Jane and Austen (25 page)

Chapter 21

“Know your own happiness. You want nothing but patience; or give it a more fascinating name: call it hope.”

—Jane Austen,
Sense and Sensibility

DANCEY: WE NEED TO TALK.

My heart sank when I saw the text from Dancey that morning. I sat heavily on my bed and tried to decide what to do. I had managed to avoid him yesterday when he’d gone to L.A. on business, and then Austen had wiped him from my mind when he’d kissed me.
Yeah, Dancey and I needed to talk.
I had to find out if what Bigley had said was true—for a lot of reasons.

Taylor was getting married tomorrow morning, and if Bigley was a big fat liar, then I’d have to figure out how to talk her out of it, not help her go through with it. Add to that the stress of the bachelor and bachelorette parties tonight; Taylor’s besties were getting harder to handle.

I wandered around my room to get ready for the day and picked up a brush and ran it through my hair, trying to figure out what I was going to do. I had played the field. I hadn’t meant to, it had just happened. And now there were a lot of hearts on the limb here—including mine—but the one I kept going back to was Austen’s.

But it wasn’t sensible going for him—according to everything Austen said about relationships, we didn’t stand a chance. The romantic side of me thought there was no problem in dropping everything to go after him, but the sensible side that was growing stronger told me that was a very bad idea. It hadn’t worked last time and had ruined our friendship.

My phone vibrated again, and looking down, I saw that Dancey was making another attempt to contact me.

DANCEY: YOU REMEMBER JENNINGS, THE REPORTER? SHE AGREED TO YOUR DEAL. SHE WON’T PUBLISH OUR PICS IF SHE GETS EXCLUSIVE COVERAGE OF TAYLOR’S WEDDING. TAYLOR GAVE US THE GO AHEAD. IT’S ON.

I felt limp with relief. Photographs of me locking lips with Dancey wouldn’t be plastered all over the web. Taylor had fixed everything for me. I didn’t deserve it, but she had. My stomach clenched at the close call. And then I had another thought: why would Jennings agree to my deal? She didn’t seem the type to do charity work. Dancey and I did have to talk. I picked up my phone and texted.

ME: I’M FREE FOR LUNCH. WE CAN TALK THEN.

A flood of adrenaline rushed through me after I sent it. I would be seeing Dancey again. The hours we had spent together had been exciting, but compared to what I felt for Austen—it felt hollow now . . . like a fling. I didn’t know that a romantic like me could do flings.

Throwing on my favorite hoodie and slipping on some flip-flops, I left my room and ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time to the lobby downstairs. Shoving open the door, I spied Austen just like I had hoped. But instead of working away at his laptop, he had flopped down on the couch with the remote, watching
Pride and Prejudice
—the short version. I stepped quietly into the room just as Darcy asked Elizabeth to marry him for the second time. This time she accepted him. Darcy had won her love by his good deeds, all their miscommunications had been cleared up, and everything was forgiven; especially after Elizabeth had taken a tour of the big house she’d get if she married him.

Austen, meanwhile, was tying ribbons for party favors. Taylor must have enlisted his help yet again. He was better at the creative side of things than I was. My gaze drifted to his hands. They were rough, but gentle, etched with a few scars that marked everything he was—and they had been in my hair last night.

I cleared my throat. “Austen.”

He jumped guiltily and fumbled with the remote to pause it. I hid a smile. His was sheepish. “Well, I think that’s enough Jane Austen for one morning,” he said.

“Did you watch the whole movie or did you fast-forward through it?”

“This is the fifth Jane Austen movie I’ve watched in a row.” At my startled expression, he shrugged. “I didn’t sleep last night.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I wanted to know how crazy you were.” He smiled and stood up. His thick hair was a mess. His eyes were red from lack of sleep, but they were focused on me. “Besides a little daydreaming from the
Northanger Abbey
girl,” he said, “and some matchmaking from
Emma
, I can’t find a character for you. Sorry.”

I sat at the counter across the room. “I have the same problem with you.”

“I’m not dashing enough?”

“You’re . . .” I struggled for words, “you.”

“Hmm.” He closed the distance between us and found my hand, looking mischievous. “And there’s more bad news. No matter how I swing it, I can’t find any trace of wickedness in Bingley when I watch
Pride and Prejudice
. Unless it’s just an act, our Bigley is way off.”

I searched his face for a hint of irony and caught it in the twinkle in his eye. “Well, the guy in the movie was just the actor,” I said. “Maybe he couldn’t quite get Charles Bingley right.”

Or our Bigley’s only sin was that he was weak.
Taylor said she had talked Bigley into doing what he’d done last night. I wasn’t sure if I bought it.

Austen’s eyes were on mine, and I was having a hard time thinking about anything else. “But it’s weird,” he said, “because everyone else is spot on—even down to the red regimental coat that Freddy wears as a bellhop. Mr. Collins is a sniveling weasel, Maria Bertram-Rushworth is a snob, Crawford’s a player.”

“Yes, but a likeable villain,” I said.

“Disagree,” Austen said.

“The one we know said some really nice things when we were running on the beach together.”

“And he helped your brother move up in the army so he could win your love. Yeah, I saw it in the movie—Crawley’s only working you. Also, I think I’ve watched enough
Pride and Prejudice
to know I shouldn’t let you go off with Dancey again.”

 His thumb rubbed over my fingers. My eyes went to his—they smoldered. The way he watched me was the way I had always dreamed that he would. I was beginning to think that Taylor was wrong. This could work. “So,” my voice came out throatier than usual, “what’s the verdict, Austen? Am I crazy?”

“It’s a fictional delusional disorder. I’ve seen it before.”

“What’s the cure?”

He kept a straight face. “I have a whole team of specialists working on it as we speak, but the only treatment we know of is highly dangerous.”

“I’m willing to risk it if it means living a life free of my paranoia.”

Austen leaned heavily across the counter, closer to me now, and I knew he meant to kiss me again. “If it doesn’t work, the treatment might make it worse,” he warned.

I couldn’t keep down the smile. “What did you have in mind?”

“You should spend time with someone who doesn’t bring on the fictional delusions; some quality time. Maybe lunch?”

That was taken by Dancey. “Well . . .” I reddened when I realized the mess that I had gotten myself into. Those photos of the two of us were still floating around somewhere if I didn’t take care of them. What would Austen say if he saw them?

“I can’t do lunch today.” Not tomorrow either—that was the wedding . . . if it still happened. And if it didn’t happen? The photographs were going up. With horror, I realized that I was in a moral dilemma. “I can’t do lunch the rest of the week actually,” I told Austen. “I’m going to have to take a rain check on the treatments.”

He straightened, his hands still on mine. Now I felt like a criminal; with his eyes searching mine like that, I was sure he meant to gauge my feelings towards him. I needed his help in our intervention with Taylor, but if we succeeded . . . I might lose him. I tried to figure out a way to come clean. “Austen?” I rallied my nerves. “Things are about to get crazier around here, I think.”

The phone chose that moment to ring. I tried not to take it as a sign as I broke away from him to answer it. Ann-Marie’s breathless voice was on the other end. “I can’t do it!” she wailed.

“What can’t you do?” I asked.

“I feel deathly ill . . . like my heart doesn’t want to go on.”

“You’ve got a broken heart?” I ventured.

“Yes, yes! I can’t get out of bed. I feel all feverish and weak . . . ever since I talked to
him
.”

“Who?”

“Don’t make me say it. My throat closes up whenever I try to say it. I have it bad, Jane.”

“Ann-Marie!” I wanted to have sympathy for her, I did, but this was not the time for dramatics. I could barely wing everything with her here. “I need you! Quit acting like you’re dying of the bubonic plague and come to work. You can tell me what’s happening when you get here!” I hung up the phone when she started talking about her fluttering heart.

“
Sense and Sensibility
,” Austen muttered. “Right? When Marianne gets a broken heart and almost dies after being out in the rain.”

“Uh, yeah.” I turned back to him, gathering my wits. I was just about to admit my wrongdoings again when Bertie rushed into the room. One of her arms cradled her puppy; her other arm swung like a pendulum beside her. She shoved the cute mat of fur into my hands. “Where’s Harry?” she demanded.

“Not here.”

She came nose to nose with me. “He doesn’t care about you, you know.”

That had come out of nowhere. “Are we still talking about Crawley?” I asked in some confusion.

“Of course we are!” she cried. “Don’t get into your mind that you have some sort of future with him—he’s just doing what he does to everyone, playing the field, and he’s playing you!”

“Is that what he did to you, Bertie?” Austen asked casually. I shot him a look of respect.
Very perceptive.
Austen leaned against the counter, looking tired from his all-nighter.

Bertie glared at him. “Who is this? Wait.” She raised a hand in a dismissive gesture. “No, I am tired of dealing with Taylor’s employees. Harry and I were very happy before you came along, little girl. Don’t get any grandiose ideas. He’s only amusing himself with the staff.”

I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. I felt the dog’s tiny tongue lick my chin in a reminder that I was doing her mistress a favor. “Are you kidding me?” I ground out through clenched teeth, “Do you really want to leave me alone with your dog after accusing me like that? I don’t want your stupid boyfriend or your adulterous life. Now take back your cute little puppy!”

Bertie huffed and marched out of the lobby just as quickly as she had come, still leaving the poor, nameless pooch behind. I stared after her. “For some reason, everyone is acting according to script. If things go the way the books do, Bertie is going to run off with Crawley. Bella will get into trouble with Freddy. And Colin will try to get me alone in the drawing room for some kind of proposal.”

Austen gave a grim laugh. “I’d like to be a fly on the wall for that one.”

“Of course that won’t happen.” I paced the room, not able to cast off my growing superstition. “Even so, we’ll play it safe. If we can stop everyone before they do what they are supposed to do, then that’s how we’ll survive the next few days.”

Austen watched me like I was going crazy again. I tried to ignore that as the room came alive with guests. Mary coughed and sputtered and choked into a tissue, and Colin came in through the front door, looking smarmy—every hair carefully misplaced in his bouffant style, the front of it slicked back against his forehead.

Mary came within range first. Her hands landed on the counter, and she took a deep, gasping breath before she managed enough air to speak. “My stomach is trying to claw its way through my skin,” she announced. “It’s ripping my intestines apart until I give birth to a monster.”

That was very descriptive.
“How would you like me to help?” I asked.

She sighed. “I can only pray that I make it to Taylor’s bachelorette party tonight.”

So far Mary hadn’t allowed her ailments to stop her from any of the parties, but I made soothing sounds anyway and promised faithfully to be concerned about it. Mary took that as validation of her unhealthy state, and her voice grew weaker. “If I don’t make it, tell Taylor that I value her friendship and everything that she has done for me.”

“Are those your last words?” I asked, feeling like maybe I should fetch Reverend Eddy to deliver her last rites.

She hung her head and lowered her shoulders in exhaustion. “We shall see.” She limped away as if she had contracted a broken leg from her visit in the lobby. Austen nudged me. “What character is she again?”

 “
Persuasion
,” I said under my breath. “The sickly sister.”

Austen watched her leave for the breakfast room. “That’s the only one that I didn’t see last night, but now I feel like I have.”

“Jane.” Colin tried to claim my attention next. His voice gave me a prickling sensation, and I turned, taking in the glory of his matted hair. “If you want to take a more active role in the future of North Abbey,” he said, “we have more business to discuss . . . in the drawing room.”

It was just as I’d predicted.

Austen interrupted the moment. “We don’t have a drawing room.”

“The room off to the side with the piano, then. It has a picturesque window.”

“Before you do that,” Austen said, “I think there’s a matter that only you can clear up, Colin. A woman in the breakfast room is in desperate need of your help.”

Colin tilted his head. “The one who was just in here?”

“Yes, that beautiful damsel in distress. As up-and-coming owner of North Abbey, you are the only one she will trust with her needs. She said so herself.”

Colin seemed taken aback, but then he dipped his head with a smug smile. I could barely believe my luck, but Colin was taking the bait. “We’ll talk later,” he promised with an indulgent nod at me, then left to take care of Mary. I didn’t know whom I felt sorrier for.

I gave Austen a grateful smile. “Austen, you are my hero.” I gave him a hug before the moment could be stolen from me again.

“I have to tell you something.” We both said it at the same time and laughed—I noticed his was just as nervous as mine, which made me more nervous.