of Stephen West's identity wasn't going to survive long.

  "Dr. Boulton," said Dr. Yang pointedly. "Do you have anything to share on the subject?"

  "Nothing in particular," she replied.

  He removed his glasses and laid them on the table. "It is very difficult to chair a committee on hiring a candidate," he said acerbically, "when everyone around me appears to have important information that I lack."

  Cassie said, "If you're suggesting I'm holding information back, you're quite correct. However, I'm not holding back any information relevant to whether he's qualified for this position." There was no point in trying to pretend at this point. If they hired Calder, t
hey would learn soon enough that she had been keeping secrets. "As for President Carroll, I can guess why he said that, but if he's not saying, I don't think it's my place to do so."