A Higher Education

by Rosalie Stanton

  “A bed and breakfast called Hunsford House.” Elizabeth shifted her attention to the clock on the nightstand. Nearly ten, but it felt later, and after the day she’d spent sightseeing, she was somewhat bushed. The Collinses, who owned Hunsford House, served their guests breakfast promptly at eight o’clock in the morning. “Not the nicest place in Derbyshire, but it’s cute. And they had an opening. Apparently the whole town is completely booked through Christmas.”

  “Really? What’s there to do there?”

  “Lots of little shops and there are a ton of antebellum townhomes to tour.”

  “Oh, riveting,” Jane replied dryly.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but the tours I went on today weren’t as pro-slavery as I expected,” Elizabeth said. “One of the guides actually kicked off the tour by telling us that Derbyshire houses were essentially monuments the wealthy whites used to show off how wealthy they were, but they were built with the blood and sweat of enslaved people. And another tour guide corrected this guy who asked how the servants were cared for. Said specifically that they were slaves, not servants. It was…enlightening.”

  “So…you’re surrounded by guilty white people.”

  “A lot of them, yes.”

  Jane snorted. “That actually might be worth checking out some time. I tried to tour an old place like that with my folks when we were vacationing in Louisiana when I was a teenager. The others in the group kept giving us the side-eye, like we were on display too.”

  “Well, I’m not saying you won’t get that here. It is North Carolina.”

  “Sure. We can’t expect too much progress.”

  “But they do seem to be making strides to be woke.” Elizabeth smirked. “The people are nice enough. Those I’ve met, at least. And the Collinses are friendly. Well, the wife is. The guy is a little on the weird side. He’s obsessed with a house called Rosings.”

  “That’s a house?”

  “Apparently. And it’s owned by the whitest, richest lady in town.”

  “Hard pass.”

  “Yeah,” Elizabeth agreed. “It’s not a tour home, but he mentioned possibly getting a special invite there at least three times when I was checking in.”

  “So what are your plans for tomorrow?”

  “Eat, shop, hit some tour homes and maybe see about scoring tickets to A Christmas Carol. The town puts on a production in the square each year and apparently it’s all the craze. How about you?”

  “Obsessively hit refresh on Blackboard until my final grades post. Then and only then will I know whether or not this Christmas will be a merry one.”

  Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek. Before she’d left St. Augustine, she’d made the conscious decision to abstain from anything related to her academic life, which meant no checking email and no stalking Blackboard for updates on her semester grades, which she was confident would be good, if not outstanding. Her focus might not have been where it needed to be the last few months, but she’d always been a good student, even when she found it difficult to commit herself to whatever she was studying.

  She’d begun to wonder if leaping right from taking care of her mother and into schoolwork had been setting herself up to fail. But if she hadn’t made the decision to enroll in Meryton when she had, she might never have met Jane, and that would have been a true travesty.

  She’d also not know the name Will Darcy. And at the moment, she wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted to.

  “I need a break,” she said at last.

  “I agree. I just don’t know how any break could be enjoyable if you don’t know how you did.”

  “I know me,” Elizabeth replied dryly. “If I log on to see my grades, I’ll decide to start obsessing over next semester classes. Maybe jump start on the reading. Which isn’t the worst idea in the world, granted…but I think I deserve to not think for just a little while. So I’m not going to tempt myself by logging on.”

  “More power to you.”

  Elizabeth hesitated, debated whether or not she wanted to know, then bit the bullet and asked. “Anything…eventful happen after I left?”

  “No. Lydia turned in your paper, I made sure.”

  “And…other people? How are they?”

  “The only other people that you know are me and Mary. Mary’s going to her girlfriend’s for Christmas and my dad’s picking me up tomorrow.”

  There was no good way to ask if Will had turned up without drawing attention to herself, and she somewhat doubted Jane would have noticed that regardless. And it seemed unlikely that he’d return to campus before the Christmas break, but part of her couldn’t help but wonder. The rest of her was tired of going in circles where Will was concerned. There had been mistakes, some hers—many hers—but some his, as well. And no matter how much she wanted to right some of those wrongs, the healthy thing to do was look forward.

  “Lizzie?”

  Elizabeth shook her head and eyed the clock again. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay.”

  “Before eleven? That doesn’t seem like you.”

  “This trip has reminded me of how very much I love sleep. And how real beds feel.”

  “Fair point. It’s gonna be difficult coming back but I am looking forward to being in my own room at home.” Jane yawned. “Love you, Lizzie. If I don’t talk to you before Christmas, please have a good holiday. And let me know if you want to come play the role of my adopted sister. My folks would be happy to have you.”

  “I think I’ll be fine, but thank you. And Merry Christmas yourself.”

  Ten minutes later, teeth brushed and jammies on, Elizabeth slid between the sheets of her rather comfortable rented bed. Hunsford House might not be the best rated B&B on TripAdvisor, but the room was cozy, if Spartan, and the house was within walking distance of pretty much everything.

  The room was hers until the day before Christmas Eve. Then Elizabeth would have to find new accommodations, if she didn’t decide to spend the actual holiday on the road.

  Her thoughts before drifting off to sleep drifted back to Will, bringing with them the stab of something unfinished that she couldn’t outrun. And she wondered for the millionth time if he still thought about her at all, and what she might do to keep from worrying over things she couldn’t change.

  Or could, but didn’t have the guts to approach.

  Because wherever he was, he was almost certainly not thinking of her.

  * * *

  “Good morning, Ms. Bennet.”

  Elizabeth greeted her host with a sleepy smile and a wave as she stepped off the staircase. Like the day before, the sunroom, which connected the owner’s quarters to the main hall, was set up for breakfast. “Morning.”

  “And how did you sleep?”

  The answer was fitfully, but she had no one to blame for that but herself. Without more distractions, like her mother, Jane or schoolwork, Elizabeth had had no reason to not think about Will Darcy.

  And once that floodgate opened, she couldn’t close it.

  “The bed is very comfortable,” she answered at last, because at least that much was the truth. “Thanks.”

  Charlotte Collins offered a warm smile, placing a tray of biscuits on the table. “Like yesterday, the coffee is over on the side table. It’s just you and me today. Liam is getting things ready for the pageant this evening.”

  Elizabeth nodded and made her way to the carafe. That was right—her other host was a minister. He was on the young side and had an air about him that stank of failed car salesmen.

  “He wanted me to pass along his apologies,” Charlotte continued. “He doesn’t think he’ll be able to get you into Rosings. Which really is a shame, if you’ve enjoyed the other homes in the area.”

  “I have,” Elizabeth said, eyes glued to the stream of life-essence pouring into her coffee mug. “Though none of this has been what I expected.”

  “How so?”

  “I dunno. I think of old southern houses and a sort of Gone with the Wind picture comes to mind.
” She paused as she nursed the first drink, reveling in the sensation of her veins warming. “The period of the Civil War has always fascinated me. Before and after. The first place my dad ever took me was to Gettysburg.” It was actually one of the few good memories she had of childhood concerning both her parents. “Between that and my mom watching North and South over and over… I guess I had this picture in my head of what this place would be like when my mom mentioned it.”

  “North and South?”

  “You know. Patrick Swayze. Incredibly bad acting. Steamy love scenes.” Elizabeth waggled her eyebrows. “I tell you, I got more of my sex-ed from watching Orry Main and Madeline LaMotte get it on than I did from school.”

  Charlotte just blinked, though her cheeks had turned a little pink.

  “I’m being totally inappropriate, aren’t I?”

  “Well, let’s just say we’re lucky Liam isn’t home.” A small, somewhat conniving grin crossed her face. “He gets embarrassed easily.”

  Elizabeth shrugged and took her place at the table. “Well, thank him for trying to get into Rosings for me, but it’s probably just as well that I don’t go. The stuff I read about it online last night pretty much convinced me I’d knock something over the second I walked inside.” She hesitated. “And it’s kinda…”

  “Overwhelming?” Charlotte offered.

  “Well…yes and no. The houses are pretty but…repetitive. And I am not sophisticated enough to know or appreciate antique furniture. It just seems like every house has the same stuff. And I’m not as interested in that. The stories are fascinating and…kinda horrible too.” She hesitated to see if Charlotte would question what she meant by that, but she didn’t, and that might be for the best. Elizabeth didn’t need to piss off the person providing her room and board tonight. That seemed more like a last day kind of thing. “Anyway, I guess it’s more that the people who designed these houses meant for them to be in the family for years, not turned into museums. That’s why I was at all interested in Rosings, because it has been in that family since it was built. I was looking forward to seeing how it’s changed over the years. But from what I read online—”

  “It’s another museum,” Charlotte said, nodding. “I thought the same thing when I moved here. Liam had just bought this house and wanted to restore it, and was determined that it meet Mrs. De Bourgh’s standards.”

  “That’s the woman who owns it, right?”

  “Right. She’s from one of the oldest families in the area, which makes her Derbyshire royalty. She’s also one of the wealthiest women in the country. Liam worships her.” Charlotte’s eyes widened. “I need to watch what I say. That could be taken the wrong way.”

  Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning—or saying something that might make her host uncomfortable. But she had determined from her limited interactions with Liam Collins that he was one of those people who assumed wealth was contagious. Or thought he might end up the beneficiary if he climbed far enough up a rich person’s ass. His erratic, sometimes flamboyant personality and behavior was at such odds with the woman currently filling her orange juice. How they had ended up married was beyond her. Though Elizabeth had wondered if perhaps Charlotte was Liam’s beard. Twenty-first century or not, it had to be hard living as a gay man in a small southern town, especially if he wanted to continue preaching. Though what would be in it for Charlotte, she didn’t know. And she wasn’t nosy enough to dig to see if that theory held water.

  “There is a home just outside of town that’s still owned by the family,” Charlotte continued a moment later. “And it’s absolutely nothing like Rosings. I might be able to get you in if you’re interested. The housekeeper is a good friend from my women’s bible study class.”

  “Oh?” Elizabeth popped a strip of bacon in her mouth. “So this house has more than just indoor plumbing?”

  Charlotte smirked. “Yes. They even have Wi-Fi, I hear.”

  “And the historical society hasn’t fined them?”

  “With the money the family has, I imagine they can keep up with the fines.”

  Elizabeth laughed aloud, caught off guard. “Damn.”

  “Would you like me to see if you can swing by?”

  “It wouldn’t be weird? Random person coming by a private house out of the blue?”

  Charlotte shook her head and batted a hand. “It happens all the time, actually. They don’t always say yes, but if Colleen is there and has a free moment, she’s happy to show people around. So long as she has advanced notice and someone to vouch for whoever’s going into the house.”

  “And you feel comfortable vouching for me?”

  “Of course.” There was that smirk again. “Typically because whoever I send there has paid with a credit card to stay here. If something goes missing, I have some ways to make their lives difficult.”

  Elizabeth arched her eyebrows. “And since I’m paying cash?”

  The woman’s eyes positively sparkled with mischief. In another life, another world, Charlotte might have just been her best friend.

  “I’ll just have to get inventive,” she said.

  29

  To see this house was to enter a painting or a reel from an old film. It had taken every bit of Elizabeth’s control to keep the car from colliding into one of the many live oak trees that lined the winding country road outside Derbyshire. The homes inside the town limits were all gorgeous pieces of architecture, but seeing a mansion standing against a backdrop of greenery had caught her completely off guard. She could only imagine what this place looked like in the spring.

  Charlotte hadn’t been wrong when she’d said it was impossible to miss. The home was eggshell white, completely encircled by large columns and centered among a variety of scattered, smaller but no less beautiful dependencies. The road curved ahead and gave way to a gravel drive that looped around the a marble fountain situated in the middle of the lawn. A smattering of oaks adorned the grounds in an organized yet somehow still chaotic pattern that she was certain had been intentional by the original builder.

  The whole setting looked untouched by time, and the sound of her car engine seemed at odds with the otherwise peaceful tranquility of the environment. It was a dumb thought, she knew, yet even with an invitation—and Charlotte had sworn that her friend was delighted to show her the house—she couldn’t shake the sensation that she was intruding.

  But that didn’t stop her from putting the car in park and climbing out. Elizabeth inhaled deeply, craning her neck as the shadow of the massive house threatened to swallow her whole. She scaled her gaze up the Corinthian columns, which were wrapped with elegant strings of garland and lights, and tried to imagine the scene this must present at night. Elizabeth blinked and turned her attention ahead again, the steps along the gravel walkway hitting her ears as loud and obnoxious. When she looked back to her rental, she was struck again at how out of place it looked. A large anachronism dumped unceremoniously on an otherwise pristine portrait of antebellum architecture.

  The porch was a full wraparound, painted sky blue. The wood creaked pleasantly under her feet—just enough to let her know it was well used. Elizabeth straightened her shoulders as she drew to a halt outside the front door, which was flanked by a set of pocket windows. Two miniature designer Christmas trees had been placed in front of them, preventing her from stealing a glance of what was inside.

  This family, whoever they were, really did Christmas.

  Then the door opened, nearly startling Elizabeth out of her skin. She jumped, forcing out an awkward laugh. “Sorry,” she said. “I usually don’t gasp my hellos.”

  The woman on the other side of the door had a warm look about her, which went a long way in putting Elizabeth at ease. Her eyes were soft, her face sun-kissed and pretty. If she had to guess, Elizabeth would put the woman in her early fifties. “Just as well,” she replied by way of greeting, “I usually let guests ring the bell before opening the door. But I thought you might be out here for a while if I
waited for you to announce yourself.” The woman, stepped aside and gestured for Elizabeth to enter. “I’m not wrong to assume you’re the young woman staying with the Collinses?”

  “Yes. I’m Elizabeth.”

  “And I’m Colleen Reynolds,” the woman replied, tucking a lock of faded brown hair behind her ear. “Welcome.”

  Elizabeth offered a smile and stepped inside, doing her best to keep from gawking at the entry hall. It ran the length of the house. This, she’d learned from other tour homes, was common for the period—allowing airflow in a time prior to central cooling systems. Unlike other homes, this hall didn’t tuck away the staircase. It was a grand affair situated against the far right wall, past two open doorways, and spanned what appeared to be miles to the second floor. And there were at least two floors above that.

  “I love that look,” Colleen said, closing the heavy door with enviable ease.

  Elizabeth blinked and forced her gaze back to her host. “What look?”

  “The look you’re giving the house right now. Tells me Charlotte was right to send you my way.” She spread her arms, smiling warmer still. “Well, without further ado, I’d like to be the first to welcome you to Pemberley.”

  Pemberley?

  “I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said, struggling to keep her smile in place. Her heart had taken off and was racing at breakneck speeds as her thoughts spiraled. “What’s this house called?”

  “Pemberley,” Colleen replied, lowering her arms. “Didn’t Charlotte tell you?”

  “I, ahh. No. She didn’t.” Elizabeth was certain she would have remembered that. “It’s…ahh…”

  Colleen’s smile had all but faded. She took a step forward, concern edging into those kind eyes of hers. “Is something wrong, dear?”

  “No.” No, because this couldn’t be Will’s house. It couldn’t be. Her luck might not be anything worth writing home about, but it wasn’t absolute shit. It wasn’t possible that she’d unwittingly stumbled into the home of the guy she’d spent the past few days not thinking about.