Jane Austen & the Archangel

by Pamela Aares

  “You surprise me, sir. I wouldn’t have suspected my books had come to your attention.”

  “There is little of the written word that escapes me, Miss Austen. I am extremely well read.”

  It was a truth of sorts. Though the rules made it hard to be candid, Michael found himself wanting to tell her what truth he could. It wasn’t much.

  “Then you would know, Mr. Grace, that my books show how difficult it is to navigate in this world in order to discover love. Difficult for women, especially.”

  Challenge sparked in her eyes and her voice. He preferred that challenge to all the bowing and scraping he endured in the angelic realms. Yet that’s what came with the possession of ultimate power. Even so, kowtowing behavior had always annoyed him. He liked that Jane held her ground. Though he’d known she was a genius—even a quick read of her books told him that—he hadn’t expected such wit and forthrightness in her person. Up until now, only Gabriel had ever dared to meet him on equal footing.

  “But they do,” he replied, having nearly lost the thread of the conversation. “Navigate successfully, I mean. In your books.”

  “Unfortunately, life does not follow the measured path of literature,” she said decisively. “My friend, Lady Serena, is not succeeding.”

  She paused and examined him for some moments. Sitting in the light of her scrutiny, he felt a little click in his heart, like a door opening to a secret world. An exciting and enticing world. One worth exploring.

  She shook her head and let out a long, slow breath.

  “My friend’s heart belongs to a man who never returned from the war. A man she’s loved since childhood. Lord Hathloss is honorable, constant and good-hearted. I’ve watched their love deepen over the years. But it’s been nearly two years since he was last heard from, a week before the Battle at Salamanca.”

  Michael tried to act as though this was information new to him, but when Jane’s eyes met his, he wasn’t sure he’d succeeded.

  “Her family now insists she marry a man they consider suitable,” she continued, sliding her gaze away. “A man she is certain she cannot love. I’ve offered what support I can to help her withstand their demands, but I’m afraid my help and her resistance is nothing in the face of the determined ambitions of her family.”

  She lifted her eyes, and Michael saw a deep, melancholy flicker.

  “It doesn’t help,” she added, “that Lord Hathloss is a second son. His fortune and stature are well below her parents’ aspirations. He has an abiding love for the land and its people, but my friend’s mother sees him as little more than a farmer.”

  She sighed, almost to herself. Michael watched as the long rays of the sun lit her, bringing a fire to her hair, bathing her in a radiant glow.

  “To marry where there is no love is a living death,” she said softly. “Especially for a woman like Serena.”

  “Or a woman like you.”

  She stiffened. He hadn’t meant to alarm her. But the truth was often alarming. Still, where was his usual finesse?

  She took a sip of tea. Her hands began to tremble once again.

  “You mention my books, Mr. Grace. I find that my characters keep facing me with two truths: they fall truly in love and know it—or discover how to know it—and they reveal that some rules, some conventions, help while others cause actual harm.”

  Her gaze met his.

  “Serena knows what her heart wants and is now caught in the web of the latter.”

  He looked out the window when she did, finding that the rainbow had faded from the sky.

  “I wish I might find some way to help her,” she said as she turned back to him. “Her love for Darcy aside, I have the unsettling feeling there’s something horribly amiss with the man her family has chosen.”

  Michael observed Jane as she spoke, concluding that she lived outside her world, off to the side and looking in, perceiving with exquisite clarity the subtleties about life that others didn’t see, either because they didn’t want to or because they were afraid to examine them. Or maybe they’d lost the sensitivity that would have allowed them to see. As he watched her, he realized she was lonely, lonely in the deep places. As if her spirit sought company she couldn’t conjure. As if in contrast to her manifest kindness and cordiality, her own heart was exiled from the very comforts she bestowed upon others. He knew something of exile, of being separated from the world you belonged to. But unlike her, he’d had centuries to get used to it.

  She stood abruptly. “I do my best to help her. Angels can do no more.”

  He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “I beg your pardon?” he said, standing in turn.

  “It’s an old saying of my Grandmother’s,” she said with a dismissive wave. “When I struggled with something, she’d always say, ‘Do your best, Jane; angels can do no more.’ I loved her for it.”

  Angels can do more, Michael thought as his plan clicked into place. And they could do so much more if it weren’t for all the pesky rules. Surely he might bend them a bit further.

  “Sometimes,” he bit out, unsuccessfully hiding his frustration, “even angels don’t do their best. I often think they could do more—it’s a travesty.”

  Her eyes widened. “How can you say such a thing?”

  Michael cursed inwardly. This was neither the time for nor the person with whom to vent his annoyance with the heavens. But her blend of vulnerability and stubbornness made him want to bare his soul. While he still had one.

  He again ignored the warning that pinged through him.

  “I have relations near Salamanca, Miss Austen.”

  Well ... He certainly couldn’t take those words back, now that he’d said them. And while Gabriel wasn’t exactly family and he wasn’t in Alba de Torres, Michael knew Gabriel could be there in a flash. It wasn’t technically an untruth; it was more like stretching what exists to include what could be possible. What harm was there in asking Gabriel to seek out Serena’s beloved? And if Gabriel found him, he could bring him back.

  “They might be able to locate Lord Hathloss,” he continued. “They are very well-connected in the region.” He thought for a moment, then said, “It’s likely he was wounded and unable to make his way home. I’ve heard of such things happening to soldiers.”

  He stopped himself from saying more. What he’d already suggested was incredulous enough; if he mentioned memory loss, she’d think he was the one touched in the head.

  “In any case, it’s useless to speculate. But I can inquire.”

  He’d done it now. Gabriel would exact a dear price from him for this piece of work.

  Jane didn’t say anything for a few moments, merely tilted her head as she no doubt weighed his offer.

  “You would, of course,” he added, “have to encourage your friend to stall the forces that be for some time yet. It would take several weeks before I had any word.”

  She stared at him and then nodded.

  “I believe I can do that, Mr. Grace. And yes, thank you, please inquire. If your relations are able to discover anything, anything at all, it could make a difference. But how will we know?”

  “You must trust me, Miss Austen. That’s all I can tell you at the moment.”

  Wariness returned to her eyes and she stepped away from him.

  “I don’t mean to be mysterious; it’s simply all I can say of the matter.”

  She nodded again, but the wariness lingered. He guessed that she wanted to trust him for Serena’s sake, but her narrowed eyes told him that she felt she shouldn’t. If only she knew that all he wanted was to see her happy.

  But he couldn’t tell her that.

  He turned to leave. “Thank you for the tea, Miss Austen. And for the hospitality.”

  He lifted his coat from where it had been drying by the fire and shrugged into it, unsure why he wanted to avoid her eyes. Merely standing near her revived the unnerving feeling evoked when her hand had passed through him, a feeling that, rather than diminishing, was increasing in power.
Desire, an inner force whispered.

  Shaking off the voice and the feeling, he gathered his satchel and turned to the door. When she shut the door behind him, he knew that what he felt for her was far more than desire. He slung the satchel over his shoulder and walked slowly to the street. Then he grinned and tried to ignore his overwhelming urge to kiss her.

  ***

  By the time Mr. Grace had left, it was late morning. Time seemed to have no substance around him. Jane felt they’d barely begun talking and then in the next moment he was taking his leave. But when she looked at the clock, she found more than an hour had passed. She couldn’t reconcile her feelings with anything she’d ever felt before. But more disconcerting was the way her heart leapt as she’d peered out the window and watched him saunter down the lane. Hearts leaping, she reminded herself, was to be kept strictly on the page. No exceptions. That lesson she’d learned long ago.

  She began to tidy the parlor and tried to corral her errant thoughts. But as she lifted his cup to the tea tray, she hesitated before setting it beside hers. He’d awakened a yearning that she’d long fought to ignore. And the last emotion she needed to rekindle right now was the pain of wanting something she couldn’t have.

  Shaking her head, she lifted the tray then carried it into the kitchen, laughing at herself along the way. The bittersweet pang lingered, even though to her mind the encounter loomed as an imprudent diversion. She set the tray on the table with a loud thud. Clearly her imagination needed to be channeled into a more productive, less ridiculous vein. She was a thirty-seven-year-old spinster, and he was a robust young letter carrier, for goodness sake! The prospect wasn’t even suitable for fiction.

  Eager to write to Serena, she returned to her desk and lifted her pen. But as she stroked it in the ink, she reflected on Mr. Grace’s mysterious manner. He certainly didn’t have the speech of a letter carrier. As she considered his easy knowledge of Spain, it occurred to her that perhaps he was a spy. It was a dispiriting thought. She put her pen down and sat back, considering the implications. Her brother Francis, visiting during a rare furlough from fighting Napoleon and his navy, had told chilling stories of such men and their deceptive lives. But if Mr. Grace helped to find Darcy—well, they would see. It wasn’t as though she were giving away the Crown’s secrets, after all. She was merely agreeing to help her friend.

  But in a world where rules had for so long guided her, guided society, how could she discern which rules could be broken without horrific consequences?

  Chapter Three

  A flash of morning sunlight glinted into Jane’s dressing room as she smoothed her hair into a coil at the nape of her neck. She looked outside and saw Lord Baringdon’s carriage rumble up to the cottage. The driver reined in the horses and Serena leapt out, not waiting for the footman to lower the steps. Jane gathered her shawl and ran downstairs to greet her.

  “You will not believe my father’s latest scheme,” Serena said breathlessly as she brushed a kiss to Jane’s cheek. “He’s gone mad, I’m certain. Marrying me off is all he can think about.”

  She stepped back and laced her arm through Jane’s. “Thank goodness you’re home. I counted on it.”

  “Tea, Serena.” Jane smiled. “Tea and a garden walk and then you can tell me all about his latest gambit.” She winked at Serena. “Plotting, my dear, is one of my specialties.” Serena’s ebullience was infectious; simply being around her lifted Jane’s spirits.

  Serena laughed. “Tea is your answer for everything! If only it could transport me, somewhere ... anywhere. Anywhere but Anderley.”

  The footman scurried to unstrap Serena’s traveling trunk, then carried it up to the cottage and to the room Jane indicated.

  “Please, stable the horses in the village,” Serena said to the driver. “We’ll be leaving at first light tomorrow.”

  Seeing Jane’s surprised look, Serena grasped her hand.

  “You have to come back to Anderley with me tomorrow. There’s no other way for me to bear this.”

  Jane started to respond, but Serena cut her off.

  “I mean it, Jane, truly. I need you. Now. Father’s planned an elaborate house party and Lord Rendin will be there.” Anxiety clouded Serena’s usually lively eyes. “Without your support and good counsel, I’ll surely be dragged into his web. And I wouldn’t put it past my mother to arrange some sort of engagement announcement—the fact that I have refused is of no consequence to her.”

  Though a visit to Anderley could further distract her from her writing, she wouldn’t refuse Serena’s plea for help.

  “What sort of friend would I be if I let you fall into the hands of a scoundrel?” Jane said, with a buoying smile. “Of course I’ll come.”

  As Serena kissed her cheek, Mr. Grace’s promised help rose in Jane’s thoughts. “In fact,” she said, “I have a notion that just might help postpone any such announcement.”

  “I knew you would,” Serena said, flashing a smile. “You always do.”

  Serena practically dragged Jane into the house and through to the garden. They settled on a bench under an arching oak, and Serena turned an inquiring smile to Jane.

  “Do tell. I’m sure your plan will best any that I’ve considered, short of running away, and believe me, I have considered that.”

  The maid brought biscuits and tea. When she left, Serena took the cup Jane offered and sipped, with hope dancing in her eyes.

  Jane considered how much to tell her. Jane was usually the one who listened to stories too precious or private to be shared with the wider world, the one who was the repository of the secrets of others. She wasn’t accustomed to having secrets of her own, except for her writing. The fact that she would consider Mr. Grace a secret only reinforced her discomfort at how her feelings had run away with her. It had been a conversation, that was all. Just words. Well, that and a moment of touch—if she could even call it that—a moment that she couldn’t fathom changing her. But it had. And as far as the words that had passed between them ... Well, words were something to be cautious of, weren’t they? Words had always been her only reliable armor, but they carried power. Best to pair them with good sense.

  “I have recently had a conversation,” she said, striking a careful tone, “with a gentleman who has relations near Salamanca.” She watched as Serena’s face lit with the news. “He thinks they might be able to help locate Darcy.”

  “Oh!” Serena started, nearly dropping her cup. “You must tell me, Jane, everything.”

  “Don’t ask the details, please,” Jane said, sliding her gaze to the spot where the rainbow had arced—was it only yesterday? She looked back at her friend and saw hope coursing through her, infusing her body and radiating from her.

  “There’s no certainty, Serena,” Jane cautioned. “And you, of all persons, know I’m not given to flights of fancy—that is, flights of fancy that aren’t fictional.” She gave a modest smile. “But I do believe that this gentleman’s relations might succeed in finding Darcy. I’m not sure why I believe this, but I do. But it will be some time before we hear, maybe three weeks or longer.”

  “It’s nearly too much to believe,” Serena said, her voice unsteady. “Oh, Jane—if only it can be true! I can imagine enduring anything if I know Darcy will be returned to me.” She batted at a tear that spilled down her cheek. “And after two years of waiting,” she said soberly, “three weeks is nothing. Nothing. Or rather would be, if not for this scheme of my parents’.”

  She linked her arm through Jane’s. “Thank goodness you’re coming with me.” Then she smiled, her look one of frank curiosity. “And I’ll hear more of this mystery man, won’t I?”

  “That you cannot count on, my dear.” Jane laughed, glad to see her friend’s spirits lifting. “Although, knowing your propensity for charming most anything out of anyone, I wouldn’t bet against it.”

  But she would.

  Meeting the mysterious Mr. Grace had ignited a lurking, teasing, unsettling hunger. More confounding, the encount
er had evoked a haunting awareness of something missing, of something powerful in its absence. She couldn’t wish it away since it didn’t exist in the first place. How could something that wasn’t actually there draw her forward with such power? Already the experience had spun her loose from her carefully chosen moorings and forced her to admit that her understanding of life wasn’t as true or reliable as she’d thought.

  No, she wouldn’t be discussing such alarming feelings or the man who’d provoked them with anyone.

  Chapter Four

  London always put Michael in a foul mood. Though he loved the quick pace of the streets, the sooty skies and the clatter dulled his spirits.

  His carriage turned into fashionable Grosvenor Square. Lined with imposing houses, it was one of the most fashionable addresses in town. Michael called out for his driver to stop, then exited his carriage and dashed up the steps of Gabriel’s townhouse, an imposing structure much larger than the house Gabriel had been given for their previous mission.

  Like Michael, Gabriel had many benefits and boons to ease his time on earth, yet Michael wouldn’t exchange his life in the country for all the grand houses in London. But one of Gabriel’s gifts—the ability to disembody and embody at will and transport himself to any destination in an instant—was a power Michael wished he himself commanded. If he could do that—well, if he could do that, he wouldn’t be knocking on Gabriel’s door right now. Or perhaps he would be—there was still the matter of those feelings Jane stirred in him. That was something that Gabriel might help him sort out. But since he’d already decided not to mention the incident with Jane, he’d likely never know. Gabriel would be riled enough when he heard Michael’s plan concerning Lord Hathloss.

  Michael lifted the carved knocker and let it fall loudly. A roar of laughter and the clinking of glass sounded from within the house. He lifted the heavy knocker again, but the door opened before he could drop it a second time. Michael’s heart sank. Iago. He should have known Gabriel would bring the roguish imp to serve as his butler. Iago eyed Michael suspiciously.