Jane and Austen (3 page)

Ann-Marie made a sigh that sounded like she had poured her whole heart into it. “Yes, Jane, she’s right. Please, keep him far, far away from me. I don’t ever want to meet the man behind the name. Not really.” She dropped her arms to her sides and traveled despondently across the room where she collapsed onto the soft leather sofa that rested near the big screen TV. The scissors that had dangled from her hand toppled to the floor.

“Dancey is one of those people you only want to dream about,” she said into the cushions. “Meeting him would only make him real. And no one wants a real guy, especially one like him—he’d just reject us normal people, and then we’d never be able to enjoy his music again.”

“Hey, it’s not that bad.” I went back to my seat behind the counter, studying my to-do list. “These guys have to marry someone, and why not a down-to-earth girl? I mean look at Elizabeth and Darcy in
Pride and Prejudice
.”

“. . . who aren’t real.” Ann-Marie lifted her face from the pillows.

“No, but . . .” I crammed my brain for a real couple. “Well, let’s just say that there are a lot of real people who get married.” I smirked before I cracked a joke, “Maybe more than fictional people.”

Ann-Marie’s smile grew. “Yeah. I mean, people are only people. You strip them of their skin and they’re all just skeletons inside.”

My own smile froze. Too late I realized that while I’d thought I was philosophizing, I had actually encouraged Ann-Marie to go after the rock star. “But we should really give Dancey his space,” I said. “I bet the last thing he wants is to be bombarded by fans. He just needs to be treated like a normal guy.”

“I plan on it.” She rose from the couch with a determined air. Throwing her glorious hair behind her shoulder, she cracked her knuckles and retreated from the room with a flounce. A complicated concert went off in the Allenham Lounge in the short amount of time it took Ann-Marie to find her piano bench.

I groaned when I recognized the remake of “Fur Elise.” It was her theme music dedicated to the times when she was deeply and passionately in love.

This would not go well. I knew how she treated normal guys. Will Dancey had no idea what he was in for.

Chapter 3

“I am worn out with civility.”

—Jane Austen,
Mansfield Park

A woman pulled up to North Abbey
in a BMW convertible. She wore huge sunglasses, one of those fancy, oversized floppy hats, perfect make-up, and a sundress that showed off her every curve—or lack of them. She’d make heroin-addicts everywhere jealous.

She lifted one of her rail-like arms and pressed down on the horn. My eagerness to check in Taylor’s wedding guest evaporated like a magician’s rabbit as I searched around for anyone to help me. All of the golf carts were taken. The maids were off making the rooms presentable. Freddy Tiney was on a run for more detergent. The job was up to me. I hurried outside, hoping I didn’t look like I had to run.

“Welcome to North Abbey, ma’am,” I said as I approached.

She took her hand off the horn and pulled her shades down so that she could peer at me over the rims. “Mrs. Bertram-Rush, if you please.” She wriggled her ring finger so that I couldn’t miss the sparkling diamond weighing it down. “I’m the maid of honor.”

Though technically her married state made her the matron of honor, I nodded. “Yes.” I fought the urge to curtsy—or laugh. All of Taylor’s bridesmaids were her friends from a tightknit community in Massachusetts. They had attended private schools together, roomed in college, and their parents belonged to the same clubs. Looking at Mrs. Bertram-Rush, I guessed Taylor’s friends were like bad habits—hard to quit.

“Taylor has told me so much about you,” I said.

“Has she?” She snapped her shades back up, turning away to stare off into the distance, dismissing me. Her pink-and-white polka-dot luggage next to her lap yipped, and I realized that it held a living teddy bear. At least, the tiny puppy looked like a stuffed animal, except for the black eyes that blinked up at me from a white, furry face.

This woman was really Taylor’s best friend? She could pass as a desperate housewife from Orange County. In my mind’s eye Bertie’s sun hat transformed into a chip straw hat with a riot of flowers and ribbons dangling from the brim. I didn’t have to imagine anything different in regards to her face. It was already gaunt and drawn like a Jane Austen villainess—though three times more orange.

“My baggage is in the trunk,” she informed me, popping the trunk.

I stifled a sigh. The informality of the North Abbey had turned their event coordinator into a bellhop.

Mrs. Bertram-Rush dangled her car keys from her car window for me. “You will also show me my room, I take it?”

I abandoned the trunk for the time being and took the keys from her. “A cart to drive you to your accommodations will be here shortly. If you will just wait in the lobby.”

The thin woman gaped at me like no one had ever asked her to wait for anything. I smiled blandly back at her as if I had no idea that she was so annoyed. She pursed her lips, stepping delicately out of her car as another guest pulled up—in a minivan this time. The window rolled down and a breathless face popped out. “Is this the right place?”

The sign for the resort framed her head behind her.

“Are you looking for North Abbey?” I asked.

The woman nodded. Her straight, auburn hair came out in greasy strings from a tight ponytail that looked as though she had slept on it for hours. “I’m Taylor’s . . .” She turned mid-speech and coughed into her hand, a great wheezing, hacking sound that made me think she had just crawled from her deathbed to get here. Mrs. Bertram-Rush scrambled to keep back from the invisible germs, her heels clacking against the ground.

“I’m Taylor’s bridesmaid,” the woman said as soon as she had breath to speak. “Mary Musswood.” She wiped her hand off on her shirt and poked it through her car window for a handshake.

Thinking fondly of the hand sanitizer in the lobby, I shook it. “Glad you could make it, Mary. If you could pull over to the side there, we’ll take care of your bags and park your car for you.”

She coughed again and did as told—parking only three feet over the yellow line. The coughing fits bursting from her minivan told me that was the best we were going to get. It was apparent that this socialite had fallen on hard times. She staggered out of her vehicle and slammed the door hard behind her, putting her hand over her heart as if she had startled herself.

I took her keys, wondering what was taking Freddy so long. He was making me look like a one-woman operation here. Mary Musswood wiped at her reddened nose with an oversized tissue. She seemed a frail lady, which she only emphasized by wearing clothes a size too big. She turned to squint at Taylor’s maid of honor. “Wait, don’t I know you? You’ve lost so much weight. Bertie?”

 “Mrs. Bertram-Rush,” the woman said in a voice that could freeze fire. If possible, “Bertie” was more distant with Mary than with me, which was an amazing feat.

Mary drew forward, gushing. “Wow, Bertie! It’s been so long. I see you on the front of all of those sleazy gossip magazines. I can’t believe you’re not at one of those drunken Hollywood parties right now. Didn’t you date that rapper for a while? What was his name? Chris Slum-Diesel or something? Well, who cares? He was beautiful. Why did he break up with you?”

Bertie gaped until she seemed to snap. “I broke up with
him.
”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Mary stared at Bertie for an uncomfortable moment. “Of course.”

With their keys in hand, I gestured for Taylor’s friends to follow me. Bertie strode ahead of Mary, looking annoyed. She finally swiveled to Mary and informed her, “I’m married now.” She flashed her oversized diamond ring once again. “My husband makes every man I’d ever been with look like a used car salesman.”

Mary appeared suitably impressed. We stepped into the lounge just as a grey ball of fur slipped past our feet. “A cat?” Mary’s hands dug through her purse until she found a package of tissues. She snapped three out with practiced hands and rubbed them across her nose. “Keep it back. I’m allergic.”

“That’s Taylor’s cat,” I said. “Mister stays in the lobby, so your room will be fine, Mary. We’ll be sure to keep him far from you.”

Bertie sniffed in disdain—I wasn’t sure if it was directed at her friend’s loyalty to a cat or to Mary’s health misfortunes or even at me. Maybe all of us at once? Her little dog whimpered, and she absentmindedly kneaded its knobby head.

Mary set her purse on the counter, digging through an array of pill bottles, muttering the whole time. “I’m also prone to dusts and mold. This is an old place, I take it.”

“Yes.” I pulled behind the counter. “This Queen Ann Victorian has been a resort since the sixties. It was first turned into a bed and breakfast in the twenties. Before then it was a family estate, built in 1887.”

Mary yelped in distress. “You must have all sorts of allergens here.” She took out her nasal spray and began to apply in earnest. Bertie drew out a long sigh. I tried to reassure Mary that she was staying in one of the bungalows built outside the property, which was newer than the main building, but she downed a handful of pills just as Ann-Marie came hurtling into the room in her usual heedless fashion.

I pretended I wasn’t desperate to see her. “Ann-Marie, would you please take these ladies to their bungalows? They’re in the Southerton and the Uppercross. I’ll have their luggage sent after them.”

“Yes, of course.” Ann-Marie’s eyes drew to the four pill bottles Mary stuffed back into her purse. Mary then collided into Bertie’s arm on her way to the door, making Bertie’s purse yip in response.

Mary backpedaled in horror. “Oh dear. That houses a dog? He looks just like a little bear, but he’s the size of a rat. A little rat-bear!”

“
She
is a micro-teacup Maltese,” Bertie corrected in chilly tones. “My mother’s favorite. Do you know how much these little rat-bears cost?”

Mary’s manner immediately changed and she became more fawning. “I bet that little rat-bear is worth more than my four sons combined. Why, just the cost to the vet alone.” She wiped at her drooping eyes as if she was having an allergic reaction, but so far no tears had come. “Of course you’ve already shot the little guy up with all sorts of vaccines to keep back all the diseases that he carries.”

Bertie’s glare dripped icicles. “My baby is tired,” she addressed Ann-Marie. “Could you please show me where I’m staying before I sprout roots and grow leaves in here?”

“Yes, of course.” Ann-Marie exchanged a stricken look with me and led the way from the lobby.

“So brave of you to take on the puppy,” Mary said to Bertie, following her out. “Does it shed? I wish I had the money to throw away on such odd things.” I listened to Mary’s voice fade as she persevered in the face of Bertie’s silent treatment. “That’s why Taylor is paying for my stay here. My husband said, ‘go,’ I deserved the break. My boys are a handful. Dirty, too. They do nothing for my health.”

I let out a breath as soon as they were out of earshot. Two bridesmaids down, only one more to go. I wasn’t eager to see Bella Thorne’s entrance, because so far I couldn’t see how Taylor associated with any of her friends. They made her look . . . well . . . normal.

Maybe that was the point.

Chapter 4

“Can he love her? Can the soul really be satisfied with such polite affections? To love is to burn – to be on fire, like Juliet or Guinevere or Eloise . . .”

—Jane Austen,
Sense and Sensibility

I wrestled the baggage
onto the cart. Bertie had brought enough for a month instead of her allotted week here. Silently, I prayed that didn’t mean she planned on extending her stay. I scooted the cart to Mary’s minivan, and after pushing past four sticky car seats, I found her one worn bag. It was wrapped in plastic. I didn’t want to know why as I hauled it next to Bertie’s matching designer luggage and shoved the cart back into the lobby.

There was no sign of Freddy inside. Knowing my luck, I’d have the whole job done the moment our missing bellhop got here. And knowing Freddy, he probably planned it that way. The door from the back opened, and a tall man pushed his way inside, covering the old-fashioned doorframe with a broad shoulder. “Freddy!” I called. “I need your help over here!”

“You’re still here?”

That didn’t sound like Freddy. The man cleared the door, and the dull glow of the chandelier showed me that the shoulder belonged to Austen. I almost fell over at the sight of him. He carried a bike over his shoulder and was a sight for sore eyes—the same classically good looks, brown unruly hair, and crooked smile as before—but when I looked at him now, no romantic image sprang to mind, which was strange because I managed to procure one for everyone nowadays.

Maybe it was because he still wore his biking clothes. He set the bike down and leaned against it. “Wow, I didn’t expect you to still be here, Jane. I thought for sure you’d find somewhere better to work.”

Austen had caught me completely off guard. I had planned this moment for so long—I was going to be defiantly gorgeous, carefree and witty, and completely on top of the situation. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was all sweaty and scruffy from my workout with the luggage—and he thought that my job was a joke. Even if it was, he didn’t have to point it out. And where did he get off teasing me like we were still best friends, anyway?

I turned from him. “You survived the plane crash, I see.”

“What plane crash?”

He didn’t even remember our last conversation. Typical. What was he doing here, anyway? No one had said anything about Austen returning, and now he acted as if no time had passed between us. It had been eight months! He hadn’t even come home for Christmas. I tried to match his relaxed tone. “Taylor’s somewhere around here,” I said. “You’re looking for her, right?”

“Not really. I’m just looking for anyone who will talk to me.”

“Then you’d better wait for Taylor.”

“Good. Wait. Why?” I heard the laughter behind his words, laced with confusion. It frustrated me. Hadn’t he spent at least half as much time as I had stewing about our failed relationship? Judging by the sound of his voice, he didn’t know that there was anything between us to lose. Dredging up the past would only get me more riled up and possibly prove that I was overreacting. I wasn’t about to reveal to him that I had wasted months grieving over a misunderstanding.

I decided to play it cool, and so I gave him a forced smile. “I just don’t want to hear how much you loved Boston more than us.”

“Well, it definitely wasn’t as exciting as I thought it would be. Give me a second; I have to change into some real clothes.” He left his bike against the wall and disappeared into the restroom. I stared after him. So that was my big dramatic reunion with my long-lost love? Long-lost
nothing
! How anticlimactic. I realized that I had gone stiff, and I uncurled my fists so that they lay more naturally against my sides.

The luggage was still waiting. I squared my shoulders just as another car pulled up outside. This one I recognized as Taylor’s. Her fiancé was driving, and he stole the freight parking space. Only Taylor could get away with that and not get towed. After a couple of loud slams from their car doors, Chuck Bigley got out and helped his sweetheart to the front door of the lobby. The two talked excitedly outside, which predictably ended with another deep kiss before they peeled open the glass doors.

“The train on my dress isn’t that long!” Taylor complained once she was inside.

“Well, they’re twins,” her fiancé said. “Try to explain to one girl that only her sister will have the honor of carrying your train.”

“Then I’ll have to get a longer train,” Taylor said. “Jane! What do you think? Would it look strange if I had two flower girls with how short the train is on my dress?”

“Not at all,” I lied.

Taylor nodded. “I’ll get a longer train; that’s all there is to it.”

Bigley winked at me. “Good thing we have Jane, the miracle worker here. She’ll arrange the whole romantic setting with just a twitch of her pen.”

“Uh . . .” I found my worn notebook on the counter and sat down heavily on the stool. My legs were still shaky from my Austen encounter. He was only one room away, and it took everything in me to concentrate on Taylor. I glanced up at her. “You’d like me to contact the dressmakers at Elton’s then?”

Taylor smiled—apparently it went without saying, so I wrote down yet another errand for myself. Before I could tell Taylor about Austen’s big arrival, she was pelting me with questions. “Have Bigley’s grandparents come in from England yet?”

“Honey,” Bigley interrupted. “I told you that they are not coming in until tomorrow.”

“Dear, you did not tell me that.”

“Yes sweetheart, I did.”

Now they were fighting with terms of endearment. I was glad that I had listened to Bigley about his grandparents, or I’d be the one freaking out right now. The Rosings House where they were staying was not ready for guests yet, and I still had to find Freddy so that he could transform the Wood House into something fit for a human, let alone Dancey.

The door to the restroom opened and Austen came out, having changed from his biking gear to jeans and a T-shirt. It gave him a lean look and emphasized his height, making him look too good for words, which only served to irritate me.

Taylor jumped when she saw him. “Austen!”

Bigley hesitated for a moment, sizing Austen up—to anyone else but me, Austen just looked like a friendly dork, and Bigley’s face cleared of jealousy. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” He came forward with his big hand extended. Austen took it, and they exchanged a firm handshake before stepping back to a more comfortable distance.

“Austen, this is Chuck Bigley, my fiancé,” Taylor said. “Austen’s a big financial consultant out in Boston, but he’s taking a break for a month to help us out here. Aren’t you, Austen?”

I couldn’t believe it. She already knew about this? No one had bothered to tell me. I was so chopped liver around here, it wasn’t even funny.

Austen shook his head. “It’s more like I’m doing my parents a favor. I’ll be going through their books to write up a financial plan while I’m here . . .” My gaze flew to him. I knew that tone of voice. Austen was lying. “I already put my things in the Wood House,” he said. “I hope that’s okay?”

No, it was not. Where would I put Dancey? Before I could say anything, Taylor interrupted with a rush of words. “I’m so glad that you’re here. Your mother said that you were coming to help us.”

“Well, yeah,” Austen said.

“You had better, because we are drowning. Drowning!”

“Dear.” Chuck caught Taylor’s face in his hands. “We’ll be just fine. Jane has it all under control.”

“What about my brunch tomorrow? We ran out of olives. The lettuce is limp! Austen, please, we need you!” Taylor escaped her fiancé to grasp Austen’s arm. He grimaced while she dragged him aside, using a half-whisper that we all could hear, “I know you have a lot on your plate right now, but if you could be Jane’s assistant, just until after the wedding, then I’d dearly appreciate it. Your mother would, too.”

 
“I don’t need his help,” I said at the same time Austen said, “She doesn’t need my help.”

I felt my eyes widen to betray me. “You don’t want to work with me?”

“Are you kidding?” Austen had the look of a man caught in the middle of two firing squads. “It’s not about that. You are more than capable of taking care of this, Jane. Besides, you just said you didn’t need my help.” He attempted a smile and turned to Taylor, talking fast. “I barely have time to look through the books. It’s a lengthy process, and I’d say it would be in everyone’s best interests to give me a little space.”

“You made it! I didn’t believe you.” Ann-Marie attacked Austen with a hug from behind. We all stiffened for him; and what did she mean by not believing him? Had they been talking and yet he couldn’t find any time to text me? “Oh!” She stuffed her nose into the middle of his back and inhaled him deeply. “You changed your cologne.” She took another sniff. “I like it too much. You should
not
wear that ever again.”

Austen laughed, a little uncomfortably. “Why?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Message received.” He inched away from her, patting her head. She grinned back at him and touched the stubble he had grown on his face.

“Ann-Marie!” Taylor said, snatching her back. “Don’t you have something more important to do? Like entertaining guests in the lounge?”

Ann-Marie nodded. She didn’t take her eyes off of Austen. “I had a dream about you last night.”

“Ann-Marie!” Taylor’s words came out strangled. “This is not the time. We are in a situation here. I am
trying
to convince Austen to work with us again. We have an event to plan!”

“Honey.” Bigley took on his soothing voice and found her hand. He looked deeply into his fiancée’s eyes. “Your wedding will be beautiful. It will be talked about for years to come. Prince William and Kate have nothing on you.”

That coaxed a reluctant smile from her. “That’s sweet, Chuck, but I don’t care about that . . . I just want my mom and dad to know that their little girl is
happy
.” Her voice broke.

“They will.” He smoothed down her hair. “Everything will be perfect—you’ll see. The train on your dress, the olives in the salad, the fresh flowers that drip from the ceiling; it will be everything you’ve dreamed about since you were a little girl.” His words left Ann-Marie smiling and Austen frowning. I was utterly confused. I had never seen Taylor act this way before. If she kept at this, we’d all have to check into a mental hospital by the end of the week.

“Sure,” Austen muttered. “Chuck and Taylor—that will look great on the napkins.”

I elbowed him. Hard. He grunted. Luckily Taylor didn’t overhear the comparison of their names to a shoe brand. “I’m not being too overbearing, am I?” she asked her husband-to-be.

Bigley kissed her in response. “Everything you do is perfect. Now, leave the worrying to the ones you paid to worry about it, honey. You need some rest.” Taylor allowed him to lead her out of the room. The door swung shut behind them, leaving us in uneasy silence.

Ann-Marie sighed. “They are so in love.”

“Something’s wrong with Taylor,” Austen said.

I refused to look at him. “Taylor’s just stressed out. She’ll be her old self when things settle down.”

“No. She’s not happy. Didn’t you see her? This wedding’s not going to happen.”

I wasn’t sure if he was joking again, but it wasn’t funny. I swung around to face him. “What do you know, Austen? This is the first time you’ve ever seen Taylor together with Bigley. They are
very
happy!”

“Yeah? Then why is she making herself crazy over nothing? Have you heard of anyone who actually wants their wedding to be an
event
?”

“Um,” I raised my hand, “event coordinator here. Yeah, plenty of people do.”

“No.” He set his backpack by the counter and hooked his leg around a stool before sitting down. “No one remembers their own wedding. Nobody . . . and if they do, they’re not really in love.”

“Oh, wow.” Ann-Marie gazed up at Austen like he had just recited poetry. “That was beautiful. I hope you’re not a mind reader. Are you?”

I tried to will Austen not to answer that, but it was like he couldn’t help it. An unsure smile danced at the corner of his lips. “Why do you ask, Ann-Marie?”

“Because I don’t want you reading my thoughts right now.”

“Why?” he prodded. “What are you thinking?”

He asked. He asked!

“Oh, you don’t want to know,” she said. “It involves you and me and bubbles and—”

I cut her off, “Ann-Marie, I really think you need to go back to the lounge and play us some ‘welcome home’ music right now.”

She let out a giggle and scurried away, making eyes at Austen until the door slammed behind her. I realized that left me alone with the man that I didn’t want to have a conversation with. He watched me over the counter. I took a deep breath. “Taylor and Bigley are in love,” I said. “And they’re happy. They are so in love and happy that they make everyone around them sick.”

He broke into a smile. “Hey,” he said in a soft voice. “I didn’t mean to give you a hard time. I missed you. Did you miss me?” His eyes were on mine and he gave me that pleading look that had always worked on me before. But I knew exactly what this was now. Spending time together didn’t mean love—it meant Austen was bored and wanted to hang out with someone fun. Well, I refused to drop everything just to entertain him.

“Austen.” I leaned over the counter so that he could see the serious look on my face. “You didn’t miss me or you would’ve called. Were your fingers too big and fat to fit the numbers on the screen?”

He smirked, not even looking guilty after I’d called him out. “I told you I’d text back. Besides, I’m not good at the long distance thing.”

Interpretation: I wasn’t worth the effort.

“Yeah?” I asked. “Well, I’m not good at the short-distance thing.” It came out before I could really think what it sounded like and he reacted by giving a short bark of laughter. I pointed at him before he could tease me about it. “With you!” I corrected. “Only with you.” I knew he was lying about the whole accounting thing; I had heard it in his voice. I pulled closer to him. “Why did you really come back here, Austen?”