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Pride, Prejudice and Cheese Grits (Jane Austen Takes the South, Band 1) - Softcover

Buch 1 von 3: Jane Austen Takes the South

Hathaway, Mary Jane

 
9781476777504: Pride, Prejudice and Cheese Grits (Jane Austen Takes the South, Band 1)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1476777500 ISBN 13: 9781476777504
Verlag: Howard Books, 2014

Inhaltsangabe

This hilarious Southern retelling of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice tells the story of two hard-headed Civil war historians who find that first impressions can be deceiving.

Shelby Roswell, a Civil War historian and professor, is on the fast track to tenure—that is, until her new book is roasted by the famous historian Ransom Fielding in a national review. With her career stalled by a man she’s never met, Shelby struggles to maintain her composure when she discovers that Fielding has taken a visiting professorship at her small Southern college.

Ransom Fielding is still struggling with his role in his wife’s accidental death six years ago and is hoping that a year at Shelby’s small college near his hometown of Oxford, Mississippi, will be a respite from the pressures of Ivy League academia. He never bargained for falling in love with the one woman whose career—and pride—he injured, and who would do anything to make him leave.

When these two hot-headed southerners find themselves fighting over the centuries-old history of local battles and antebellum mansions, their small college is about to become a battlefield of Civil War proportions.

With familiar and relatable characters and wit to spare, Pride, Prejudice and Cheese Grits shows you that love can conquer all…especially when pride, prejudice, love, and cheese grits are involved!

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Mary Jane Hathaway is the pen name of an inspirational fiction writer. She homeschools her six children and lives in the small town of Milton-Freewater, Oregon.

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Pride, Prejudice and Cheese Grits

I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.

—ELIZABETH BENNET



Chapter One

Shelby Roswell rooted through her purse for the third time, tossing receipts and gum wrappers onto the cluttered desk. Those keys had been right in her hand a few minutes ago.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she sped through her morning in her mind, from unlocking her office until she arrived at her Introduction to the Civil War class. An image flashed through her mind—she’d dropped the keys onto the ledge of the old oak podium. Bingo!

Office hours didn’t end for thirty minutes, but she’d just slip out. Hardly anybody came to visit this early in the term, anyway. She thought of how different it would look in another two months, when a line of students would be eager to haggle over their papers’ grades.

The phone rang, a harsh trill that she could hear even when she was in the main office down the hall. Shelby puffed out an impatient breath and snatched the old black receiver.

“Shelby, it’s Daddy,” Phillip Roswell’s familiar drawl sounded in her ear.

She loved how he called her office phone but never her cell. He didn’t trust anything that tiny to work right.

“Your mama wanted me to remind you to come early weekend after next. She wants to introduce you around before the party.”

“Hope springs eternal,” Shelby muttered.

“Now, now. Just think how bored she’ll be after she gets you married off.”

“So, I’m her hobby?” she asked, laughing. Only he could make her see the humor in being considered a spinster at age twenty-nine. Shelby’s mother spent more time trying to find her eldest daughter a husband than all the other mothers of Flea Bite Creek did for their daughters, combined.

“Now you got it. And I wanted to know how the new addition was working out,” her daddy said, a smile in his voice.

She could just see her father, probably sitting in his study, feet propped on the corner of the antique desk, morning sun filtering through the diamond-cut windowpanes. He rarely left that room now that he was retired.

“Haven’t seen hide nor hair. I heard they gave him an enormous office over in Agate Hall.” She fiddled with a ballpoint pen, beating a staccato rhythm against her desk calendar. “And there was such demand for his classes that he’s using a lecture hall to fit in the hundred or so who signed up.” It galled her to admit that last bit. She was thankful to get the thirty or so kids she did.

“Well, as long as he stays out of your way, I won’t have to come up there and have words with him.”

Shelby snorted, imagining her mild-mannered Southern daddy having “words” with anybody. As the gentleman lawyer son of a gentleman lawyer, he didn’t often resort to arguing. Power spoke for itself.

“I’m sure he will. He’s far too important to deal with me. They’ve already had two receptions this week so people could meet him.”

“Did you go?”

“Daddy, how could I sit there, smiling and playing nice? The review he did of my book was so mean, so low . . .” Her voice trailed off as she struggled to put into words what they both knew. It had not simply been a bad review. It had been a literary lynching in a national magazine.

“Why don’t you have Arlen Beasley review it?”

Shelby sighed. An old family friend, Arlen would have nothing but good things to say. But no one would care to hear them either, since he was almost completely unknown.

“It’s done. Ransom Fielding wrote the definitive series on the history of the Civil War. And the review came out in NewsWorld.” She bit her lip and doodled in the margins of her calendar. Everything had been going so well. Her membership in the Southern Historical Society was almost assured, and she had nearly finished a groundbreaking article. But she had to bounce back from this catastrophe somehow. Her tenure application depended on it.

“No matter how many times I say that his criticisms weren’t valid, nobody seems to listen. He didn’t even have a problem with the work, just the way I wrote it.”

“Why is he there teaching a college course if he’s a writer?”

“Well, he holds a position up at Yale, so he definitely can teach a course. I know Finch was thrilled to have him join our department even for a year.” Shelby nibbled her nail, a nervous habit she’d had since childhood.

“He should be thrilled to have you, brilliant girl,” her father growled.

“You’re like my own cheering squad. But I’d better get off the phone and go find my keys.”

“Again? You remind me of your mother’s aunt Kitty. She got so bad we had to hire a minder so she wouldn’t set the house on fire.”

“I don’t think I’m that bad yet. But I could do with an assistant.” Shelby eyed the teetering pile of research papers on her desk. Her housemate, Rebecca, liked to say Shelby used the EAS filing system: Every Available Surface.

“For Christmas, then. No more old books, just someone to keep your keys from walking off,” he promised before hanging up.

Shelby sighed, wishing her Christmas present included going back in time and muzzling a man who seemed hell-bent on ruining her career.

After taking the stairs at a quick clip, Shelby was halfway down the first-floor hallway when she heard a voice drifting from the open classroom door.

“I understand we all want to be comfortable, but—”

The hallway echoed with the deep, unfamiliar voice. Shelby involuntarily slowed her steps.

“—even here, there must be a certain level of—”

The door was fully open, and as she came closer, Shelby could see the students packed solidly in the tiered lecture hall, every one of them riveted. A feeling of foreboding crept up her spine as she inched forward, her eyes finally confirming what her instincts told her: Ransom Fielding stood at the front of the room, and he seemed different from the man she’d glimpsed last week, striding across campus.

He was tall, but not gangly, with broad shoulders. His suit was well made, much better than what an average professor would wear, and he carried it with style. An almost too-handsome face was saved by severe brows, and his blue eyes flashed as he spoke. His intensity seemed to ripple outward.

“—the second day of class and there are still those of you who insist on disregarding my guidelines concerning classroom behavior.”

The students seemed on the younger end of the undergraduate spectrum. Most of the girls were clustered down in the front three rows. The room was packed—nothing like the few rows she had filled earlier.

“—there in the red baseball cap, turned backward. Yes, you.”

A kid halfway up the room paused midbite. He had a bag of chips and an orange sports drink on his desk, his notebook not yet opened, one foot propped on the back of the seat in front of him. He slowly swallowed.

“Come here and bring your food. No, just your food, not your books.”

The student was somewhat lanky, and it seemed to Shelby that it took ages for him to get his foot down, gather his things and wander down the steps to the front. He stood to the side of the podium, shifting his weight nervously.

“Your name?”

“Tanner...

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Verlag
Howard Books
Erscheinungsdatum
2014
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1476777500
ISBN 13 
9781476777504
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
352
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Van Ditmar Boeken, VDB Sales
sales@vanditmar.nl

Papendorpseweg 99
Utrecht
3528 BJ
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