It was no use hiding things from Jane. She was too perceptive, and she knew her too well. Beth sighed and nodded.
“That’s bad.”
“I know.” Beth shifted in her seat, the edge of the old wood chair biting into her thigh. She needed new furniture. She needed new everything.
“So, what then? Are you going to tell him who you really are?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m hoping, once we get to talk more in person, one of two things will happen. Either he’ll reveal himself to be an insincere, unpleasant man, despite my positive first impression, and I’ll no longer be intrigued, or he’ll be as interested in my real occupation and my real life as he is in my made-up one.”
“He asked you questions about child psych?”
“Oh, yeah. He seemed delighted by ‘my’ major. Fascinated, even. Asked me about Piaget. It was weird. I’m always impressed by your field and everything, but you know I’d rather work with older people any day.”
“That’s what’s weird.” Jane shook her head. “You and all your geriatric pals. You’ve got an old soul, Beth Ann.”
“Don’t start on me. And then there’s his whole clinic thing, like I told you in the email.” Beth got up and tossed out the sauce-stained napkins then put away the leftover pizza. “He’s so…principled. How can I face a guy who thinks I could be a partner in his project when, in reality, I’m the kind of person he’s trying to help?”
“Maybe he’ll be impressed by your hard work and dedication to Charlie. People’s views are changeable, you know, and we all have a shot at learning and growing. Maybe he’ll see how much you’ve had to overcome and will admire you for it.”
“So, you think if I told him the truth now and explained my reasons, maybe he’d forgive me for having lied to him?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But how long can you live with the alternative?”
Beth grimaced.
Jane’s lips twisted into one of her trademark smirks. “You never listen, do you? I told you, get the information and get out. That’s what I did with my project. But what do you do? Secretly meet with the guy. Find him so very likable and intelligent. Start seeing potential in him. Actually believe Lady Catherine, for goodness sake!” She buried her freckle-dusted face in her palms. “Truly, you are not cut out for deception.”
“You forgot to say that he’s humorous, handsome and honorable.”
“You neglected to mention those traits in your email,” Jane said, giving a resigned sigh. “Well, I guess I know what I’m doing Friday night.”
Panic caught in Beth’s throat. “You’re not planning on—”
“Oh, you bet I’m planning on it.” Jane leveled a mock-supercilious gaze at her. “Someone’s got to help you get out of the messes you get into.”
The thought of Jane invading Luigi’s and confronting Will there or anywhere made goose bumps jig up and down on her skin. “Please tell me you’re not going to—”
“Help you find a dress?” Jane supplied, eyeing Beth’s off-the-rack, discount-store outfit. “Absolutely. Watch Charlie so you can straighten things out with your ‘Perfect Match’? Can’t think of anything I’d rather do.” She glanced toward the cupboard. “Now, have you got any dessert on hand, or do I need to take care of everything?”
***
“So, what made you choose medicine as your profession?” Beth asked Will as they talked over dinner on Friday. “There are so many ‘helping’ occupations, why that one specifically?”
She crinkled the linen napkin on her lap, out of Will’s view, and tried to concentrate on her stuffed manicotti oozing with delicious ricotta and mozzarella. The pungent smell of oregano threatened to overpower her, but she smiled at him and hoped she looked calm and in control.
“It’s very immediate. Very direct,” he said. “I guess you could say I’ve never been satisfied to help only behind the scenes.”
“You wanted to be where the action was?”
“Yeah. But you must be that way, too. Using your knowledge to treat your young patients’ minds. Having a profound impact on the quality of their lives. Being right there to assess and assist.”
“But teachers do that also,” she said then, almost holding her breath, added, “and so do social workers.”
He frowned. “That’s not the same thing at all.” He chewed a heaping forkful of vegetable lasagna and swallowed it down with a gulp of sparkling apple cider. “Teachers are on a similar track, perhaps, in that what they do is direct. The good ones are disseminators of information and aid when they can be. But they’re like ER docs all the time, basically working triage in overcrowded classrooms. Social workers—” he grimaced. “They’re a different story altogether.”
Her heart pounded in time to the piped-in restaurant music, lyric-less but with an unrelenting beat. “How so?”
“They’re coordinators. Cruise directors. They assign people to other people.” He appeared annoyed or, worse, disgusted. “Sure their skills might benefit a select few. Sometimes. But it’s in an indirect manner. A lot of them cause more trouble than they solve.”
She lost her ability to speak for several seconds, watching as inexplicable anger streaked like a lightning flash across his face. He downed the rest of his cider and shook his head. “Bad experiences, I guess,” he said.
Her fingertips tingled. Apprehension could reach the extremities with remarkable speed. “What about for low-income mothers? The women at your future clinic? You don’t think a social worker could help them in any way?” She squeezed the napkin again. She and Charlie owed so much to the kindness of social workers.
He laughed without humor. “Hell, no. You’re so entrenched in the ethics of your own field, you don’t even realize how pitiful most of those people are.” He took his final bite of lasagna, swiped at his mouth with his napkin and tossed it on the table next to his plate with a dramatic flick of his wrist.
“I’m telling you, most social workers are a detriment to mothers going through a rough time. They offer a few handouts in one breath and, in the next, threaten to take their children away. In abuse or addiction cases, a social service agency has no choice but to step in, but in so many instances the mother’s only crime is poverty. To add heartbreaking fear to her concerns is immoral. And don’t even get me started on the treatment of the elderly. That’s downright criminal.”
Criminal? She thought of the hours she’d spent working late, compiling services just to assist Anna Marie Dermott, despite the woman’s crotchety attitude. Beth knew the lady had starved for years—not for food but for companionship and caring. In the two hours Beth spent with her this week, she’d managed to get the older woman to talk long and deep enough so she could find out what was really troubling her. She’d dug beneath the lady’s belligerent veneer to unearth the true pain and need.
Beth had a hard time masking the growing dislike she felt for Will Darcy at that moment. Not even attempting to finish her manicotti, she shot him a tight smile. “Excuse me. I need to use the ladies’ room.”
“Would you like some coffee, Charlotte?”
Charlotte. Hearing the name jarred her yet again. But this was her own darned fault. What was she thinking getting involved with this guy at all? “No, thanks. No coffee for me.” She escaped to the restrooms.
With her back pressed against the locked stall door, she dashed away tears of anger with her sleeve. Well, with Jane’s sleeve.
All the trouble she’d gone to for this evening! Borrowing Jane’s best black dress. Scrimping on daily expenses and skipping lunch for three days to have enough money on hand to cover her portion of the dinner bill. Sacrificing a cozy Friday night with Charlie…and for what? To spend it getting insulted?
The worst of it was that a hope she’d been afraid to name had been shattered. Despite all logic to the contrary, she’d wanted, almost expected, the fairy tale. To find her Perfect Match regardless of the odds against it. What woman didn’t? But this situation was futile. Nothing could redeem the relat
ionship now, even if she confessed who she truly was.
Well, let’s face it, especially then.
She sniffed and pulled out her nearly forgotten stereotypes list from her purse. He’d sidetracked her again, this time by his opinions and insinuations about her real profession. Now she’d have to try to ignore her instinct to run home and, instead, direct her full attention to gaining the last of the information for her project.
Five minutes later, dry-eyed, she returned to the table.
“I’ve taken care of the bill,” Will said. “Sorry if I got on my soapbox before. Your questions just touched an old nerve, but I didn’t mean to take my frustrations out on you.” He smiled at her pleasantly, as if he hadn’t just annihilated the secret romantic fantasy of her heart. A dream even she knew was too dumb to admit aloud.
“I—um, it’s all right. Thank you for dinner, but you should have let me contribute. May I at least leave the tip?”
“Absolutely not. But I’ll let you buy me a cookie.” He grinned again, broader this time so his dimple showed, and he held out his hand to her. “What do you say we walk? I know a good place a few blocks from here.”
She reluctantly put her palm in his, surprised by the warmth of his fingers. He squeezed her hand in a gentle, compassionate way she didn’t want to appreciate. It comforted her nevertheless.
When they were out on the sidewalk, the sun’s last light casting an orange glow on everything, she inhaled the sweet spring air and took in the sight of his dark hair tinged with reflected gold highlights. She sighed.
Okay, enough procrastinating.
She had to address some of the tougher issues brought to light by past gender-research studies. She just wished her leading query didn’t have to be one with so much personal meaning for her.
“So, I know you feel passionately about helping single mothers and their children,” she said. “Did you ever find yourself involved in a relationship with a single mom? A good friendship or a romance? Or is your understanding of the situation primarily based on professional experiences?”
She waited for his response, trying to read the cryptic expression on his face without success. This was a crucial gender-role question. Research indicated that for reasons predominantly biological as well as social, men had a tendency to avoid relationships where they had to raise another man’s offspring. Will Darcy’s Love Match profile had said “No Dependents,” so she figured he’d shied away from women with children in the past.
“I have a great deal of personal as well as professional experience, Charlotte.”
Beth felt her jaw drop, and she had to consciously instruct it to close. So, he’d tried dating single mothers before, had he? Tried and, evidently, failed.
“I very much want to help mothers and children in need, especially low-income, single moms,” he said. “But that’s not a romantic circumstance I want to be involved in myself.”
“Because of the mothers or because of the children?”
“Both.”
“W-why? Do you consider it a moral issue? Women shouldn’t get divorced or have children out of wedlock? Or is it because of more practical concerns—like raising another man’s child?”
His grip on her hand tightened as he swiveled her around to face him. A momentary panic shimmied down her spine and settled in the arches of her feet. She’d be ready to spring away in an instant if she needed to.
Only, she knew she wasn’t afraid of him but, rather, of her unexpected, unwanted attraction to him.
She caught his expression, noticing the upward curve of his lips, the tilt of his brows, the amused glint in his eyes. Will was laughing at her. Silently maybe, but still. How dare he—
“Did anyone ever tell you that you ask a lot of questions?” He tenderly pulled her to him, the front of her borrowed dress grazing against his navy sport coat. His cologne tickled her nostrils. He smelled as she’d always imagined a Caribbean evening might. A wonderful, spicy scent.
He bent his head toward her, his lips hovering mere inches from her nose. She could see the bristly shadow on his chin and a hairline scar above his left temple. She reached out to trace it. Those clear blue eyes pierced her with calm reassurance.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since Tuesday,” he murmured, his breath a whisper against her skin.
She leaned in even closer.
“It may be customary to wait until the end of the date but, as you know, I’m an impatient man who likes be where the action is.” He unfurled a cautious smile. “Do you have any objection to my moving up the timetable a bit?”
With him so near, smiling at her with an uncommon, respectful restraint, Beth didn’t object to anything at all. The moment she shook her head, Will’s lips came down to meet hers.
FOUR
Will forced himself to hold back, even as he kissed her. He didn’t want to scare her off, not this soon, not now when he found himself liking her so much. But he couldn’t help but admire her laugh, her smile, her beautifully plump lips. Natural, no Botox injections, he was sure of it.
This Charlotte Lucas was pure woman.
The kind of woman who brought out the protective male instinct in him.
She sighed, a breathy exhale coming from somewhere deep within her. He pulled her even closer, held her even tighter.
For a moment she squeezed him tight, too, but then, abruptly, she pushed away.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean nothing? You jumped away from me like I had the West Nile Virus. Did I hurt you? Accidentally cut off your circulation?”
“No.”
He felt a sharp pang of worry. Perhaps he’d misread her reaction to him. He was usually good at gauging a woman’s interest, but maybe he’d been wrong this time. “Then was it something I said?”
“No, Will. But I—” Her lovely lips quivered with nervousness. “I need to take everything very slowly.”
He blew out half a lungful of air. Dang. Despite his determination not to, he’d pushed her too far, too fast anyway.
“Of course we can take things slow.” He reached for her arm again to continue their walk to the bakery, but she flinched as if his touch had scalded her.
Two steps forward, one step back. What an idiot he was. When would he learn to keep his enthusiasm in check?
“Listen, Charlotte—” She shot him another worried look. What? Now he couldn’t even say her name? “If you want to skip the cookies, we don’t have to go on. To be honest, it was just an excuse to spend a little more time with you.”
She glanced down and away from him then shook her head as if in answer to some private question.
“I’d like to get you a cookie,” she said. “I suppose I owe you at least that much.” When she faced him again, he noticed a telltale glittering in her cocoa-colored eyes. Tears not fully formed, maybe, but still it was evidence of some real hurt. He hoped he hadn’t been the cause of her pain.
He halted. He had to. “You don’t owe me a thing, do you hear? Nothing. Being with you tonight has been a pleasure—all mine. You don’t have to pay me back for dinner in cookies, kisses or anything else.” He watched her take this in, but she remained silent, impassive.
The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, leaving only a few lonely streaks of pink before the gray took over. He couldn’t believe he was getting involved like this. Cripes, he hardly knew the lady and already his emotions hung on whatever her next words would be. He waited for them to come, cursing the shadows that kept him from reading her expression more accurately.
“Thanks for saying that,” she whispered finally. “But I’d still like to get those cookies if…if you want.”
Relief flooded through him like a whitewater rapid. “I want.”
“And Will? You should know—” She took a breath so long and excruciating that it practically stopped his pulse. “It was a wonderful kiss. Really.”
He offered his hand to her in response, not having the
first clue if she’d actually take it now. When she slipped her fingers next to his, entwining them, he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His heart soared at the feel of those brave little fingers, and he squeezed them gently to thank her for trusting in him again. But, man, this was crazy. Who the hell felt this way about a woman this soon?
All he knew for sure was this: In the space of a few minutes, he’d passed some test of fire with her, moved to a new level and wormed his way nearer to her trust. He wasn’t sure where they were now or why she’d been so skittish but, regardless, they were closer than when they’d started the night. And for him, that knowledge changed everything.
After a few moments of companionable silence, he heard her inhale next to him. It was the kind of breath that meant a big question was coming.
“What?” he said.
She squinted at him, wearing an expression that no man, no matter how well educated, could read. “You still haven’t answered the question I asked you before. The one about why you wouldn’t get involved with a single mother.”
She took an inordinate amount of interest in this subject. Had she guessed his background somehow? He listened to the clicking of her black heels as she walked, admiring the rhythm, before he replied. “You mean, if I hesitated to get involved because I think it’s a moral issue or because it’s a problematic childrearing one?”
“Right.”
“Yes and no to both.” About this, at least, he’d have to come clean with her. “No matter what anyone says, or how society’s changed in recent decades, there’s still a moral element to it. Children without fathers present still have a stigma stamped on them. One that’s hard to live down. They know something’s missing and, let’s face it, it is.”
“But the woman isn’t entirely to blame there.”
“No, of course not, but when she seeks a relationship with another man, the new guy always has to wonder if she’s looking for a soul mate for herself or a father for her kid. No one—male or female—wants to be the second string. The B team.”
Pride, Prejudice and the Perfect Match Page 4