Austenland (15 page)

The silence stretched, and she could hear him shift his feet. The lower tones of the dancing music trembled through the walls, muffled and sad, stripped of vigor and all high prancing notes.
Surreal, Jane thought. That’s what you call this.
“Miss Erstwhile, let me impress upon you my utmost sincerity . . . “
“There’s no need.” She sat up straighter, smoothed her hands over her skirt. “I understand completely. But I guess I just can’t. I can’t do it anymore. I did my best, and this place was really good for me, you were really good for me. But I’ve come to the end. And it’s okay.”
Something in her tone must have caught at him. He knelt beside her, taking her hand. “Are you? Are you okay?” he asked in more honest, feeling tones than she had ever heard from him.
The change startled her. Despite his austere looks, he had an openness about his expression that she could only account for in his eyes. Dark eyes, focused on her, pleading with her. But it was all just a game.
“I don’t know you,” she said softly.
He blinked twice. He looked down. “Perhaps I spoke too soon. Forgive me. We can speak of this later.” He rose to leave.
“Mr. Nobley,” she said, and he stopped. “Thank you for thinking kindly of me. I can’t accept your proposal, and I won’t ever be able to. I’m flattered by your attentions, and I have no doubt that many a fine lady will melt under such proclamations in the future.”
“But not you.” He sounded beautifully sad.
What an actor, she thought.
“No, I guess not. I’m embarrassed that I came here at all as though begging for your tormented, lovesick proposal. Thank you for giving it to me so that I could see that it’s not what I want.”
“What do you want?” His voice nearly growled with the question.
“Excuse me?”
“I am asking sincerely,” he said, though he still sounded angry. “What do you want?”
“Something real.”
He frowned. “Does this have anything to do with a certain gardener?”
“Don’t argue with me about this. It’s none of your business.”
He scowled but said, “I truly wish you every happiness, Miss Erstwhile, whom I will never call Jane.”
“Let’s toss the pretense out the window, shall we? Go ahead and call me Jane.” He seemed saddened by that invitation, and she remembered what it meant to a Regency man to call a woman by her first name. “Except it won’t imply that we’re engaged or anything. . . Never mind. I’m sorry, I feel like a fool.”
“I am the fool,” he said.
“Then here’s to fools.” Jane smiled sadly. “I should return.”
Mr. Nobley bowed. “Enjoy the ball.”
She left him in the dark library, startling herself with the suddenness of yet another ending. But she’d done it. She’d said no. To Mr. Nobley, to the idea of Mr. Darcy, to everything that held her back. She felt so light, her heels barely touched the floor.
I’m done, Carolyn, I know what I want, she thought as she approached the palpable strokes of dancing music.

Jane spun around, guilty to have just come from a marriage proposal, ecstatic at her refusal, dispirited by another ending, and surprised to discover Martin was the one person in the world she most wanted to see.

“Good evening, Theodore,” she said.
“I’m Mr. Bentley now, a man of land and status, hence the fancy garb. They’ll allow me to be gentry tonight because they need the extra bodies, but only so long as I don’t talk too much.”

His eyes flicked to a point across the room. Jane followed his glance and saw Mrs. Wattlesbrook wrapped in yards of lace and eyeing them suspiciously.
“Let’s not talk, then.” Jane pulled him into the next dance.
He stood opposite her, tall and handsome and so real there among all the halfpeople.
They didn’t talk as they paraded and turned and touched hands, wove and skipped and do-si-doed, but they smiled enough to feel silly, their eyes full of a secret joke, their hands reluctant to let go. As the dance finished, Jane noticed Mrs. Wattlesbrook making her determined way toward them.
“We should probably . . .“ Martin said.
Jane grabbed his hand and ran, fleeing to the rhythm of another dance tune, out the ballroom door and into a side corridor. Behind them, hurried boot heels echoed.
They ran through the house and out back, crunching gravel under their feet, making for the dark line of trees around the perimeter of the park. Jane hesitated before the damp grass.
“My dress,” she said.
Martin threw her over his shoulder, her legs hanging down his front. He ran. Jostled on her stomach, Jane gave out laughter that sounded like hiccups. He weaved his way around hedges and monuments, finally stopping on a dry patch of ground hidden by trees.
“Here you are, my lady,” he said, placing her back on her feet. Jane wobbled for a moment before gaining her balance.
“So, these are your lands, Mr. Bentley.”
“Why, yes. I shape the shrubs myself. Gardeners these days aren’t worth a damn.”
“I should be engaged to Mr. Nobley tonight. You know you’ve absolutely ruined this entire experience for me.
“I’m sorry, but I warned you, five minutes with me and you’ll never go back.”
“You’re right about that. I’d decided to give up on men en_tirely, but you made that impossible.”
“Listen, I’m not trying to start anything serious. I just—”
“Don’t worry.” Jane smiled innocently. “Weird intense Jane gone, new relaxed Jane just happy to see you.
“You do seem different.” He touched her arms, pulled her in closer. “I’m happy to see you too, if you’d know. I think I missed you a bit.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I’m certain I could think of something nicer.” He looked up, thinking before turning back to her again. “I’m sorry about what I said before. All the other women I’ve seen at Pembrook Park seemed to be toying with ideas of affairs while their husbands were on business trips. I couldn’t reconcile what I knew of the women who come here and what I knew of you. When I saw you that day walking with Mr. Nobley and the others, I realized you’re here because you’re not satisfied—you’re looking for something. And when I finally realized that, can you imagine how lucky I felt that out of everyone, you would choose me?”
“Thanks,” she said. “That was honest and encouraging, but Martin, you were going for
nice
.”
“I wasn’t finished yet! I also wanted to tell you that you’re beautiful.”
“That’s better.”
“Unbelievably beautiful. And… and I don’t know how to say it. I’m not very good at saying what I’m thinking. But you make me feel like myself.” He swept a loose lock of hair from her forehead. “You remind me of my sister.”
“Oh, really? You have
that
kind of sister?”
“Yes, confident, funny...”
“No, I meant the kind that you want to smooch.”
Martin swept her up again, this time in a more romantic style than the over-theshoulder baggage. She fit her arm around his neck and let him kiss her.
She pressed her hand to his chest, trying to detect if his heart was pounding like hers. She peered at him and saw a little frown line between his eyes.
“No, my sister doesn’t kiss half so well.”
He walked her around, singing some ludicrous lullaby as though she were a baby, then set her down on a tree stump so they were nearly the same height.
“Martin, could you lose your job over this?”
He traced the line of her cheek with his finger. “At the moment, I don’t care.”
“I’ll talk to Mrs. Wattlesbrook about it at our departure meeting tomorrow, but I don’t think my opinion means much to her.”
“It might. Thank you.”
Then there was silence and with it a hint of ending, and Jane realized she wasn’t quite ready for it. Martin was the first real guy she’d ever been able to relax with, turn off the obsessive craziness and just have fun. She needed to be with him longer and practice up for the real world.
“I’m supposed to leave tomorrow,” she said, “but I can stay a couple more days, change my flight. I could find a hotel in London, far away from Wattlesbrook’s scope of vision, and I could see you. Just hang out a bit before I go home, no weirdness, no pressure, I promise.”
He smiled broadly. “That’s an offer I can’t refuse because I’m simply mad to see you in pants. I have a feeling you have a very nice bum.”

Jane had lost most of her social life with the departure of boyfriend #12 and the dog, so pretty much she stayed at home. Every night. Unless she worked late. Oh, joy.

A year hobbled by and Jane was still avoiding eye contact with the opposite sex. Molly tried to set her up with friends of Phillip’s, but Jane blindly spurned them all.

Then, Jimmy. They walked the same path through Central Park every day, and despite her iron—willed reluctance, the romance just happened It felt like a tiny, perfect miracle that she was allowing herself a chance to fall in love again. They decided not to burden each other with psychiatric profiles or travelogues through past failed relationships and instead just experienced each other. So refreshing! Such a graceful way to begin loving! For five months, Jane wondered why she’d never tried this before.

Then one fateful spring morning, Jimmy snorted while laughing. What’s wrong with that? Absolutely nothing. It should be a cute idiosyncrasy in the man you adore. But it stung Jane like a hornet, and it swelled and itched and bothered her till she sat up in bed at two A.M. and thought aloud, Mr. Darcy would never snort.

She looked out the window a lot. Then she twisted a decorative strip of metal from the lamp beside her bed and used it to carve
Catherine Heathcliff
to the underside of the windowsill. After hanging her self-portrait in the bathroom, she went back to the windowsill, adding the words
and Jane
.

When she tromped downstairs at last, she found the entire house had a sad, sleepy air of after-party. The ballroom was quiet and cold, the floor stained with tread marks, sticky pools of spilled punch in the corners. In the morning room, greasy and crumbstuck breakfast dishes were abandoned on the table, cold meats and collapsing sweet breads sat on the sideboard.

Colonel Andrews was alone in the drawing room, reading. She didn’t disturb him. Captain East and Miss Heartwright were taking a good-bye stroll through the park. Jane thought if she strolled that park one more time, it would permanently damage the sane part of her brain.

“Off you go, then,” Miss Charming said. “Cheerios. I’m staying an extra day to get an eyeball of the new recruits and make sure they know my colonel is taken.”
Jane air-kissed her cheek. “This is farewell, then, Lizzy, sister of my bosom.”
“They’re real, you know” Miss Charming placed her hands beneath her breasts and gave them a hearty shaking.
“Really?” Jane said, gaping openly.
“Oh, yes, real as steel. People always ask, so I thought I’d save you the wondering. As a parting gift.”
“Thank you,” Jane said, and she meant it sincerely. It was good to know what was real.
They said their good-byes, and on her way out, Jane passed by the library. There in a corner sat Inflexibiity He raised his eyes when he heard her footfalls.
“Oh,” said Jane, antsy with embarrassment. “Good morning, Mr. Nobley.”
“You weren’t at breakfast,” he said.
“I’m off.” She indicated her bonnet and spencer jacket. “Just saying good-bye to the house. It’s a lovely old house.”
“New, actually. Built in 1809.”
“Right.” His insistence on maintaining the charade chafed her. She had a surging and ridiculous desire to plop down beside him and shake him and make him talk to her like a real person.
“Well, since I ran into you, I can thank you in person for a great vacation. I feel sort of sheepish that it didn’t turn out differently.”
Mr. Nobley shrugged, and she was surprised to detect anger in his eyes. Still playing the jilted man? Or had she wounded his actor’s ego? Maybe he was denied a paycheck bonus for not getting engaged.
“It has been a pleasure to have you here, Miss Erstwhile. I might miss you,
actually.”
“Really?”
“It is possible.”
“Hey, I’ve been wondering something. . . What is Mr. Nobley’s first name?”
“William. You know, you are the first person to ask.”
Any further awkwardness was cut off by the sound of an approaching carriage. Jane stepped out the front door for the last time, and she and Amelia, gratefully and mournfully, took their leave. Aunt Saffronia stood by the door, waving her handkerchief and shedding rather impressive tears. Colonel Andrews strolled out to wave good-bye with the stately line of house servants in their white caps and white wigs. Captain East smiled knowingly, his eyes earnest with whatever fake promises he and Amelia had made. Mr. Nobley didn’t bother to join the farewell.
Jane looked for Martin, but he was absent. No matter. After the driver left her at Heathrow, she was to change her ticket and meet him at a certain pub.
As their carriage pulled away, two men Jane had never seen before emerged from the house—one young and handsome enough to be fresh meat for the new girls, and the other a portly, red-faced gentleman who looked mildly sloshed. The new Sir Templeton, she realized, and felt oddly delighted that without her the story would still go on.
Amelia cast off her bonnet, leaned back, and snuggled against Jane’s arm.
“What a time!” she said in an American accent. “The best so far.”
“You’re not British?”
“No, no, but after my first visit here—this is my fourth—I got myself some private drama tutoring. My first character was scatterbrained and immature, and my drama coach helped me refine my Austenian self and get the accent down. It makes all the difference. If you live in the Bay Area, I could hook you up with my coach. He’s divine.”
“No, that’s okay, I won’t be coming back.”
“Not come back? Your husband put up a squeal about the price, did he? Well, you just steamroll over his protests. Those men want pretty wives but aren’t willing to put up the cash to make us happy. Tell him to talk to my therapist if he needs convincing. Or my lawyer. I’ll give you their cards.”
Jane shifted a bit to her right, feeling as though she were cuddled up to a stranger. She noticed for the first time Amelia’s roots dark with three weeks’ growth. ‘Actually, I’m not—”
“Did you see my face when Captain East first arrived? What a thrill! Honestly, I didn’t know that they’d bring back the same actor for me. This year I asked to stay in the cottage because last year the other women at the big house were so annoying, but I was getting bored until George showed up. Uhh, he’s such a
hunk
. A locked hotel room with him spread out on the bed is almost worth the alimony risk, if you know what I mean. Wattlesbrook can bring him back next time and I’d be hap-hap-happy. But if not, no big deal. He and Miss Heartwright are already engaged, and that’s the fun part. I might like to try someone new next year and alter my character, become a bit more Elizabeth Bennet-y. You ended up with Nobley, didn’t you? Is he a good kisser? He seemed tedious to me, but he did a good job of being into you. It was Nobley who asked me to pretend your cell phone was mine, you know. He said Wattlesbrook would send you home, asked me to do it as a favor. He was in my cast last year, too, and we nearly had a romance until George East swept me up. It was ill-fated at the time, of course, but that’s half the fun. Ah, here we are! Such a tragedy when the vacation ends, but frankly, I’m dying for a massage.
While Amelia sprang out of the carriage and into the White Stag/Donkey, Jane sat a moment longer. The carriage still seemed to rock, but Jane was the one reeling. So, Amelia had been another Miss Charming in disguise. Surely the actors thought Jane was the same as all the women visitors. And it’d been Mr. Nobley who’d saved her from expulsion. And… and… and it was over. Time to get out of the carriage and into her own clothes, meet up with Martin (hooray!), and be herself again. No more Mr. Darcy. Old Jane dead; new, confident, vibrant Jane rising from the oyster shell.
She sat in the inn’s main room while Mrs. Wattlesbrook and Amelia had their last-day-of-school chat. Her bag was packed, all remnants of Miss Erstwhile were hanging back in the wardrobe. The old Jane would’ve stashed her ball gown, secretly imagining it could be her wedding dress if she married Martin. But the new Jane was set on just enjoying the early part and the memory of last night’s kissing. The new Jane was still as self-possessed as she had allowed herself to be when she was Miss Erstwhile. It felt strange—and wonderful.
She was feeling sassy in her old street clothes, freshly laundered, bra and panties replacing corset and drawers. Jeans felt wicked to her, tight and strange, and yet so comfortable she hugged her knees to her chest. Wearing her own clothes gave her an eerie feeling, like the occasional moment when she glanced at herself in a mirror and had that frightening thrill of unrecognition. Is that who I am? That woman in the photographs, that’s me?
And now, Who have I been for the last three weeks? Who am I now?
She looked around the room, remembering her first day when she’d danced the minuet there with Martin, how awkward and schoolgirlish she’d felt, how eager and afraid. She scarcely felt like the same woman anymore.
“Jane! Jane!” Amelia strode out of Mrs. Wattlesbrook’s office and took Jane by the arms. “She told me of your financial situation...I’m so sorry! I didn’t know.” She embraced her and said quietly in her ear, “You hold on to your dreams, sweetie, you hear me?”
“I’ll do that,” Jane said, not caring to reveal that she’d come here to let her dreams go. She’d turned Mr. Nobley down, her trial in Austenland was over, and she was going home cleansed of entrapping fantasies.
Jane waited in Mrs. Wattlesbrook’s office as the proprietress gushed farewells to her favorite Repeat Client. After Amelia (or “Barbara,” as it turned out) was on her way, Mrs. Wattlesbrook brought in tea, and with undisguised disinterest, plied Jane with a satisfaction survey.
“And I trust you discovered a rewarding romance with one of the gentlemen?”
“Actually, there was someone, but, no, not one of the actors.”
“Oh, well, of course you know that Martin
is
one of our own,” Mrs. Wattlesbrook said.
What?
Clink
as teacup was carefully replaced on its saucer.
“He’s your gardener,” Jane said slowly.
“Yes, but the servants are always prepared for an unexpected romance. We have discovered that not all our guests are able to relax and forget themselves enough to fall in love with the key actors, and so we have contingency plans. Besides, many women like to, how would you say, go slumming?”
Jane found herself blinking a lot and opening and closing her mouth. She felt as though she’d had the wind knocked out of her.
“Are you serious?”
“Oh, yes, he reported to me regularly. We knew of your fascination with basketball and the New York Knickerbockers, and the rest was easy.
“You are serious.
“You are not the first to fall for Martin,” Mrs. Wattlesbrook said. “He is very good.”
“Yes. Yes he is.
“We do not run a brothel here, miss, and I will have you know we would never let it go
that
far. I had to pull the plug on you two when Martin said things were spicing up, hm?” Mrs. Wattlesbrook smiled, and her eyes twinkled as if she enjoyed this part very much. “I wanted to make sure you knew that even though you are not our Ideal Client, we still made every arrangement possible for your comfort and entertainment, Miss Erstwhile.”
“My name is Jane Hayes.”
“There is a car waiting to take you to the airport, Jane Hayes. I trust you are ready to get on your way.
“I certainly am.
“I hope I have not upset you,” Mrs. Wattlesbrook said with an innocent smile. “I pride myself on matching each client with her perfect gentleman. But one cannot anticipate a woman’s every fancy, and so our talent pool runs deep. You understand?”
“Very deep indeed.” Jane felt like a woman drowning, and she grasped for anything. And as it turned out, bald-faced lies are, temporarily anyway, impressively buoyant, so she said, “It will make the ending to my article all the more interesting.”
“Your…your article?” Mrs. Wattlesbrook peered over her spectacles as if at a bug she would like to squash.
“Mm—hm,” said Jane, lying extravagantly, outrageously, but also, she hoped, gracefully. “Surely you know I work for a magazine? The editor thought the story of my experience at Pembrook Park would be the perfect way to launch my move from graphic design to staff writer.”
She had no intention of becoming a staff writer, and in fact the artist bug was raging through her blood now more than ever, but she just had to give Mrs. Wattlesbrook a good jab before departure. She was smarting enough to crave the reprieve that comes from fighting back.
Mrs. Wattlesbrook twitched. That was satisfying.
“And I’m sure you realize that since I’m a member of the press,” Jane said, “the confidentiality agreement you made me sign doesn’t apply.”
Mrs. Wattlesbrook’s right eyebrow spasmed. Jane guessed that behind it ran her barrister’s phone number, which she would dial ASAP. Jane, of course, had been lying again. And wasn’t it fun!
Mrs. Wattlesbrook appeared to be trying to moisten her mouth and failing. “I did not know... I would have. .
“But you didn’t. The cell phone scandal, the dirty trick with Martin... You assumed that I was no one of influence. I guess I’m not. But my magazine has a circulation of over six hundred thousand. I wonder how many of those readers are in your preferred tax bracket? And I’m afraid my article won’t be glowing.”
Jane curtsied in her jeans and turned to leave.
“Oh, and, Mrs. Wattlesbrook?”
“Yes, Jane, my dear?” the proprietress responded with a shaky fawning voice.
“What is Mr. Nobley’s first name?”
Mrs. Wattlesbrook stared at her, blinkless. “It’s J…Jonathan.”
Jane wagged her finger. “Nice try.”