Adapt

by Melanie Rachel

  Aunt Maddy returned with a bottle of salad dressing, which she placed next to her Uncle Ed. He smiled up at her.

  “Oh,” said Sarah, having already lost interest, “Mommy, can I have ice cream after dinner?”

  Maddy shook her head. Richard looked rather sheepish at his quick dismissal.

  “Shall we?” Maddy asked as Ed held out her chair. Once she was seated, Jane made a move to sit only to find Richard holding her chair. She tried not to react as she sat gracefully and allowed him to push her in a bit. Nobody else seemed to notice as they all sat and began to reach for the food, but Jane wasn’t fooled. She knew very little got past Uncle Ed and Aunt Maddy. Strangely, she didn’t care.

  Richard sat down only to have the smallest Gardiner stand up in her chair and address him. Apparently, she’d had another question spring to mind. “Mr. Richard,” Sarah insisted, “how do their parents sing to them at bedtime?”

  She was instantly reprimanded by her mother, and she dropped back onto the seat with a thump.

  “Well,” he answered thoughtfully, “I can show you, but only if you behave at dinner and get ready for bed before I leave.”

  “How?” Sarah demanded.

  “I happen to know a few songs in French,” he told her, “but only for kids who are in bed on time.”

  He felt Jane’s eyes on him. “You sing, Richard?” she asked, a small smile gracing her face.

  “Enough for a lullaby,” he demurred. “Hopefully it won’t give her nightmares.”

  Her smile grew wider. She unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap. “I’d like to listen to that, if I may.”

  Richard just nodded. “I can take it if you can, Doc.”

  Jane smirked and reached to serve Sarah.

  He tried not to stare and was largely successful, if Ed Gardiner’s neutral glances were anything to go by. In addition to Jane Bennet’s smarts, which he deeply appreciated, she was physically stunning. Light blue eyes, creamy skin, golden blonde hair, a figure both trim and womanly. The kind of woman who was really more in Will’s league than his own. His eyes lingered on her perfectly shaped lips for a split second before he blinked and turned back to the table. He took the salad bowl and held it out to her. After they both served themselves, she put the bread plate down and turned to face him.

  “I’d like you to call me Jane, if it’s all the same to you,” she told him quietly. The small smile that appeared on his face made her heart beat a little harder, and she smiled back.

  “Thank you, Jane,” he said gently.

  Jane could see by the twinkle in Richard’s eye that he was pleased. She allowed herself to feel the admiration of such a man. To be of romantic interest to him. The pleasure of it made her almost giddy.

  “Panties are just pillowcases for butts,” announced Sarah merrily at a volume the entire neighborhood could hear. Lydia snorted, taken entirely by surprise. Unfortunately, her mouth was full of milk. She grabbed a napkin and held it over her face.

  Jane sighed and turned to her youngest cousin. Sarah’s blonde head was bobbing up and down in confirmation, but she was looking down the table at her brothers, who were laughing so hard tears were leaking from their eyes. Sarah strikes again, she thought.

  “Sarah, behave,” warned Maddy, “or you’ll have to sit up here next to me instead of between Jane and Kit like a big girl.” Kit silently reached over to tuck a napkin into Sarah’s collar. Ed cleared his throat and aimed a brief glare first at Jason, then Todd.

  “Don’t think I don’t know where that came from,” he said warningly.

  “I AM being haved, Mommy!” Sarah insisted, frustrated, every bit as loud as her previous proclamation. Moira shook her head sadly, and the boys grinned brightly. Aunt Maddy simply gave her youngest a stern look. Sarah saw it, sank down into her seat, and drove a fork into her pasta.

  Jane picked up her water glass and held it out to Richard, whose lips were pressed together so hard they had turned white.

  “Welcome,” she said with a shake of her head, “to the Bennet-Gardiner family table.”

  Elizabeth ran her hand lightly along Will’s bare chest, listening to his breathing and considering how quickly she’d become attached to having him around. She laid her head over his heart and listened to its steady, reassuring rhythm. His arm pulled her in tightly, and she glanced up to his face. He wasn’t awake. Protective even in his sleep, she thought, content and happy.

  After they’d eaten, she’d instigated their lovemaking, knowing it was a surefire way to ease Will’s stress. It had worked too well, knocking him out completely. She smiled affectionately at the idea that she had the power to do that for him. Heaven knows he’s done it for me.

  As exciting and athletic as their stolen time together had been, rest had been denied her. Her mind just couldn’t stop working over the problem of Georgiana and her troublesome boyfriend, not to mention the problems with the apartment. She was sure Will and Richard would have a plan. An investigator, perhaps, or some inquiries to the school about his enrollment status. Not enough, she sighed, it’ll take time to set up, and this feels . . . urgent, somehow. She thought through the timeline. The end of the quarter was only a week away, and Georgiana had been crowing that only one of her professors was requiring a timed exam, instead having assigned large papers or projects that she had nearly completed. She was a little irritated that she’d have to fly back for just one test, but excited about being finished with her first term. She planned to return to New York for her Christmas break, as Juraj would already be in Europe.

  If he’s ever going to push anything, Elizabeth thought, remembering the cases she’d worked on for the Marines, this is his sweet spot. She ruminated about the young men and women lured to terrorist groups through social media, the ones she’d saved through creative rerouting or cancellation of plane tickets and anonymous tips to the authorities. She thought, likewise, of the ones she’d lost, when she’d discovered their digital trail too late. She could understand how powerful the allure was when the recruiter claimed to be motivated by love. They didn’t have to kidnap anyone—they persuaded their victims to leave on their own. She shook her head. You are entirely too cynical, Bennet.

  She closed her eyes, feeling the rise and fall of Will’s chest, the steady beating of his heart, the soft snore. She couldn’t have felt more at peace in the moment, but . . . just because I’m cynical doesn’t make me wrong.

  Richard walked into the Gardiners’ family room and spied a guitar on a rack sitting on the far side of the upright piano.

  “Who plays?” he asked.

  “Mary plays piano,” Jane replied. “She’s the only one who’s stuck with it. The guitar is hers, too. It’s new-ish.”

  He smiled. “Do you think she’d mind if I borrowed it?”

  She cocked her head at him. “You play as well?”

  Richard nodded. “It’s relatively easy to haul a guitar around, but mine was pretty beat up by the end. I left it in Brussels when I came home.” She was interested in this, just as he had hoped. Will had always said he’d only learned to play because it was a way to pick up girls. Will wasn’t wrong, but he did enjoy playing. It helped him unwind.

  “We operate on a ‘you break it, you bought it’ principle around here,” she told him, “but I think it’d be fine.”

  He chuckled. “Deal.” He swung the guitar up into his hands and began to tune it. “Do you think the munchkins are ready for bed yet?”

  “Yes,” she informed him. “I heard Moira in the bathroom brushing her teeth a few minutes ago. That’s generally the last thing she does.”

  “All right, then. After you,” he said, indicating the stairs.

  Jane entered the room before him and tucked the girls in. The bedroom was just big enough to hold two twin beds, a dresser on one wall, and another dresser that separated a pair of small desks on the other. There were glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. Sarah sat up to listen, and Moira remained lying down, her little hands clutching on
e end of her blanket, her brown eyes eager and expectant.

  “Are you ready for me?” he asked Jane.

  “Yes!” Sarah cried.

  Jane stood up and moved to the wall by the door. “They’re all yours,” she said.

  Richard walked to Moira’s bed and perched on the side.

  “I want you to sit on my bed,” Sarah insisted.

  He shook his head. “Moira is ready to sleep,” he explained. “So I’m going to sit with her.”

  Sarah threw herself backwards onto her pillow. “I’m ready to sleep!” she proclaimed.

  “Maybe next time,” Richard replied easily. He strummed a few chords. “This is going to be in French, which is the language they speak in France.” He wasn’t about to get into the other countries where it was spoken. Sarah would have him here until midnight. His fingers remembered their positions, though he hadn’t played much since De Roos. He’d just been too busy, or not in the mood. Once he’d made his way through the first few measures, he began to sing.

  Do, do, l’enfant do,

  L’enfant dormira bien vite.

  Do, do, l’enfant do,

  L’enfant dormira bientôt.

  Do, do, l’enfant do,

  L’enfant dormira bien vite.

  Do, do, l’enfant do,

  L’enfant dormira bientôt.

  He sang it through twice, and then played just the music once more through. Neither girl was asleep, but Sarah had remained in bed and lying down, which he counted as a win.

  “What does it mean?” she whispered loudly.

  “It means it’s time for sleep,” he told her.

  “Oh,” she whispered back, and put her hands over her eyes. He glanced at Moira, who did have her eyes closed.

  “That was pretty,” the older girl said softly. “Thank you, Mr. Richard.”

  He grinned. “You’re welcome. Good night, girls.”

  Good Lord almighty, Jane thought, stunned. She would never have guessed that Richard Fitzwilliam would have a voice like that. A deep, rich, powerful voice that managed to be both rough and soulful. A voice that sent genuine shivers down her spine. A voice, she thought, that would have women flocking to his side if he ever chose to use it in such a way. He probably has. Unconsciously, she raised a hand lightly to her throat. This man has missed his calling.

  As he finished the song and bade the girls goodnight, Jane composed herself. He gave her a little smile as he rose, the guitar held in one hand. They stepped out into the hallway and closed the girls’ door behind them. The best defense is a good offense, she told herself.

  “You hoped you wouldn’t give her nightmares?” she asked him flippantly. “Really?”

  He shrugged. “I like to sing. Doesn’t mean people like to hear me.”

  “We don’t do false modesty around here,” she responded. “Your voice is amazing.”

  “Well, thank you, Jane,” he told her with a roguish twang before shifting into a perfect French accent. “Et tu es une femme très intelligente et séduisante.”

  Instead of fanning herself as she was irritatingly close to doing, she replied, “Merci.” His expression was still a little smug, so she gave it another try. “Le français est une belle langue,” she said quietly.

  A smile bloomed across his face. “You speak French?” She was the one feeling smug now—it was his turn to be surprised and a little embarrassed.

  She shook her head. “I took a few years of it in college. I understand it, but I can’t really speak it fluently. My Spanish is better—I use it all the time at the hospital.” She reached out to touch his free hand. “I appreciate the compliment.”

  He shook his head. “Your accent’s not half bad—I could understand you just fine.” He turned his hand over to capture her own. “It’s not a compliment. It’s just the truth.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve only just met you, Jane, but would you like to go to dinner with me? You know, without your tiny entourage?”

  Jane laughed quietly. “Yes, Richard, I would be happy to go to dinner with you.” She put her other hand on top of his. “But.”

  He stopped. “But?”

  She nodded. “When I was younger, I was less direct, and it led to problems. So, before we go out, I must ask bluntly whether you are seeing anyone else?”

  He shook his head. “No. And before you ask, I won’t. I don’t like complications. I date one woman at a time. Are you dating anyone?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m not dating anyone else. I had a few dates with Charles Bingley, a friend of Will’s recently, but that’s over.”

  “That,” he told her, gifting her with a soft smile, “is excellent news.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  On Sunday morning, twelve boys stood shivering in the cold November morning as their parents shook hands with Richard and Ed. The parents were stoic, others grateful, one or two were even cheerful, but each of them had something to say to Ed Gardiner as they took his hand. He knows them all, Richard concluded. Mary graduated from here and the younger girls are still attending. He’s got four more to come. It’s a damned dynasty.

  He smothered a grin as he considered how awful it would be for the boys to remain in striking distance of Ed Gardiner when the man knew they’d disrespected one of his girls. They’ll have to move away to get any peace at all. There was movement off to his left. When he turned his head, he caught some of the boys beginning to sit.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled. “Get your lazy asses up.” Most of the boys grumbled but complied. One remained on the ground.

  Richard grunted. And so it begins. “Boy,” he snarled, “I recommend you stand before I make you stand.”

  “You can’t do anything to us,” the boy sneered. “We’re minors.”

  Richard gave a deep, booming laugh. “Each and every one of you can be up on federal charges like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Your parents were only too happy to legally sign you over to us in lieu of prosecution. Do you want me to send you home now and have the lawyer call them tomorrow?”

  “It’s a bluff,” the boy spat, finally looking up. His arms and legs were crossed. Richard noted a smattering of freckles across the boy’s nose and dark brown eyes that were sullen and defiant.

  Richard said nothing more, just sighed and set down his thermos. In a lightning-fast move, he grabbed the front of the boy’s sweatshirt with both hands, jerking him up so high that his bright red trainers dangled above the ground. When the boy still wouldn’t straighten his legs, Richard tightened his grip on the sweatshirt and positioned his second hand perilously close to the boy’s most sensitive area. Within seconds, he had lifted the slender, screaming boy over his head. Good thing he doesn’t weigh much, Richard thought ruefully. I’m gonna feel this tomorrow. It’d been a long time since he’d been required to be the muscle, but strangely he was enjoying it.

  “Don’t wiggle or you’ll fall,” he warned. “What’s your name?”

  One of the other boys finally spoke. “Wallace. He’s Wesley Wallace.”

  Richard snorted. “Now I know why you didn’t want to tell me, Wesley.”

  “Shut up!” the boy hollered. “Put me down!”

  “I want you to look over there at Gunnery Sergeant Gardiner,” Richard replied, turning so the boy had a good view. “Is that your mother?” Indeed, a slight woman with black hair was staring at them, her mouth agape. She made no move towards them.

  “Screw you!” shouted Wesley, but at least he’d stopped squirming. His mother lowered her head to say something to Ed. The older man placed a hand on her arm, near the elbow, giving it a careful squeeze as he replied. Then she scurried back to the parking lot while Ed straightened and strode over to the group.

  “Doesn’t look like she’s running to your rescue, Wesley,” Richard said loudly, shifting his arms to strengthen his grip before setting the boy roughly back on his feet. “Anyone else want to call for their mamas?”

  “No, sir,” the others chorused w
eakly.

  “Trouble, Major Fitzwilliam?” came a dry drawl. Ed Gardiner stood before them all, eyes bright, trim and neat in his utility uniform. The old codger’s still as fit as the day he left service. Richard grinned.

  “Not at all, Gunny,” he replied amiably, “just making the introductions.”

  Richard thought Ed’s jaw muscle twitched, but it was so fleeting he couldn’t be certain. He picked up his coffee again and stood back while Ed assembled the line and began his routine, yelling in twelve increasingly pale faces and setting the boys to push-ups. As Richard wandered among the youngsters, placing a boot on the back of anyone with faulty mechanics, he kept an eye on Ed Gardiner. The gunnery sergeant was in his element here. He rapped out orders and had the boys jumping. After they’d done fifty push-ups to “warm up,” they did another fifty because the first set “was the saddest exhibition of strength” he’d ever seen. When the second set was completed and the twelve boys stood back in their line, Ed Gardiner eyed them all and delivered a short speech.

  “Each one of you thought Staff Sergeant Bennet’s picture was yours to do with as you pleased. Each one of you has disrespected the Marines, Staff Sergeant Bennet, and her service to this country. That is something neither I nor Major Fitzwilliam take lightly.” He walked the line, pale blue eyes glaring at each face before continuing. “Today, you pay for the insult. You will not complain, or we will simply start again from the beginning. All of us. I can take it. Can you take it, Major Fitzwilliam?”

  “I can, Gunny,” replied Richard, feeling happily sadistic.

  “I know Staff Sergeant Bennet can, because I trained her,” bellowed Gardiner. “Let’s see if you sad, sorry lot can do half of what she does.”