The Dashwood Sisters Tell All

The Dashwood Sisters
tell all

The Dashwood Sisters Tell All

ISBN-10: 0-8249-4874-2
ISBN-13: 978-0-8249-4874-0

Published by Guideposts
16 East 34
^th
Street
New York, New York 10016
www.guideposts.org

Copyright © 2011 by Beth Pattillo. All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

Distributed by Ideals Publications, a Guideposts company
2630 Elm Hill Pike, Suite 100
Nashville, TN 37214

Guideposts
and
Ideals
are registered trademarks of Guideposts.

The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Pattillo, Beth.
 The Dashwood sisters tell all / by Beth Pattillo.
  p. cm.
 ISBN-13: 978-0-8249-4874-0
 ISBN-10: 0-8249-4874-2
 1. Austen, Jane, 1775–1817—Appreciation—Fiction. 2. Sisters—Fiction.
 3. Literary landmarks–Fiction. 4. England–Fiction. I. Title.
 PS3616.A925D37 2011
 813′.6–dc22 2010043782

Cover design by Georgia Morrissey
Cover art by Trevillion Images
Interior design by Lorie Pagnozzi
Map by Rose Lowry
www.illustrations.com
Typeset by Aptara

Printed and bound in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

FOR MY FELLOW WAYFARERS…
BOB AND CLAIRE, NANCY, OKSANNA, GRETA,
HAL AND BARBARA, JOYCE, AND BARBARA W., AND
FOR PHILLIPPA, OUR FEARLESS LEADER, AND
YANNICK, OUR INTREPID MANAGER,
THANKS FOR A LOVELY RAMBLE
THROUGH HAMPSHIRE.

CHAPTER ONE

I
should never have agreed to travel with my sister, even if my mother's will required it. Yet there I stood on the driveway of Oakley Hall in Hampshire on a warm June day, watching Mimi drag her suitcase the last few steps to the entrance of the country house hotel.

“Please, Ellen,” Mimi pleaded. She paused to force the wheels of her suitcase through the gravel.

“I told you before we left that you had to carry your own luggage.” I knew if I didn't stand firm, I would be toting her Louis Vuitton monstrosity around for the rest of the week.

“I thought there would be bellmen. This is England. Didn't they invent civilization?” She pushed a blonde, spiral curl out of her eyes.

“Actually, it was the Greeks who invented civilization.”

“Well, then, I bet the Greeks have bellmen.”

We’d missed the minibus from the tour company that was supposed to give us a ride from the train station at Basingstoke to Oakley Hall, the start of our walking tour. The hotel was like something out of a BBC costume drama, with its three stories of red brick, numerous white-sashed windows, and elegant marble columns and pediment above the entrance.

“I’m sorry we missed the bus, okay?” Mimi drooped to a stop beside me. “I thought I had time for a facial before we left London.”

She didn't need a facial, of course. Her skin was almost as dewy perfect now as it had been when she was five. But my sister would never have believed me if I told her that, no matter how solemnly I swore.

“At least we’re here,” I said. “We’d better see about checking in.” I picked up my carry-on.

“I can't believe that's all you brought.” Mimi eyed my small suitcase with a mixture of envy and frustration.

“I’ve got a tote bag too.” I hitched its handles higher on my shoulder.

“I still don't understand why we have to do this.” Mimi gave her suitcase another fruitless tug. “Why couldn't Mom just make a normal will like other people's parents?”

I snorted. “We
are
talking about Caroline Dodge.”

Our mother had been the most Jane Austen–obsessed person I had ever known. I’d always thought it was because she was British. After she met and married my American dad, he dragged her back to the States to the land of suburbs and minivans and fast-food drive-throughs. She’d never quite gotten over the culture shock.

“Is what she wanted even legal?” Mimi looked dubious. “Can you just sprinkle someone's ashes in Hampshire without permission?”

“If you don't get caught.” I hoped I sounded more certain than I felt.

“What if we can't pull it off?” Mimi voiced my biggest fear. My mother's will had been very clear. Both of us must participate in this Jane Austen–themed walking tour in Hampshire, and we must agree on the most appropriate place to scatter her ashes. Once that happened, we could contact her lawyer, and he would release our inheritance to us.

I didn't actually care all that much about the money, although it would certainly come in handy. I knew why my mother had made this last, quirky request. She thought that giving us this assignment would finally make Mimi and me bond as sisters. I could have told her it was useless and saved a bundle on plane fares. But when your mother is dying, you tend to go along with whatever she wants, even if you have to go to another continent to do it.

The front door of Oakley Hall swung open, and a man appeared. Tall, fifty-something, good-looking in a mature way, with a sun-browned face and threads of gray in his hair. He strode toward us with an unmistakable military bearing, and I liked him on sight. He looked dependable, a characteristic that had been missing in a lot of the men I had known.

He came to a stop in front of us. “Good afternoon, ladies.” He had an American accent. “You must be the Dodge sisters.” He extended his hand to me. “I’m Tom Braddock, the tour leader.”

I shook his hand. “I’m Ellen. This is my sister, Mimi.”

He reached over and picked up Mimi's suitcase with masculine confidence. “Let me help you with this.”

I had learned early on in life not to wait around for a man's help, so I fell into step behind Tom, carrying my own luggage.

“How many people are in the group?” I asked as we made our way through the front door of Oakley Hall and into the reception room.

“We’re expecting ten,” Tom said over his shoulder. He escorted us to the front desk. A young woman with a sleek bun and a chic black jacket stood on the other side, a phone pressed to her ear.

“Ten plus you,” Mimi said to Tom, flirting with him auto-matically. She really couldn't help herself. I knew that. The knowledge didn't make it any easier to watch though. I thought that Tom Braddock might have actually blushed.

“Yes. Ten plus myself,” he said. “An old friend of mine owns the tour company. I retired early last year and took this up as a sideline.”

“Retired?” Mimi's smile wilted.

I hid my own smile. The greatest fear of any beauty is aging, and Mimi was no exception.

“United States Air Force. I spent several years stationed here and decided to come back.”

“You must have traveled a lot,” I said. It sounded adventurous and romantic. I’d spent my whole life in Dallas, except for the occasional family vacation to the Gulf Coast. When I was young, my mother couldn't convince my father to take her back to England to visit. When I was older, after my father was gone, she seemed to have lost the desire to see her homeland.

I wanted to ask Tom about his travels, but Mimi's attention had already wandered. She gazed around the reception room, admiring the tall ceilings, the intricate moldings, and the general air of elegance. Tom's smile sagged a bit, but I tamped down any feelings of sympathy. I was tired of binding up the romantic wounds my sister inflicted or suffered. I had enough problems of my own to deal with at the moment.

The young woman behind the reception desk put down the receiver and turned her attention to us. “How may I help you?”

I took care of checking us in while Mimi looked on. We might be well into our thirties, but somehow we’d never outgrown our childhood roles. I took care of the details while Mimi brought the enthusiasm. I provided the sense, as my mother used to say, and Mimi provided the sensibility. Just like in the Austen novel. She’d even given us names similar to the famous Dashwood sisters.

At least my mother had shown enough foresight to book the pair of us into separate rooms for the duration of our trip.

“Ellen?”

I turned to find Mimi frowning at me. “What's the matter?”

“What if this doesn't work out?”

The deep lines around her mouth told me that she was very worried about that possibility. “It’ll be fine, Meems. We’ll figure it out.”

She looked doubtful.

“It's going to be okay,” I said, but without much conviction. “Let's go find our rooms.”

Once Ellen checked us in, I finally got that bellman I’d been wishing for. I couldn't keep flirting with the tour leader just so he’d haul my suitcase around. Even I knew there were limits. Besides, Tom Braddock didn't need any more encouragement from me. He seemed nice enough, but he was way too old and stodgy. I had enough people in my life already who disapproved of everything I did. I didn't need to add one more.

Although that number had recently decreased by one when my mother died.

The bellman told me he’d meet me at my room, which wasn't in the main house at all but was out in the stable block. He said something about getting a cart, and I could only hope the rooms weren't too far away. My high heels were killing me. Ellen had practically gone purple when I’d turned up in them that morning in the lobby of our hotel, but I wasn't about to be seen in London in sensible shoes like my sister was wearing.

The woman behind the desk directed us through the main part of the hotel and out a rear terrace door. From there, another crushed-shell walk led to the stable block. As I wobbled my way across the shells, I was doubly thankful for the bellman. I’d never have gotten King Louis, as Ellen called my suitcase, over this terrain.

I rounded the stable block and found myself in its courtyard. It was paved with red brick that matched the building, and the wood trim and doors of the stable block were painted a sparkling white. Very tidy, if a bit spare. I held my key card up to the sensor by the door, and the lock clicked open.

The room was absolute heaven. It was huge, for one thing, and decorated in neutrals, with crisp white walls. The bathroom was enormous by English hotel standards, and the luxurious tray of toiletries even included a rubber duck for the bath.

I kicked off my torturous shoes and flopped down on the pristine white duvet. I could gladly spend the week right here in this room rather than stalking around the countryside.

I didn't want to deal with my mother's ashes. Thankfully Ellen had agreed to carry the box around. I’d struggled enough just going back to Dallas for the funeral. That should have been the end of it, but obviously my mother had other ideas.

My mother had always had other ideas.

The bellman brought my suitcase into the room. It took me a moment to figure out the coins so I could tip him the right amount. I felt like a first grader all over again, trying to remember which coins were which. It didn't help that in England the ten-pence pieces were the size of nickels, and the five-pence pieces were the size of dimes.

After the bellman left, I wanted to fling myself on the bed again, but I needed to unpack before my clothes got any more wrinkled. We had a welcome reception and dinner in a matter of hours, and I needed all the time I could get to pull myself together.

I emptied my carry-on and tossed the copy of
Sense and Sensibility
I’d brought with me on the nightstand. My mother had always been after me to read it. I’d compromised by seeing the movie, but after she got sick, I’d had a change of heart and bought the book. I had known that my mother fancied Ellen and me as some modern-day version of the Dashwood sisters, but that was all it had been. A fancy. We were just too different. I was too spontaneous, too inclined to live in the moment for Ellen to take me seriously. And she was far too dull for me to want to spend any more time with her than necessary.

I eyed the small amount of hanging space in the wardrobe. The English really needed to work on their closets. No way were all my dresses going to fit, much less any of the hiking clothes Ellen insisted that I bring.

I sighed and contemplated the drawer space in the built-in unit next to the wardrobe. Whatever happened during the coming week, I would do whatever it took to meet the terms of my mother's will. I was going to get my hands on my inheritance. My college friend Stacey, a real-estate agent in New York City, had found the perfect space in SoHo for my boutique, but I had to come up with a deposit, and fast. I was so close to my dream coming true, to leaving Atlanta behind and finally making it to the center of the fashion world.

The knock at the door startled me. I scooped up my lingerie and shoved it into a drawer. When I opened the door, I wasn't surprised to find Tom, the tour leader, standing there.

“Sorry to disturb you,” he began.