Part Eight of a Modern P&P Story

Happy September!

So, I have good news and bad news. Good news first, right? In a previous post, I lamented the lack of a title for this story. Together, Alexandra and Adelle devised a suggestion I love: Strokes of Inelegance! What do you think? Alexandra came up with “strokes” (thinking of swim strokes and the phrase strokes of genius), and Adelle turned that into “Strokes of Inelegance,” which I think fits poor Liz’s inelegant but dedicated approach to figuring out her feelings for Will!

Okay, now the bad news…this isn’t yet the end of the story! I really did try to finish the story today, but I wrote nearly 3000 words in one sitting, which is, for me, enough to make my head explode. Since I rather like my head, I decided to stop for the night. I didn’t end with a cliffhanger, but I did stop in the middle of a scene. Forgive me!

As usual, this excerpt is unedited and raw, and I’m so grateful for your willingness to give it a try! If you would like to read earlier parts of the story, you can find them here: part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, and part seven).

Hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave suggestions or feedback in the comment section. Thanks!

Though she was, by nature, optimistic and self-assured, Liz possessed her share of insecurities: she was self-conscious about how slowly she read; she feared small, cramped spaces; and she cringed at the sight of her bare feet. (She never minded others’ bare feet—only her own.) Despite these and many other shortcomings, she never doubted herself in the heat of a confrontation. Her courage always rose with every attempt to intimidate her.

But this, too, could be a shortcoming, for there were certain scenarios—say, a patronizing boss interrupting one of the most meaningful conversations of her life—when Liz’s temper had the potential to rise even higher than her courage.

“What are you doing here, Miss Bennet?” Cathy strode toward their booth, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “Why are you not sitting with your students? I am ashamed of you!” Then, before Liz could respond, Cathy turned to Will and smiled tightly. “You must be here to celebrate your sister’s successes, Mr. Darcy. I do hope my teacher is not intruding on your time.”

To her credit, Liz did not succumb to the most common cliches about anger: she did not blow a fuse, nor did she see red. No, what she saw a vision of the future: Will straightening his back and raising his chin while saying, in that deliciously cool voice of his, “She is not the one intruding, Mrs. de Bourgh.”

This she pictured in the blink of an eye. Later, in the lonely months that followed, the vision would return to her, a daydream of what might have been. But now, she chafed under the notion that Will would swoop in and rescue her. If she were going be accused of causing trouble, she would damn well earn that reputation on her own.

“I not your teacher, Cathy, but my students’ teacher,” she bit out, glaring at the woman who could, with a few choice words, ensure that she was not a teacher at all, at least not at Meryton Academy. “And I should think it’s rather obvious what I’m doing here, as I’m the swim coach and the team is enjoying a meal together after an important meet. Here’s a better question: what are you doing here, hundreds of miles from the school you are supposed to run? It’s funny, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at one of our swim practices or home meets. Must not be enough fundraising opportunities when only the students are present.”

Perhaps in the history of insults, these words were not among the most offensive, but as Liz was fond of reminding her students, tone and context mattered just as much as the words themselves.

And this was the context that Liz missed until after the insults had tumbled from her mouth: behind Cathy stood Sir Lewis Rosings and Dr. Ananya Chandra, influential donors and the proud parents of Anne Rosings. Then there was the man sitting next to Liz—potentially the most important living donor in the school’s history. To insult Cathy in private would have been bad enough; to insult her in front of such people—well, this was nothing short of a death blow to her career.

Worse, her reaction had been mean-spirited. Yes, Cathy’s words had made Liz feel small, but that was no excuse for acting small. Always, Liz had wanted to be like the great protagonists from literature: courageous and witty, yes, but also generous and noble, fair and heroic—not just when it was easy but when every circumstance conspired to make integrity seem impossible.

She had only to think back on her conduct these past few months—her snarky emails, the unfair assumptions, her impulsive behavior, and now this unchecked temper tantrum—to realize that she was no protagonist. To be sure, she was not a villain; she was just one of those minor characters who thought so much better of herself than she ought. She was the foil, the fool, the comic relief—at least on paper. In actuality, she was an ordinary, flawed human being who had come to realize the extent of her own vanity.

Until this moment, Liz had never known herself.

In such a situation—when Cathy stood before her, trembling with rage; when Anne’s parents gaped at her; when Will (oh, she could not bring herself to look at Will)—how was she to atone?

In the only way she knew how. She swallowed hard and said, “Excuse me, Cathy. My words were unkind and inappropriate.”

Her voice sounded pitiful—almost as pitiful as she felt. To the others, she must have seemed to be groveling, rather than apologizing.

Cathy seemed to think so, for she snorted and exclaimed, “Unkind and inappropriate indeed! A word in private, Miss Bennet!”

She sensed Will’s gaze, saw from the corner of her eye the way his mouth hardened, and then—worse, so much worse—felt the absence of him as he turned and slid from the booth. Was it her imagination, or had the restaurant gone quiet? Though she could tell students were turning to look in her direction, Liz could not bring herself to interpret the reactions she was eliciting. Gasps? Whispers? Wide-eyed stares? First she had been thrown out of the Ramsgate natatorium; now she was being ushered out of the Hunsford Grill. Well, this would be one of those experiences the girls would always remember; it wasn’t often that a teacher made a complete fool of herself twice in one a day.

Had she chosen to write herself into a scene of self-inflicted humiliation, she would have allowed this fictional Liz to stand proudly in the face of her disgrace, but no—the universe had given her what she deserved. She had to scoot sideways across the booth, the seat’s cracked leather sticky beneath her sweating palms. Then, slowly, clumsily, she unfolded herself into something like a standing position.

At least she didn’t stumble into Will; she kept as much distance between them as she could; kept her eyes focused on Cathy’s back as she followed her to the door of the restaurant; kept her breathing steady and regular, as if she were swimming, stroke by inelegant stroke*, through the choppiest waters of her life.

Stepping into the bitter cold, Liz found herself grateful for the wind that nipped at the bare skin of her fingers, neck, and face. She’d gladly take physical pain, if only it could blunt the pain of regret.

Cathy, however, appeared less than pleased with her choice of venue. Rubbing her hands furiously, she said, “Miss Bennet, you ought to know that I am not to be trifled with. However insincere you may choose to be, you will not find me so. I am well known for my frankness, and I will not depart from such behavior now.”

Liz could only bring herself to nod, fearing that this was it; this was the end. Never mind the years of work she had put into this job, a job she loved dearly; she had thrown it away in an instant.

“I know how I appear to you,” Cathy continued, teeth chattering now. “And I know myself, too. I was never the beloved teacher you seem to be. My students thought me didactic and dull; the faculty thinks me pretentious and autocratic. Well, I don’t give a damn what they think.”

Liz’s lips parted wordlessly.

“What matters,” Cathy continued, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket, “is this school’s reputation. Do you wish to know why I came to Ramsgate today, Miss Bennet? Yes, I drove four hours away from the school because there are important donors to meet. That is my job—to raise funds for this beast of an institution that will never have enough money to satiate it.”

“And I ruined that opportunity,” Liz said flatly.

Cathy snorted, emitting a puff of cold air. “Quite possibly—but not definitely. Before the swim meet, Sir Lewis and Dr. Chandra could not sing your praises highly enough; in their eyes, you are the reason Anne is enjoying herself this winter.”

“But I’m not. She’s—”

“Of course you’re not! You and I both know Anne is happy because because she’s grown another half inch or because her hormones have finally settled or because she was admitted early to Dartmouth!”

“Well, I was going to suggest her friendship with Georgi, but—”

Cathy frowned. “Do you really suppose you are in a position to be clever right now, Miss Bennet? Yet that’s who you are, isn’t it? Clever and charming, so much so that even when you acted like a fool by throwing that swim coach’s bag into the pool, two of the most respected names in Britain threw back their heads and laughed, thinking it some kind of grand joke. The question is, just how far will charisma take you, Miss Bennet?”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny, Cathy, I—”

“Will it carry you through this night, even after these same respectable people watched you flirt with our school’s most important alum instead of attending to their daughter?”

Though she wanted desperately to defend herself, Liz bit her tongue. After all, what could she say? Cathy had a point.

“Will your charm erase the display you put on a few minutes earlier,” continued Cathy, “when you spoke so clearly out of turn?”

Liz thought it was less about speaking out of turn and more about losing her composure, but again, she managed to keep her mouth shut. Perhaps there was hope for her, after all?

“In short,” said Cathy, now shaking visibly (though from cold or anger, Liz couldn’t tell), “I hardly know if you will be able to get away with your little tricks again, Miss Bennet. I will tell you this, though: if you dare threaten the reputation of my school, I will fire you in a heartbeat—no matter how beloved you are. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Liz, knowing that, whatever she thought of Cathy de Bourgh, the Head of School was a fierce advocate of the school—and that, Liz had to respect.

“Can you promise me, Miss Bennet, never to behave in such a way again?”

Liz swallowed and met her employer’s eyes. “I can make no such promise. I wish I could, and I will always work to improve, but”—Liz offered a sad smile—“I too know myself. I may be able to curb what you call my impertinence, but I will never be able to erase it.”

“Then I suggest,” said Cathy, turning and heading for the door, “that you think long and hard, Miss Bennet, about your future at Meryton Academy.”

Following Cathy back into the restaurant, Liz felt herself on the verge of laughing—and crying. For goodness sake, if she was going to develop a streak of integrity, why had she decided to do so now? Well, whatever the future held, she had a job—for the moment. And she was determined to do that job, for her students’ sake, as much as for her own.

Sitting down at a table with five wide-eyed swimmers, Liz offered a crooked smile. “I’ve heard a rumor that Meryton has a ridiculous swim coach—and a ridiculously good swim team. Tell me all about the swim meet.”

For the next half hour, Liz went from table to table, hearing from every swimmer except Anne and Georgi, who now sat at a large table near the back of the restaurant with the Rosings, Cathy de Bourgh, and (God, she didn’t know if she could face him) Will Darcy. He sat with his back to her, his spine stiffening as she approached.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, forcing herself to meet Georgi’s and then Anne’s gaze, “but the bus will be leaving for the hotel in about ten minutes, and I haven’t yet heard your perspective on the swim—”

Before she could finish, Anne jumped up and pulled her toward the empty chair near her parents. “You have to meet my mum and dad! Earlier this week, they flew from London for business, and I told them they had to come to Ramsgate while they were stateside.”

“It’s great they could see you swim, Anne.”

The girl waved a hand. “Oh, who cares about that? They see me swim at home.”

“Annie invited us,” said Dr. Chandra, smiling warmly at Liz, “because she wanted to introduce you to us.”

“And what an introduction you provided,” said Sir Lewis, with a snort.

“Dad!” exclaimed Anne, nudging him in the shoulder. “Don’t embarrass her!”

“On that front,” said Liz, “I think I’ve managed well enough on my own.”

Nearly everyone at the table laughed. The notable exceptions: Cathy and Will. The Head of School merely rolled her eyes and muttered, “Charisma!” which would have caused Liz to smile, had she not been thinking about Will. They sat at diagonals, so that she could see the angular lines of his face without meeting his gaze.

Anne launched into a detailed description of her swimming events, then began praising Georgi’s abilities—quite helpful of her, because Georgi wasn’t saying a word. She was watching Liz with great intensity; when she looked away from her coach, it was only to glance at her brother with a slight frown.

“Well, I had no doubts,” Liz said, pushing herself up from the table a few minutes later, “that you and Georgi would make the team proud today, Anne. All right, onto the bus with you both, unless…” She looked to Anne’s parents, then dared a glance at Will. “Will you be signing out Anne and Georgi so they can spend more time with you, or—”

“Oh, no!” said Sir Lewis,  “We wouldn’t dare!”

“Our daughter,” explained Dr. Chandra, “has been looking forward to rooming with Georgi since sign-ups for Ramsgate began. We will drive to Meryton this weekend to see Annie before returning to London.”

“Besides,” said Anne, grinning, “Georgi needs to know just how badly I snore, since we will be sharing a room for two weeks this summer.”

“The Rosings have invited me to London after graduation!” exclaimed Georgi, smiling at Liz for the first time since she’d sat down at their table.

“And since all my brothers and sisters will be visiting, Georgi will have to stay in my room and listen to me snore.” Anne gave a loud snort as demonstration, setting off another round of laughter. This time even Cathy chuckled, though whether she actually found the display amusing, Liz couldn’t be sure. Shrewd as she was, Cathy was no doubt beginning to realize that the Rosings’ pedigree, money, and accents were no match for their raucous sense of humor.

As for Will—well, he barely smiled.

Sighing, Liz said her farewells and made her way to the cashier to pay the team’s bill. When she heard footsteps behind her, she stopped and held her breath, telling herself that it was surely Charlotte (who had been sending her sympathetic looks all evening) or perhaps a server (the girls were always leaving things behind in restaurants) or even Cathy (who no doubt had one last warning or order to give before they left). It was not going to be Will. It was not, it was not, it was—

“Dr. Bennet?”

At the sound of Georgi’s voice, Liz turned and steeled herself. Perhaps only this conversation could be more difficult than a conversation with Will, for Liz felt certain his sister had noticed first the flirting, then the tension between them.

Georgi stared at her for a long moment before reaching out a tentative hand. “Are you…are you okay?”

Before she could stop herself, Liz closed her eyes against a sudden, irrational onset of tears. Then, taking a deep breath, she forced a laugh.  “Georgi, you are amazing, do you know that?”

Georgi shook her head. “No, I’m not, especially if I’ve caused you trouble today. I saw Mrs. de Bourgh talking with you, and she looked really angry. If it was because of what happened at Ramsgate…”

Again, Liz laughed, if only because she didn’t know what else to do. “No! No, Mrs. de Bourgh was not angry with me.”

Georgi raised her eyebrows.

“Well, not about that,” Liz amended. “Listen, you are very kind to think of me, but I promise: there is nothing that happened to me today that a good night’s sleep can’t fix.”

Again, Georgi raised her brows — and again, Liz amended her words.

“Or at least there’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t make a little better.”

“You know, sometimes, you remind me so much of Will.”

Liz hoped to god she wasn’t blushing.

“I mean, in so many ways, you’re opposites. You’re so outgoing, and he can be incredibly shy. I hope you don’t hold that against him, Dr. Bennet. I know he can say the wrong thing, or appear cold, but…I don’t know. I just get this sense that, if you got to know him better, you’d see he’s just as funny and passionate—”

Behind Georgi, a conspicuous cough—and now Liz knew she was blushing, for she felt the blood and heat rush to her face as her eyes met his.

“Oh, Will!” Georgi spun around and punched her brother playfully on the shoulder. “You snuck up on me!”

“I just wanted to say goodbye,” he said, looking away from them both.

“Well then, let me give you your privacy,” said Liz, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.

“No, he means he wants to say goodbye to you, Dr. Bennet,” said Georgi quickly. “We’ve already said goodbye. Here, Will, one more farewell.” She stood on tiptoes and gave her brother a quick peck on the cheek. “See you in a few weeks, okay?”

Then, before Liz could protest, Georgi was pushing open the door and hurrying toward the waiting bus.

Slowly, Liz raised her gaze to Will’s. Why was it so much worse to see concern in those fine blue eyes of his than the disgust she deserved?

“The good thing about today,” she said, attempting a smile, “is that you will never have another day exactly like this one.”

“Liz…”

“Look,” she said quickly, before she lost her nerve, “I like you, Will. So much. But…”

But I’m a mess. But I don’t know how this will work. But I’m afraid.

“But,” he said quietly, “I’m still the guardian of one of your students.”

At least until she graduates, Liz thought—and then willed him to say it. If he did, she’d know there was hope. She’d know he didn’t care about how many mistakes she’d made or how impossible a relationship between them might seem. She’d know he wanted to try.

Instead, he said, “And we’re both very busy.”

Heartbreak was one of those words she counseled her students never to use in writing. “It’s a cliche; it doesn’t make sense; it tells rather than shows.”

And still—heartbreak.

“Yes, very busy,” she said, her voice so hoarse she had to clear her throat. “Also, miles apart, in spite of all those good roads.” This, she tried to make sound funny, but he only looked pained—and then away.

“Right.”

“Well…” She turned to the door and wondered if this was it, if this was goodbye, but he followed her to the bus, rumbling and warm and full of girls talking so loudly she could hear them through the glass.

“Well,” she said again, looking up without looking at him. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he said, and then, oddly, held out his hand. Without allowing herself to think, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist, rubbing her thumb against the jut of bone beneath his skin, thinking she would never truly know the texture of him, for in ten degrees Fahrenheit, she could feel nothing but pins and needles, could sense nothing but the memory of warmth.

*

Three months later…

If someone had told her, in the depths of winter, that she’d find 75°F  too hot—that she’d wish she’d worn the sundress Jane had suggested instead of this stupid cardigan, long-sleeved blouse, and wool skirt—Liz would have thrown a snowball at their head.

But she would also have known they were right. Heat seemed impossible in late winter and inevitable in late spring; this she knew only too well from growing up in New England, and yet still she dressed for graduation as if it were held in March instead of May.

“I can’t believe you won’t be here to suffer through this ridiculous ceremony with me next year,” whispered Charlotte, as they followed the procession of faculty down the main street of the campus. Two by two, the teachers marched merrily out of step, ostensibly ranked by seniority, passing through a gauntlet of students, ninth through eleventh graders who had lined the street to cheer on their teachers and, behind them, the graduating seniors. At the front of the line: a bagpiper wearing a kilt and two fife players, plus a drummer, all dressed in Revolutionary-era clothing. In her five years at Meryton, Liz never had learned why these costumed musicians led the procession.

“Just think,” Liz whispered back, “my absence will move everyone behind us up the line, which means Bill Collins might be marching beside you next year!”

Charlotte shot her a glare. “That does not make me feel better, Liz.”

“Well then, once the school year is over,” consoled Liz, “you can come to Boston and stay in my dusty little studio and complain about Bill while we eat the best Italian food the North End has to offer.”

“Well, if tiramisu’s involved, then I guess I can let you move.” Charlotte sighed. “I can’t believe you’re leaving, Liz.”

Sometimes, neither could she. When she stared out at the hills in the morning, when she walked the farm loop surrounding the campus, when she heard the bells ringing at noon or the students singing after dinner—well, she couldn’t imagine any place would ever compare to Meryton.

Then there were all the people she would miss dreadfully: the students, of course, especially her swimmers and dorm residents, the girls she’d come to know so well; her friends and colleagues, Charlotte at the very top of the list; and even Cathy, who had wished her well when she had told the Head of School that she’d given a great deal of thought to her advice and decided to try something different.

“If I’m only teaching four classes at a day school, not coaching and heading a dorm,” Liz had explained to Charlotte, when breaking the news, “I’ll have so much more time to write, and besides…I think the city will be good for me.”

And it would be—even if she never did see Will Darcy roaming the streets of Boston or Cambridge. Which he wouldn’t be—because he was busy and so would she be and they hadn’t exchanged a single word since that night at the Hunsford Grill.

But Liz had promised, after that disastrous night, to be more honest with herself. And so she knew that she’d look for him when she was roaming the streets of Boston and Cambridge, just as she was looking for him now, knowing he was standing somewhere behind the students, watching for Georgiana as she marched down the street with the other graduates.

After a moment of glancing this way and that, she spotted him. It wasn’t difficult to do: he was one of the tallest people in the crowd, not to mention one of the best dressed, wearing, of course, a very fine three-piece suit. (He must have been even hotter than she was; he was definitely hotter than she was.) Perhaps it was the passage of time, or maybe it was that troublesome courage of hers, but Liz refused to look away when he saw her. She took a breath and smiled—not a tentative twitch of the lips or an embarrassed smirk, but a full-out grin, as if she were glad to see him. Because she was glad—very much so. 

And Will? He grinned right back at her.

Thanks so much for reading. One half of this graduation scene (available Sept. 27) plus an epilogue to go! If you’ve made it this far, you’re amazing! (If you haven’t, you’re still amazing; you’re just not reading this…)