Teri Wilson - Unleashing Mr Darcy

Ed’s door opened. “Elizabeth,” the headmaster boomed. “Please, come in.”

Any relief she felt vanished when he escorted her inside the office and took his place behind his desk. He looked rather red. And very, very serious. “I’m glad you stopped by. There are some new circumstances surrounding your suspension that we need to discuss.”

Elizabeth’s hands began to shake. She clasped them together so Ed wouldn’t notice. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m afraid this...situation...has grown complicated.”

Nothing like a little bribery to turn something as simple as a failing report card into a situation.

Although it wasn’t technically bribery. More like attempted bribery. She hadn’t for a moment considered accepting the five-figure check that Grant Markham had tossed at her during their parent-teacher conference.

Correction: checks. Plural.

The more she’d refused him, the more insistent he’d become. He’d written one check after another, as if the problem had been the amount of the bribe, rather than its inherent wrongness.

“How much?” he’d finally asked, leaning close, his breath hot against her skin. “Women like you—the ones who come from nothing—always have a price. Why don’t you save us both some time and tell me what it is?”

Those words had reached inside her, touching on her deepest insecurities. It was hard to grow up around the tulle and lace at Scott Bridal without sometimes feeling like an impoverished Cinderella among a whole world of entitled stepsisters. Their clientele were the sort who believed that a fat wallet could buy them anything. Truth be told, it usually did.

Women like you...the ones who come from nothing.

Stunned into silence, she’d been unable to do little more than watch in horror as Grant Markham had casually touched the inside of her wrist. His fingertips had crept upward, and his gaze had flicked ever so briefly to her breasts.

He hadn’t made an outright pass at her, but the implication had been clear. He could buy her silence. And he could buy her. The only thing standing in his way was the matter of compensation.

In retrospect, she probably shouldn’t have slapped him. Perhaps if she’d just walked away right there and then, she wouldn’t be in this mess. Maybe Grant Markham wouldn’t have gone to the headmaster. Maybe he wouldn’t have disputed his son’s grade and insisted Elizabeth be placed on administrative leave for a week while an independent auditor looked at her grade book.

Or maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference at all. Slap or no slap, he still hadn’t gotten his way.

Yet.

“I suppose things have become rather ugly.” Elizabeth nodded her agreement. “But as I told you before, Grant Markham wouldn’t take no for an answer. His behavior was most inappropriate. I hope...”

The headmaster held up a hand to stop her, just as Mr. Darcy had done in the show ring on Saturday. In this context, it wasn’t quite as infuriating. In fact, it was daunting.

Elizabeth obediently shut her mouth.

“There’s more to this than Joe Markham’s grade. Much more.”

Joe was a nickname. His full name was Grant Markham III. Why did rich people insist on using the same names over and over again?

Elizabeth wondered if Donovan Darcy came from a long line of Donovans. Then she gave her thigh a good, solid pinch. A punishment. Because really, what was she doing thinking about Mr. Darcy at a time like this? It was absurd.

She cleared her throat. “You don’t need to explain. I know Joe is the captain of the rugby team. His failing grade made him ineligible for the play-offs. People were upset. I realize that. But Grant Markham cannot expect me to change his son’s grade in exchange for money.”

Ed clasped his hands together on his desk and shook his head. “I’ve spoken with Mr. Markham. He’s aware of your accusations, and he disputes them. Quite vehemently.”

Of course he does. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I didn’t think he would admit that he tried to bribe me.”

Or that he’d hinted at an affair. She still hoped she’d only imagined that part.

“Actually, he says the money was your idea.” Ed’s voice was low. So low Elizabeth almost didn’t hear it.

“My idea?” It was a slap to the face, every bit as real as the one she’d given Grant Markham.

“Yes. Mr. Markham says you attempted to extort money from him in exchange for giving his son a passing grade.” He leveled his gaze at her. Worry lines creased his forehead, which appeared to be growing redder by the second. “He also mentioned a designer handbag.”

The Prada. Elizabeth was overcome with a sudden numbness. “That was a Christmas gift. You know how the parents around here are. The head of the athletic department was given season tickets to the Yankees for Christmas.”

Elizabeth hated the way her voice shook. She would have rather sounded confident, offended even, in the face of such an accusation.

She was neither of these things. At the moment, she was terrified.

“Elizabeth.” Ed, no, Dr. Thurston—Elizabeth was certain she would never again address this man by his common name—exhaled another sigh and looked back down at his clasped hands. The top of his head glowed redder than ever. As Elizabeth stared at it, she prayed he didn’t keel over while she was sitting in his office, lest she become not only the teacher who’d tried to extort money from parents, but also the one who’d killed the headmaster.

He looked back up, still alive. Thank God. “There will be an investigation, of course.”

“An investigation?” This should have been good news, of course. What could an investigation turn up when she’d done nothing wrong? For some reason, it failed to put Elizabeth at ease.

“The investigation will be handled internally.” Dr. Thurston tugged at his shirt collar, causing the knot in his tie to tilt crookedly.

Elizabeth fought the urge to straighten it, a quirk she’d acquired during all those years she’d spent at Scott Bridal while she was growing up. She could recognize a perfectly crafted Windsor knot from a mile away. Dr. Thurston’s was far from perfect. “Internally? What does that mean, exactly?”

“The board of directors will be looking into the matter.”

The board of directors.

A sinking feeling settled in Elizabeth’s stomach. Grant Markham’s wife was on the board of directors. So were nine other people the Markhams had likely had over to dinner, probably on their yacht or something, throughout the years. Elizabeth’s fate was in the hands of the alleged victim’s wife and her high-society friends.

It was over. She was finished.

Elizabeth sat quietly, trying to absorb it all. “So what happens now? Do I need to get a lawyer?”

“No. A lawyer wouldn’t be able to help you, anyway. As your contract states, your position here can be withdrawn at any time, for any reason. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. In a few weeks, perhaps this will blow over. For now, your suspension stands until the conclusion of the investigation. At that time, the board will determine a permanent outcome.” He released a heavy sigh. “Elizabeth, you’re a wonderful teacher. I’m not saying I don’t believe you. I’m not saying that at all, but the financial stability of this school hinges on how we handle this situation. The Barclay School is a private institution, and it depends on tuition payments to keep the doors open.”

So it all boiled down to money. Didn’t everything? “How long should the investigation take?”

“According to the bylaws, four weeks.”

Four weeks. Approximately three weeks longer than she could afford her Manhattan apartment without the benefit of a regular paycheck.