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! "I went into this series with a high level of excitement and expectations - ( it couldn't be helped, this book was on my wish-list for over a year!) I'm thrilled to say that Pride, Prejudice and Cheese Grits was an extremely absorbing and entertaining read that definitely exceeded my expectations. It has a perfect balance of southern charm, sweet romance, and clever nods to our dear Jane!" ― Austenesque Mary Jane Hathaway is the pen name of an award-nominated writer who spends the majority of her literary energy on subjects un-related to Jane Austen. A homeschooling mother of six young children who rarely wear shoes, she's madly in love with a man who has never read Pride and Prejudice. She holds degrees in Religious Studies and Theoretical Linguistics, and has a Jane Austen quote on the back of her van. She can be reached on facebook at  Pride, Prejudice and Cheese Grits, or at her regular author page of Virginia Carmichael. 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 gentl