The Dashwood Sisters Tell All

by Beth Pattillo

  “Not very impressive,” Daniel said in a low voice. “Why the Plexiglas?”

  That much I also knew from my mother. “So that all the devoted Austenites won't rub their hands all over it.”

  “Really?” He looked at me as if he thought I was joking.

  “Really,” I said with a wink.

  After that, we made our way upstairs. I felt a small pang that my mother wasn't there to see this with me. “Here's her bedroom.” Daniel nodded to the left as we reached the top of the stairs.

  Again, it was a normal-sized room, rather low-ceilinged, with a fireplace and exposed wooden beams overhead. Two cupboards occupied recesses on either side of the fireplace. The room contained a small canopied bed and a chair.

  Daniel looked down at one of the information placards. “It says she shared this room with her sister.” He looked up in surprise. “You’d think with a house this size, they would have had separate bedrooms.”

  I eyed the rather narrow bed. It was bigger than a twin, but hardly big enough to be considered a double in American terms. “No wonder they were so close, if they had to share that.”

  I knew that I was being snarky. It was more than likely my way of holding this whole experience at arm's length. Seeing Jane Austen's home made me miss my mother with an intensity that I’d thought had abated over the past couple of months. She should have been standing here with me.

  “Ellen? Are you okay?” Daniel asked.

  “Yes, yes. I’m fine.” But I wasn’t. I’d have sat down in the chair if it hadn't had a dainty little nosegay of lavender wrapped in ribbon on the seat. It was a very genteel way of discouraging visitors from collapsing on the antiques.

  “I don't think you are.” He took my elbow. “Do you need some fresh air?”

  “That's probably a good idea.” My vision blurred, and I felt off-balance, but I refused to faint in Jane Austen's bedroom.

  Daniel helped me down the stairs and back outside. He led me to a bench under an enormous tree in the garden. The shade felt wonderful. He pulled the water bottle from my pack and pressed it into my hands.

  “Drink,” he ordered.

  I was only too glad to oblige. “I’m sorry. I don't mean to be weird.”

  He was quiet for a long moment. “It's your mom, huh?”

  His gentle question popped the cork that had been holding back my bottled emotions. I burst into tears. At least the other visitors would think I was just an Austen nut overcome by the experience of being in her house.

  I retrieved a tissue from my pack and wiped my eyes. “I wasn't expecting this.”

  “Why not? I would have been.”

  “I just didn't think…I’m only here because my mom made me come. I don't really care about all these Jane Austen sites.”

  “But you do care about your mom. I remember how obsessed she was. When we were in college, she kept telling me I looked just like she imagined Mr. Darcy would.”

  I cringed. “She didn’t.”

  “Oh, she did.”

  That, at least, made me smile. “I guess it just hit me that I’m here to say good-bye to her.”

  “Which was what she wanted.”

  “I’m not sure what she wanted. I thought it was for Mimi and me to form some kind of bond.” Not to mention deal with that stupid diary.

  “Maybe your mom didn't have that detailed an agenda. Maybe she just wanted the two of you to see why she loved Jane Austen, and each of you, so much.”

  “Maybe.” At least our conversation had stemmed my tears.

  “Did you want to see the rest of the house?” He glanced at his watch. “We need to find Tom if we’re going to do the second half of the walk.”

  “It's okay.” I picked up my backpack and stood up. “I think I’ve seen what I needed to see.”

  Daniel looked down at me, concern etched into the lines around his eyes and mouth. “Ellen…”

  “Yes?”

  “Would you have dinner with me tonight?”

  I wasn't ready for this. I so wasn't ready for this. I didn't even know if I could really trust Daniel, and I certainly didn't know if I could trust myself.

  I gave him a faint smile. “I don't think we get to pick where we’re sitting. Tom mentioned using place cards to kind of mix things up.”

  “No, I don't mean with the group. I mean just you and me. I’ll get the kitchen at the hotel to fix us a picnic.”

  “Can we do that?”

  He smiled softly. “Given what we’ve paid to be on this trip, I think we can do whatever we want.”

  “But Tom has someone coming to sing Jane Austen–era music.”

  “I think he’ll understand. I’ll speak to him.”

  I’d run out of excuses, except for the ones that really mattered. I looked into Daniel's eyes. He’d been a kind and helpful companion all morning. He hadn't pressed me at all about the diary, leaving any discussion up to me. What would it hurt to spend time alone with him? I wasn't a gullible college freshman who was going to fall for the first good-looking guy she met.

  “Okay.” I surprised myself with the answer.

  “Great,” he said. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “Look. There's Tom on the sidewalk.” We could see him across the street with a few members of the group gathering around him.

  “Time to go,” Daniel said. We walked back through the visitors’ center and across the road. I cast one last glance back at the cottage.

  “Do you think she would mind?” I asked Daniel. “All those people tromping through her house all day long?”

  He patted my shoulder. “I think she’d be proud of all the happiness she's brought to people. Isn't that what we want to be remembered for, in the end?”

  “I guess so.” But I had to wonder: Was it enough simply to make others happy? Or should our lives leave some other lasting mark?

  My mother's death left me distinctly aware of my own mortality, but Daniel's words made me wonder: What would I leave behind when my time came? At the moment, not much. That sobering thought was enough to keep me quiet as we made our way back across the street to find Tom.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I managed to paste a smile on my face and walk beside Daniel to Upper Farringdon without any further outbursts. After lunch at the charming pub, we returned to Chawton to tour the Great House. The stately home was now a center for the study of early women's writing and so served more as a library than a tourist attraction. If we hadn't been with Tom and the tour company, we’d never have gotten inside, since it wasn't open to the public.

  We were asked to leave our packs in the office while we toured the house. It was decorated in a mixture of styles but was still strongly influenced by the original Jacobean structure. Dark wood paneling, tapestries, and mullioned windows gave it more of an Elizabethan than a Regency feel, and Jane and Cassandra would have dined there frequently when their brother was in residence. Just as the enormity of the Vyne had made me wonder how the sisters felt about the size of their house compared to it, I wondered now if they minded that their brother had put them in a cottage while he and his family lived in such splendor.

  Daniel gave me some space on this tour and walked with the others, leaving me on my own. It felt strangely empty to move through the dark hallways and paneled rooms alone. I’d fought my feelings for him from the moment I came across him on the path outside Oakley Hall. Now, though, I realized that I was tired of fighting. I wasn't ready to surrender, but maybe I could relax just a little.

  Ellen was acting strangely, so I avoided her. I wasn't being a very good sister by Austen standards, certainly not up to the devotion of the Dashwoods in Sense and Sensibility, but I was preoccupied with figuring out why Ethan ran so hot and cold. One minute he was flirting with me and taking me to his house, and the next he seemed indifferent or vaguely tolerant. After the tour of Chawton Great House, I was glad to be out in the open air again, even if the sun was wreaking havoc with my complexion. I’d slathered on sunblock for
sensitive skin and donned the baseball cap that Tom had found in the back of the van. I hoped no one would want it back, because at the rate I was perspiring, it would be pretty revolting in a matter of minutes.

  Tom didn't seem to mind my sweat though. He walked beside me as the groundskeeper or gardener or whoever he was led us across a pasture liberally strewn with horse manure.

  “Picturesque,” I murmured under my breath. I didn't mean for Tom to hear me, but he laughed.

  “That's one word for it.”

  I looked up at him. He really was a very nice man. He’d rescued me at lunch, when Ethan very deliberately moved away from the table where I’d been sitting. Tom hadn't hesitated to pull up a chair and join me. I’d acted as nonchalant as I could, but I was crushed by Ethan's on-again, off-again actions. What did he want from me? I wasn't a mind reader.

  With Tom, no mind reading was necessary. We’d had a very pleasant chat, and he’d told me stories about the time he was stationed in a remote northern location, one that he wasn't allowed to name. He told tales of frozen pipes, long underwear, and growing a beard so his cheeks wouldn't freeze, and it made me almost glad for the summer heat. It could definitely have been worse.

  The gardener at the Great House didn't believe in dawdling, and we soon found ourselves at the back of the group.

  “You okay?” Tom asked.

  “Don't fuss,” I said, but I smiled. “I’m stronger than I look.” Men tended to think that blonde curls meant not only a low IQ but physical inferiority as well.

  “I don't doubt that.”

  “People always think I need special treatment.”

  “People like men? Or people like your sister?”

  I shouldn't have been surprised at his perceptiveness. “Both, actually.”

  “I’ll try not to be one of them.” But it went against his nature, I could tell, not to watch over me. I didn't know whether it was because of his military background, his old-school conditioning as a gentleman, or his interest in me. Or all three.

  Still, Tom was as easy to walk with as he was to talk to. I had to pause a couple of times on the uphill bits to catch my breath, and Tom stood quietly beside me, taking in the surroundings with a patient gaze.

  “Are you glad for a break from herding us all around?” I asked him when we came to a stop at the bottom of a hill. We’d emerged from a short portion of trail under the trees into the blaze of the afternoon sun.

  He shrugged. “I like being in charge, so it's really not an issue.” He wasn't being vain, I could tell. Just honest.

  “It's nice having a break from work,” I said. “If nothing else, I’ve gotten that much from the trip.”

  He turned to me with a smile. “I hope you’ve gotten more than that.”

  “Oh, I didn't mean that the tour—” I blushed.

  “I know. Sorry. Just teasing.” His eyes sparkled in a very attractive way.

  We started off again and caught up with the others as we made our way around the back of the Great House. We crossed through a line of trees at the top of the ridge, and the path became overgrown.

  Tom looked back over his shoulder. “Watch out for the—”

  “Ouch.”

  “Nettles.” He reached for my arm where the vicious little brutes had attacked me.

  “That hurts.”

  “Don't sound so surprised. I warned you yesterday.”

  “Yes, but I didn't expect it to be this bad.” My skin burned like fire.

  “Hang on.” Tom stepped to the side of the path and looked around. Then he reached out and plucked a couple of dark green leaves. “Use these.”

  I eyed them with suspicion. “What are they?”

  “Dockweed.” He reached out and rubbed them vigorously on my reddening arm. Almost instantly, the pain disappeared.

  “Thank you. Although I’m not sure there's actually anything in these leaves. I think it's just the rubbing.”

  He chuckled. “Either way, it helps.”

  It did, thank goodness. “Much better.” The stinging died down. The redness too. “You always seem to be coming to my rescue.”

  The others had moved into the next meadow, and we were alone. Tom stood awfully close, and I felt a strange twist of anticipation in my midsection. That was silly, of course. He was just Tom.

  “Mimi…” He reached out and took my hand in his. I was too surprised to protest.

  “Do you ever let anyone see the real you?” Then, to my unexpected disappointment, he dropped his hand. Only why should I have been disappointed? I wasn't trying to encourage him.

  “I don't know what you m—”

  He kissed me. Out of the blue, didn’t-see-it-coming, full-on kissing. He was pretty good at it too. The problem was, he wasn't Ethan, and I had never meant for this to happen.

  I stepped back before either of us could get carried away. “Tom—”

  “I’m sorry.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “That was unprofessional.” He looked truly distraught, and my heart went out to him.

  “Don't worry about it. Really. It's okay.”

  “It's not, but you’re nice to say so.” He paused, swallowed. “I don't want to make you feel…uncomfortable.”

  He really was too nice a man for me to let him twist in the wind. “It's okay. Really. Besides, it's always nice to be admired. It's just that I don’t—” I didn't want to hurt his feelings. “I mean, I don't think it's a great idea.” Although the jelly in my knees might have said otherwise, if I’d let it do the talking.

  “I guess not. I am sorry.”

  I hated that he was so distressed, but I hated even more that I was. I would never have expected that. “Why don't we catch up with the others?” I kept my tone bright. “As for this”—I waved a hand—“I won't tell if you won’t.” I shot him my best girlie smile. “You know what they say. What happens at Chawton Great House stays at Chawton Great House.”

  His shoulders relaxed, and he looked relieved but also a little sad. I didn't want him to look sad. I’d experienced enough sadness, caused enough sadness even, in the past year without distressing a perfectly nice man like Tom Braddock.

  “I think the gardener mentioned something about roses?” I slipped past Tom and took a few steps down the trail.

  Thankfully, he followed without any further apologies. With any luck, he’d let it go, just as we’d agreed. I tried to refocus my mind on Ethan. A week wasn't very long to build some sort of a relationship with him. I needed to stay focused on my goal, because I couldn't afford to be distracted by relationships that were never going to go anywhere or by men who didn't fit the bill.

  I kept telling myself that, but it didn't make it any easier to forget that kiss. And I wasn't sure what bothered me more—that I’d enjoyed it more than I should have or that Tom had jumped straight to remorse afterward.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  While we’d been touring Chawton that day, Mrs. Parrot had overseen the transfer of our luggage from Oakley Hall to our new hotel at Langrish. I could only hope that no bellman had slipped a disk trying to lift Mimi's monstrosity. I had made a point that morning of putting the diary into my daypack. No way would I trust it in a suitcase that would be under anyone's supervision but my own.

  The new hotel was more secluded and less glamorous than Oakley Hall, but it also had a certain careless charm. Whereas Oakley Hall had been square and elegant, Langrish Hall ram-bled a bit, with distinct sections brought together by the use of the same native gray stone. The hotel was nestled among the small hills, the perfect place to escape from everyday life.

  I made the mistake of telling Mimi about my dinner plans when we reached the hotel. She barely paused to unpack in her room before she appeared in mine, ready to prep me for my big evening out.

  I’m not the kind of woman who should be plucked and pruned, cosmetically speaking, except maybe pruned in a too-long-in-the-bathtub kind of way. I looked at Mimi's reflection in the bathroom mirror and marveled at how her perfect eyebrows
had ever been created, much less maintained in all their arched beauty. Even with professional assistance, they couldn't have been easy to pull off. My own eyebrows were a disaster. I could never remember which part to pluck—above or below?—so I left them to grow unfettered in all their scrubby glory. I thought they looked normal, ordinary, like the rest of me. They weren't noticeably atrocious, except to my sister.

  “That's what you’re wearing?” Mimi had moved on from my eyebrows and was now scrutinizing my trusty blue dress with decided skepticism.

  “I don't have anything else.”

  “You only brought one dress?”

  “Yes. That's why I can lift my own luggage.” I couldn't resist. She had it coming, with all the eyebrow scrutiny.

  “Touché.” She smiled. More perfection, of course, with whitened teeth and lipstick that had been outlined with a lip pencil. “Want to borrow one of my dresses?”

  I was touched by the offer, actually. Mimi rarely—no, make that never—loaned out her clothes. But I couldn't see myself pulling off a dress like the strapless, pink number she’d worn to the welcome dinner.

  “I think I’ll just stick to Old Faithful.” I’d felt fine about my dress until I saw it through my sister's eyes. Now all I could see were the wrinkles, the slight stain on the skirt, and the hemline that was a little short.

  “At least let me do your makeup.”

  I sighed. “Okay, but you’re not touching my hair.”

  In the end, she got her way with my hair too. As I left my room to meet Daniel, I still wore the plain blue dress, but my hair had been straightened into a sexy curtain that hung well below my shoulders. Really, it didn't even look like my hair. My eyes appeared bluer and a little mysterious, thanks to all the smoky eyeliner, and my lips glistened with pale pink gloss.

  I made it as far as the lobby before I lost my courage. I slipped into the women's restroom, dampened a paper towel, and proceeded to remove most of my sister's handiwork. I might have been opening the door just a crack to Daniel, but I wasn't ready to fling it wide open.