Man Who Loved Pride and Prejudice

by Abigail Reynolds

  "Cassie said you were here." Calder's face gave no indication of his feelings.

  "So, you think you can do better running against me than with me."

  "That's right." Calder sounded as if he were discussing the weather rather than stepping on an unexploded bomb.

  Joe nodded at Cassie. "See, I told you so."

  Cassie smiled with an excess of sweetness. "I don't know politics. I just know what I like."

  "It's clever," Joe continued, as if Cassie had said nothing. "It has possibilities."

  Calder crossed his arms. "You think so?"

  "Gets a lot more attention this way, no question. Reporters coming after you much?"

  "I don't talk to them. I'm a writer, not a politician."

  "So that's what you're playing." Joe nodded sagely as if he had solved a mystery. "You're going for the big game, aren't you? Well, good. Make them drag you in kicking and screaming. Voters will eat it up." He checked his watch. "That should be long enough. Let's go out." He held open the door and gestured to Cassie to go through.

  She studied his face for a minute before deciding to comply with the implied order. She didn't trust this new, mellow Joe Westing. "Are we going anywhere in particular?"

  He gave a secretive smile. "Just out."

  She passed him cautiously, waiting in the hall for Calder to join her. Joe whistled a tune as he led the way to the stairs. When they reached the first floor, Cassie saw a crowd on the steps outside. Lots of cameras. There wasn't much press in Woods Hole that could be called out on an hour's notice. Someone must have tipped them off that Joe was coming.

  Joe stopped just short of the door and turned to Calder. "Are you ready?"

  Calder's eyes flickered toward Cassie. "As ready as I'll ever be."

  "Good." Joe pushed open the door and then paused on the steps as flashbulbs went off. He put his hand on Calder's shoulder. "No fun for you today, boys," he said to the reporters. "Calder's coming back to the family and the Republican fold."

  Calder looked stunned, and then he stepped forward into a barrage of flashes. "That isn't true. I'll always be a Westing, but that doesn't mean that I can't hold my own political views. And act on them."

  Joe turned to him with a frown and said in a low but threatening voice, "There's never been a damn Democrat in the Westing family, and there never will be."

  "I'm sorry you don't like it. I respect you and what you've done with your career. But my life is my own, not hostage to some idea of the Westing family heritage."

  "You're really going to do it." Joe stepped back as if in disbelief. "You're going to turn traitor to your own family. I suppose your wife put you up to this. I told you she'd be no good for you."

  Cassie opened her mouth to respond, but Calder's hand descended on her arm, gripping it tightly. She supposed he must know what he was doing. Heaven help them, the reporters were getting every word of this. She didn't want to think about what tonight's news would say.

  "I'll thank you to leave Cassie out of this," Calder said calmly. "She's the best thing that ever happened to me."

  "You don't care that you're hurting your brother's career. Breaking your mother's heart. You don't care about any of us." Joe's voice was getting louder and full of outrage.

  "I trust that they love me enough to accept me for who I am."

  "For who you are? You're a disgrace. A traitor. A liar." Joe stabbed a finger at Calder and spoke slowly and deliberately. "You are not my son."

  Calder flinched. Cassie moved closer to him. How dare Joe do this to him, and in public, too?

  Calder made a visible effort to calm himself. His voice seemed quiet after his father's ranting. "That's for you to decide. But you'll always be my father, no matter what."

  Joe snorted and turned and strode into the crowd of reporters, ignoring their shouted questions. Calder took Cassie's hand, and together they watched as Joe disappeared into his chauffeur-driven car.

  The reporters turned on their new prey. "Mr. Westing, does this mean you plan to run for office?"

  He shook his head. "I'm a writer, not a politician."

  Cassie had the feeling she was going to be hearing that statement a lot.

  Another reporter called out, "Does he mean it? Will he disown you?"

  Calder's face closed. "You'd have to ask him." He took Cassie's hand and headed back into the building.

  When they reached the lab, Cassie put her arms around him, wishing she could take away all the pain his father caused. "I'm so sorry, love. I shouldn't have believed him. I should have realized it was a trick to get at you."

  She felt his chest shaking beneath her cheek. Calder never cried. She was going to kill Joe Westing for this. Slowly, and with a dull knife. Then she realized the sound she was hearing was quiet laughter.

  "No, you were right," Calder said. "He isn't upset with me. That was his idea of a present."

  He had gone out of his mind. That was the only explanation. "Calder, that was verbal abuse, not a present."

  He tipped up her chin and kissed her. "You're not thinking like my father. If I were really running for office as a Democrat, that scene would have won me thousands of votes. The devoted son, disowned for his beliefs. And he laid himself wide open to make me look good."

  "That was an act?" She couldn't believe even Joe could fake that level of fury.

  "Of course. You know my father. If he were angry with me, he'd be off somewhere concocting a scheme to get me in line, not yelling at me in public. But…" His voice trailed off.

  "But what?" Cassie stepped back so she could see him better, but held tightly to his hands.

  He wore a look she'd never seen before, an almost pained disbelief. "He knew I'd see through him and play along, even without warning. He may have just disowned me, but it's the first time he's ever treated me like his son."

  "Calder, what are you talking about? That isn't how fathers treat sons."

  "Maybe not in other families. But that was a vote of confidence in me. He was treating me as his political equal, and that's as big a compliment as he'll ever give."

  "Compliments like that I can live without."

  He laughed. "I know the feeling. Say, is there a back way out of this place, or are we stuck here until the reporters give up?"

  Cassie had disappeared when they got home, but a few minutes later, Calder found her standing by the fireplace mantel, holding a framed picture. "What's that?" he asked.

  Cassie jumped, apparently startled by his voice. "I just brought this down." She handed it to him.

  He studied the faded photograph in the inlaid wood frame. He'd never seen two of the people in the picture, but he knew who they must be. The background was a crowded school gymnasium. A much younger Cassie was wearing a cap and gown, clutching a scroll. On the other side, an attractive adolescent girl with too much makeup looked bored. Between the two of them, holding their hands, was a towheaded boy with a bright smile that revealed missing front teeth. "Ryan and Maria?"

  Cassie nodded. "That was my high school graduation. We didn't take pictures much because they were so expensive, but Mom was really proud of me. She couldn't understand why I wanted to go to college, but she knew the high school diploma was worth something. And Ryan…" She paused, her eyes far away. "Right after they handed me the diploma, Ryan came racing down the aisle and threw his arms around me. He was so excited, and he wanted to sit with me and the rest of the graduates. So he spent the rest of the time on my lap, wearing my mortarboard. Poor Mom was mortified."

  "Do you have other pictures?"

  "Just this one. There are a few more in Chicago."

  Calder set it on the mantelpiece. "And now it belongs here."

  "Yes. It does." She shook her head slightly, as if clearing it of memories. "I got a letter from Ryan yesterday. He says it's nice that the prison commissary keeps making mistakes in his favor, but he hopes I'm not going to get myself in trouble. It's something, I guess."

  Nobska whined and scratched at the
door, as if he knew the moment needed lightening. Cassie smiled ruefully and said, "I'll take him out." The dog darted through the door as soon as she opened it.

  "Okay. I'd better call my mother and warn her what's going to be on the evening news."

  "Say hello for me," Cassie said as she disappeared out the door.

  Cassie stood on the beach in front of the house, her arms wrapped around herself. Finally some peace and quiet. A cool breeze blew in over Buzzard's Bay, whipping up whitecaps that broke on the shore, coming closer and closer to her feet as the tide came in. Around her lay the flotsam of the last high tide; strands of seaweed, broken shells, and here and there an empty shark egg case. Mermaids' purses—that was what children called the egg cases when they discovered them on the beach. A used-up, dead shell that once protected a baby dogfish or skate, and now it would be a child's treasure.

  Nobska barked as he ran back and forth, trying to catch an elusive seagull. But Cassie could feel the sea's peace creeping into her, a little more with each wave which spilled up the beach before retreating into the vastness of the bay. It couldn't wash away the pain of the last two weeks. She couldn't pretend any more that she was just a clean-cut, dedicated marine biologist. She didn't want to. She was the girl from the slums, and part of her was trapped in a prison on the plains of southern Illinois. She was Calder's wife, with all the privileges that came with it, like the house standing behind her. And she would fight to protect the people she loved.

  She heard the crunching sound of footsteps in the sand and then Calder's arms stole around her waist from behind. She leaned back, letting the comforting warmth of him flow into her, knowing he didn't want her to be anybody but who she was.

  "What'll we do if Nobska ever catches one of those gulls?" Calder's warm breath tickled her ear.

  "Beats me. I'm not sure he wants to, anyway. It's the game he likes." She watched Nobska charging through the waves.

  "Maybe so."

  "What's your father going to do when he finds out you're not going into politics?" Cassie raised her voice. "Nobska, no! Come!" Nobska veered off at the last second to avoid the bank of poison ivy between the beach and the marsh.

  "That won't happen for a while. I'll give a few speeches, drop some more hints, and that'll keep him guessing." Calder threw the stick into the water. Nobska plunged in after it.

  "But you can't stand that kind of thing."

  "It doesn't bother me as much as it used to. Having you helps. Who knows, maybe I'll surprise us all and run for office someday."

  She looked at him in shock. "You wouldn't!"

  He laughed. "No, probably not. I'd much rather write."

  Cassie picked up a round stone, smoothed by the sea, and rubbed it between her fingers. She'd had enough changes in the last few weeks to last a lifetime. "I hope your father stays away for a while."

  "Me too. But we'll make do if he doesn't." He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, just like he had the first time they made love, not a quarter mile down the beach from where they stood. "Remember what you told me about the marsh grass? It's resilient."

  "And it can tolerate a change in environment."

  "That's us. We're the marsh grass in the midst of the complex ecosystem." Calder swept his arm to include the bay and the salt marsh.

  "You're starting to sound like me." Cassie leaned her head against him affectionately.

  "Promise me one thing." Calder's voice turned serious. "No more secrets."

  "No secrets. Unless they involve birthday presents." She'd already decided on that. "There's one thing I'd better tell you, then."

  "What's that?"

  "My middle name. Don't you dare laugh. It's Desiree."

  He didn't laugh, but he did smile. "I have a secret to tell you, too. I already knew."

  "You already knew?" She couldn't believe he'd never said anything.

  He scuffed his foot in the sand. "My father had you investigated last fall. He gave me a copy of the report at New Year's. I threw it away without reading it, but I couldn't miss your name, since it was right there."

  "Why didn't you say something, instead of letting me tease you about it all this time?"

  "You didn't want me to know, and I didn't want my father to take away one more thing from you. Besides, I like it, even if it isn't your style. The desired one." He fell silent, but there was a faraway look in his eyes. "That was the original title for Pride & Presumption, you know—Desire. But it sounded too much like a corny romance. Which it wasn't, at least not then."

  She put her arms around his neck. "You just ended it too soon. Maybe Pride & Presumption needs a sequel."

  "I suppose I shouldn't leave poor Will Darcy sitting there all alone forever."

  Her lips curved in a smile. "Certainly not. Maybe I can even give you some inspiration later on. The water's still warm, and there's no moon tonight. Just us and the biolumes."

  A light kindled behind his eyes. "I think I could be convinced. Purely in the pursuit of art, of course."

  "Don't forget science."

  "How could I possibly forget science?" Calder traced the edge of Cassie's lips with his fingertip.

  Cassie felt his touch through her whole body. Then Nobska bounded up the beach and shook himself vigorously, spraying them with salt water. Calder ducked, but not before his clothes were soaked.

  Cassie laughed as she grabbed Nobska's collar. "No, pup, we're going swimming later. It's back to the house for now."

  Acknowledgments

  This book would never have reached this stage without the encouragement and help of many people. Maria, Nabby, HeatherLynn, Joy, Sarah, Eli, Marsha, Wanda, Beth, Dorothy, and Sylvie offered excellent feedback and support throughout the writing process. Carol, Susan, and Kathleen gave important advice on the final draft. If it were not for Ellen taking mercy on my technical incompetence, this book would still be languishing on my hard drive. Last, but never least, the readers at Austen Interlude and Hyacinth Gardens for providing inspiration, companionship, and enthusiasm. My deepest thanks to all of you.

  About the Author

  Abigail Reynolds is a lifelong Jane Austen enthusiast and a physician. In addition to writing, she has a parttime private practice and enjoys spending time with her family. Originally from upstate New York, she studied Russian, theater, and marine biology before deciding to attend medical school. She began writing From Lambton to Longbourn in 2001 to spend more time with her favorite characters from Pride and Prejudice. Encouragement from fellow Austen fans convinced her to continue asking "What if…?," which led to four other Pride and Prejudice Variations and her modern novel, The Man Who Loved Pride and Prejudice. She is currently at work on another Pride and Prejudice Variation and a sequel to The Man Who Loved Pride and Prejudice. She lives in Wisconsin with her husband, two teenage children, and a menagerie of pets.