TABLE OF CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BOOKS BY STEPHANIE FOWERS
GLOSSARY OF CHARACTERS (and their correlation with Jane Austen’s)
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
EPILOGUE
BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS
*For more info on Stephanie Fowers’ books: See www.stephaniefowers.com
a novel
by
Stephanie Fowers
Jane and Austen
Stephanie Fowers
©2014 Stephanie Fowers
Published by Triad Media and Entertainment
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, places, incidents and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.
Published by Triad Media and Entertainment, Salt Lake City, UT
[email protected]
1. Fiction. 2. Romance. 3. Comedy. 4. Inspirational.
ISBN-13:978-1500233112
ISBN-10:1500233110
LINE EDITOR: Shannon Cooley
CONTENT EDITORS:
Rachel Nunes
Cindy Baldwin
Amanda Sowards
April Rudd
Sandra Barton
Cindy Roland Anderson
Ian Anthony
Debbie Gessel
COVER DESIGNER: Jacqueline Fowers
COVER PHOTOGRAPHER: Kristi Linton
AUTHOR BIO PHOTOGRAPHER: Ashley Elliott
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DEDICATION
To Debbie
Who insisted I write this book when I joked about the title.
We’ve had some fun times brainstorming together in our scanning cave, haven’t we?
Chapter 1
“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
—Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
“Jane,” Austen said, playing with the leather-braided bracelet on my wrist. He hadn’t stopped touching it since the moment he had noticed that it was too loose. He leaned against the counter of the resort where we were both working during my summer internship. “Doesn’t it ever fall off?”
I shrugged, loving the feel of his hands on my skin. I smiled. “It will if you keep touching it.”
“I can’t make any promises.” He gave it another tug. Austen had turned flirtatious over the past month, but yesterday our relationship changed into something else completely. He had spent the whole day on Brightin Beach teaching me to surf. I’d tried to make our last hours together in San Diego count before he flew out, and now I had the sunburn to show for it.
“This is too big for you.” He pulled the bracelet from my wrist and tied it on tighter with a little bow in the back. “There,” he gave it a little pat, “now don’t say I didn’t do anything for you.”
I admired the knot, not because Austen had actually done a good job, but because he’d cared enough to do it. It had been a magical summer—we’d shared our favorite cult classics, collected shells on the beach, laughed at each other’s stupid jokes. And now it was almost over.
After finishing college, I had signed up to work for a summer internship at one of the most beloved vacation hideaways in San Diego. That was where I met Austen. His parents owned the bed-and-breakfast-turned-resort. It had been dubbed the “North Abbey,” since it had been built on the same land as an 1800’s monastery and still held some of the ruins from it. The place boasted lavish courtyards, a reception hall, cottage-style bungalows branching out from the main house, and a quaint grove of trees that led to an ocean of beaches complete with tiki shacks and an exciting nightlife. The resort was comfortable, beautiful, and expensive, but for me, the real draw to North Abbey was Austen. Now that he was leaving, I couldn’t imagine spending another moment without him. He handed me the key to his room.
“Don’t judge me,” he said. His thick brows came together, adding comic distress to his already expressive face. “There’s sand all over the carpet. Just make sure the maids look for lobsters before you check the next people in.”
The electronic key lay between us, and, after waiting far too long, I slipped it out of his palm. Austen’s impending departure turned my gut into an oozy puddle of sadness. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
I knew his room wouldn’t stay vacant for more than a few days. This was a place where romance happened, and Austen was heartily sick of it. His parents had put him to work here at a very early age. Now that he was twenty-five, he ran the business side of things. It was the same for all employees at North Abbey. No matter what our official job title was, we all did a little of everything—manning the checkout counter in the lobby, taking bags, wheeling guests on golf carts to their bungalows, fixing holes in the walls. No one was exempt.
Giving me his endearing smile, Austen flashed straight white teeth. His jawline trended towards thickness no matter how lanky he was, and I thought it was adorable—everything about him was adorable. Shoving his bags under his arms, he said, “I can’t get out of here fast enough.”
I dropped my eyes to a burnt mark on the polished counter and traced it with my finger. “I never understood why Boston was so much better than here.”
“Are you kidding? It will be an amazing opportunity. I can finally put my schooling to good use.” Austen knew that his parents’ connections would open any door in Southern Cali. Unfortunately, he’d decided that financial consulting was a career best explored in Boston.
As if lost in thought, he rummaged through his messenger bag. “There was something I meant to give to you.”
“Really?” My heart sped up. This was the moment that he would show me how much he cared about me—I wasn’t a die-hard romantic for nothing. Every goodbye scene in my favorite books ended like this.
Austen laughed when he found a broken leash from his surfboard in his bag. He set it on the checkout counter. His flight schedule followed, until finally he pulled out some sunscreen and gave it to me. “It’s a little too late to save you now … and it’s raining, but next time, right?” His wink made jelly out of my knees before he barged through the lobby doors into the storm outside.
I rushed to the bay windows, watching the rain slide down the thick glass between us as he traveled down the long cobbled lane to wait for his taxi. It would be a long time until he came back to us. One year. That was how long his job would last in Boston, and if I wasn’t hired on at North Abbey after my internship finished in two weeks, we might never see each other again.
The rain d
ripped down Austen’s curly, honey-colored hair, turning it the color of molasses. Seeing him surrounded by North Abbey’s old-world charm of finely-tended gardens, with its gothic pillars and vintage architecture, it was easy to imagine him from a different time. As effortlessly as flipping on the TV, my daydreams turned his dark jeans into nankeen breeches, his hoodie to a bottle-green superfine jacket, and his earbuds to a snowy cravat. But just like the heroes from my dreams, Austen was every bit as make-believe if I couldn’t tell him how I felt.
A giggle jerked me out of my reverie. My friend Ann-Marie had come into the lobby without me realizing. She stood at the counter, staring past me through the window—her eyes wide like a Gerber baby’s. “Wow, got to give it to Austen; that guy is hot in the rain.” She popped the rest of her breakfast into her mouth and talked through the sticky crumbs. “I can’t believe he didn’t come find me before he left. He just missed out on the best goodbye kiss of his life.”
Ann-Marie wouldn’t hesitate to go through with her threat. Today, she had blunt bangs and hair the color of burnt caramel. She wore a flashy red top and jeans a size too tight. Despite her tragic flaw of claiming every cute guy in existence, I was protective of her. The girl was fresh out of high school. She only had to blink her big, soulful, brown eyes to get anything she wanted from the male population, and I wouldn’t hesitate to clobber the next guy who tried to take advantage of it.
“I always had a crush on Austen,” she said. “I just couldn’t get him alone long enough for the sparks to fly.”
Somehow she had found the broken leash from Austen’s surfboard and threw it into our “Unintended Gifts” basket near the register. The basket looked like any lost and found box with its discarded clothing, receipts, and ticket stubs. Ann-Marie kept all the memorabilia in it that she collected from cute guys who came through the resort. I had added a few things here and there—lost buttons, discarded pens, and numbers I was too scared to call. After a while it became a challenge to collect meaningless treasures and pretend they meant something more. When Austen had discovered it, he added a few things of his own: a broken shoelace from a dissatisfied customer and used tissues from some cranky old guy—he didn’t really get it.
Ann-Marie added Austen’s flight schedule to the box. My forehead knitted at that. “Look at those muscles on Austen’s arms,” she said, staring back out the window to where Austen waited for his taxi. “I’d love to feel those around me. Oh, the arms, too. I’d like to feel all of him—”
“Ann-Marie,” I cut her off, only to imagine Austen’s arms around me. My sunburn started to sting, and I shook away the thought. “The guests in the Allenham Lounge are asking for you.”
The girl was a musical genius at nineteen. Not only did Ann-Marie provide live entertainment at the piano bar, but she was picky about whom she entertained. “Oh brother, don’t they know I have things to do?” She giggled. “Like watching a hot man stand in the rain.”
I tried not to stomp my foot. She was missing the best things about Austen. Sure, he was cute, but he was more than that. The guy was geeky, fun, and endearingly clueless. Before I could distract Ann-Marie from leering at my man, she shrieked and pointed.
Turning, I felt my stomach plummet. The taxi meandered up the long driveway. This was it—the moment Austen would break my heart. It couldn’t end like this, not without a promise of something more to come. At the very least, he needed to remember me while he was away. I remembered my bracelet. He had played with it all day, as if he couldn’t keep his hands off me.
I pushed past Ann-Marie and bolted through the double doors into the storm after him. The rain was better than any paintbrush. It splashed the world around us in dark colors—making the trees greener, the sky an azure only found in the tropics, the soil black as ebony. Waves crashed and lapped against the beach beyond the jungle of trees.
“Wait!”
Austen glanced back. His lips quirked into a broad grin when he saw me coming. He pulled a newspaper from under his arm and held it over my head. I peered up at him. Droplets of rain speckled his eyelashes. Ann-Marie was right about one thing—he looked really good wet. “Austen!” I cried. “I need your hand.”
He looked confused a moment before giving it to me. Quickly, I untied his bow and wrapped the bracelet around his much bigger wrist. I gulped, my breath already coming out ragged. “Keep it—it fits you better than … than me.”
Austen stared down at it, his thick lashes shielding his expression. The moment felt right in the rainstorm. Austen was even on his way to the airport. All chick flicks went this way before wrapping up into a really good, happy ending. Now all I needed was to chase after his taxi while declaring my undying love.
When Austen met my gaze again, his face was sober—full of meaning. “Jane, I’ve been thinking. I left the iron on in my room. Could you turn it off for me?”
I nodded wordlessly, trying to fit the words in my mouth that could reclaim the moment. I had to tell him that I loved him, that I couldn’t live without him. I had to beg him not to leave. I tried the next best thing. “I’ll miss you,” I said.
“Sure, me too.” His hazel eyes fastened to my face, and he drew me into a gentle hug. My scorched back blazed with pain, but I ignored it and hugged him until he let me go. Austen always gave the greatest hugs. He was tall, with shoulders broad enough to lay my head on. He drew back to give me a meaningful look. “Now who will I argue with?” He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, “By the way, Batman is still better than Superman.”
I smirked. It was almost better than naming off ten things he liked about my smile. “Text me, Austen.”
“When?”
“Well,” I hedged. He had stumped me—almost like he didn’t get the significance of keeping in touch. “You could tell me if you made it to Boston safely.”
He laughed. “I’ll let you know if the plane crashes.”
“You know what I mean.”
He stepped closer to the taxi, away from me. “I’ll be fine.”
I didn’t know what else to say, except the obvious. “Yes, but I happen to actually want to keep in touch with you!”
“Sure, me too.” It came out way too nonchalantly. “I’ll see you around.” He reached out and patted my sunburnt shoulder.
“Ow. Austen, my sunburn!” But that wasn’t the real problem. Why couldn’t he take any of this seriously? He didn’t seem to care about our separation at all.
He pulled back, hardly looking contrite. “Sorry.”
His flippant tone stung me. He could at least act upset that he was leaving me behind. “Are you saying that you don’t want to text me? Is that it, Austen?”
He gave me an uncertain smile. “About what? That I made it safely?”
“About anything,” my voice broke. I blinked back tears and swiveled away before he could see them.
“If you really want to text me, Jane, I’ll text you back. I have unlimited texting, so it won’t cost me anything.”
Oh, real sentimental.
“Not that I’ll have much time,” he went on casually, like he wasn’t ripping my heart from my chest. “I’ll be busy with my new life. I plan on getting complete closure from this place.”
And he’d have closure from me, too. Now the truth of my mistake hit me like a shock of ice running down my back. Austen didn’t feel the same way for me.
His head tilted at me. “Why the sad face?” He went in for another hug and then stopped himself, eyeing my sunburn with misgiving. He gave me a comforting smile, instead. “Now that I’m gone, you’ll have more time to go out with all those men in love with you. Redd is dying to take up where I left off on those surfing lessons.”
“Redd?” Now he was talking about other guys for me? I recognized the teasing glint in Austen’s eyes. Neither of us had been crazy about Redd, and Austen could always guess when I was keeping my distance from a guy. He had always seemed so observant, so how had Austen missed my crush? He wouldn’t, which meant I had
been wrong about us the whole time—Austen didn’t want a future with me at all.
I stepped back, slipping from the protection of the newspapers he had used to shield us from the weather. I wanted to cry, but instead waved behind me so Austen couldn’t see my face. “I’ve got to go.”
“Wait.”
I looked up to see his hand lingering on the door of the taxi. “You can’t really mean you want an itinerary of my whole trip?”
He was back to the texting thing again. It was like he was purposely being obtuse. I shook my head, hoping that the rain masked all evidence of my anguish. “No, I changed my mind. Angry birds is more your thing. I get it. Don’t waste your time by texting.” I left him then, tempted to snatch back my bracelet, but too proud to go back now or he’d see my tears. I ripped open the door to North Abbey to find a surprised Ann-Marie standing in the lobby.
She brought her hands to her heart. “Oh, that looked so romantic. I had no idea that you two had a thing.”
I shook my head and wiped at my face, hoping she’d think the wetness came from the rain. “No, no, there’s nothing going on between us.”
“Oh.” She looked doubtful for a moment. “So then you’re okay if I go for him?”
I almost laughed in my hysteria. That would put Austen in yet another romance that he knew nothing about. “Sure,” I said. “Go for it.”
I went back to the checkout counter and sat heavily on the stool behind it. Who was I fooling? Austen was safe from Ann-Marie. He was safe from me. I groaned at the thought. Where did I go wrong? I squeezed out the rainwater from my auburn hair to save it from curling into a mass of ringlets around my head. I had thought that Austen found me attractive. I had a ready smile, a heart-shaped face. I countered my unhealthy chocolate habit by taking up jogging. I wasn’t hideous—that left my personality, but it couldn’t be that lacking, because Austen always liked talking to me. He laughed at all my jokes, tried to get me alone, couldn’t stop touching me. I didn’t get it.
According to all the signs, Austen should have at least swung me around in the rain, kissed me on the forehead, my nose, my lips. Or better yet, our hands would take too long to release and as he pulled away he was supposed to look back a couple of times as I walked away. He was looking back all right—his adorable face screwed up in confusion. The taxi honked and, a moment later, swallowed him inside.
Jane and Austen Page 1