Without Pride and Prejudice

Prologue

Thirteen Years Ago

“There are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement.”

MONROE

“OKAY, YOU GOT THIS,” I whispered to myself, even though I felt more out of place than ever. I swore the necktie I had to wear as part of my school uniform was trying to strangle me. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be attending some fancy private school in the UK during what should have been my junior year in high school. The school doubled as both a day school and a boarding school, but thankfully I was only attending the day school.

This new school of mine was so fancy, I’d heard rumors that nobility and movie stars’ children attended. I didn’t care how famous any of the students were—I just wanted to be back home in Kansas, hanging out with my friends on the lawn before school, laughing and talking about our new class schedules and the boys we were crushing on.

I’d had high hopes that Finn Cavanaugh would ask me to homecoming this year. We’d flirted all summer while working together at one of the local ice cream shops. But then my dad got this opportunity to work in the UK. His company offered to pay for what they touted as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me. I knew Dad really wanted to do this and that it would look great on his résumé. He’s the best dad in the world, so I wanted to support him. But now, looking around at the school’s courtyard full of a hundred total strangers, I was feeling less supportive.

Just play it cool. Find someone who’s lonely, just like you, I silently told myself. I was testing out a theory: Maybe in the UK I could actually help people without it going all wrong. Back home, I’d been a tiny bit of a disaster. Okay, maybe more than a tiny bit. For some reason, I was jinxed in the assistance department. Dad said it was part of my charm. I guess I was about to see how charming I could be in a foreign country.

I slowly walked across the cobblestone path between the buildings with ivy climbing up the brick walls, looking like something out of a Jane Austen movie. It calmed my heart a little. I loved all things Jane Austen, especially Mr. Darcy. My goal in life was to be Elizabeth Bennet. I wasn’t quite there yet, meaning I had about a million miles to go.

I bit my lip as I walked, feeling like everyone was staring at me, as if they knew I didn’t really belong here. But somewhere, amid all the discomfort, an unseen magical force magnetically drew me to the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen, making me forget where I was and how out of place I felt. Strangely, his presence made me feel a weird comfort I’d never known before.

The godlike creature sat on a wrought iron bench near a large oak tree, immersed in a leather-bound book. I was grateful the book didn’t cover his gorgeous, chiseled face. I hadn’t realized boys his age could have such flawless features—they certainly didn’t where I came from. Maybe he was a movie star himself, with his gray broody eyes and light scruff. The eyes and scruff went perfectly with his immaculately styled hair that was longer on top with neat, trim sides. The preppy tie and jacket didn’t hurt either—I guess school uniforms weren’t all that bad, even if I was missing my comfortable jeans.

I was so drawn to him, I knew I had to talk to him. But that was a crazy thought, given he appeared to have the attention of almost every girl in the courtyard—no shock there. The shocking thing was that he didn’t seem to care. The boys I knew back home would have jumped at all the attention. Whoever this demigod was, he seemed unbothered or even bored by their regard. That probably should have stopped me from approaching him, but his pull was too strong, even when I saw a beautiful girl with long ebony hair sit on the bench and slide right up next to him like a suction cup.

He leaned away from her, obviously not thrilled with the attention. It made me second-guess myself even more. But the call refused to be ignored. Too bad that in my haste, I let my heavy book bag slip and then managed to trip over it. It might have been okay, except gravity took over and I couldn’t steady myself. Instead, I face-planted on the grass, missing the cobblestone by inches. It was my worst nightmare come to life. Knowing my luck, my skirt was probably up around my waist, showing off my panties. With that lovely thought, I did the only thing I could under the circumstances: I jumped up as fast as I could, threw my arms in the air, and said, “Ta-da!” like an idiot.

Unfortunately, that got everyone’s attention.

Way to start your first day, I thought to myself as everyone gaped at me, some laughing and pointing.

Feeling like I wanted to crawl under a rock, I reached down to pick up my bag, but to my surprise, someone was already handing it to me. And not just any someone—it was the beautiful boy.

“Are you all right?” he asked in his charming British accent.

A nervous giggle escaped. “Uh ... yeah ... I was just warming up,” I teased.

The corners of the beautiful boy’s lips ticked up as if he wanted to smile but refused to.

Everyone in the courtyard still stared at me, but instead of laughing, I heard them whispering things like, “Does Lord Alastair know her?” and “I’ve never seen him help anyone before.”

Was he really a lord? Lord of what? Lord of the Flies? Lord of the Rings? I took my book bag from him. “Thank you. Um, I’m Monroe, by the way.” PS: I think I’m going to fall in love with you. Thankfully, those words didn’t escape, but it was true. I couldn’t stop staring at him; it felt as if I knew him already.

“You’re welcome. I’m Alastair Fitzroy.”

He didn’t provide a title with his name. “That’s a fancy name, Alastair Fitzroy. I think I’m just going to call you Fitz.”

His gray eyes widened while a deafening hush went through the courtyard. I’d obviously committed a big faux pas, although that was to be expected. My middle name could be social blunder . I waited for him to correct me or to humiliate me.

But he didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head and studied me, making my heart pound harder than Coldplay’s drummer beating out “Viva la Vida.” What was he trying to decide about me? I’d never had someone stare at me so intensely. He finally said, “If we are going to be friends, you can’t call me Fitz.”

I smiled and swung my book bag around my shoulder, feeling as if my day—and life—had somehow just gotten better. I nudged him with my hip as I walked past him. “You’ll get used to it, Fitz .”

Eleven and a Half Years Ago

FITZ

THE SMELL OF HOMEMADE CHEESEBURGERS wafted through the modest flat while I sat on an old rickety piano bench with Monroe. I loved hearing her angelic voice as she played and sang my favorite Billy Joel song, “And So It Goes.” I wished, like the song says, that I could be with her—if it were my choice to make. But my father’s title, which would one day be mine, didn’t allow me that luxury. And I would never subject Monroe to the kind of scrutiny my family encountered. Or worse, the scrutiny my parents had already given Monroe after her first, and so far only, visit to our estate. My parents didn’t care for her brand of quirkiness. Normally I didn’t either, but there was just something about her that I was drawn to. Her crazy was growing on me, even though we were complete opposites. She had this way of making me feel like a real person and not just the son of a duke.

Monroe stopped playing abruptly and turned her gorgeous head toward me. I’d tried to stifle these thoughts about her, knowing we could never be more than friends. But there is no denying her beauty. She has the silkiest dark hair, and her brown eyes shine all the time, no matter her mood, which was mostly good. I’ve never known anyone as happy as Monroe. The odd thing was, she and her father were living in what I would consider a cramped flat with rented furniture—even Monroe’s out-of-tune piano was a rental. And from what Monroe said, their small, comfortable home in the States was outdated, yet she loved it all the same. My family, meanwhile, has had every luxury in life and we are mostly a miserable lot.

“You’ll come visit me in America after the school year is over, right?” she begged to know.

I shrugged noncommittally, not wishing to think about her leaving. The past year and a half had been the best of my life—not that I would admit it. I didn’t do well with emotion—it was a family trait. I’d been attending boarding school since I was eight, and sneaking out to visit Monroe and her dad almost every evening made me feel like I finally belonged somewhere. “I’ll be preparing to attend Oxford,” I reminded her.

She rolled her pretty eyes. “I think you’ve been prepared to attend Oxford since birth. Come on, you have to visit. We can watch all the old musicals I have on DVD—some even on VHS. My grams has an old VCR we can use.”

Monroe and her obsession with musicals. I’d watched more musicals with her than I’d ever cared to, but there was something about seeing her face light up or hearing her sing along that made it worth it. Well, most of the time. I could have done without Starlight Express .

When I said nothing, she continued. “And I can introduce you to some of my cute friends. Oh, wait,” she giggled. “I forgot you can’t be with an American because we don’t appreciate history,” she mocked.

I’d only said that in order to keep my feelings for Monroe at bay. I figured if she never thought we had a chance, she wouldn’t tempt me. But it hadn’t worked. She tempted me like no girl ever had. “Exactly,” I lied.

“Okay, fine, but you should still come. Grams would love to meet you, and we can go to the OZ Museum.”

“That sounds riveting,” I said dryly.

“Listen, Fitz,” she emphasized the nickname she’d given me—I was less than fond of it, but I’d come to terms with it, only because it was she who had given it to me. If anyone else called me Fitz, they would rue the day. “We take The Wizard of Oz seriously in Kansas.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I like your laugh. You should laugh more often.” She turned and went back to playing the piano, her delicate fingers gliding across each key with grace. You could tell she felt every note.

It was maddening how she knew exactly what to say—not because it was necessarily profound, but because she made me see things about myself that no one else noticed, not even myself. She was the first person in my life who didn’t seem to want anything from me other than my company. She didn’t even care that I was part of the peerage here in the UK, other than asking me to teach her how to curtsy. Monroe was the oddest, most wonderful person I’d ever met. And I was going to miss her.

I flipped some hair off her shoulder. “I’ll see if I can come in August.”

Instantaneously, she threw her arms around me. “Yay! I can’t wait.”

Admittedly, neither could I. Cautiously, I hugged her back, trying not to breathe in her sweet scent or think about her soft skin or how my heart raced every time we touched. It’s just boyhood infatuation, I would tell myself. We were only seventeen and from two different worlds. Friends was all we could ever be.

“I can’t either.” Those might be the most frightening words I had ever spoken.

Seven Years Ago

MONROE

“YOU SOUND TIRED,” FITZ’S SEXY voice echoed through the phone.

I immediately reminded myself not to think of the word sexy when it came to him. Our friendship was too important for me to go messing it up with those kinds of thoughts—thoughts I knew Fitz would never have about me, and ones I had long buried deep inside the most precious parts of my heart.

I pressed the cell phone closer to my ear as I sprawled out on the motel room bed, not caring that it squeaked something awful and smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. “We played two gigs tonight.”

I’d gone on the road with a supposedly up-and-coming band out of the Kansas City area as a backup singer and piano player. I’d thought it would be an adventure to tour the country the summer after I graduated from college. It was certainly adventurous, sleeping in dives and traveling in a beat-up bus from city to city, hardly knowing what day it was.

“I’m exhausted,” I admitted. “How are you? It’s early for you.”

“I’m working on a paper about the influence of Victorian morality in the works of Charles Dickens.”

“Of course you are,” I laughed. Fitz had graduated from Oxford in May. I’d been there to cheer him on, to the dismay of his dear mum and dad, who refused to even sit by me during the ceremony. Then, at their request, a maid followed me around the graduation party they’d thrown on their large estate in the village of Blackhaven, ensuring I didn’t help anyone or break anything. Sheesh. You shoot one arrow through a window and bleed on a carpet gifted by the Queen, and no one trusts you again. Okay, so I totally understood it. Admittedly, I could be a hot mess, unlike Fitz, who was starting his doctoral program at Oxford in October. He was anything but a hot mess. Except for the hot part. Dang it, I needed to stop that line of thinking. Anyway, my not-thinking-about-how-hot-he-is best friend was taking some summer courses at Cambridge because not studying all summer seemed like a travesty. Hence the paper. Not to say he wouldn’t write the paper just for the fun of it.

“I sent a collection of books to your father’s house that I believe Mr. Darcy would have read,” he rushed to say, as if his thoughtful gesture embarrassed him.

“Aw, look at you being sweet. And here I thought you believed my obsession with Mr. Darcy was ridiculous.”

“It is. He doesn’t exist.”

“Excuse me—just because he lives in my head and heart doesn’t mean he isn’t real.”

“Actually, I think that’s exactly what it means.”

“Agree to disagree,” I giggled. “Anyway, are you doing anything fun this summer besides studying and writing papers that will no doubt be published in some fancy journal that I’ll read only because you’re in it?” He’d already had a few papers published, which was a pretty big deal for an undergraduate student. “What about Jocelyn?” She was his latest girlfriend. “Don’t you have any fun plans with her?” I could ask these questions now without jealousy, even though Jocelyn was perfect and demure and she knew what it was like to kiss Fitz and hold his hand and who knows what else. So maybe there was a prick of ouch there, but definitely not jealousy. Fitz was my person, and I wouldn’t jeopardize that with unwanted notions about us being more than friends. Especially considering I wouldn’t do well in his world, even if Fitz ever were to see me as an option.

Fitz cleared his throat. “No. We called things off.”

“Oh. Because of Lady Winnifred?” Or Lady Whiny, as I liked to call her in my head. She was my nemesis, and not just because her life goal was to marry my best friend. There was just something about her self-righteous attitude that got to me. I always felt like less of a human around her.

“Why would you think that?” He sounded disgruntled.

“Please. You have to know why.”

“Well, it’s not why,” he said hastily, obviously not wanting to acknowledge it.

Huh. “Then why?” I was more than curious.

“Jocelyn and I are not a good fit, and I need to focus on my studies,” he murmured.

I knew there was something he wasn’t saying, but I didn’t press. They’d seemed like a good fit to me when I saw them together during my last visit. She was perfectly gorgeous, just like Fitz, and her family had all the right connections, just like Fitz’s family, except Jocelyn’s family held no titles. “All right, if you say so.”

“I do,” he stated flatly. “Are you still dating that, what’s his name, Leif?” Fitz thought his name was ridiculous.

“You of all people should know that Leif is a strong name. It comes from the Vikings.”

“There was one famous Viking named Leif, and the name means heir or descendant . It’s not all that powerful.”

“Well, that famous Viking was one of the first to people to colonize Greenland and the first European to set foot on North America, as far as we know.” I said it with a take that attitude.

“Are you saying your Leif has followed suit?” I could picture his eye roll.

“First of all, he’s not my Leif. We broke up a—”

“Why?” Fitz interrupted, sounding oddly chipper. I hadn’t even known he could be chipper.

I turned to my side, still clutching the phone. “If you must know, it’s because of you.”

“Me?” he said, astonished.

“Yes, you. Apparently, Leif didn’t like you. He thought we were too close to be only friends.”

“That’s rubbish.”

“Exactly what I told him. But then he said I had to choose between him or you, and obviously that didn’t go well for him.” He wasn’t the first boyfriend of mine who didn’t appreciate Fitz. For some reason, no one could believe Fitz and I were totally platonic—like so, so platonic. If you looked up platonic in the dictionary, there would be a picture of Fitz and me, not touching.

Fitz was silent for a few beats before he said, “I’m sorry I cost you a relationship.” He didn’t sound all that sorry, but I went with it. It’s not like Fitz was a touchy-feely kind of guy, so I could have read him wrong.

“It’s all right. I kind of accidentally set his parents’ lawn on fire during a barbecue when I tried to help his nana, who was wobbling too close to the grill. The good news is I was able to push her away before she got burned. The bad news is their dog tripped me up, and I got burned while knocking over the grill. Next thing I knew, the fire department had to be called.” It’s not the kind of thing you really come back from. Even though Leif’s parents were super nice about it, I couldn’t really look them in the eye anymore.

“You never said anything. When did this happen? How badly were you burned?” Fitz sounded panicked, which was weird because he was always so calm.

“I didn’t want to mention it because, you know, I have a track record with these kinds of things. Anyway, it happened a few weeks ago, and it was just a tiny first-degree burn on my arm.” I looked at the small rectangular patch of fleshy pink skin on my arm, which was healing nicely.

“You should have told me,” he scolded. “And you never mentioned breaking up with Leif.”

“You didn’t mention breaking up with Jocelyn,” I countered, wondering why neither of us had mentioned such gigantic pieces of information, especially since we shared everything with each other. Well, not exactly everything. I shared most of my heart with him, but not all of it. I had to reserve the part that protected me from ever crossing the line Fitz had drawn and made clear he never wanted to cross. And we were only emotionally intimate with each other, which is more valuable than physical intimacy, anyway. Not to say I’d never thought about, well ... physical intimacy with Fitz. And I supposed I’d kept a few embarrassing stories from him now and then. Don’t get me wrong—he’d heard and witnessed his fair share of my embarrassing tales. I just felt like maybe it was okay to leave this one out.

“I wasn’t that serious about her, so it didn’t seem important to mention it,” he defended himself.

“Oh,” was all I could think to say.

“What’s your excuse?” he prodded.

I sat up and ran a hand through my overly styled hair that one of my “bandmates” had done for tonight’s performances. She thought I needed to look a little more like an eighties poster girl. The honest answer was that I didn’t know why I hadn’t told Fitz about Leif. The only thing I could think of was, “I guess I didn’t think you cared one way or the other about my love life.”

“I care about your life,” he snapped.

His tone caught me off guard. “Why are you angry with me?”

“I’ve never been angry with you. But for you to think I don’t care about what happens in your life is an insult.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you. From here on out, I’ll be sure to keep you informed about all aspects of my love life,” I said with an air of brevity, still shaken by his reaction.

“I don’t need or want gory details,” he deadpanned.

“Darn it. And here I was thinking you wanted to know that Leif did this—”

“Monroe, please don’t go any further.”

I giggled. I hadn’t planned on saying anything salacious. “On that fun note, I should probably get some sleep. I’m living the rock star life now.”

“It’s not the life you want, is it?” he asked, concerned.

“No. I’m still trying to save up to open my studio. That takes time. But when the summer is over, I’ll go back to giving private piano and voice lessons to my previous students. Hopefully I’ll add more students as time goes on. In the meantime, I’ll look for a full-time job that will allow me to do both.”

“Let me help you.”

We’d had this conversation before. “You know I adore you for wanting to help, but I never want money to come between us.”

“It wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that. I’ll figure it out. If not—”

“We’ll revisit my offer.”

“Oh fine, but only because I’m too tired to argue.”

“Get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. By the way, thank you for the books. I can’t wait to get home and read them. Maybe we could start our own little book club.”

“I would like that.”

“You would?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m not smart like all your other friends.”

“Monroe, you are intelligent, and the only real friend I have.”

While I loved that he thought I was smart, I was sad knowing he had dozens of people who considered themselves his friends but didn’t know the real him because he wouldn’t let them. I don’t know how I’d gotten so lucky to earn his trust. “Well, since you put it like that, I guess we’d better start our book club.”

He laughed a rare laugh. “I look forward to it.”

“Me too. I miss you.”

“I miss you.” He always said it with some hesitation. Almost like he shouldn’t, or didn’t want to admit to missing me, as if it made him weak somehow. But I knew he meant it all the same.

“Goodbye, Fitz.” Those words always hurt.

“Goodbye, Monroe.” Those words hurt even more.

Eighteen Months Ago

FITZ

PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE AWAKE. I have the best news to share with you! I read Monroe’s text repeatedly in the dark, feeling more unsettled than ever and fearing the worst. Scrubbing a hand over my unshaved face, I sat up in bed and flipped on my bedside lamp as if the light would help the situation. Unfortunately, it only amplified the words glaring back at me on the screen while the pit in my stomach grew.

As many times as Monroe had told me she thought this Tony bloke was The One, and that she had a feeling he would be proposing, I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t believe it. The knobhead drove a van with a toilet pictured on its side. Tony wasn’t the one for her. He didn’t appreciate Monroe, and he didn’t deserve her. He’d never watched any musicals with her. I’d watched dozens, and she’d subjected me to their soundtracks whenever we were together in a car. Hell, she’d even convinced me to sing along with her a few times, though I would never admit it. Her enthusiasm was too infectious sometimes. She was just plain infectious.

I was the one for her, not Tony.

Before I could compose myself enough to call her, she texted again, this time with a photo of her delicate hand, an unmistakable, glaring engagement ring on her left finger. He popped the question, and I said yes. I’ll only be a happy bride if my best friend is by my side. Please be my maid of honor. Or best man of honor. Several laughing emoji faces followed.

I tossed the phone to the side and fell back on my pillows, feeling as if I couldn’t breathe. For years I’d told myself I could watch her get married and be happy for her and the lucky guy, but it was a lie. I couldn’t watch the woman I loved marry another man. Especially the likes of Tony. I probably should have said something about him before now, but I couldn’t be sure if my misgivings about him were because of my feelings for Monroe or whether the man really was a prat. Something about him just didn’t sit right, even though Monroe had never once complained about him. No, she’d gone on nauseatingly about what a right chummy fellow he was. Tony brings me a latte every morning at the studio on his way to work. Tony takes me on picnic lunches. Tony took me stargazing. Tony likes to cook with me in the kitchen. He was a damn saint who could apparently walk on water, and I wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp.

But the man I was most upset with was me. All these years I’d kept Monroe at arm’s length. My reasons were noble—I was protecting her from the unbearably bright spotlight that was always on me as the son of a duke, the heir to the title.

My phone buzzed. Monroe was calling. I wanted to ignore it, but I always answered her calls, no matter the time or place. Steeling myself, I clicked the green button and put her on speaker.

“I’m engaged!” she squealed before I could even say hello.

“Congratulations,” I said stiffly, not meaning a word of it.

“I’m sure I woke you up. I’m so sorry, but I had to tell you first. Did you see the ring? Isn’t it beautiful? I love the floral halo design. It’s perfect, don’t you think?”

“I haven’t looked at it, but I’m sure it’s lovely.” My mouth felt drier with every lie. But I couldn’t tell her the truth. Not when she was so happy.

“We haven’t set a date yet, but when we do, you have to, have to be my best man of honor. We’ll get you like a peach tux or something, because you know that I’ve always wanted my bridesmaids to wear peach. And that means you have to throw me a bridal shower.” She laughed that glorious laugh of hers.

There was no way in hell I was throwing her a bridal shower or being her best man of honor. Certainly, you would never find me in a peach tux. “Monroe, please ask one of your girlfriends to take my place.”

“But no one can take your place.” She said it so sincerely, it pricked my stony heart.

Someone had taken my place, and I hated him. “They’ll have to for this.” I stood firm. No matter the date of the wedding, I would find any excuse not to attend.

“Oh.” She sounded deflated and hurt. “I understand. Peach isn’t your color. Blue looks good on you,” she teased. “I’ll change my colors for you.”

I chuckled half-heartedly, trying to play off this bloody mess. “That won’t be necessary. I’m not wearing a blue tux or being your maid of honor.”

“As long as you’re there,” she said brightly.

I cleared my throat, not wanting to lie to her again or to get her hopes up. “Let me know when you decide on a date.”

“You’ll be the first to know. Maybe you can come help me pick out my wedding dress.”

Was she trying to kill me? If I had to witness her in her wedding gown, there was no telling what I might do. “You have Grams and your father for that. And my teaching schedule is busy.”

“Oh, right, Mr. Professor. Or I guess I should call you Dr. Fitzroy. Or Dr. Fitz?” She giggled. “I know I’ve said it a hundred times before, but I’m really proud of you. One of the youngest professors at Oxford. I brag about you all the time.”

Her kindness made the heavy weight of my guilt and lies feel crushing. “Thank you, Monroe. It means the world to me. You mean the world to me.” It was the closest I could come to telling her how much I loved her.

“You know, sometimes you’re the sweetest.”

“Monroe, let’s go tell your dad,” Tony called in the background. What a prick.

“I guess I’d better go. Sorry to call so late, or early for you.”

“You can call me anytime. I mean that. Day or night if ever you need anything.”

She paused for a moment. “You make it sound as if we’ll never talk or see each other again.”

I feared that was going to be our future—a life without each other. “I’d never wish that.”

“Me neither, silly. Get some rest. I’ll call you later.”

“Very well. Good night.” My thumb hovered over the red button to end the call.

“Fitz,” she rushed to say. “I love you, best friend. Good night.” She hung up. She knew I wouldn’t reciprocate. What she didn’t know was why. She believed it all centered on my being an emotionally stunted Englishman, which was true. Given my upbringing, it would be hard to be anything but. However, I could never tell her I love her because she knew me too well—if ever I said those words to her, she would know I was in love with her. And that, now, was a moot point.

I’d lost the love of my life. It was a crushing blow I knew I would never recover from.