Bad Austen (2 page)

Upon hearing Camille’s voice on the other end of the line, Lisa suppressed a shudder, then smiled as widely as the Botox would allow.

“What a lovely idea,” she cooed as she waved away Cedric, her permanently shirtless permanent houseguest. “I am excessively diverted. But how has kyle affronted you this time, darling?”

“I confess I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun,” Camille sighed as she looked out the window past the gardens below. “But I do recall her saying something about people only ‘tolerating’ me because of my famous actor husband, kelsey.”

“Oh, Camille, darling, do not vex yourself over such a trifle!” Lisa cautioned with her usual good sense. “For what do we live but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?” She recognized, after all, that it was not fair to expect Camille to feel how very much she was kyle’s inferior in talent and all the elegancies of mind. The very want of equality, Lisa reasoned, might prevent Camille’s perception of it.

“Precisely why I thought a little pool party would be most agreeable! I know the sight of myself in a bikini never fails to raise my spirits—as well as those of most of the men around me,” she tittered behind her hand. “We’ll just get the girls together for a few drinks, a few hands of whist, and perhaps you will play the pianoforte?”

“That is so thoughtful, Camille,” Lisa approved as she attempted to wrestle a miniature sombrero onto the tiny and recalcitrant head of her dog.

“Well, Lisa, there is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves! It is not my nature.” Camille sighed at her own munificence.

“Of course, dear. Cheers!”

Camille next dialed the number of Adrienne Maloof, the most exotic and accomplished of her friends, who broke from her kickboxing routine to accept the call, however reluctantly. While certainly one of the more amiable members of society, Adrienne well knew that Camille grammer was the natural daughter of nobody knows whom, with no settled provision of her own—though she would soon be eligible for a 50 million dollar alimony settlement due to her famous husband’s perfidy—and certainly had no respectable relations. granted, she had a little beauty and a little accomplishment as an MTV dancer and featured player in a few soft-core porn productions, but these honors led most of Adrienne’s set to view Camille with the disdain for the vulgar normally reserved for the Misses kardashian.

“Oh, Camille,” Adrienne said rather hesitatingly. “Are you quite certain this is the soundest of plans? Angry people are not always wise, you know.” And Camille was, despite her affectless smile, one of the angriest people Adrienne knew. Surely this party would prove once more that vanity working on a weak head produces every sort of mischief.

Camille paused, sensing a polite and cowardly dodge in the offing. obviously, even the incomparable Ms. Maloof was not immune to that most pernicious of female maladies.

“I have no wish to incommode you,” Camille assured her, “but do come.”

Before returning to the kickboxing ring—and breaking her husband’s nose for a third time—Adrienne promised she would at least try to make the engagement, though privately she could foresee any number of fortuitous obstacles to this plan.

PART 1

The Books Jane Never Wrote

Of the many entries we received in the Bad Austen contest, a fair number of them were set in Austen’s era, although we have our doubts as to whether events could have actually occurred as alleged in any of these stories. That reservation notwithstanding, here, for your amusement, are those stories set in Austen’s time that we felt sure you would enjoy.

F
arthingale
J
unction

F
REYA
S
WANSON

Upon hearing the news, Miriam Cauldwell could scarcely believe that anyone could have mistaken Colonel Prickett for a pheasant. She could not think of two entities more dissimilar, and yet, someone within the hunting party had shot the Colonel dead upon his estate, Perfunctory Hall. The very idea that a man with so distinguished a military career could be killed by a neighbor who mistook him for a game bird was too abhorrent for words.

“And the boy to whom it is entailed? What of him?” great Aunt Lavinia demanded of Mrs. Cauldwell, Miriam’s mother and her only niece.

“The boy is a man; Colonel Prickett’s second cousin, a Mr. Samuel Farthingale.”

“Yes? Well, what of him?”

Miriam bemoaned the listing of Mr. Farthingale’s vital statistics, which everyone seemed to keep repeating for her benefit. The day before the accident, a man from London named after a petticoat would have been fodder for every person in _____shire.

Sudden ownership of Perfunctory Hall, however, made him the most handsome man in creation. Unfortunately for Miriam, twenty years of age and still unmarried, Lavinia appeared to see Mr. Farthingale as her last great hope.

“—and is a very successful businessman in his own right.”

“What business is that, Mama?” Miriam asked, with no interest whatsoever in the answer.

“He imports cloth, dear,” said Mrs. Cauldwell.

“Cloth? Mr. Farthingale imports cloth?” cried Miriam. She could not believe it; Mr. Petticoat imported petticoats?

“Ring the bell for tea, dear,” said Mrs. Cauldwell in such a tone as to assure her there would be no sort of merriment concerning the Colonel’s heir.

The first opportunity for society to see Mr. Farthingale was at the funeral. He was pronounced a dignified mourner, and all the more handsome for looking so well in black. He was polite, if a little distant, but that was to be expected after a loss in the family. Most everyone in the county believed he would be married by Christmas. When Epiphany passed without a whisper of engagement, necessary measures were taken. Great Aunt Lavinia, dowager Empress of _____shire, would hold a ball at Hammerstone.

Hammerstone was an imposing estate littered with medieval fortifications and the ghosts that supposedly haunted them and was therefore impossible to make inviting from the exterior. Upon entering, however, the foyer led to what everyone simply called “the junction.” It was here that medieval masonry gave way to neoclassical columns, and Lavinia’s well-appointed home truly began.

It was a glorious ball, but Miriam was the only person truly enjoying the evening, for the most important guest had been delayed in London and would either be very late indeed, or not appear at all. Having at least temporarily escaped being paraded about like chattel, Miriam danced, and laughed, and was inadvertently quite charming. Lavinia looked upon it as a terrible waste; what was the point of being witty and gorgeous in front of married men and dour clergy? In the course of the evening, it became apparent that Lavinia had taken several glasses beyond prudence, resulting in her telling the Right Reverend Cummings that, yes, absolutely, their Lord and Savior would greatly enjoy a good novel.

Miriam had greatly enjoyed that conversation and felt no remorse for quietly prodding her great-aunt further into the discussion at the time, for the Reverend was always a good sport and had a quick wit himself. After, however, it became clear there was no reining her in now she was begun, and poor Mr. Farthingale had thought it polite to put in an appearance, regardless of the lateness.

“Oh, huzzah! He is come! Miriam! Where are you, child? He is come!” Lavinia did not wait and made straight for her unsuspecting guest.

“Mr. Petticoat! We were afraid you would not come! How was London? Is your business complete? of course, it is—here you are. And in such a lovely vest! You are a handsome devil, Mr. Petticoat! Where is Miriam? You come with me, sir, we will find her!”

By then she had hold of his sleeve and dragged him across the ballroom. Miriam slipped behind the musicians and made for the foyer before her overly enthusiastic great-aunt could embarrass the young man any further, but Lavinia spotted her and shouted across the room for all to hear, “Miriam! Stop at the junction! I’ll bring him to you!”

Miriam could not respond, nor could she disobey, and dutifully waited, hiding behind a column.

“Come, sir, this way!” Lavinia shouted as, sleeve in hand, she dragged him back across the ballroom.

“Yes, um, perhaps I should greet the other guests?”

“other guests, what? No, no, no, to the junction, my boy, Petticoat, junction!”

A
n
U
nexpected
G
uest

B
RANDY
H
EINRICH