Mr. Darcy Broke My Heart (8 page)

“Oh.” At her assertion, the air went out of me, as if I were a balloon and her words the pin. I’d known Harriet’s manuscript couldn’t be real, but I’d been intrigued. had been forced to wonder. But of course it was as fictional as…well…as fictional as one of Austen’s novels. “Does she do this a lot? Take up with strangers?”

Eleanor shook her head. “Actually, no. And she’s harmless enough, the old dear. Just a bit confused. She frightens some people. I’m sorry if she said anything to upset you.”

“Upset me?” Eleanor’s tone, placating but a little too ingratiating, made me wary. “Why would she upset me?”

Eleanor frowned. “Her delusions frighten some people.”

“I wasn’t frightened. She was nice enough to give me tea.”

Eleanor didn’t look comforted. “I’m sure she also gave you an earful about Jane Austen.”

“Yes, but as you said, she’s harmless enough.”

Eleanor’s dark eyes narrowed. Suddenly I found myself far more wary of her than of Harriet Dalrymple.

“It’s best you give her a wide berth,” Eleanor said. “She’s written me babbling her nonsense again, but now she means to include you in it.”

That was the moment when I knew that Eleanor Gibbons had something to hide. A secret that concerned Harriet Dalrymple. And me too, apparently.

“How do you know so much about her?” I had to ask. “Is she really such a nuisance?”

Eleanor’s face softened then, and she looked as placid as she had when I’d entered the seminar room that morning.

“A nuisance?” She gave a dry chuckle. “No, Claire, she’s not a nuisance. Far worse than that. Harriet Dalrymple is my mother.”

Y
ou do understand, don’t you, why it’s best to avoid her for the rest of your stay?” Eleanor gave me a stern look. “She’s far more forgetful when she ’s agitated.” She waved the letter in her hand. “Meeting you seems to have set her off again.”

Remorse flooded through me. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” However strangely Eleanor might be acting, I would never do anything to harm Harriet.

Eleanor nodded. “Of course you didn’t. But now you know and can act accordingly.”

She took a step along the pavement, and I followed her automatically. “Is it”—I wasn’t even sure what to ask—“is it a permanent condition?” It sounded odd, but I meant well.

Eleanor hesitated. “She’ll continue to have gradual memory loss. At some point, we’ll have to make a change in her
living situation. Find a place where she can be given the proper care.”

I thought of Harriet’s cottage in all its chaotic charm. “That will be difficult for her.”

“Yes, it will.” We had reached the gate beneath Tom Tower. “Thank you again for understanding. I know you’ll abide by my wishes.”

“But—” I would have liked to visit Harriet once more, at least to say good-bye.

Eleanor glanced at her watch. “Sorry, but I’ve got to rush. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Before I could ask any more questions or make a more formal plea to pay Harriet a farewell visit, Eleanor was gone.

I stood there for a moment, bewildered and unsure, and then I looked around the quad. It was surprisingly empty, except for James now standing nearby, hands in his pocket. He must have passed by me when Eleanor and I were talking at the gate. I flushed, since he had to have overheard our conversation.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” I said as I slid by him, embarrassed and intent on making a beeline for my room to freshen up and collect my thoughts.

“Claire, wait.”

Surprise froze me in my tracks. I turned slowly back to him. “Yes?”

He paused and then colored—or at least I think he did. I found it difficult to tell given the heat.

“I wanted to ask you—” He obviously wasn’t a man
accustomed to awkwardness, and I almost felt sorry for him. From the resigned look on his face, I thought he must need a favor. And he certainly didn’t appear to be a man who liked to ask for help. “Yes?”

“I’d like to take you to dinner tonight.”

I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder and make sure he wasn’t talking to someone standing just behind me.

“Dinner?” Not a very clever reply, but it was all I could manage at the time. Surprise—and abject fear—clogged my throat.

“The dining hall leaves a lot to be desired,” he said, as if that were sufficient explanation for his unexpected offer. But I had actually enjoyed my meal the night before. Then again, I’d been rather distracted by my encounter with Harriet Dalrymple.

“Aren’t we supposed to eat all our meals there?” I wondered if we were allowed “off campus.”

“We’re all adults,” James said with a frown. “I don’t think they take attendance or expel you. Besides”—he paused to grimace—“I’ve got to get out of here before I start using words like
prodigiously
in normal conversation.”

I laughed.

“So will you go to dinner with me? I can have a taxi waiting at seven outside Tom Tower.”

Well, I had come to Oxford for a little adventure, hadn’t I?

“Seven o’clock,” I repeated and he nodded, but the firm set of his mouth showed he ’d never doubted my agreement. “I’ll see you then.”

“Okay.”

He was gone before I’d barely formed the word, striding off across the quad with a great sense of purpose. One minute he was, well, very Darcy-like, to tell the truth. Proud and haughty to the core. And the next moment he was reaching out and trying to establish a connection between us. No wonder Elizabeth Bennet had been so confused.

No wonder I was, too.

The Cherwell Boathouse could have been any riverside pub, a gabled building of unremarkable brick and plaster that had stood the test of time. The cab pulled to a stop outside the entrance. James slid out and then turned and offered his hand to me. I placed my fingers in his palm and wondered if anyone had ever offered to help me out of a car before. I couldn’t imagine Neil doing anything like it. And while I was as forward-thinking as any self-respecting American woman, the chivalrous gesture stirred something within me. I’d spent so much of my life taking care of other people that I never expected anyone to take care of me, even in such a small way.

Once I was on my feet on the pavement, James didn’t release my hand but tucked it under his arm in an old-fashioned
gesture and guided me toward the door. A hostess seated us outdoors on a broad terrace overlooking the river. Enormous trees arched overhead, shading us from the last of the day’s heat. I still hadn’t become accustomed to how late it stayed light.

James ordered a bottle of wine and a starter for both of us. I did bristle a little at his preemptive choice, but there was also an appeal to having the decision taken out of my hands. Still, I wasn’t completely certain we were on a date, and so I planned to pay my own way. And my way would probably have been to choose a less expensive menu item, not to mention a budget bottle of wine.

“It’s beautiful here,” I said, looking around at the tranquil river and the willows that hung over it in a graceful bow. If I hadn’t known better, I would never have guessed we were still in the city. “How did you find it?”

“The porter suggested it.” The smile lines at the corners of his mouth showed me he was glad I’d approved his choice.

I smiled too, pleased that he ’d gone to the trouble to get a recommendation and a reservation. Maybe we were on a date after all.

“You asked the right person, then.” I gave a small, nervous laugh and then busied myself unwrapping my silverware and settling the napkin in my lap.

The waiter arrived with the wine, and James tasted and approved it. Our starter appeared a few moments later—seared king scallop with cauliflower puree, pea jelly, and lemongrass
butter. A far cry from take-out barbecue with Neil while watching a Royals game. I took one bite and thought I’d achieved heavenly bliss. If the starter was this good, I could only imagine what the rest of the meal would be like.

We ate in silence for several minutes, lulled by the fading sunshine and the soft breeze in the trees. The tables on the terrace filled quickly, and soon we were surrounded by the soft hum of other people ’s conversation, punctuated by bursts of laughter. The clink of silverware and glassware accompanied the midsummer evensong.

“So, Claire, have you ever wanted to do anything besides practice medicine?” James lounged in his chair, one well-manicured hand resting on the pristine white tablecloth.

I felt a flush rise to my cheeks and tried to will it away. “Um, well, I suppose so. Doesn’t everyone fantasize about their life being different?”

He leaned forward. “And what do you fantasize about?” He reached across the tablecloth and captured my hand in his. I was glad he’d taken hold of me. Otherwise I might have slid right out of my chair and onto the concrete terrace. I really was easy pickings.

“What about you?” Since I couldn’t exactly answer honestly, I decided to turn the question on him. “Do you wish your life had turned out differently?”

He paused. “As you say, doesn’t everyone?”

A shadow crossed his face, and for the first time, it occurred
to me that he might have secrets of his own. Perhaps that was part of the appeal of a summer seminar like this, so far from home and reality. People could reinvent themselves, be whoever they wanted others to see instead of who they truly were. Such deep and potentially dangerous thoughts could only lead to unwanted self-examination, so I took a hearty drink of my wine and tried to focus on the breathtakingly handsome man across from me.

“I can’t imagine that anything about your life is less than perfect.” I tried to smile flirtatiously but probably only looked as if I was in a moderate amount of pain.

“I’m flattered that you’ve imagined anything about me.” He squeezed my hand. “I like the sound of that.”

To a more worldly woman, a woman with more experience with men, the words might have sounded as slick and self-serving as they were. But to me, at that point in time, they were like balm on a wound I’d never realized I had. I’d never been one to seek out flattery, which was what made me so susceptible. I’d known that most women were better looking than I was, were more successful, had more education.

Maybe that’s why I’d ended up with Neil. He was nothing extraordinary. His very ordinariness had been his main attraction.

And then I felt another blush rise to my cheeks, but this time the heat was from shame, not attraction. Neil deserved better. Certainly he wasn’t the most attentive of boyfriends, but he was a decent guy, patient and good-natured.

“Have you always worked in publishing?” I said to cover my own discomfort. “It sounds very cerebral.”

He waved his free hand in dismissal. “Pretty routine. Dreary, really. But it pays the bills.”

So much for that line of conversation. I took another sip of water and tried again. “What’s your topic for your presentation?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“You haven’t written your paper yet?” My eyes must have been bulging out in a most unattractive manner.

“After today’s fan-girl video, I’m not too worried.”

I had to laugh, but I also felt a little bit ashamed. Rosie and Louise were such dears, and their work had come from a deep devotion to Austen’s hero.

“You didn’t enjoy the Mr. Darcy retrospective?” I asked in a teasing tone.

“That’s an awful lot for an average guy to live up to,” he said before reaching to refill our wine glasses. “All that nobility. Not to mention wealth.”

“I’m not exactly Darcy’s biggest fan, but I’ve watched my sister swoon, and I don’t think money’s the appeal.” Although with my recent change in circumstances, I could now understand Jane Austen’s concerns about personal finance more personally.

“You don’t think it’s the money?” He half smiled and half grimaced. “You can’t separate Darcy from his wealth. He could
never have forced Wickham to marry Lydia without his power and influence, or his cash.”

I opened my mouth to refute his assertion, but then I realized that he was right. “Um…”

“There’s no arguing with that. I don’t hold it against you, though.”

“Against me?”

He nodded. “Not you personally. Women in general. Some things may have changed in the last two centuries, but I don’t think a woman’s wanting a man to look after her has gone completely out of style.”