“Do I have to answer that?” Austen asked.
“No, because I promise it won’t be funny.” I held up Mansfield Park next. “Classic Cinderella story. A poor relation is taken in, treated terribly—they put her in the attic—but then everyone sees how wonderful and sensible she is. She takes over the household and all the men love her—good and bad alike.”
He gave me a look like I was far from Fanny Price’s character description. “They love her because she’s so sensible?” he asked.
“Fine, Fanny and I are only alike because we both live in the attic. And the guys are all going crazy around here. Crawley even noticed it. He accused me of having five suitors.”
Austen caught my hand, tugging me away from the DVD player so that I sat down next to him. “Who are they?”
I counted the men out in my head again and realized that Austen was in that number, which wasn’t true at all. “Sorry, just four suitors,” I said. “Four, if you go by Jane Austen’s definition. Wait, no five again. Jane Austen would count the fifth.” With great daring, I pulled out Emma. “Best friend falls for his best gal pal. The one she loved was in front of her the whole time.”
He was silent, watching me. “Show me,” he said after a moment.
Surprised, I turned to see his expression. He was giving me that look again—the one that I couldn’t read, but it was warm and it sent prickles of heat through my skin. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that Austen was getting in to this. “Okay,” I said, not sure what clip I could trust him with. Maybe when Emma declared her love in the end. No, too embarrassing. Maybe the constant fights between her and Knightley. Too close for comfort. I finally decided on the party where Emma and Knightley dance and fall in love.
I was so caught up in the scene that I forgot that I was presenting this as a slideshow. Austen was quiet beside me—maybe bored out of his mind. I moved to turn off the movie when my arm brushed against his. I hadn’t realized how close together we had been sitting. I cleared my throat and met his eyes. He was still watching me, and I noticed the little gold flecks in his eyes, the stray freckles on his face, the curve of his lips.
I took a deep breath. “But that would never happen.”
“Why not?”
Instead of scurrying to put in another movie to cover up the silence, I was mesmerized by the moment. That’s what this was—a moment! So much more seemed to rest between us than words.
“Do you want it to happen?” he asked hesitantly.
“I …”
“Who will you dance with?” He grinned self-consciously when he butchered the line we had just watched Mr. Knightley say from Emma.
It took me a moment to recover, but I knew Emma’s line by heart. “With you,” I said, “if you will ask me.”
“How shocking,” he said, going completely off-script. “The both of us alone here. Think of what we could do? If anyone caught us together, they’d force us to get married.”
I gave a weak laugh to catch my breath.
He picked up the last movie in my pliant hands, his fingers brushing through mine. “There’s one more,” he said.
Of course it had to be Pride and Prejudice. He put the movie in this time. I remembered that he knew this one because of his ex-girlfriend. “Poor girl marries a rich guy,” Austen summarized for me this time, “who loves her no matter how mean she is to him. She gets everything she wants.”
I picked up the remote, toying with taking the movie to the scene where Darcy dives into the water, but so far that hadn’t happened. I knew what had. I took us to Darcy’s first proposal to Elizabeth. Darcy told Elizabeth that he loved her against his will. Then they fought and the two parted in anger.
I paused the scene, realizing that I had nothing to say about it.
“Did that happen with Dancey?”
Glancing over, I found an irate Austen. The emotion behind his words startled me. I’d expected teasing, maybe a suggestion to enjoy my little Jane Austen romance while I had it. Not this. I didn’t normally kiss and tell, except once my little dalliance with Dancey hit the internet, I’d have no choice. If Austen was mad now, he’d be a lot more so when he found out the truth. I didn’t know how to break any of this to him. Maybe I already had?
“Okay.” His hand went around mine again, startling the words away from me. “You need to get out of the house. We both do. You are not having a Jane Austen romance.” That sounded suspiciously like a command. “I’m going to prove it. You like dancing?”
I nodded.
“Good. I’m giving you a splash of real life. I promise it’s a lot more fun.”
Chapter 19
“There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.”
—Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey
We walked into the Barton Club. The music blared from the speakers, though it couldn’t drown out the talking and chattering from the occupants inside. It was a good distraction from my own thoughts. The waitress found us a booth, and I lowered gratefully into it.
Instead of taking the side facing me, Austen cornered me on my own bench, putting his feet up on the opposite side. “We are only going to talk about normal things tonight,” he said. His eyes danced with promised fun, and he brought his arm around me to give me a bracing squeeze. “We’re not talking about dating or Jane Austen or business or …” he thought for a moment, “cross-stitching.”
“Fair enough.” And now I couldn’t think of anything to say. “How long are you in town?” I asked.
“About a month, maybe shorter. Depending …”
On how long it took him to assess the value of the place; but we weren’t supposed to talk business. “You still working with the kids at the community center?” I asked.
“I’ve seen them once since I’ve been here. We played some beach volleyball.”
I’d be disappointed that he didn’t invite me—I liked those kids—but Taylor’s wedding got in the way of everything: another forbidden topic. I was really struggling here.
“Hey, Jane.” Austen’s arm left me so he could nudge me. “Have you been out to the beach lately?”
“Just to jog, but not as much as I’d like.”
“Whatever happened to your learning-to-surf idea?”
“Oh, that!” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t get it. Taylor and Ann-Marie tried to show me after you left, and they gave up. They said that I’d never learn.”
“Maybe I should get you back in the water.”
If he were here for long enough. That felt like something we couldn’t talk about either. I gave a noncommittal shrug and changed the subject. “Are you liking Boston?”
“The water’s too cold. The beach is only for docking ships. It’s pretty for cycling though, and the fall is amazing. I’ve never seen such vivid colors—you’d love it. You should come up and visit me.”
He’d have to be good at long-distance relationships for that. I pulled out my phone. “Just a second; I want to check something.” I texted him. His phone vibrated, and he pulled it out and laughed when he saw my message.
ME: CAN YOU USE A PHONE NOW?
Pursing his lips, he typed something in. I read it as soon as my phone registered the message:
AUSTEN: NOT WHEN THE PERSON IS SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO ME.
Before I could text him back, Austen stopped me, bumping his foot into mine. “About that,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry that he wasn’t interested in me enough for a long distance relationship or sorry that we had argued about it? I had assumed that I had read too much into the relationship, but now I wasn’t so sure. I took a breath and tried to find out. “What was that about, anyway?”
He shrugged, running his finger over the tabletop. “I couldn’t get out of here fast enough. I’ve worked at North Abbey my whole life, and there was no way I wanted to carry on the failing family business. I just wanted to leave it all behind.”
“What about
me?”
He looked troubled, like the question pained him, but still he answered. “I thought it was easier to not leave anything I cared about behind.”
So he forced himself not to care. And now that Austen had exhausted all his options in Boston, he thought that I would just be waiting around for him to pick up? The romantic in me didn’t want to be second choice, and neither did the logical side—second would just be dropped again for the best.
“And now?” I asked.
“I can see that if I care about someone, that’s not going to work.”
I warmed at his words, at the same time forcing myself not to fall for them. If I could believe his story, he had left me and stewed about it for eight months. And where did that leave Junie? They seemed pretty close. Austen would have to prove he meant what he said. And if he failed me again, that would hurt—my heart and my pride.
Austen looked up, and I followed his gaze to see Chuck Bigley. The blond Brit was guzzling down a brandy at the bar—a far cry from the self-confident man that I had seen in the game room earlier that night. Far too many buttons were unbuttoned on his white shirt, and his suit pants were wrinkled. Dancey’s publicity manager, DeBurgy, lounged next to Bigley, watching the dancers at the club. My heart sped up nervously, and I wondered if Dancey was hanging out with both of them tonight. A quick scan of the room told me that Dancey had ditched his friends again. I was glad.
Bigley set his glass down and DeBurgy laughed at something he said. The publicity manager was a polished man who dressed in tailored suits that accentuated his broad shoulders. Unlike Bigley, he seemed on top of his game tonight. The gold rings on his fingers told me that Dancey paid him well. DeBurgy caught me staring, and elbowed Bigley with a knowing look. Taylor’s fiancé swung around and, with a big smile, motioned for us to join him.
We waved back, but Austen wasn’t moving, and I didn’t feel like crawling over him to say hello. After Taylor’s fiancé saw we weren’t coming, he headed for us instead, taking his glass with him like a security blanket.
Before he reached our table, Austen tilted his head at the groom-to-be. “He’s not one of your suitors, right?” he asked under his breath.
“Of course not.”
Bigley took a seat on the bench opposite us, unwittingly forcing Austen to move his feet. He gave me his famous smile. “Jane, I was beginning to think that you never left North Abbey. And here I find you at the Barton Club. Good girl. It’s about time you let your hair down.”
I felt sheepish and touched my hair. I had left it in a ponytail. “And yet, it’s up,” I said and laughed awkwardly. I glanced around the darkened room, past the flashing blue and red neon lights on the dance floor. “Where’s Taylor?”
“She’s off doing what brides do.”
It was an evasive answer. I tried to ignore Austen’s suddenly watchful eyes and fished again for some conversation. “It’s hard to believe that the wedding is only two days away.”
Bigley grimaced and took another drink. “I can only hide from the women for so long. They’ll kill each other if I don’t make an appearance Saturday morning.”
“To your wedding?” I asked, getting worried.
“Of course, to my wedding. That’s what people do, get married, don’t they?” Bigley didn’t seem quite right, but when he finished the last of his drink, I knew it was the brandy talking. He motioned for a waiter to fill his glass up again and to leave the bottle. He threw the amber liquid down his throat. “My stepbrother won’t stop talking about you,” he said once he had breath enough to speak. “But Jane’s a pretty girl, isn’t she?” He directed that comment at Austen.
Austen was taken aback and glanced over at me. “Gorgeous,” he shocked me by saying.
Bigley gave a drunken laugh. “You know what Harry did? He made a bet, if you believe it, that he could get Jane to go for him.” He shook his head. “He doesn’t know Jane very well—she’s too stubborn for that.”
I gaped when I realized the implications.
“A bet?” Austen asked in disbelief. “People do that?”
I went stiff. “No, Austen, it just happens in books. Henry Crawford made a bet to his sister like that in Mansfield Park.”
I was sure Bigley had no idea what I was referencing, but he gave me a shrewd look over his glass and flashed another big smile. “The bet backfired on him. My stupid brother—he’s the one who’s fallen for you.”
And Austen was my witness. He never would’ve believed this moment if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. Bigley leaned over the table to pat my arm. “Why don’t you put him out of his misery, Jane?”
Things were just getting weirder. “H-how would I do that?” I asked.
“Take him out. Just for a night, I don’t care where as long as it’s far away from me.”
I gave an uneasy laugh. “He’s really fun to hang out with, but I’m really busy …”
“Going on drives with Dancey?” Bigley’s eyes turned cold. He must’ve heard that from DeBurgy. Turning to the side, I saw Dancey’s publicity manager watching us narrowly from the corner. As soon as we met eyes, DeBurgy smirked. Girls surrounded him, and he wrapped his arms around them both.
Glancing back at Bigley, I saw that his expression was open, his smile innocent enough. The man lifted his glass to Austen. “Or do you prefer clubbing with the help, Jane?” He said it with a laugh, but the way his eyes roved over us felt wrong.
Austen lifted a brow. “The help?”
Bigley failed to notice the dangerous turn in Austen’s voice. He nodded drunkenly. “Just show my brother a good time, Jane. There’s a good girl. It’s not too much to ask. I’m pouring a lot of money into this wedding—most girls wouldn’t complain.” He winked at me. “Keep it on the sly if you can. Mum won’t like a scandal and there won’t be. If you help me out, Taylor doesn’t have to know what you’ve been doing on company time.”
Austen leaned forward. “What exactly are you accusing Jane of doing?”
“What?” Bigley looked surprised. “She hasn’t said anything to you? I thought the two of you were friends?”
I tensed, trying to shield myself from the gossip bomb about to explode about me and Dancey. I tried to avert it. “Chuck,” I said. “Thanks for the head’s up. I’ll think about what you said.” I had no intention of it. He couldn’t treat me like his servant. Still, this was Bigley—likely he was too clueless and drunk to get what he was saying.
“Just a little advice from someone who knows his best friend too well.” Bigley took a fortifying swig of his brandy before giving us another grin that was quickly losing its charm. “Dancey isn’t serious about you, Jane. He likes to leave women behind like dirty laundry—the guy’s a publicity nightmare. Poor DeBurgy; he’s overworked. I don’t blame him for keeping such a close eye on things.”
“DeBurgy?” Austen asked with an edge to his voice. “Who’s that?”
“Dancey’s PR guy.” Bigley pointed out the self-assured man in the corner. “He puts out a lot of fires. The guy earns all that money he makes. Look at that suit.”
“That’s really his name?” Austen asked again. I wondered why until I realized the significance. Lady de Bourgh was the name of the biggest snob in Jane Austen novels—and since she wrote a lot of snobs, that was saying a lot. De Bourgh had tried to control Darcy’s social life in Pride and Prejudice too. I was impressed that Austen had recognized it.
“His name is really DeBurgy?” Austen asked again.
Bigley kept nodding. “He flew down here to keep an eye on Dancey. We all know Dancey loves the women. You should’ve seen him with Taylor.”
“Wait, wait.” Austen looked flustered now. “Did Dancey go out with Taylor?”
Bigley’s expression hardened—it looked odd on his normally pleasant face. “Some best friend, right? He backed off once he knew I meant to marry Taylor. Guess I ruined his fun.”
“Dancey has a thing for Taylor?” I asked.
Bigley snickered in the face of
my cross-examination. “Dancey has a thing for all women. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He’s meant for royalty; certainly not an American. Of course, that doesn’t stop him from playing around.” His eyes met the ceiling in disgust. “I even saw Dancey with your piano player tonight.”
“Ann-Marie?” I asked.
“Is that her name? She ran from him crying. Dancey has a way with the chicks.”
I saw the concern in Austen’s eyes. It sparked my own. “When was this?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Before I came here. It was Dancey’s classic “use them, throw them away” trick. I wish I had his talent.”
I didn’t realize that I was breathing so hard until Bigley slammed his hands against the table to stand, startling me from my thoughts. “My brother might be a little thoughtless,” Bigley said, “but he’d never play you like that, Jane. Not now, anyway. I’ll pay you well.”
Austen stood up at that, his chest expanding. “You talk like that any more, Chuck, and you’re going to get punched in the face.”
“Huh?”
“Why would you tell Jane how to live her life with me around? Are you dumb or do you think I’m as big a jerk as you are?”
Bigley gaped at him, but I had a feeling that he was too drunk to comprehend anything Austen was saying except the “punch” part. He muttered something about getting another drink and stumbled away.
I became aware that I had jumped to my feet sometime during the argument when Austen turned to me. “I thought you said he was nice?”
“Well, yeah …” My mouth worked before I could get anything out of it. With the way Bigley had acted just now, he should’ve been named after the villainous Wickham from Pride and Prejudice instead. Of course, in our world we would know him as Wicky or Wickhemmy.
“He—he was supposed to be—supposed to be Charles Bingley from Pride and Prejudice,” I stuttered. “The nice, friendly guy.”
“I think you’re way off.”
My gaze flew to Bigley, who was flirting it up with the waitress. DeBurgy laughed behind him and egged him on. “DeBurgy?” I mouthed. “The same one from—?”
Jane and Austen Page 23