“Think that’s Lydia,” Elizabeth supplied.
Lydia answered by bursting out into giggles. The girl seemed incapable of other reactions.
“Oh.” The professor’s brows arched. “You know each other?”
“We live in the Longbourn dormitory.” Elizabeth glanced sideways at Will, daring him to say something. She looked straight forward again. “Lydia, Mary and I do.”
“Which one’s Mary?”
“Right here,” came the response from the back.
“Perfect. You’re team one.” Professor Greenfield beamed. “I’m good but not usually that good. Now none of you will be able to tell me you couldn’t reach one of your teammates for whatever reason.”
Elizabeth released a long breath, tension leaving her shoulders. Thank god.
“All right, moving on. Randall Brown, Penelope Crown, and Fitzwilliam Darcy will be team two.” The professor paused, frowning at the roster. “Fitzwilliam Darcy,” she echoed and looked up, scanning the students. “Where’s Fitzwilliam Darcy?”
Will cleared his throat and waved a hand. “Here, Professor. And just Will, please.”
“All right,” she said, “Will, then. Is this Darcy as in Darcy Media Group? Darcy Foundation? The Fitzwilliam Darcy Scholarship?”
“Ah…” Will shifted a bit in his seat, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but look at him. It wasn’t conspicuous at least—everyone else was.
“Yes,” he said.
Professor Greenfield’s eyes rounded in sympathy. “I was sorry to hear about your father.”
Will’s jaw tensed, but his expression remained otherwise neutral. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“That happened—what? Two, three years ago?”
He gave a clipped nod.
“And your mother…”
“She died before my father.”
Despite everything, Elizabeth felt her insides start to thaw. The guy was clearly uncomfortable, and the professor, who seemed to be an otherwise intelligent woman, was either oblivious or uncaring of the fact.
“And you’re just starting school now?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a little old.”
“Yes,” he said, shifting. “But I’m here.”
“You seem to have taken your time.”
“My sister needed me,” he replied shortly.
And that was what did it. Those four words made something in Elizabeth’s chest twist. Combined with the whispers that had sprouted around the room and the appraising, dollar-sign looks some of the coeds were shooting his way, Will was either on the fast track to being a piece of meat or a social pariah.
Most likely the former with the women and the latter with the straight men. Even Elizabeth had heard of Darcy Media.
“He’s not the only old freshman here,” Elizabeth volunteered loudly. The room fell silent again as attention diverted to her. “I think we’re the same age.” She turned to Will. “Twenty-four?”
He studied her a long moment, his face still inscrutable, but she thought she saw the corner of his mouth tick up. “Twenty-five,” he said. “So I guess I am. The oldest.”
“Not by much.” She turned back to the professor, her pulse spiking. “My parents had a messy divorce that prevented me from completing my first semester here.”
A round of giggles exploded from Lydia in the back. Others were glaring at her as though she’d announced she kicked puppies in her spare time, and it didn’t take much to guess why. Her unsolicited proclamation probably looked like an attempt to cozy up to the wealthiest guy in the class.
Though her cheeks burned, she forced herself not to blink. No one deserved to have their life put on display in front of a room of strangers.
“Oh,” Professor Greenfield said, looking somewhat bewildered. “Well then. Thank you, Elizabeth. And welcome back.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “You just seemed so interested in his personal life, I thought I’d share some of mine.”
The professor gaped at her, a wild streak of red creeping up her throat as others joined in Lydia’s gigglefest. Elizabeth held Professor Greenfield’s gaze until the other woman bit the inside of her cheek and returned her attention to the roster.
She waited a long moment, then looked down and released a long breath.
Oh well. It wasn’t like life here was going to be easy, anyway.
Elizabeth busied herself taking notes. The class was still in a stage of chatter, Professor Greenfield having seemingly lost her footing, though she managed to get through the rest of the team assignments as well as the chapters that were to be read before class next met. By the time the hour was over, Elizabeth was practically buzzing to shoot out the door.
But she didn’t. She knew how that would look. Instead, she deftly packed her supplies, doing her best to seem unbothered by the glances the other students shot her way. Let them think what they wanted—none of it mattered. She wasn’t here to make friends, after all, so whatever.
If she could sound half as confident in the real world as she did in her head, she’d take the university by storm.
“Lizzie!” Lydia came bursting up the aisle, her face flush from giggling. “You know who he is, right? I mean, what Darcy Media is?”
Elizabeth cast a quick look to Will’s chair. Thankfully empty. She’d been so focused on getting her own things together she hadn’t noticed him escape. “Well,” she said slowly, “I guess I do now.”
“Do you have any idea how much money he’s worth?” Lydia was practically bouncing on her toes. “Never mind, of course you do. Why’d you say that stuff about your parents?”
Mary stopped beside Lydia, her expression a solemn mask, as Elizabeth had come to expect. She adjusted her glasses and tucked a clump of brown hair behind her ear. “People often try to forge relationships through commonalities,” she told Lydia. “Elizabeth was making it clear that Will was not alone and could—”
“That’s not what I was doing at all,” Elizabeth said shortly, swinging her backpack over her shoulder. She glanced toward the head of the room, where Professor Greenfield still stood. They made eye contact and for a second, Elizabeth anticipated an explosion, but none came. Instead, the professor clamped her briefcase shut and made for the door without a word.
“Then what were you doing?” Mary asked, tilting her head. “It seemed rather…abrupt.”
Elizabeth sighed and began moving toward the door. “It was obvious she was making him uncomfortable,” she said. “She stopped in the middle of class and started asking all sorts of personal questions, just because he has a famous name.”
“And a lot of money,” Lydia gushed. “I need to look up how much he’s worth. He’s kinda cute, in a boring kinda way. Don’t you think, Lizzie?”
“No,” she said shortly, though she felt her cheeks going warm. “And it doesn’t matter. The professor shouldn’t parade his or anyone’s personal life out in front of everyone.”
Lydia frowned. “But you did.”
“I did to make a point.”
“Did it work?”
“Obviously not.”
The air burst with Pink Floyd’s “Mother” before Lydia could bombard her with a new round of questions. If possible, Elizabeth’s mood plummeted further south. She stopped and pulled out her cell phone. “You guys go on,” she said. “I need to take this.”
Lydia shrugged and practically skipped out of the room. Mary favored her with a curious look, but didn’t say anything as she followed suit.
Elizabeth inhaled and swiped to accept. “Hi, Mom.”
“What took you so long?” came the answering squawk. “Are you hurt?”
“No, Mom. I’m at class. Or I just got out of one, and I’m going to be late to the next so I can’t talk long.”
“Oh.” A sniff. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t have time for me.”
Elizabeth took a measured breath, her stomach clenching. By the time this day was over, she would have aged about a decade. “We’ve talked
about this, remember? It’s not that I don’t have time for you—it’s that I can’t answer every time you call. I need to—”
“Well, excuse me for needing help.”
“Mom—”
“I’m sorry to be such a nasty inconvenience.”
“I didn’t say that. Don’t put words in my mouth.” She waited a moment, then continued in a gentler tone. “Do you remember what you promised me before I left?”
Another long beat passed, then the line erupted in a pitiful wail. “I’m such a bad mother.”
Elizabeth sank behind a desk and slammed her forehead against her palm. “Mom, stop.”
“I just can’t do this by myself. I don’t know how…” She dissolved into sobs that might as well have been daggers. “I can’t get anyone to stay. Everyone leaves me.”
“I’m right here.”
“You couldn’t wait to get out of here,” her mother spat. “I’ve just been holding you back.”
“Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? I know you’ve been telling your friends how awful I am. How glad you are to be rid of me.”
Elizabeth blinked; her eyes were stinging. God, she hated it that her mother could get under her skin so easily, especially when she knew the words weren’t born out of something genuine. This was the voice of the ugly, twisted entity that had consumed her mind, and made her a caricature of herself.
It had always been there, though had become more vocal and boisterous in recent years, worsened by resistance to doctors and medication and provoked by intense, unpleasant emotions. Elizabeth’s failure to answer the previous night’s text must have triggered an episode. Or Lynette Bennet had been snooping on her ex-husband’s Facebook account again.
Elizabeth’s mother was difficult to talk to on good days. On days like today, communicating was damn near impossible.
“Mom,” Elizabeth said slowly. “Have you been to see Dr. Henderson?”
“I don’t need Dr. Henderson. I need a daughter who cares about me.”
“You promised me before I left that you’d make an appointment with Dr. Henderson. You told me I didn’t need to take you. That you’d go on your own.” A pause. “It might be time to have your medication adjusted again.”
“I don’t like those pills!”
Her breath caught. “You are taking them, aren’t you?”
“The pills don’t do anything. And neither will that doctor. He won’t make your father leave that whore, will he?”
“Mom—”
“Or you any less selfish.”
“It’s not selfish of me to want to get an education,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Please make an appointment with Dr. Henderson.”
“Elizabeth…” A choked sob seized the line. “He’s getting married.”
Her stomach dropped. “Huh?”
“Your father…he… They’re getting married. I saw it. I saw it on Facebook.” Then she dissolved into hard sobs.
Elizabeth held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut. No, her father would not do this to her—leave her to find out something huge through the grapevine.
Would he?
Doubt and panic joined forces, familiar and toxic.
“Mom,” she said, praying her voice was steady, “make an appointment with Dr. Henderson.”
“Did you hear me? He’s getting married. Married!”
“Yeah.” There was that panic again. “You need to make that appointment. You’re going to make yourself sick if you go on like this.”
“How can he be getting married?”
Elizabeth expelled a deep breath. “I don’t know. But he is, apparently, and that’s his decision.” She flicked her gaze to the clock at the head of the class and groaned. “Mom, I’m sorry, but I really need to go.”
“You’re just gonna leave me like this?”
“I’m not leaving you. I just need to go to class.”
“I need you to help me!”
Anger was so much easier to navigate than heartache, so when it came again, Elizabeth embraced it. She slid to her feet once more and readjusted the bag on her shoulder. “I am helping you. After I get out of class, I’m going to call Dr. Henderson and schedule an appointment. Then I’ll call a taxi and schedule them to pick you up.”
“I don’t need—”
“Mom. You. Promised. You’re going to go. What you do when you get there is up to you, but you promised me you’d go and that’s what’s going to happen.” She hoped. Without someone there to physically drag her mother to the doctor’s office, it was anyone’s guess as to whether or not she’d show up. “But I need to go now. I love you. I’ll text you the details after I get your appointment booked.”
“Elizabeth Bennet, don’t you dare—”
Elizabeth ended the call, shaking. She waited for the pounding in her head to subside, the jittery feeling to start to normalize. Once she felt reasonably certain her legs wouldn’t fail her, she bound out of the classroom and cut a quick left to haul ass out of the building.
And nearly plowed into Will, who stood beside the door. Who had clearly heard every freaking word.
Because of course.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Elizabeth sputtered, stepping back on reflex.
To his credit, he’d gone instantly pale, his eyes wide and filled with an emotion she didn’t want to name, mostly because it looked a lot like pity. But fuck to his credit. What the hell was he doing, lurking outside an otherwise empty classroom, listening to a private conversation?
“I…I just wanted…” He looked around as though searching for signs of life, but there were none to be found. “I… Never mind.”
“You wanted what? To spy on me?”
“No,” he said emphatically, almost angrily, which was fucking rich considering she’d caught him doing just that. “I wasn’t spying—”
“Oh yeah.” She made a show of looking up and down the hallway. “Clearly.”
“I only wanted a word and thought I’d wait. I didn’t know you’d be having such a…” But he looked as though he didn’t know how to finish. Which was just as well. She was in no mood to hear it.
“You know what? Fuck you.”
Elizabeth didn’t wait for a response—she needed to get the hell out of there. Now. She bolted around him and all but flew down the corridor, her heart begging her feet to carry her back to the dormitory, but her brain retaining enough control to aim her where she needed to go.
The first day of class was sucking spectacularly.
But dammit, she would not give up without a fight.
6
Will blinked slowly, and realized for the fourth or fifth time that he must have spaced out. The blonde seated across from him—whose name had flitted out of his mind—was practicing one of those don’t look as pissed as you are faces that he’d grown up around. He found this expression was almost exclusively in use by people who admired the fact that he or his family had a lot of money. Wealth had a way of excusing rude behavior.
“Sorry,” he said in a flat tone. “I drifted off again.”
She sighed and stretched a hand across the café table. “I understand,” she said in one of those offensively fake tones. “It must be hard…talking about your father.”
He didn’t know about hard, but it definitely wasn’t his favorite topic, especially with people he’d known for less than an hour. “It’s fine,” he said, hoping she’d read between the lines and spare him from having to be even blunter. He checked his watch. “It’s been nearly a half hour. I thought you said our, ah, third was joining us.”
She smiled and flipped her hair in a move so obviously practiced, that he had to wonder if it worked on anyone else. “Randall’s on his way. He just likes to take his time. We went to high school together, you know.”
No, he hadn’t known. Nor did he care. “Well, I have a class at ten-thirty, so—”
“Can I just tell you how brave I think you are?” She
smiled, tilting her head. “You said you took those years off to take care of your sister?”
“Ah, yes.” Will turned to glance to the door again, willing someone he knew to arrive. At this point, he’d even settle for Caroline.
“That is so sweet.”
He forced a smile as he debated swearing off caffeine for life. He’d ducked into the campus coffee house after his last class for a much needed pick-me-up. The blonde had been waiting, introduced herself as someone from his new debate team in Greenfield’s class, and asked if he’d like to join her and their third for a quick meet-and-greet. Randall was on his way, she’d said. He’d be there in a moment and they could discuss what their team roles would be for the semester.
Stupidly, Will had agreed. And it had become very clear after a few minutes that Randall and the class was the furthest thing from this girl’s mind.
At least the blonde was achieving one thing—he didn’t have much time to think about Elizabeth while contemplating escape routes.
“Oh my god,” the girl said, looking over his shoulder, her nose wrinkling. “Is that…is that the girl from our class? The one who started talking about her parents?”
Will froze.
No.
“It is her. I remember thinking those shoes screamed thrift shop.” The blonde rolled her eyes. “What was her deal?”
He counted to ten, then hazarded a glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, Elizabeth was in line, her gaze fixed on the menu but bearing a certain quality that made him think she wasn’t reading it at all.
He turned back to the blonde. The last thing he needed at the moment was to be spotted. They’d run into each other enough to last a lifetime.
“It’s funny,” the blonde said, trailing her fingers over his knuckles in a way that was undoubtedly supposed to be seductive, but just made her look like a little kid trying to act like an adult.
“What’s funny?”
“She was ignoring you all through class. Well, ignoring is a bit tame—she seemed, I don’t know, angry.”
“You were watching her that closely?”
The blonde shrugged. “She looked too old to be in there, and her body language was not what I’d call friendly.”
A Higher Education Page 5
