by Tracy Kiely
“Yeah?”
I paused. Now was not the time to bring it up or change my mind. “Nothing. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I hung up and stared blankly at my phone. What was the matter with me? I was a reasonably intelligent adult. Why couldn’t I figure out what I wanted with Peter? He was perfect—at least he was perfect to me. Although I had disliked him when we were little, mainly because I had misinterpreted his adolescent teasing as evidence of a cruel nature, that was all long ago and long forgotten. Okay, mostly forgotten. Peter was intelligent, kind, and funny. At six feet, with brown hair and brown eyes, he was also very handsome, which, as we Janeites know, a young man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can.
So just what the hell was my problem?
I decided not to try to analyze that right now and instead pulled out the itinerary for the week. After tomorrow’s promenade and ball, the festival offered various sessions for attendees. There were walking tours, dance workshops, fencing lessons (for fans of Colin Firth’s portrayal of a frustrated Darcy), plays, and numerous lectures. Several of the more popular sessions such as “Dueling Mr. Darcy,” “Dressing Mr. Darcy,” and “A Regency Wedding” were offered daily. I was reading the write-ups on these when another couple entered the lounge.
I gauged them to be about my age. The woman wore a long-sleeved, high-necked dress that appeared to be constructed entirely of black doilies. She was petite and very pale, with almost colorless blond hair that hung in tight ringlets about her long, narrow face. Honestly, if I didn’t know such things didn’t exist, I would have pegged her as one of the living dead. Her companion, too, had blond hair and pale skin, but his look was more waspish than deadish. His outfit, a blue blazer and crisp jeans, was also less funereal than hers. His expression, however, was similarly disconsolate. After hearing a few minutes of their conversation, I understood why.
“Ian,” said the woman, her nasal twang turning the one-syllable word into three, “it’s not that difficult. Just do as I say and ask him. It’s very simple. We need the money. He has the money. It’s your right to have some of it. He’s family, for goodness’ sake!” She paused to study the silver tray laden with complimentary goodies for afternoon tea. There was an assortment of small cookies, some powdered, some jam filled, and some sugar encrusted, in addition to a variety of grapes, figs, and nuts. Next to the tray was another, this one holding a squat blue teapot and an intricately cut crystal decanter.
“What is this?” the woman asked, lifting the stopper of the decanter and lowering her hooked nose close for a suspicious sniff. “Sherry? Yuck. And I suppose this is tea,” she grumbled, indicating the porcelain teapot. Lifting the lid, she peered inside, her pale blue eye doubtful. “Just as I suspected,” she pronounced with a kind of proud resignation. “Tea. Why can’t they ever have coffee at these places?”
“Well, it is called tea—” began Ian, but Ms. Living Dead cut him off.
“I know that, Ian. I’m not stupid. But it’s not 1772, is it? Haven’t they heard of Starbucks? No wonder they aren’t a superpower anymore. They are hopelessly stuck in the past.”
“Well, some might say—” began Ian, but again he was not allowed to finish.
“Where was I? Oh, yes. I want you to promise me that you will talk to him,” she said, settling on the damask-covered love seat in the far corner of the room and arranging her skirt. “If you don’t, then he is going to spend it all on her, and that can’t happen. She has no need for the money, whereas you do! You can put it to good use. What is she going to do with it? She’s only one person, her expenses are nothing, where you have a family. What about little Zee? Have you considered his future? Honestly, it’s no contest.”
“You have a point,” the hapless Ian agreed.
“Of course I have a point! And I’m sure that he will see your point once you explain it to him. He can’t mean for you to be left out.” The woman paused to thumb through the pile of magazines spread out on the low coffee table before her. “I haven’t heard of any of these. They’re all foreign. Don’t they even have People?”
“I imagine that they just carry the local magazines.”
“Well, that’s shortsighted, then. Most of the people who stay at these places aren’t from here, are they? No, they aren’t,” she continued, answering her own question. “Nine times out of ten, they are Americans, and the people who run these types of establishments should remember that.”
“If you say so,” said Ian, staring miserably at the floor.
Another person entered the room now. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Aunt Winnie. It was John. I immediately ducked my head and intently studied the festival guide. Happily, I was not John’s focus. “Ian! Valerie!” he called out. “It’s splendid to see you again! How are you? How’s Forever Austen going?”
I peeked up. Ian? Forever Austen? This was Richard Baines’s son? Well, well. Better and better.
“Hello, John,” said Valerie. “We’re fine. The magazine’s going splendidly, of course. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason,” John replied. “One hears things, is all. Economy’s in the tanker, you know.”
“Well, not for Forever Austen,” Valerie replied testily. “It’s doing just fine.”
“Excellent, that’s excellent.” John’s eyes now landed on me. “Well, hello again!” he boomed. “I was hoping to find you.” Both Ian and Valerie now seemed to notice my presence in the room. Ian smiled politely at me. Valerie did not.
“Hello,” I offered with a quiet smile.
Turning to Ian and Valerie, John said, “Ian and Valerie Baines, I’d like to introduce you to Ms. Elizabeth Parker. She is also here for the festival. Elizabeth, the Baineses run the magazine Forever Austen.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” I said before glancing back down at my festival guide. My hope that this move would deter further attention from John was, as it turned out, a rather silly one.
“Is that the guide for the festival?” asked John. “Why, you’ve no need for that! Not with me around. I’m the best guide there is! You are going to the ball tomorrow, aren’t you?”
When I reluctantly nodded, John clapped his hands. “Excellent! Then I will claim a dance! I know them all, of course. Many of my partners consider me to be one of the best Regency dancers.”
I paused. Unlike Catherine Morland, I experienced no reflection of felicity in being already engaged for the evening, for I knew that to go previously engaged to a ball does not necessarily increase either the dignity or the enjoyment of a young lady. Besides, I think I’d rather stick needles in my eyes than stand up for an hour with John; it would be insupportable.
Oh, I missed Peter.
Realizing that John was waiting for an answer and that Ian and Valerie were watching me as well, I produced a strangled cough and muttered, “Well, I’m not sure what our plans are right now…”
Aunt Winnie entered the room. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see her. “There you are!” she said upon seeing me. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I said, quickly getting to my feet, but John wasn’t ready to end our encounter.
“Ah, Ms. Reynolds,” he said, “I was just introducing your lovely niece to my friends, Ian and Valerie Baines. As you probably know, they run the magazine Forever Austen.”
Aunt Winnie said her hellos and then turned back to me. “Well, we’d better be off, if we don’t want to be late meeting Cora and Izzy.”
“Late?” repeated John. “Oh, but I was hoping to show you around Bath this evening!”
“You were?” I asked with some astonishment.
“That is very gallant of you, John,” said Aunt Winnie, “but I’m afraid that we’ll have to take a rain check on your kind offer.” Grabbing my arm, and moving quickly to the doorway, she said, “Ian and Valerie, it was nice to meet you. John, I’m sure we’ll see you around.”
“You can count on it,” he called out after us.
* * *
Cora and Izzy were already at the table when we arrived. “I have so many things to tell you,” Izzy gushed to me when I sat down. “I saw the most gorgeous dress today while out shopping. I want to get your opinion on it, but really, it’s like a bright shiny diamond in my head. I really think I must have it.”
I laughed. “Well, if it’s a bright shiny diamond, then I think you will have to get it.”
“Which reminds me,” Izzy continued, “what are you wearing tomorrow?”
There were two costume events scheduled for the first day of the festival. In the morning there was the Regency Costume Promenade through the streets of Bath, followed in the evening with the Regency Masked Ball.
I was just about to ask her if she meant the promenade or the ball, when she went on, “Because I was thinking, wouldn’t it be fun if we wore the same outfit? We could say we were sisters!”
I stared at her, incredulous. First, there was simply no way anyone would ever mistake us for sisters and, second, what grown woman wants to invite comparisons by dressing as a twin? “Um, I’m wearing a simple white frock for the promenade and a blue one for the ball,” I said.
“Oh, that is too bad. Mama and I got these gorgeous silk gowns last year in London. Mine is this amazingly deep shade of pink with a kind of feathery headdress. If Gucci were alive during the Regency, he would have made this dress.”
“It sounds lovely,” I said. “I guess the modern-day equivalent for my dress would be the Gap.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s wonderful. Besides, with your looks you can pull anything off. It’s women like me who need the Gucci to elevate us a bit.”
I laughed out loud at that. “You’re nuts. I thank you for the compliment, of course, but you’re still nuts.”
Izzy affected an expression of disbelief. “It’s true! Fine, then, to prove my point, I will tell you this. The other day when we were having tea at Claridge’s, I saw Byron staring at you. And from the look on his face, it wasn’t because he found fault. So what do you say to that? Or do you only have eyes for Peter?”
“I say that your eyes deceive you, and that, yes, mine are indeed only for Peter.”
Across the table, Cora let out a little exclamation, and I turned her way. “Well, well, look who’s here,” she said, indicating a table not far from us with a nod of her head. “It’s Gail Baines.”
We all looked where directed and saw a trim, blond, middle-aged woman. Her face was attractive, with high cheekbones and full lips. With her were Ian and Valerie. “I wonder if she’s heard about Richard’s latest stunt,” Cora continued.
“Mama,” Izzy said, a warning note in her voice.
Cora turned, her expression innocent. “What?”
“You know perfectly well what. Stay out of it. Do not stir up trouble.”
Cora sniffed. “Me? Me stir up trouble? The very idea. I beg to differ. It is Richard Baines who is stirring up trouble.”
“Fine. Then let’s leave the subject alone for now. Shall we order?” Izzy said, indicating our menus.
We all studied our options in momentary silence. “Oh, the Irish stew looks good,” said Aunt Winnie.
“So does the steak and chips,” agreed Izzy.
Although Cora kept her eyes on the menu, I could sense that her mind was on neither the stew nor the steak. With a swift motion, she put down the menu and stood up. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’ll just be a moment.”
“Mama!” Izzy hissed, her annoyance quickly turning to anger. “Sit down. Don’t you dare stick your nose into this! You will only make it worse!”
“Make it worse!” Cora retorted. “How on earth could I make it worse? There is strength in numbers, and the more people we have ready to fight Richard, the better we will be.”
She strode away from the table and toward Gail.
Izzy put her head in her hands. “I want it noted for the record that I tried to stop her. When this all goes to hell, which I’ve every assurance of it doing, just please mention to whoever is the proper authority that I did try to stop it.”
“Of course,” I said. “What are friends for?”
Aunt Winnie winked and added, “And after all, a friend in need is a friend indeed.”
Izzy raised her head and looked at us, a faint smile on her lips. “That may be so, but as the song goes, ‘A friend in need is a friend indeed, but a friend with weed is better.’ And if Mama keeps this up, I just might need that kind of friend.”
CHAPTER 7
Most children of that age, with an imperfect articulation, an earnest desire of having their own way, many cunning tricks, and a great deal of noise, are sure to please.
—SENSE AND SENSIBILITY
WE WATCHED IN SILENCE as Cora set upon Gail. I could hear only snippets of the conversation: “terrible news,” “outrageous,” and of course, “syphilis.” At first, Gail regarded Cora with a blank expression. However, within minutes, her eyes narrowed into annoyed slits, and her lips pressed together into a hard thin line. Whether the change in her mood was due to the message or the messenger, however, was unclear.
Izzy saw the transformation and let out a low groan. “Well, that’s Mama for you.”
Aunt Winnie considered Izzy with sympathy. “Never mind, dear. You must allow your mother to follow the dictates of her conscience on this occasion, which leads her to perform what she looks on as a point of duty.”
I giggled while Izzy stared vacantly at Aunt Winnie. “Huh?” she replied.
“Think of her as Mr. Collins introducing himself to Darcy,” I clarified.
Izzy’s mouth pulled into a grimace. “Oh, right, because that went so well. Perfect. Thanks. I feel loads better.”
I laughed while Cora finished her conversation and returned to our table. “Just as I suspected,” she said as she seated herself with the pleased air of one who has fulfilled her duty. “Gail was most upset to learn about Richard. She fully agrees with me that something must be done.”
“Which would be what exactly?” inquired Izzy.
“We didn’t go into the particulars,” Cora replied with a vague wave of her hand, “but it was clear that we were on the same page.”
“Right,” Izzy replied with a doubtful glance in Gail’s direction. “Dear God, but Valerie looks even more anemic than usual. You know, with her dead white skin and those horrible yellow ringlets, I bet she could pass for Matilda from The Monk. She definitely has the personality for the role.”
“Wasn’t Matilda the devil in disguise?” I asked.
Izzy nodded. “Yep. And that’s Valerie—a modern-day she-devil.”
Cora cast an uneasy glance in Valerie’s direction before hushing her daughter. “Izzy! Keep your voice down. That is not only untrue, but unkind.”
“It is not,” Izzy persisted. “You’ve seen the way she treats Ian. It’s contemptible. She’s nothing but a nasty little mercenary social climber.”
“I think they’re staying at our hotel,” said Aunt Winnie. “We met them just before we came here.”
“Then you must know what I mean,” said Izzy, turning to Aunt Winnie for confirmation.
Aunt Winnie shook her head. “We only met her briefly.”
Izzy turned to me. “You must back me up on this, Elizabeth. With your insightful ways you must have detected the kind of woman she is.” I paused, uncomfortable. Valerie had seemed a bit of a shrew, but I didn’t feel right saying so. After all, I’d only seen her for a few minutes. Izzy caught my hesitation. “I knew it! I
knew it!” she crowed. “You saw the same as I! I knew we thought alike! See?” she said, turning to Cora. “Elizabeth thinks she’s a she-devil, too!”
I held up a hand in protest. “Whoa! Wait a second. I didn’t say that. I didn’t say anything, actually. I only caught a quick impression of her.”
“But it wasn’t a good one, was it?”
“Well, no, but…”
Izzy laughed. “No ‘but’s. Admit it, I’m right. You think of her as I do. If she’s not channeling Matilda, then she’s trying out for a role in Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. God, I don’t see what Ian ever saw in her. She’s a nasty little freckled thing but without the freckles. If I were him, I’d spend every day praying for the sweet release of death.”
“Izzy!” Cora said, scandalized. “That’s enough!”
Izzy arched an eyebrow at Cora. “You can trash Richard all you want, twenty-four/seven, but I can’t say anything against Valerie? Why is she so special?”
Cora glanced downward and shifted awkwardly in her seat. “I didn’t say she was special, I just don’t think you’re being nice. It’s … it’s not becoming behavior for a Janeite.”
Izzy let out a yelp of laughter. “Oh, please! Becoming behavior, my ass. Jane Austen was the queen of the cutting remark. That’s one of the many reasons I love her.”
Cora shot Izzy an expression of pained frustration. “Izzy, please. Do as I say and let it go.”
Izzy’s mouth pulled down in a mutinous line, and it was clear that she had no intention of letting anything go. However, before she could continue, Aunt Winnie said, “Ladies, I think the discussion of the essential character of Valerie Baines will have to wait. Professor Baines himself has just made an appearance.”
I glanced up, and sure enough there was Richard strolling through the restaurant with the air of a man who knows himself to be a celebrity but feigns embarrassment at the inevitable attention. Alex trailed along a half step behind him. Seeing Gail and his son and daughter-in-law, Richard altered his path and headed their way. I watched the reactions of the table as he did so. Gail’s expression remained pleasant, almost indifferent to the sudden appearance of her ex-husband and his new wife. Either she truly did not care about Richard or, like Jane Bennet, she united with great strength of feeling, a composure of temper and a uniform cheerfulness of manner. Of course, a monthly injection of Botox could also be the reason for her lack of expression. Valerie was easier to read. Stretching her mouth into a wide smile, she directed an urgent whisper to Ian before waving to her father-in-law. Ian gave a nervous start and turned his body around in his chair. He noted the approach of his father with almost palpable dread.