The Jane Austen Marriage Manual

by Kim Izzo

  “Let me call and see if they have rooms,” I offered.

  “Here’s the card Griff gave me.” Scott tossed the card out of his wallet. Seeing Griff’s name in print made me flush. Such a simple card: GRIFFITH SAUNDERSON, PENWICK MANOR and a phone number. Not even a Web site; no wonder business was bad. I dialed the number, then felt my stomach lurch when the phone rang at the other end. What if he answered? We hadn’t exactly parted on glowing terms. But it was an older woman who took the call. Penwick Manor was available for our dates. She seemed thrilled we were coming. Times must be tough. She made a point of saying the family would be away for an extended period so we’d have most of the place to ourselves. Still, I felt I had to ask the obvious.

  “Will Griff Saunderson be there?”

  “Let me check my calendar,” she said and put me on hold. I bit my lip nervously, then she was back.

  “No, dear. He’s off then, too. It will just be me and the gardener.”

  I felt my shoulders collapse with relief. I would have some time alone at Penwick to prepare. Should Griff return before my wedding, I’d be strong enough to cope.

  BOOK 3

  AUSTEN’S

  POWER

  30.

  Taken Aback

  A young farmer, whether on horseback or on foot, is the very last sort of person to raise my curiosity.

  —Emma

  I left for Penwick Manor a few weeks before the wedding. Poor Scott was stuck in London on business, so I had to tackle the arrangements solo. Fawn was arriving on the weekend and Emma and Clive were meeting me tomorrow.

  To be honest, I was thankful to be alone for a bit because it gave me time to take it all in. That I was about to be married after a life of avoiding it was enough of a shocker, but the reality that I was getting married to a man I hardly knew also sunk in. This was a fact that hadn’t escaped Ann when I’d telephoned to invite her and tell her all about Scott and my hope that our financial situation would be resolved soon.

  “Who is Scott Madewell?” she had asked me. “And what do you know about him?”

  That she Google him had been the wrong suggestion; a gazillion Internet hits, press clippings, nor an imposing résumé didn’t impress practical Ann.

  “I don’t care that he’s rich, only that he’s good to you,” Ann insisted in her older sister tone. “Why don’t you bring him here first? Why the hurry to marry?”

  “Because he wants to,” I said, offering no further explanation. The hasty marriage was Scott’s idea. He insisted he couldn’t wait that long for me to be his wife. He was so generous, too, giving me his credit card to book flights for my friends and family. Who couldn’t see how much he loved me? But Ann wasn’t cooperating.

  “You’ll meet him soon,” I offered hopefully. “We’re having a prewedding party the night before, so you can meet before the ceremony. Say you’ll come.”

  “What about Mom?” Ann asked pointedly.

  I bridled at the suggestion. Iris was one of the main reasons I was in this mess. Besides, she would only embarrass me by seeking out the closest casino or bingo hall. I knew from Ann that nothing had changed on that front, and her attempts to stop Iris from gambling weren’t successful. The one government program had been a washout because Iris had only been to half the classes. We were still thousands of dollars away from bailing her out from debt and from getting her the help she needed. I didn’t want my mother to be a reason for Scott to back out of the marriage. It was too risky.

  “I’m not inviting her,” I said plainly. “I’m still so hurt about the house and part of me is afraid she’ll mess things up somehow.” I waited for Ann to say she understood and sympathized, but she didn’t.

  “Then I can’t make it,” she said coldly. “I’m not leaving Mom alone.”

  “She’ll be fine,” I answered, feeling the sarcasm rise in my throat. “She can go to bingo every day for a week.”

  My tactless joke was greeted by silence, then, “I don’t think so.”

  “Ann!” I pleaded. “I want you here. It’s my wedding!”

  There was a long pause, which gave me hope, but Ann’s voice, when it came, was cool. “Sorry, Kate,” she said firmly. “It would hurt her too much if I went and she wasn’t invited. She’s just happy you’ve found a man you love enough to finally get married. I will tell her that you couldn’t afford to fly us over.”

  “That’s rubbish!” I snapped. “I can afford whatever I want now! And that includes helping to finance your sauce thing.”

  “That’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t need your money,” she said pointedly. I recoiled at her shutting me down so sharply.

  “It went that well in Austin?” I asked, trying to sound upbeat. “Did you sell your soul at the Texas food fair?”

  “You could say that,” Ann answered vaguely. “I’ll let you know when I’ve got real news.”

  “I hope so!” I said, but felt deflated. Why was Ann’s sauce such a secret all of a sudden? So she sold a few jars, big deal. It used to be all she’d talk about. She must be angry with me. “I’ll e-mail you the wedding photos!” I added with false enthusiasm.

  “Do that,” she said. “Congratulations. I hope we get to meet him soon. Good-bye.”

  The dial tone hit me in the head like an anvil. I was stunned, but was quickly jolted back to reality when the car hit a pothole. The chauffeur had turned off the main road and was driving down a long gravel drive that cut a swath through an enormous wood. I rolled down my window to have a better look, but what I saw didn’t exactly instill confidence and joy. The forest had a ghostly appearance, as if the thousands of leafless twigs bowing and blowing in the wind were vast fingers of aged bone trying to ensnare the car. Everywhere I turned I saw only gray and brown, not the green of England I had dreamed of. I sank into the backseat. Emma had promised that the countryside would be in full bloom by my wedding day. But now the gloomy scenery brought back my conversation with Ann. She was stubborn. I was right not to invite Iris. She was never a real mother to me, she had gambled our home away, she would embarrass me and never be able to pull off being anything more than a poor relation. I would help Iris once I was married. Why couldn’t Ann understand that?

  At least Marianne and Brandon had accepted the invitation. The flight to London would be Thomas’s first plane ride. I had arranged a local girl to act as nanny during the wedding. He was nearly four months now, big enough for me to hold. I had explained to the housekeeper that I’d be baking lasagna for our first dinner together—I had to live down that barbecue sauce debacle—and with Emma pregnant it seemed fitting. Brandon was coming alone, and declined to say why Lucy wouldn’t be joining him, which made me wonder if he’d finally given her the boot.

  “Penwick Manor is coming up on the right, miss,” the driver announced.

  I slid over to the open window and stuck my head out again. Sure enough, as we rounded the final bend, the house came into view. Despite the bleak weather, the house stood as elegantly and stately as the photos in the brochure. I beamed at the sight of it. Now this was more like what I had in mind to launch my new life.

  Built of blondish brick, it had columns and balustrades that stood like sentries, and loads of ivy climbed to the roof and across the walls like an invading army. Its second floor was festooned with balconies and French doors. It was grand, all right, but as the car drew nearer, the same veil of melancholy that first picked up our scent in the woods blew down from the overcast sky as though it were a living thing and wrapped itself around the house. I shrugged off the sense of foreboding. My wedding would make Penwick a happier place.

  The limo driver unpacked the trunk of the car as I climbed the stone steps to the front door and looked for the bell. But I needn’t have bothered. The towering door creaked open and in its enormous frame a small elderly woman stood smiling at me, her bright eyes welcoming. She looked so much like my grandmother that I caught my breath and stood motionless, my high heels frozen to the stone.

 
; “Hello. Lady Katharine, is it?” the woman asked warmly.

  I nodded self-consciously.

  “Come in, love, and make yourself at home,” she said and walked inside. I followed her, still struck by the resemblance. “Your man can bring the luggage in while I show you around. I hope the drive down from town wasn’t too hurried.”

  She turned to me, waiting for my answer. I shook my head. She gave me a puzzled look, as if I might be dim-witted or something.

  “Glad to hear it. Those townspeople are always in a hurry; it’s enough to make you want to ban them from the countryside,” she said, smiling. “Oooh, where are my manners? My name is Doris. I’m the housekeeper. We’ve spoken on the phone. If you need anything, you ask for me. Here are your keys.”

  “Thank you,” I answered, relieved to find my voice once more, and took the keys from her. There I stood, my eyes sweeping the vast foyer and grand staircase that was once opulent perfection but had become worn with age; there was cracked plaster on the walls, wood trim that was splitting, and the white-and-black checkerboard floor was noticeably scuffed. It surprised me that Penwick was still considered a luxury destination for the wealthy types who preferred seclusion. Maybe that was the appeal—rich people could take less bling and even less opulence if it came with total privacy. Still, despite its flaws, it exuded a warmth that immediately made me feel at home. I couldn’t believe I was actually here in the house Griff took care of every day. My stomach suddenly fluttered at the thought of him. What if I’d been given wrong information when I’d made the reservation and we ran into each other? Or what if his plans had changed? Who was away from their workplace for more than a month? I wanted to ask but I also wanted to be subtle. I cleared my throat and tried to sound nonchalant. “Doris, are the Penwicks still away?”

  She acted puzzled; it must be her age, I thought. “Oh my, yes, the Penwicks, yes, indeed they are,” she said with a firm nod.

  “And Griff Saunderson?” I said, asking the question I really needed answering.

  “Everyone is gone, Mr. Saunderson, too,” she said and looked at me as though I must be hard of hearing. “Left this morning. He’s gone for the whole month at least, maybe longer, back to town I think, though I know he don’t like it much there.”

  I was able to breath again. I smiled for real this time. “Penwick is beautiful. I can’t wait to get the full tour.”

  “And that you shall have,” Doris said with a firm nod and walked down the hallway.

  “The entire house is open to you and your fiancé; everything, that is, but the private rooms of the family.”

  I nodded and followed Doris upstairs. Despite the well-worn foyer the rest of the house was exquisite. Now I saw why Penwick kept attracting a well-heeled clientele; clearly more effort went into the rooms and not in making a good first impression. It was everything that I had imagined. Little wonder Griff wanted to stay working here no matter how awful the money or the family was. There were enough bedrooms for most of our guests. The rest, mainly business associates of Scott’s, were to stay in neighboring inns. But there was also a ballroom, a great room, a library, morning room, and breakfast room, each with an enormous stone fireplace. It looked like something out of a movie. I was desperate to share it, and the one person in the world who would have appreciated it as I did was my grandmother. A rush of sadness swept over me. I had done a fair job these past few months barring her from my thoughts as much as I could. It was too painful to think of her. But I knew if she were here she would be so proud of me, marrying a man who could give me a place like this. I think she would have liked Scott. I was almost certain of it.

  We had come full circle and I was back in the entranceway, my suitcases expertly piled up by the driver. I looked down the hall, opposite from where we’d been, and saw a set of enormous mahogany doors.

  “Doris, what’s behind those?” I asked.

  “That’s the family wing of the house,” she said with a nod, then gave me a warning glare. “Guests always want to go where they aren’t allowed. Curiosity is a powerful thing.”

  “Don’t worry, Doris.” I smiled reassuringly. “I won’t try a midnight break-in.”

  With a look that said she didn’t quite believe me, she shouted down the hall, “Herbert!” A man, slightly younger and more spry than Doris, entered from a backroom. Not exactly a uniformed bellhop, he looked more like a gardener. His hands and fingernails were dirty and he wore overalls.

  “Herbert will take your bags,” Doris said by way of an order.

  I was taken aback. The words “You’re not serious?” slipped out of my mouth.

  “Don’t worry, we’re hardy types in Dorset.” She smiled. “He’s used to it.”

  Hardy or not, I felt guilty about letting an old man carry my luggage, so I grabbed what I could and climbed up behind him. Neither Herbert nor Doris stopped me from pitching in and I got the feeling that Penwick Manor was a bit more than they could handle. Maybe Griff should have found a replacement for himself while he was away this long. I’d never thought of him as selfish before, but clearly he needed to think of others a bit more.

  Herbert was clearly the strong silent type. When we got to my room and I tried to tip him, he refused with a shake of the head and a wave of his hand. After he’d left, I went to my window and sat down at the window seat. The clouds had lifted and for the first time in days, rays of sunlight peaked through. Just the hint of sunshine gave the grounds a more welcoming glow. I could swear that there were buds on those ghostly tree branches after all.

  I looked at my watch. It was just past noon. What to do with the rest of my day? I wasn’t meeting the caterers until early evening. I looked at the pile of suitcases and decided to unpack. As I unzipped my brand-new Louis Vuitton duffel (a gift from Scott), Pride and Prejudice fell out and landed on the rug with a soft thud. It fell open on the scene where Elizabeth traipses through the mud to see her sister at Netherfield, causing quite the scandal within the Bingley family, but also causing Mr. Darcy to fall in love with her. I smiled and put the book away. That’s what the afternoon’s sudden sunshine called for, a walk, or a ramble, as the English call it.

  I changed into more practical clothes, a black turtleneck, dark jeans, black Burberry trench (again, thank you, Scott), and black Hunter wellies and headed toward the garden. Sure enough, there was Herbert bent over a shrub doing whatever shrubs needed done to them.

  “Herbert,” I called out. “I want to go for a walk in the grounds. Is there a path I should follow?”

  He stood scratching his head and looked up at the sky, before finally pointing me toward a wooden gate.

  “Go past the stables and you’ll see a footpath into the woods. It leads to the meadowlands,” he said with a toothless grin. “It’s a bit slippery underfoot, so be careful. Looks like it might rain again.”

  “I shall be,” I said, feeling very Austen-esque in tone, if not outfit.

  After crossing through an orchard I reached the stable yard. There wasn’t a soul around, but there were horses aplenty. Several poked their heads over their stall doors, and still more were outside in the grass paddocks. I wished I wasn’t so afraid because they seemed to want me to pay attention to them. Griff must be down here all the time when he was working. Penwick seemed like a lot for three people to manage. The Penwick family probably didn’t lift a finger to help, either. Maybe Scott should buy the property and then there would be changes. I would see that the estate was run like clockwork.

  It was still cold out but I was determined to enjoy the brisk March weather. I picked my way down a narrow path in the woods that was covered by stumps and roots until the trail abruptly ended at a tall fence on the edge of a meadow. I could see over the fence to another footpath and supposed that you were expected to climb the fence to continue. I grabbed hold of the top rail and was about to pull myself over when I noticed a small wooden stile to the left. Much easier! I hopped down from the fence and put my right foot on the top step. I must have moved
too quickly as my left foot was no sooner off the ground than the right slipped off the icy step and I catapulted through the air. My legs did the splits as my lower back smacked the stile before I landed in a heap on the other side of the fence. As I lay on the damp ground, I felt my back muscles yanked in different directions. The intense pain made me dizzy and I tried taking deep breaths to calm down. I managed to reach in my pocket to call for help but after fumbling around I discovered that I had left my cell phone in my room. How long would it be before Doris noticed I was gone? Would Herbert remember where he sent me?

  After what seemed an eternity, I tried to roll over, hoping to grab hold of the fence to heave myself up, but it was no use. The pain was too much and each attempt to reach the fence was met with searing agony. I screamed out in pain and lay there, my heart racing. Then, just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, as Herbert had foreseen, it started to rain. Softly at first, but within seconds the skies opened up and torrents of water soaked me through to the bone. I tried once more to get up, but my back went into spasms and I fell back down. Again, I screamed out in pain, only this time someone heard me.

  “Hello? Are you okay?” a man shouted in the distance.

  “I’m here. I’ve fallen and can’t get up!” I shouted back, unable to lift my head up to see who it was.

  What came next can best be described as my worst nightmare. As I lay on the ground the earth beneath me started to pound in a distinct three-beat rhythm—boom, boom, boom. Boom, boom, boom. Boom, boom, boom. Then I saw it: a big, black horse galloping across the meadow toward me. This was it. I was going to die. The monster would trample me until I was pulp. I closed my eyes and held my breath. But the pounding stopped suddenly and realizing I wasn’t pulp, I opened my eyes and squinted through the rain. The horse was a few feet away, quietly grazing, as its rider ran to my side. He wore a green raincoat and some sort of peaked hat. I strained to make him out, but my vision was blurred from the rain and smeared mascara. As he got closer, I thought I recognized him and wiped my eyes to get a clearer view. It couldn’t be … But when the man crouched at my side I knew I wasn’t seeing things.