A Higher Education

by Rosalie Stanton

  He didn’t know if he wanted her to.

  Will parked himself in the Leesburg armchair beside her, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You may begin your interrogation.”

  Georgiana looked up and grinned. And that grin made everything worth it.

  “What’s her name?” she asked.

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  Will swallowed, his mind suddenly overrun with images of Elizabeth. Her smile, her brilliant brown eyes, the way she looked when she was heated, when she was passionate, when she was under him. Over him. On her knees in front of him.

  He shifted. Those were not thoughts to think when with his sister. “Yes,” he said at last. “Very pretty.”

  “Boring. Describe.”

  Will blinked. “Huh?”

  “Tall and blonde? Short and redhead? Big boobs and hips? Paint me a word picture. I want to see this girl.”

  Seemed about right, when all he wanted to do was forget her. Still, Will had made a promise, and promises weren’t something he’d go back on for reasons as petty as personal comfort. And he supposed if he told her enough she’d get off his case and he could enjoy the rest of his sabbatical Elizabeth-free.

  “She’s about your height,” he started. “Long hair, brown. Brown and very thick.” He’d tunneled his fingers into that thick hair, felt it slide across his skin. He’d never had a strong position on women’s hair before he’d met Elizabeth. Hell, he hadn’t even known he’d had a type, though now he wasn’t sure what exactly that type was. Fierce and argumentative. Intelligent and quippy. Brutal and honest. Funny and charming.

  “You would like her,” he told Georgiana, managing a small smile. “She’s fearless.”

  Georgiana straightened at that. “Oh?”

  “And she wasted no time putting me in my place, from the first night we met to… Well, how we ended things.”

  “So things have officially ended. This isn’t a temporary—”

  “No,” Will said shortly. “I thought it was something more than it was. She made it very clear that she… Well, she felt differently.”

  Some of the merriment faded from Georgiana’s eyes. She reached over and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I, but I suppose these things happen.”

  “Yes, to people who aren’t you. I’ve never seen you hung up on a girl before.”

  “I can’t say I like the way it feels very much, so don’t get used to it.” Will hesitated. “She thought things about me that weren’t…nice.”

  Georgiana scowled. “Bitch.”

  “Watch it.”

  “You’re the nicest guy in the world. She—”

  “Georgie, I love you, but how long did it take you to think that?”

  Georgiana opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Point taken. But in my defense, I was a fucked up kid with—”

  “Language.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “Fuck that.”

  Will heaved a long-suffering sigh and bit back a grin when Georgiana giggled. “Elizabeth had her reasons for believing the things she did about me. Suffice to say, whatever it was is over now.”

  The scowl returned to his sister’s face. “Just like that?”

  “You might be getting the short version.”

  “But…you didn’t try to talk to her?”

  He snorted. “Believe me.”

  “But… Will, come on. If this girl has you all twisted up… It’s just so not like you to walk away from something. Or someone.”

  “It’s not that simple here.”

  “Why not?”

  He didn’t mean to say it, truly. Of all the things he’d anticipated talking with Georgiana about, the one topic he’d been determined to keep off limits was George Wickham. But by the same token, Georgiana wasn’t a wilting flower, no matter how much Will wanted to treat her like one. It had been his own failings and inattentiveness that had led her to Wickham in the first place. So when he heard himself say, “Because of George Wickham,” he found himself caught somewhere between courage and reservation.

  Georgiana inhaled sharply and fell quiet for a long moment, during which the ticking of the clock on the marble mantelpiece became damn near deafening. At length, she wet her lips and straightened her shoulders. “Okay.”

  “Yeah? I don’t have to go on.”

  “I know. But now you know you gotta, otherwise I’ll be thinking crazier things than usual and we really can’t have that.” A strained, watery smile stretched across her lips. “For starters, Wickham’s at Meryton?”

  “Apparently he’s interested in his education.”

  Georgiana rolled her eyes. “Yeah. That seems likely. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this sooner.”

  Will arched an eyebrow. “How do you think that would’ve gone? You’d have spent a lot of time worrying and calling me every five seconds, and it wasn’t like I wasn’t distracted enough.”

  She seemed to consider this. “You’re not wrong, but still. It’s the principle of the thing.” She swallowed and straightened again, as though the topic demanded better posture than usual. “Has he been awful?”

  “Wouldn’t be Wickham if he wasn’t.” Will offered a flat grin. “We haven’t talked. I’ve seen him around campus here and there, but he makes a point of avoiding me and I can’t say that hurts my feelings.” He paused again, his thoughts going to Elizabeth, to the way she’d looked that night in her dorm. Her eyes filled with righteous heat, her mouth a firm, unmovable line. And then as she’d spat back every awful thing Wickham had filled her head with, the fact that she’d believed it…

  “Will?” Georgiana seized his shoulder and squeezed. “What did he do?”

  Will swallowed. “It’s not so much what he did as what he said. To Elizabeth.”

  The pressure at his shoulder abated. Georgiana released a harsh exhale as her hand collapsed into her lap. “Is she okay?” she asked after a beat. “He didn’t…hurt her, did he?”

  “No.” At least he didn’t think so, and god he hoped not. He’d never forgive himself if he’d abandoned Elizabeth before Wickham had done something else unforgivable. “He told her some botched story about me, though. I don’t know how he found out that I…that she meant anything to me, but he did, and he took it upon himself to rewrite history with me playing the bad guy. I don’t remember his version of things—she yelled them at me the last time we talked—but there was enough truth in his lies to make it believable, apparently.”

  “Please tell me you told her the truth.”

  Will released a long breath. “I did. I told her everything. About me and you. Everything. And I am sorry for that—it wasn’t mine to tell, but I did it anyway. I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time, and I didn’t let myself stop to reconsider. I was angry and hurt and she—”

  “Stop making excuses. I’m glad you told her.”

  “You are?”

  “Duh.” She gave his shoulder a playful shrug that did more to convince him than words ever could. “In a perfect world, Wickham would be castrated. But this is not a perfect world, so unless he pisses off someone with a short temper and a very sharp knife, that’s not going to happen. Which means other people out there can fall for his bullshit. I don’t wish that on anyone.” She rubbed her arms as though chilled. “But I’m guessing since the big reveal didn’t result in you guys riding off into the sunset that she didn’t believe you.”

  At that, his spirits lightened somewhat. “Actually, I’m fairly certain she did believe me.”

  Georgiana frowned. “So what’s the problem?”

  “Telling her the truth didn’t magically change her opinion about me.” Will pressed his lips together. “Actually, I’m not sure. We haven’t spoken since I sent it.”

  “Sent what?”

  “The email.”

  Georgiana blinked. “You sent her an email.”

  “To clear the ai
r about Wickham, yes.” And a few other things that weren’t worth getting in to at the moment. Will had reached an inner stalemate on the subject of Jane and he wasn’t interested in shifting gears. “But even then, it doesn’t matter. She wanted something completely different than what I wanted, and—”

  “You told her about Wickham in an email. As in, not face-to-face.”

  “She’d made it pretty damn clear she didn’t want to see me again.”

  Georgiana rolled her head back with a long groan. “God love you, Will, but you are such a fucking tool.”

  “Language!”

  “Yeah, fuck that. I’ve earned a few eff-bombs.”

  “I think you’ve used them all.”

  She smirked. “Fuck that too. But seriously, an email? This isn’t the kind of stuff you dump on a person in an email.”

  “Trust me when I say that it was more productive than trying to have a conversation with her. You don’t explain things to Elizabeth. You argue with her. I wouldn’t have gotten a word in.”

  “So essentially you took the wussy way out and gave yourself a handy excuse.”

  Will huffed a short laugh. “You don’t know her.”

  “And you didn’t try.” Georgiana crossed her arms. “So she didn’t reply to your email, I take it?”

  “No.”

  “Go figure. How long was it?”

  About the length of your average bible, give or take a few verses. But he wasn’t about to tell her that. “As long as it needed to be.”

  “So for all we know, she hasn’t made it to the end yet.”

  “Georgie—”

  “And you haven’t talked to her at all since sending it?”

  “I told her I wouldn’t. I told her I’d respect her wishes and leave her alone.”

  Georgiana released a long, full body sigh. “Fucking tool.”

  “Well, what would you have me do? Stalk her? Hound her into getting a restraining order? She told me in no uncertain terms how she felt—”

  “Because Wickham lied about you and you’re too much of a wuss to defend yourself in person. Yeah, bro, got that memo.”

  Will fisted his hands, his jaw tightening to the point of discomfort as he reminded himself that, yes, he truly did love his sister. Even during times like these, when she refused to consider viewpoints outside of her own. That much was a Darcy trait, anyway, and he wouldn’t get far in pointing it out. “I did what I thought was right,” he said at last, even and measured. “If she wanted to talk to me afterward, I would have listened.”

  “And I’m sure she knows that because you’re a very clear, concise communicator who leaves no room for doubt,” Georgiana agreed soberly. “I’ll also bet that finding out that you’d been had by an assface like George Wickham isn’t at all embarrassing and she doesn’t think you think she’s an idiot for falling for his bullshit.”

  At that, Will’s chest tightened. That much hadn’t occurred to him, but then, why should it? Elizabeth was a smart woman, and she knew he felt that way because, well, he’d told her. He had no reason to think she’d be ashamed now—enlightened, perhaps, but not ashamed.

  Except he might not have sent that email when he was in his right mind, and since he hadn’t been brave enough to revisit what he’d written, he couldn’t say that it reflected his best self. In fact, he distinctly remembered wanting, relishing the idea of cutting her with his words, because dammit, she’d cut him with hers.

  And smart though Elizabeth was, she was also proud. If she learned that her judgment about Wickham had been so far off the mark…

  Yeah, now he could see it.

  “Trust me, Will,” Georgiana said after a moment. “I know of what I speak.”

  Will dug his fingers into his palms and forced himself to relax. “Damn.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I screwed up.”

  “In a big ole way.”

  Will tossed his sister a glare. “You don’t have to sound so pleased.”

  “That finally it’s not me who made a colossal mistake? No, I think I do.”

  “I’m glad my heartbreak can at least serve some good.”

  “Hey, bright side of life, and all that jazz.” Georgiana threw an arm around him and squeezed him into a hug. “And you can always make this better. After Christmas? How about you do some of that mano a mano communicating I hear it’s all the rage these days.”

  The thought alone was enough to have Will’s stomach in knots, but also delivered a shot of what could only be called hope. It was a sick, familiar feeling with a sick, familiar conclusion, but perhaps he was crazy, because it didn’t sound like a horrible plan.

  Maybe that was the travel fatigue talking.

  “We’ll see,” he said, non-committal. That wouldn’t be enough to convince Georgiana to drop the subject altogether, but he knew her well enough to know she’d recognize that he was done talking about it now. “What do you want to do for dinner, hmm? Order in or fix something here?”

  “Umm,” she said slowly, “you’re here so you’re making me breakfast for dinner. And I might add, duh.”

  Will grinned, thankful that some things didn’t change. “Yes, ma’am.”

  All things aside, it was good to be home.

  * * *

  Figured. Fucking figured.

  Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten.

  “You still there?” her father’s voice came after a few seconds.

  “Yeah, I’m still here.” She blew out a long breath, gave her head a shake, and leaned forward in her desk chair. A few waves of the mouse and her final paper vanished in favor of Google. “I’m checking right now.”

  “Checking what?”

  “My bank account. I’m joint on Mom’s. It was easier. I should be able to see if any weird purchases have been made.”

  Her father sighed. “Thank god. I knew I could count on you, Lizzie.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying something she’d regret, but dammit, her fuse these days was even shorter than usual. Ever since her stupid presentation.

  Ever since Will had stopped showing up for class.

  But that was another matter altogether and she wouldn’t think of it now while Mom was having one of her clockwork crises.

  “So…she’s in Florida. Or was as of four days ago.” That was news to her. Elizabeth swallowed a lump of growing dread. Or tried to. It got stuck on the way down. “There’s a charge for a room at a casino hotel. In St. Augustine.”

  Her father sighed.

  “There’s been activity as recently as three hours ago,” Elizabeth said, scrolling through the list of transactions. “Looks like…wait a minute.”

  “What?”

  “She bought a drink.” That was not good news. “Or at least, this says Derby’s Fine Wines and Spirits.”

  Her father released a long moan. “I knew it,” he muttered. “I knew it. The second it went to voicemail, I knew something was wrong.”

  “I don’t see why you called her in the first place,” Elizabeth said shortly. It was easier to focus on her irritation with her father now that mother-induced anxiety was on the climb. She clicked open Google in another browser and typed in Derby’s Fine Wines and Spirits. A handful of results populated the page, and yes, there were a few locations in St. Augustine. So maybe Mom hadn’t left that area just yet.

  “Your mother has a tendency to have…episodes on our anniversary. You know that.”

  “Yes, Dad. It was actually me, not an imposter, who was with her last year when she dyed her hair hot pink and maxed out her cards at Forever 21.”

  There was a pause. “I don’t think that tone is necessary. I’m just worried about your mother.”

  “Yeah,” Elizabeth shot back, feeling decidedly less than charitable. She was so sick of men getting their way with everything. From Wickham to Zelner to Will—even though Will didn’t technically deserve to be lumped in with them, she could have done without the sloppy mess of feeling
s he’d left for her to sort out. “Thanks for taking the time from your busy schedule to let me know I have an errand to run.”

  “Lizzie, that’s not fair—”

  “Neither’s life, so I’m told. But hey, I’ll go deal with it. You can go back to your real life now.”

  She hung up before her father could fire anything back, and before her guilt could jump in and tell her how unfair that had been. Because fuck it. Fuck him and all men.

  Elizabeth gave her head a shake and opened her email client. First things first—she needed to get her paper off to the professor, as well as an explanation as to why she wouldn’t be turning it in in person.

  Except apparently technology was conspiring against her. She tried several times to attach the final document to her email and kept receiving an error message. Elizabeth grabbed her phone again, preparing to fire off a text to Jane when she saw she had missed a text from the Meryton administration. A reminder that the campus server would be down for maintenance starting at seven and would not be up again until sometime past four in the morning.

  She glanced at the clock on her phone. It was 7:03. Her father had called just in time.

  Great.

  Elizabeth chewed on her lower lip, her mind tripping over itself to come up with a solution. The next second she was on her feet, hastily shoving spare articles of clothing into a duffle bag she managed to rescue from the abyss that was the space under her bed. By the time she had packed everything up, she had a plan of action in place.

  Twenty minutes and three sweeps of her room later, Elizabeth was outside Kitty and Lydia’s dorm, banging on the door and doing her best not to snarl at the giggles rupturing from the other side.

  Just once she’d like to have one of their problems.

  “Oh, hey, Lizzie,” Lydia said in her perpetually bubbly voice. “What’s up?”