Pride, Prejudice, and Cheese Grits (Austen Takes the South)

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  There was a comfortable leather armchair in the corner near the door. Shelby perched on the edge of the cushion and gazed around. The office was very large, but empty except for a few boxes near the door. Several books were stacked haphazardly and she instinctively reached for the leather bound ones at the bottom. The first was by Anthony Trollope. The next was Wuthering Heights by Charlotte Bronte. The third was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Shelby snorted softly, wondering whose books had been left behind. She slid them back and picked up a familiar, glossy hardback from the next stack.

  A History Of The American Civil War, Volume One, By Ransom G. Fielding, it read in gold letters. She thought of her little volume on Thorny Hollow and resisted the urge to chuck the thick tome through the window. Instead, she flipped it open and read a few lines from the middle.

  “Brigadier General Beauregard mustered a detachment from Garnett Hill, as ex-governor Wise attempted to fortify the troops and cross the intervening mountains.” Shelby read the sentence again, a rapid fire description. “Assisted by General Bragg, he confronted the Nationals in a heavy rainstorm, nearly penetrating the enemy camp within hours.” The facts weren’t glossed over with fine prose, but it wasn’t dull and dry, either. She hated to admit it, but Ransom was an excellent writer. No wonder so many people enjoyed his books.

  Shelby slammed the book shut at the sound of a throat clearing behind her. She rose from her chair, cheeks burning and tossed it back on the stack. Ransom Fielding loomed in the doorway, his handsome face was unsmiling. In fact, he was positively scowling. She fought a sudden, insane desire to laugh.

  “I figured you had just stepped out.”

  He stalked toward the desk and seated himself. She noticed his hair was a bit long, reaching his collar.

  “Did you enjoy the book?” he said, eyes on his computer screen.

  She wanted to lie. “It’s well written.” She wouldn’t tell him she owned the series. It used to be within reach of her desk until two months ago, when she’d removed the five fat volumes and shoved them in the back of her closet at home.

  “I have a good editor. And took a lot of writing courses.” His tone was wary, waiting.

  “I guess I need to sign myself up for one,” she said, not able to resist. He had to know that she read his review. It wasn’t possible to think she hadn’t.

  Something flashed in his eyes, maybe anger, or remorse. “Always a good idea before you try to publish a book,” he said. There was a long silence as Shelby struggled against the words she wanted to fling at him.

  He stood and walked toward her, eyes troubled. She noticed there were deep lines, like commas around his mouth, even when he wasn’t smiling.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you that when they asked me to review a book on the Civil War history of Flea Bite Creek, I’d hardly heard of the place. I shouldn’t have turned in that review. I was having a bad week.”

  Shelby tried to study him objectively, without taking in his perfect features or the intensity he radiated. Was it possible that he was actually remorseful? And that he thought a simple apology would cover it?

  Completely possible, she decided.

  “Well, your bad week became my bad year.” Shelby was in no mood to be gentle.

  He frowned. “There’s a line, a description I shouldn’t have used-”

  “The blind hog?” Shelby’s glare could have bored a hole right through him. “Right, that was a special touch. Like the cherry on top.”

  He fixed her with a steady gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  She strode forward so abruptly that he almost flinched. Shelby gritted out, “If you’re sorry, then fix it. Print a retraction. Say. You. Were. Wrong.” She poked him in the chest with her finger at every word.

  Ransom’s eyes narrowed and he didn’t step back. “It was wrong to use that phrase, but the rest of the review was fair. The book was too long, too wordy, it was a mess.”

  “So it could have used a good editor. That was no reason to bury me.” Shelby’s eyes were flashing, her cheeks flushed with heat.

  “I wasn’t burying you,” he said, equal parts angry and defensive.

  “So, as long as you don’t know the author personally, it doesn’t count?” He was so tall she had to tilt her head back to look him in the face. She could see the shadows under his eyes, the smooth darkness where he’d shaved. He met her gaze, his mouth opened as if he was going to retort, but didn’t find the words. He focused on her with an energy that seemed to sear like fire. Her eyes dropped to his lips, and she felt a jolt run through her that was much more than anger. His eyes widened, as if he felt the same electric current.

  Stepping back to cover her rush of confusion, she frowned. What had just passed between them?

  She shrugged, feigning resignation. “What’s done is done. If you printed a retraction, it probably wouldn’t get any press.”

  She felt suddenly weary, as if she had run several miles.

  “I wish-“ he started.

  “Don’t we all. Wish, that is.” Taking a deep breath, she said “I came here to say...” Shelby tried to force her features into something like sheepishness. “I wanted to apologize for barging into your class.” That was all she could muster. She wasn’t sorry she had interfered with his ‘punishment’.

  Ransom Fielding leaned back in his chair and regarded her cooly.

  After a few seconds Shelby started to feel her blood pressure rise. She wondered if they were going to have an old-fashioned stare down.

  “All right.” He drawled the words, left them hanging between them. It wasn’t a question but it might have been. It was almost impossible to hold his gaze without her heart pounding. She looked around the room, searching for a distraction.

  “Better now?” Just the tone was enough to make her hackles rise. He moved to go back to whatever was on his screen.

  “What?”

  “Well, obviously this apology wasn’t meant for me, but rather for you. Now you feel better, having done the very least required.”

  For a moment, she was speechless. “You deserve much worse than having someone interrupt your class.”

  “Interesting. So, you felt so strongly about happens in my classroom that you took it upon yourself to intervene, but now you have come all the way to my office to offer an apology... such as it is.”

  Shelby’s eyes widened. He was making her sound unhinged. “You humiliated a student. Having him stand by your desk and eat his lunch while you lectured, is really beyond the pale.” She couldn’t speak calmly now. Her temper was rising by the second, she heard rushing in her ears.

  “I make every student aware in writing and at the first class that I brook no eating in class or tardiness. He brought it on himself. The students here are completely uneducated in classroom etiquette.” He was still very calm, but his jaw was tense and his hands clenched into a tight fists.

  “A simple reminder or a word would have sufficed. He was already embarrassed but you had to hold him up for ridicule, ” she said, hating the high pitch her voice had taken.

  “He won’t do it again, and neither will any of the others.” He shrugged, as if that was the end of the matter.

  “But at what cost? You’ve done real damage here. I’m surprised you’ve existed so long in this career with no pedagogical skills to speak of.”

  His voice was cold and angry. “I’ve existed this long because I’m a good historian and I can write, unlike some of us. Teaching is secondary. I am here to teach them what I know, and I can’t do that with students wandering in at ten minutes past, clutching their fast food bags and Big Gulps.”

  “I’d rather have a great teacher who can’t write a decent book, than a terrible teacher who can,” Shelby bit out. “I’m not opposed to banning food and drink and tardiness, but what you did has instilled a fear in your students that will keep them from learning. And the worst of it is, you really didn’t have to.” He certainly could have commanded them with his reputation alone, and m
ovie star looks thrown in for good measure.

  He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  I hope I’m giving him a headache, she thought viciously.

  “Perhaps when you’ve been teaching a few more years you will-“

  “I’ve been teaching plenty long enough. If anything I’ll likely become more liberal in the classroom, when I don’t have as much to prove. And I wasn’t a student so long ago that I don’t remember how it works, which professors were best. Mutual respect is what brings out true learning and thinking,” she said.

  “Inspiring, really. And after you burn out from giving all your respect, time, and effort while receiving nothing much in return, we’ll talk about it again.” He calmly stacked a few papers into a pile. “But for now, my aunt is meeting me for lunch.”

  His aunt? She stared at him, hoping against hope. “Is... is Margaret Greathouse your aunt?”

  He nodded, rising from behind his desk and crossing the room. He glanced at the large clock on the wall above the door. “If you’ll excuse me, my office hours are over and I need to finish up here.”

  Shelby had no choice but to turn and leave. As she slowly made her way back down the elevator, she played his words over and over in her mind. The fact that she couldn’t seem to put that morning’s verse into action when he was around was the least of her worries. A terrible feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. Dread and anger and something so shocking that she found herself whispering, “It was nothing, just nerves.”

  But deep down she knew that Ransom was a threat to her carefully planned life in more ways than one.

  ***

  Ransom stared at the blank screen in front of him, his pulse pounding. He was used to women throwing themselves at him. But this one was fiery and angry and full of clever arguments, the opposite of an eager-to-please fan.

  He dropped his head in his hands and closed his eyes. And so beautiful. That wild auburn hair, and huge hazel eyes that snapped with intelligence. He could hardly look at her without wanting to touch her. It had been so long since he’d wanted anything, he had almost forgotten what it felt like.

  He had meant the snacks in the mail slot to show he wasn’t without a sense of humor. The way she had crammed those chips into her mouth was one of the funniest moments he’d witnessed in years. Those kids will never forget it. She really did him a favor.

  He winced, thinking of the review of her little book. It had been harsh, even brutal. But when he’d had second thoughts and called to withdraw, the editor said they had already gone to press. For weeks he wanted to believe it hadn’t mattered, that no one noticed. But it made the rounds, growing more and more famous by the week, as fiercely competitive academics feasted on it like vultures.

  This year at Midlands was supposed to be sort of a vacation, time to write and do some research. He would teach his classes and let the little history department brag about the famous name they had on the rolls. He had hoped to apologize to her earlier in the term but she never came to any of the little gatherings Finch had arranged. If she could understand that he hadn’t really meant what he’d written, they would be able to move on.

  But once she was standing here, with her half an apology, he couldn’t resist the fight. What did she think, that he wouldn’t see through it? That she wouldn’t do it over again if it happened tomorrow? He knew her type, fearless in the face of tyranny. And that’s what made him angry. He wasn’t a tyrant. Not the way she made him out to be.

  He had been so careful, since Lili died. He went out with beautiful women, but kept his emotions clamped down hard. He never dated a woman who could carry on a real conversation, no one with spark. No one who could make him feel more than the mildest sense of pleasure.

  He rubbed his hand over his face and groaned. Shelby had spark, all right. She was practically on fire. And he knew better than to get anywhere near that kind of woman.

  “A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love,

  from love to matrimony, in an instant.”

  - Mr. Darcy

  Chapter Three

  “But, don’t you think the snacks are just a bit, you know, funny?” Rebecca shrugged one slender shoulder and tucked a silky strand of deep brown hair behind her ear. She slipped on a pair of oven mitts from the drawer and slid the pizza out of the oven onto the cooling sheet. The spicy diced chicken and caramelized onion pizza smelled heavenly. A bayou pie, as the locals called it, had never looked so good.

  “Funny? Not at all. You’re giving him the benefit of the doubt. If it was anyone else, maybe it could be a joke. But we’re not talking about anyone, we’re talking about Ransom Fielding. A man who apparently lives to humiliate students and colleagues alike.” Shelby took some plates down from the cabinet and fetched the glasses. “Ice water or tea?”

  “Water, thanks. I don’t know, you two got off on the wrong foot and everything is going to be colored by that one bad episode,” Rebecca said.

  Rebecca held up her oven-mitted hands in mock surrender as Shelby whirled around, her face flushed in anger.

  “One bad episode? He mocked me in a magazine that has a circulation of over forty million!” She opened the silverware drawer with a little too much force, the forks rattling.

  “I admit I shouldn’t have gone in there.” Her tone was bitter. “He’s got a fearsome reputation and whatever he chooses to do in the classroom is probably fine by the administration. I should be glad that he didn’t go to the Dean of Faculty to complain. We could be having a meeting about it.”

  Rebecca rolled her warm brown eyes and laughed, depositing the mitts back in the drawer. As an English professor, she understood jealous colleagues and micro managing department heads, and the silliness that happened high in the ivory tower.

  “I need a do-over. How was I supposed to know his aunt is Margaret Greathouse?” Shelby grumbled as they sat at the table.

  “You need to plug in to the gossip. Seriously.” Rebecca frowned. “You can’t expect to know what’s going on when you stay at home all the time. You know, I heard his wife died in a terrible car accident.” Rebecca took a bite of the pizza and chewed thoughtfully. “What if, just consider the possibility, under that thorny exterior he really is just a nice Southern man?”

  Shelby shook her head. “I’m not saying losing his wife wasn’t a terrible thing, but it doesn’t give anyone the right to be rude. How many people do you know who act like that, but deep down are actually sweet and loving? That only happens in romantic literature.”

  “Not to harp on Jane Austen, but do you know why everyone loves Darcy?”

  “Here we go. Austen has the answer for everything!” Shelby laughed outright. There were no seven degrees of separation for Rebecca: everything related directly back to Jane. “Um, everyone loves Darcy because he’s rich and has a huge house?”

  “Very funny. It’s because he was sort of a jerk in the beginning, thinking he was above the rest of humanity. But after that first encounter, he really didn’t do anything reprehensible. He was proud and a little obnoxious, but mostly he was shy.” Rebecca took a sip of ice water and nodded sagely.

  “Shy? I never got that.”

  “Mm-hm. Elizabeth is tattling to his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, about the first time they’d met and how Darcy refused to dance even though there were plenty of available women. He says that he’s not in a position to ‘recommend himself to others’. She questions how that’s possible, being so rich and well-connected. They’re talking about his ability to make small talk and be charming.”

  “All right, but I don’t think Fielding is shy. The man speaks at conventions and lectures to full college classes for a living. I think his true personality is what we’ve seen: arrogant and rude.” Shelby wiped her fingers on her napkin and reached for another piece. Bayou pie was delicious but it was a mess. Her kitty, Sirocco, watched her hopefully from beside the chair, black tail swishing in a gentle rhythm.

  “Maybe,” Rebecca said
, her tone implying she entertained serious doubts.

  “You’re determined to like him. He’s a widower, handsome, rich and popular so you’re not going to let his actions speak for him. But it still doesn’t change the fact that we’re talking about a kid eating in class. It’s not like he was hurting anyone. It was such an un-Christian thing to do.”

  Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “And your interruption was the Christian thing to do?”

  Shelby felt her cheeks flood with heat. “You’re right. Totally right. I shouldn’t have been pointing out the speck in his eye.” She picked at her plate, pushing the chicken from one spot to another. Only your real friends tell you when you’re being a hypocrite.

  Rebecca leaned over and squeezed Shelby’s hand. “Look, I’m completely on your side about the review. Every word he wrote about your book was wrong.”

  She continued, “But, I have to say that I find it extremely distracting when someone snacks while I’m lecturing. Plus, every now and then, they’ll have something that smells incredible. There was a girl last week who brought a warm cinnamon roll. I thought I was going to die.”

  “You should have confiscated it. And by the way, I was looking for the spare keys and saw your stash of Jolly Ranchers in that huge bag you carry around. You’re headed for a root canal if you don’t lay off the sugar.”

  “Sugar is my main food group. And it’s not a bag, it’s a Miu-Miu tote. Aaaand, they’re not spare keys if you use them all the time.” She waved a hand. “Anyway, don’t bury poor Professor Fielding in the garden just yet. You never know what will happen.”

  Shelby sighed. “You’re usually the voice of reason. But I’d bet my tenure that things are going to get uglier. I just have that feeling.”