The Jane Austen Marriage Manual

by Kim Izzo

  “Yes, Kate is in the habit of saying whatever is on her mind with little regard for whoever is in the room,” he said teasingly. “I’ve borne the brunt of her comments myself.”

  “Griff, that’s not true,” I said, desperate to dispel his words.

  “Perhaps I’m wrong,” he said with a faint grin. “Clive and Emma tell me you have excellent taste, so what you say must be right.”

  I wanted the ground to swallow me then and there.

  “I love your accent,” Fawn gushed. “Do you follow the polo around?”

  “I go to as many tournaments as I can,” he explained. “How long have you known, um, Lady Kate?”

  “We met in Palm Beach,” Fawn answered and smiled flirtatiously at Griff. It was obvious she found him attractive. I admit those huge blue eyes were hard not to stare at, and his thick black hair seemed to beg my hands to run through it. Even his clothing was passable; crisp dark gray jeans and a gray chunky-knit sweater with a cowl-neck instead of his usual faded blue button-down. He didn’t look anywhere near as scruffy as he usually did. But I didn’t have time to critique Griff’s wardrobe or fret about what he thought about me. A quick glance at our table told me time was of the essence; Vlad had arrived and was fixated on his BlackBerry, sitting as far away from Tatiana as a table for six could provide and no one was talking to one another.

  “We have to go,” I said with sudden urgency and grabbed Fawn. She looked at the table and a sly smile spread across her face; she had other plans.

  “Yes we do,” she agreed and turned to Griff. “We have an empty seat at our table; would you care to join us for a drink?”

  I bit my lip. Griff looked at me, no doubt to gauge my reaction. I stared at the floor. He would take my silence as a definitive no.

  “I would love to,” he said and gave Fawn his arm, leaving me to follow as though I were an afterthought.

  When we got to the table I whispered in her ear, “This wasn’t a good idea.”

  “What party isn’t improved with a dashing Englishman?” she asked as if it were obvious. “Don’t tell me you’re attracted to him?”

  I shook my head furiously. “Hardly.”

  “Good. Keep your mind on the others and leave Griff to me,” she said confidently. “Southern women know how to host.”

  As it turned out, southern hospitality meant insisting on a boy-girl, boy-girl, boy-girl seating plan. To make matters worse, my reluctance to do as Fawn asked left me as the last man standing, which left me with the last empty seat. Seeing no way out, I reluctantly sat down sandwiched between Griff and Vlad with Scott across from me. There went any hopes of an intimate chat.

  After that, nothing went to plan and I blamed Griff, or rather Fawn’s impulsive invitation. Instead of stealing Scott’s attention and Vlad and Tatiana falling for each other, the majority of the conversation was about polo. The three men discussed it with a zealousness usually reserved for soccer hooligans. Tatiana continued to sulk in silence while Fawn listened intently to the men and laughed at their polo inside jokes and debates about the skills of various players. I didn’t know Fawn knew that much about polo. I was bored stiff and had begun to make origami with my napkin when my BlackBerry vibrated. I know it’s rude to check one’s text messages at a restaurant but no one was paying any attention to me. Stashing it under the table I saw the message was from Fawn. I shot her a look. She nodded. I read, “Act interested. Laugh. Make eye contact with Scott but flirt with the other men, too.”

  I was irritated and typed back furiously, “Unlike you, I know zero about polo.”

  I watched her read my message, shake her head, and type something back with equal fury. My device vibrated and I looked down. “Do you think I do? Fake it.”

  I looked up again and saw her laughing and patting Scott’s arm. I laughed, trying not to sound too artificial, and turned to Vlad.

  “Are you going to the game tomorrow?” I asked in my attempt to seem interested.

  “Of course, that is why we are all here,” he said as if I were an idiot.

  “Kate is not a fan of horses,” Griff announced. All eyes turned to me as if I had sprouted a third arm. If this was his idea of coming to my rescue, he was vastly mistaken.

  “But I thought you rode?” said Tatiana, taking this moment to finally speak. “You said in Palm Beach you rode horses.”

  I froze, unsure what to say. I began to stutter something about once riding but Griff piped up.

  “I meant she’s not a fan of polo,” Griff said. “Am I right?”

  “Absolutely,” I agreed gratefully. “I adore horses and riding. But polo isn’t my thing.”

  “That’s too bad,” said Scott, his disappointment palpable. I had to do something.

  “I would love it, Scott, if you could explain it to me tomorrow,” I suggested hopefully. “I’m sure I’d appreciate it if I knew more about it.”

  This seemed to brighten him up, although Tatiana and Vlad shot me a dirty look.

  “I would be happy to,” he said.

  That seemed to do the trick for the conversation picked up again. Then Griff stood up and excused himself. I knew I had to talk to him alone before he revealed anything else about me.

  “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” I announced and left the table. I caught up with him at the restroom entrance and pulled him aside, out of sight of the others.

  “Can you keep your insights into my character to yourself for the rest of the evening?” I said angrily.

  “Keep your voice down, Kate,” he said calmly. “Sorry about that, I had no idea you were playacting, I mean beyond the title bit.”

  “I may have said I rode,” I whispered back sharply.

  “What are you up to anyway?” he asked. “If you expect me to play a part, then I should know the plot.”

  “Long story,” I said unhelpfully.

  “I have time,” he said with a smirk.

  “If you must know, I’m here to find a husband,” I said huffily, then toned it down when I saw his stunned expression. “What I mean is, it’s finally time to settle down and get married.”

  He didn’t react at first but then had the nerve to laugh. “Well, if it’s a rich man you’re after, then you’ve come to the right place.”

  My stomach lurched. Was I that transparent? “What makes you say that?” I asked, astonished he’d guessed.

  “Why else would a single woman travel to St. Moritz for the polo except to meet a wealthy bloke?” he asked.

  “You make it sound so cheap and ugly,” I said unhappily.

  “So it’s true? I was only joking!”

  This made me furious. “So was I!” I lied.

  “I don’t think you were,” he said. “But you can’t be serious.”

  I stood there, unsure how to answer. He held my life in his hands. I couldn’t risk him telling anyone the truth, that I wasn’t a lady in the real sense of the word. The silence drew on uncomfortably, seconds felt like minutes.

  “Good God, Kate, money can’t buy happiness,” he said at last. “I hoped you were smarter than that.”

  “This is being smart,” I insisted. “I have my reasons for being here.”

  “I understand money woes; when my parents died their affairs weren’t in order and I’m still reeling from it.”

  I bit my lip. Maybe Griff did get my problem even if I didn’t tell him everything.

  “I’m sorry about your parents,” I said gently.

  “My father died five years ago, my mother eight,” he explained. “Life hasn’t been quite the same since. I don’t know what’s happened to bring you to this point but we all carry on as best as we can.”

  “Exactly!” I agreed, hopeful we’d reached an understanding. “Please don’t say anything about me?”

  “Don’t worry, I want no part of your game,” he said with a weak smile. “But my silence comes with a price. You’ll have to let me take you to dinner one night.”

  “You are a master of mixed signals,�
� I said, exasperated. “One minute you say such mean things to me and the next you’re saving my butt and asking me out.”

  “I could say the same about you,” he said, looking miffed.

  “I’m easy to understand,” I replied. “I know what I want.”

  “I’m sure you do. Though I doubt that Vlad Mihailov is your man.”

  I was taken aback. “You know Vlad?”

  “No,” he said flatly. “I’ve never met him, but I’ve heard of him. He lives in London.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said. “He told me that.”

  “He’s not for you,” he said sharply. I was taken aback and offended at the same time.

  “Who are you to determine if a man is right for me or not?” I snapped.

  “Quite right,” he agreed sourly. “But let’s just say he’s of dubious character and you’d be best to stay as far away from him as possible. He’s not the sort to trifle with, especially not the kind of game you’re playing.”

  With that, he disappeared into the men’s room, leaving me no choice but to hope I could trust him.

  I returned to the table and gave my full attention to Vlad; there was still time to foist him on Tatiana. But each attempt to start a chat between them was met with frosty glares and one-word answers. Even Fawn’s southern charms were lost on them. It was a disaster. To make things more awkward, Griff came back and ignored me the rest of the evening. Nor could I engage Scott in proper conversation without Tatiana tossing in her two cents. We passed an entire tedious hour this way until, unable to take it anymore, Scott stood up and put an end to the charade.

  “I see a client of mine,” he announced and gestured to a short, bald man at the bar. “Tonight’s been delightful but I need to mingle.”

  He smiled and walked off with the pouty Tatiana slinking after him. Then it was Griff’s turn.

  “I’m also going to circulate a bit,” he said, still not bothering to look at me. I made a face behind his back as he strode away. We were obviously destined to clash. I was determined not to give a fig if he was angry or disillusioned. He had no right to be either and had no claim on me. I rolled my eyes at Fawn. But I should have known she wasn’t going to give up that easily.

  “What a lovely girl that Tatiana is,” Fawn said with a smile. I gave her a puzzled look but she shook her head. “Vlad, don’t you think Tatiana is one of the most beautiful creatures you’ve ever laid your eyes on?”

  “No,” he snapped. “Slovenian girls are whores. That whole country is filth.”

  Fawn and I flinched in disgust.

  “I like women, not girls,” he continued sternly. “Young ones talk too much. Kate, she is woman.” I felt his hand on my leg.

  “I have to go to the ladies’ again,” I announced and stood up. “All that wine.”

  I darted off. It was useless. Our plan had totally backfired. He was still into me. Why did I have to find the one rich man who didn’t want to date a cheerleader, but who I wanted nothing to do with? Classic romance dilemma; you always want the man you can’t have, and you never want the man that wants you. Turning forty hadn’t changed a thing.

  The ladies’ room was vast. It had two sections: There were the cubicles in one area and there was a “parlor” in another; separating them was a mirrored foyer. The parlor was furnished with upholstered benches strategically placed in front of large mirrors and marble counters that were stocked with perfumes and hand creams. A female attendant stood guard, ready to squirt lotion or offer you a tissue at a moment’s notice. At the far corner of the parlor was a chaise, or fainting couch, complete with wingback chair at its side for amateur psychiatrists to dispense advice. As we all know, the ladies’ room is where broken hearts are revealed and soothed; that the Polo Bar addressed this fact of life by an isolated space to save face made me think that the Swiss really did know how to run everything like clockwork.

  I sat down on one of the pink stools to reapply my lipstick and had just unsnapped the lid when I heard the unmistakable sound of crying. I looked around. The attendant stood like a sentry, indifferent to the sobs—no doubt she’d seen and heard plenty before. But to me, the crying was like a siren call and I went to investigate. I saw that the farthest cubicle door was shut tight. As I inched closer, the crying grew louder. Whoever was in there was sobbing her heart out.

  “Are you okay in there?” I called out.

  The only answer was more sobbing.

  “Do you need me to get someone for you?” I offered. Still nothing.

  “I’m going to leave now,” I said, raising my voice so she could hear me above her tears. I was about to walk away when the door opened. I felt my jaw drop and my eyes widen, not knowing where to look or what to say, for the woman who had been weeping so mournfully was Tatiana. She marched past, her face streaked with mascara, and proceeded to wash her face at the sink.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, half expecting her to say something rude. She straightened her posture so she stood tall and proud. Here it comes, I thought, the bitchy comeback. But instead she broke down.

  Just then the door burst open and a group of women trotted in, chattering loudly. I grabbed Tatiana by the hand and led her to the chaise.

  “Sit here a moment,” I said and, grabbing a box of tissue, sat beside her. I expected her to stop crying. But Tatiana didn’t stop crying. Whatever was the matter was serious and I began to feel sorry for her. The fact that Tatiana had always been rude to me and also happened to have the man I wanted naturally made me hate her. But right now, she was just a wounded kid.

  “Did something happen?” I tried again.

  She looked up at me. All mascara and eyeliner had long vanished, her face was clean and her eyes were red. I had to admit that she was a very pretty girl. I could see why Scott found her so appealing; there was an innocence and vulnerability about her that was compelling.

  “Scott broke up with me,” she blurted suddenly and collapsed into sobs again. I perked up.

  “When?”

  “Before the evening started,” she explained. “He let me come because I was so upset.”

  “What? Why?” I asked. I may have felt sorry for her, but if Scott was now single, I wanted to know.

  “I thought he liked another woman,” she sobbed. “You, maybe. He always goes on about how elegant and smart you are.”

  “Really?” I said with a broad smile and quickly returned to a concerned look. “I’m sure he doesn’t think of me that way.”

  “You are right,” she said. My heart sank. “I hacked into his e-mail expecting to find love notes. But there was nothing.”

  I knew he hadn’t e-mailed me but clearly he thought about me enough to tell Tatiana. Maybe there was hope.

  I took a deep breath. “Oh, Tatiana, the problem with spying on your man is that whatever you find you have no one to blame but yourself,” I explained maturely.

  “I guess so. He lost his temper.”

  “And now he doesn’t trust you?”

  She nodded. “He said I was ridiculous. He was a one-woman man and I should trust him. But I love him!” she shrieked suddenly and burst into tears again. I rubbed her back. That she was actually in love with Scott was a complication that I hadn’t counted on.

  “I didn’t know you loved him,” I said gently. “I thought you wanted him because he was rich.”

  She stopped crying again. “I do love him. And yes, I need a rich man because I don’t want to live in Slovenia anymore. My family is very poor, I didn’t have money to go to university because I had to work to support my mother. And I don’t even like my mother.”

  “I don’t get on with my mother, either,” I said sympathetically, thinking of Iris back home in Park Slope with Ann.

  “I was raised by my grandmother,” Tatiana explained. Now it was my turn to sit up straight. I never imagined I’d have anything in common with this girl and now she had my sympathy. “My grandmother lives in a one-bedroom apartment with my mother. I worked at a medical office but d
idn’t make enough money, so I became a waitress at a very expensive restaurant and then I met Scott. I need to marry a rich man, and then I will take care of my grandmother.”

  Tatiana suddenly impressed me. She had come to the conclusion twenty years before I had that the solution to her problems was to marry a rich man, to do whatever she had to do to help her family. She should move to New York and hit the clubs with Tina and Arianna. I thought of my article, how I was supposed to be figuring out how to help women like her find a husband to take care of them. But she stood in my way and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to give her any advice. She kept crying so pitifully …

  “Have you ever seen Pride and Prejudice?” I asked, giving in to my good side.

  She looked up at me and nodded. “With Keira Knightley? I love that movie.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, there is that one, too. But it’s nothing compared to the 1995 television miniseries with Colin Firth.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know him. Who did he play?”

  The horror. “Mr. Darcy, of course! I suppose every generation gets the Pride and Prejudice it deserves,” I said huffily. “But my point is that Elizabeth was always a lady even when she was suspicious of Darcy. And it turned out her accusations and assumptions of his motives were wrong. Chances are you’re wrong about Scott. Now you have to make amends and behave like a lady if you want to hang on to him.”

  I paused before uttering my final bit of advice, words that were hard to say. “You’d better get back out there and apologize to him,” I ordered.

  “He won’t accept it,” she said, her eyes filling up once more. “He hasn’t spoken to me all night.”

  “Beg him, then,” I instructed. “He’s your chance to be happy, and to help your grandmother.”

  At that moment, Fawn burst through the door with a panicked look on her face. “There you are! Your Russian bear is frothing at the mouth,” she said excitedly but then stopped dead when she saw Tatiana. “What goes on here?”

  “Tatiana and Scott broke up,” I explained. Tatiana stood up and, straightening her dress, glided across the room to the vanity. “It appears that our brief intimacy is over,” I whispered.