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

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  “All right. Two lemon lime sodas.” He turned back in time to see her expression of relief. “I’m just not much of a drinker,” he said almost apologetically. “But my dad spent a lot of time on my wine education.” He took a sip of his soda, pursed his lips and said, “A bright , lively beverage with a fine balance of citrus aromas, especially pleasing is its brilliance in the light.”

  She regarded her own glass. The ice tinkled in the crystal tumbler. “My friend Erica is a real enophile. She joined a group that visits different wineries on a tour, several times a year. Makes her happy to have people to talk to who appreciate wine.” She took a sip. “Let me try... Definitely fruit forward, off dry, bit too flabby but with a vivid finish .”

  “Very well done. That’s the poet in you. My father also tried to build my appreciation for Southern whiskeys but it doesn’t agree with me at all. I’m afraid he considered it a statement on my manhood.” Ransom’s eyes were crinkled in laughter. “He was quite the character. I think he would have liked you.”

  “Was? I didn’t realize your father had passed away. I’m sorry.” Shelby kicked herself mentally for the second time.

  “About five years ago now. He had some health issues and just finally wore out. We always think doctors can fix everything but when your kidneys decide to quit, life gets a lot more complicated.” His tone was matter of fact but she noticed he didn’t meet her eyes.

  “Are you ready to meet and greet?” He nodded toward a group of older gentlemen. “That’s Arthur Cavendish over there and he’s the editor of The Southern States Historical Journal.”

  “Really? I submitted a paper there last quarter and it was rejected, but he wrote a very nice note. He said he was interested in what else I had.” Shelby appreciated the time he’d taken to write a personal letter. She wasn’t one of those writers that grieved over every rejection, but she realized how busy editors are. If one took the time to write some encouraging words, it meant a lot.

  “Well, he’s talking to Elliott Pace, who just stepped into the senior editing position of Association of Southern History.”

  “I can’t believe it! This is better than the history conference.” She started to laugh. A warm feeling of belonging and contentment suffused her. Rebecca was wrong, it was all going to go so well. As long as they kept away from his evil aunt.

  “Right. Let’s go make casual conversation.” Ransom’s mouth quirked in a lopsided grin. Shelby turned away, shaking off the little spark that zipped its way towards her heart.

  “But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence.”

  -Mr. Darcy

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  A few moments later they stood next to a motley crew of senior editors. Elliott Pace was youthful looking for a man in his sixties, his receding hair cut military short. He turned and seemed to assess Shelby like a vulture from its perch.

  “Just a moment, Ben,” he said to a lanky gentleman in a wrinkled tan suit who was in the middle of a rapid fire monologue.

  “We have visitors. Nice to see you, Ransom.” His mouth turned up at the edges but his eyes were coldly appraising.

  “Hello, Elliott. This is Shelby Roswell, from Midland College.”

  Shelby held out her hand, willing herself to relax. This was what she was here for, to make social connections. They wouldn’t be asking any hard questions.

  He enclosed her hand in a surprisingly firm grip. “Yes, I was just talking to Margaret about you. Seems you made quite an impression when she visited Ransom’s class.”

  Her cheeks turned pink but she held his gaze, letting out a little laugh. “A difference of opinion. We sorted it out.”

  “Actually, she was right.” Ransom’s deep drawl wound its way through the tense atmosphere. “It was a bit heavy handed. And I need to be more careful with my research.” The small circle seemed to contract and expand with his words. A gray haired woman in a flowing purple dress tilted her head and made a noise, somewhere between a snort and a grunt.

  Elliott’s eyebrows raised higher. “Oh, I’m sure your research is perfectly adequate. Any of us could have made a similar error.” His gaze was trained on her with a malevolent intensity.

  “Arthur, I heard the next issue is going to be on constitutional debate in the years before the Civil War.” Ransom quickly turned the topic and Shelby felt a wave of gratitude sweep over her. Whether he’d brought her to vex his aunt or not, she appreciated the diversion.

  “As usual, Ransom, you have all the inside information. I don’t have to ask where you heard it,” Arthur said. His thick glasses made his eyes seem unnaturally large and combined with his bald, pink head, Shelby was reminded of an overgrown baby.

  “There are some advantages to being the nephew of your oldest friend.” Ransom chuckled. “My Uncle Cephus gives me a heads up now and then. He considers it his duty to advance my career.” He said this in a stage whisper to Shelby, and Arthur chuckled approvingly.

  “You’re going to have her up to speed in no time.” He turned his magnified gaze to Shelby and smoothed his tie. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m quite intrigued. We all tread lightly around Ransom, but you don’t seem to be afraid of him at all.”

  “That’s absolutely untrue, don’t believe a word he says,” Ransom protested quickly.

  Shelby ignored him. “He rescued me when I was stranded on the side of the road, in the middle of the night, during an ice storm. But if I were a student, I would be shaking in my shoes.”

  Arthur laughed. “He takes pride in weeding out the least dedicated. I’ve heard that some drop out of college entirely after taking one of his ill-fated courses.”

  “There now, I can’t regret setting the bar higher than most. With low expectations the students will produce only as much as is required.”

  “Yes, I agree. But you forget what a rocky start you had yourself.” Arthur turned to Shelby and said, “I was his advisor once upon a time and there were moments when I’d given him up for lost.”

  Shelby glanced at Ransom in surprise. His cheekbones seemed a bit pink and he opened his mouth to speak.

  “Shelby! I didn’t know you were coming.” Ron DiGuardi came towards her, reaching out a hand. He was wearing a button up shirt in a pale yellow, like fresh churned butter. The other hand was being held by his wife, Tansy. Her jet black hair was in a sleek bob, as always, and red patterned wrap dress displayed her petite frame to great advantage. She gave Shelby a quick peck on the cheek, her dark eyes sparkling with curiosity.

  “A last minute decision. Hi, Tansy.” Shelby hugged her, loving how the lithe woman radiated energy.

  The circle that had once seemed so hostile now subtly shifted and Shelby found herself comfortably flanked by Ransom and Tansy. While Ransom answered Ron’s questions about the new class, Tansy whispered to Shelby, “Making friends, are we?”

  “Rebecca already reminded me to play nice. I guess I’ll have to give up my plan of causing some social spectacle.” Shelby barely moved her lips as she spoke.

  “What a disappointment! Please reconsider. But I understand completely if you won’t.” She looked pointedly at Ransom and gave the barest of winks

  “Now, don’t start. He’s already taken and I have no urge to steal him away.” Not exactly true, maybe one or two small urges. Nothing she couldn’t handle.

  Tansy’s eyes widened. “Really? I hadn’t heard. What-“

  ”Dear, did you say that the Huntsville Museum of Art had agreed to send some of their exhibit up here?” Ron broke into their whispered conversation.

  Tansy nodded. “The Red Clay Survey was last month and there was a photographer I was interested in contacting, but he never answered his phone. I thought it would be great to have a show of his. So, really, just one artist, not the collection.” Tansy patiently clarified in a soft voice . Shelby loved being near the couple, their conversation seemed free of the minor irritations that bedeviled a long term relationship.

  “Oh, that’s right.” Ron smiled and tur
ned back to Ransom.

  “I hadn’t heard that he was seeing someone. Are you sure?” Tansy dropped her voice again, eager to hear the details.

  “Pretty sure. She’s not from around here, but definitely serious. They were going bridal gown shopping the day I first met her. Then after I helped you set up the gallery last week, I got roped into this strange dinner at Chinois and she talked weddings the entire time.” Shelby sipped her soda and peeked at Ransom’s profile. He was deep in conversation with Ron.

  “Hm.” Tansy frowned. “Who goes gown shopping with their fiancé ?”

  “Apparently she does!” Shelby giggled.

  “But you think he would have mentioned it before. He was over for dinner on Tuesday and didn’t say a thing about getting married.”

  “Who knows. Maybe he’s the private type.” Shelby felt an irrational jealousy. Ron and Tansy were her friends and she knew them first. Now Fielding was butting in.

  “He and Ron sure got on a roll, telling stories from their graduate school days. I finally had to leave them to it, I was exhausted.” Tansy smoothed her glossy bob and peeked around Shelby. “I was thinking you two would make a good match, even after the rough start. But now that you say he’s getting married. No sense in that.”

  “It would never have worked anyway. We hardly agree on a thing.” Shelby shrugged, but deep down she knew that wasn’t quite true. She wished they could change topics. Discussing what kind of couple they would have made if Tasha didn’t exist was making her inexplicably irritable.

  “I was over by the bar and I heard David Whitcomb say you two were dating.” Tansy let the sentence drop into the conversation with an innocent tone.

  Shelby whirled, mouth open. “What? He said that?”

  Tansy grinned. “I knew that wasn’t true. What a nasty little man he is.”

  “Who was he talking to?” Fury rose in her at the thought of being linked to David’s wheeling and dealing.

  “Some older couple. He was assuring them their mansion would be properly treated if they let him handle some transaction, I don’t know what. He said that his girlfriend was a renowned Civil War historian at Midlands and she helped get houses on the historical register.”

  “Did you say anything?” Rage made the words come out in a squeak. Who over the age of fifteen used the word girlfriend anyway?

  “I felt like a masked avenger,” she laughed out loud, clearly enjoying herself. “I inserted myself in the conversation and asked if he was talking about Shelby Roswell. He looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights. He stuttered around for a bit then I said that never mind, he couldn’t mean you, because you thought he was a scam artist.”

  Shelby’s eyes opened wide. “Did you, really? Oh Tansy, you’re the best!” She laughed out loud.

  “That poor old couple sure made a quick escape. I didn’t wait to see what David was going to say,” Tansy said. “That guy is slicker than a greased pig.”

  “Miss Roswell again!” A hearty voice came from behind her and Shelby turned to see Jonathon Stroud.

  “Dr. Stroud, how are you?” She struggled to shift gears, noticing that Ransom had moved next to her again.

  “And Ransom Fielding, I believe.” Dr. Stroud was shaking Ransom’s hand, smiling hugely. “Last time I saw you, it was at dawn near Pittsburgh Landing. Did you survive the siege?”

  She turned to Ransom with a muffled gasp. Was he a ‘bloater’? Jennie Anne’s story of the brass buttons flashed through her mind and her eyes opened wide.

  “That I did. I was taken prisoner with my commander. An inglorious end, but preferable to taking a shot to the femur and undergoing an amputation.” Ransom held his hand near his heart, reciting the words in a passable imitation of a stage actor.

  “And how I would have loved to assist you in your time of need.” Dr. Shroud turned to her. “Will we be seeing you out in the field, living the history perhaps as a nurse, Miss Roswell?”

  Shelby blinked. The thought of herself in a Civil War re-enactment was ludicrous. It was a hobby for obsessed men who had copious amounts of time on their hands.

  “I doubt she’s interested. It’s dirty, smelly, and usually starts before daybreak.” Ransom grinned down at her, his blue eyes teasing.

  “Ransom is right. I’ll stick to reading the letters that the soldiers wrote home. But it’s an interesting hobby.” She silently congratulated herself on her diplomacy.

  “Hobby? Did you hear that, Ransom? You’ll have to work on this girl. Get her out into the field where she can feel the rush. She’ll see it’s more than that.”

  Where she could feel the chiggers, more like it. “Excuse me, the word ‘hobby’ implies a certain triviality. It doesn’t do justice to an act that preserves sacred history.” Shelby fixed him with her best professorial expression.

  Dr. Stroud regarded her for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Oh, she’s a keeper, to be sure! I tell you, every marriage where the husband is spending his weekends in a ditch, the wife has to join him on the field, or at least see the beauty of the history.”

  “Oh, we’re not...I’m just...” Shelby’s face flamed and she looked to Ransom for help. He was nodding in agreement, oblivious to Stroud’s gaffe.

  “Penn’s last girlfriend refused to even look at his gear. She didn’t last more than a few months. You know how proud he is of that uniform. He sewed it himself after dying the wool with an authentic recipe.”

  “I think Shelby’s going to be a great new addition. Have you talked about what you would wear on the next outing?” Dr. Stroud was giving her the once over, visibly calculating the chances of getting Shelby into a scratchy wool nurse’s uniform.

  “No, no. I’m positive about that. I doubt that there’s anything I would enjoy out in the field at dawn. I admire the dedication, but no. Not for me.” Shelby shook her head emphatically. The time for diplomacy was gone and the moment to avoid playing dress up in the mud had arrived.

  “Oh, don’t be a Smedley. We’ll show you that it will deepen the admiration you have for those soldiers. Now Ransom, there’s someone I’d like you to meet, if you don’t mind. He’s had a good turn out over in Tennessee and we were thinking of some kind of collaboration.” Dr. Stroud stroked his white beard.

  “Of course. Shelby?” Ransom turned to her and Shelby wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but she had no interest in tagging along.

  “Go head, Tansy and I can chat for a bit.” Shelby waved him away with a smile. As he made his way through the elegantly attired partiers, she noticed how heads turned as he passed. What a charmed he led.

  “Smedley? What was that about?” Tansy watched as the tall, white haired doctor walked away, chattering excitedly to Ransom.

  “I think he meant Smedley Butler. After Stonewall Jackson’s arm was amputated, it was buried at Ellwood Cemetery in Virginia. Then it was dug up and buried again by Union soldiers a year later. During some maneuvers on the site in 1921, Smedley Butler said he didn’t believe that Stonewall’s arm was under the marker, so he dug it up.”

  “Whew. Poor arm.”

  “Poor Stonewall Jackson. He didn’t live long without it, though. Anyway, I think he was calling me a doubter.” Shelby laughed and shrugged. “There’s no way you’ll find me out there in a ditch, though.”

  “Never say never.” Tansy warned. “But tell me more about this fiancee.”

  “Fiancee? What fiancee?” Ron interrupted with interest.

  “Shelby says that Ransom is engaged. Did he mention it to you?” Tansy laid her hand lightly on her husband’s back.

  “No, nothing. Are you sure?” His round cheeks were slightly pink, his glass of wine was almost empty.

  “Pretty sure. I met the woman in question and overheard a conversation about bridal gown shopping.” Shelby felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe she wouldn’t have said anything, maybe he wanted to announce it himself.

  Tansy looked to her husband for his opinion. “You know him best, dear. You’ve always sai
d he’s reserved.”

  “I suppose. But to not mention that he’s getting married...” Ron shook his head and drained his glass.

  Shelby glanced at Ransom, now in a far corner of them room. He was taller than most of the other guests and she had no trouble finding him. He was facing her, laughing at the animated conversation of a robust looking man with wildly curly hair. Dr. Stroud stood to one side, smiling. Ransom looked up at that moment and met her gaze. Shelby felt her fingers tingle. A familiar warmth spread through her body and she hoped that she wasn’t blushing.

  Odd, he must be thirty feet away. It still felt like someone was running their finger down her spine. Can’t be pheromones from this distance. Shelby was completely absorbed by this development and missed Tansy’s next question.

  “ Who are you looking at?” Tansy turned to scan the crowd. Ransom lifted his glass and smiled.

  “Oh, I see. You’re forgiven.” She cut her eyes at Ron.

  Shelby hastened to make some comment, about anything. “Ron,” she said a bit breathlessly, “how’s the seminar on medieval Japan coming along?”

  “Fine. But we’ll be short one speaker next month. Dr. Morine is having visa issues. It’s quite a disappointment since she’s the expert in feudal societies and the rise of Buddhism among the common people. I’m hoping we can find a replacement.”

  Relief flooded through her as the conversation veered. Shelby felt one of the pins in her hair slip sideways and tried to pat it back into place.

  “Do you want me to fix that?” Tansy asked.