“You’re one of those Americans.”
Jane frowned, confused. Clearly this woman was also from the United States, possibly from a southern state—the accent was unclear. Then Jane realized that she was attempting to sound British, over-pronouncing words and occasionally dropping an “r.” The effect made her sound like a little girl in desperate need of a speech therapist.
“Oh dear,” Eliza said miserably. “I don’t think I’m supposed to talk to you until we’ve been properly introduced. Let’s pretend we haven’t met.”
Eliza started back down the stairs, stuffing one breast more snuggly into her dress, then turned back again to speak low and urgently into Jane’s ear. “And by the way, I’m twenty-two. I told Mrs. Wattlesbrook and now I’m telling you. I didn’t forgo a new car and a month in Florence to be fifty again.” She patted Jane’s behind and trudged down the stairs, holding her long skirts above her ankles.
* * *
THAT EVENING, THEY WERE FORMALLY introduced.
“Jane, my dear, you do look lovely!” Aunt Saffronia said.
Jane nearly blushed as she descended the stairs. She did feel lovely, actually, if a little too aware of her own breasts exposed within the lower neck of the evening dress. Her maid, Matilda, had helped her with her hair, attaching a bunch of curls (she flattered herself that they looked more natural than Miss Charming’s bundle of plastic) and winding pretty little beads around her head. She had been wary of empire waists, but the feel of the fabric and the splendid rust and yellow of her evening dress made her feel so different that she girded herself up to start the make-believe.
You can do it, you can do it, she chanted silently as if she were attempting the last set in kickboxing. She hated kickboxing.
“Jane, may I introduce our house guest Miss Elizabeth Charming of Hertfordshire?”
“How do you do, Miss Erstwhile, what-what?” said Miss Charming, her tightened lips trembling with the effort of approximating a British accent. “Spit spot I hope, rather.”
“How do you do?”
They both curtsied and Miss Charming made a silent “shh” with her lips, as though Jane would out her for the stairway meeting. Jane had a burst of maternal instinct that made her want to cuddle Miss Charming and help her through this crazy Austenland maze. If she only knew the way herself.
“Miss Charming is about your age, I believe,” Aunt Saffronia said.
“Oh no, Aunt, I’m quite certain that Miss Charming, still in the bloom of her youth, is several years my junior.”
Miss Charming giggled. Aunt Saffronia smiled graciously as she took Jane’s arm, and the three walked into the drawing room. At their entrance, two gentlemen stood.
Ah, the gentlemen.
They wore the high-collared vests, cravats, buttoned coats with long tails, and tight little breeches that had driven Jane’s imagination mad on many an uneventful Tuesday night. Her heart bumped around in her chest like a bee at a window, and everything seemed to move in closer, the world pressing against her, insisting that all was real and there for the touching. She was really here. Jane held her hands behind her back in case they trembled with eagerness.
“Jane, may I present Colonel Andrews, Sir John’s cousin and the second son of the earl of Denton? He passed the partridge-shooting season with us and we have been fortunate enough to persuade him to stay on for the pheasant season. Colonel Andrews, my niece from America, Miss Jane Erstwhile.”
Colonel Andrews was fair-haired with a decent set of shoulders and a very ready smile. He could not seem more pleased to see her, bowing without removing his gaze from her face.
“What a pleasure, a very pleasant pleasure, indeed.” The way his tone slid over his words gave him a delightful, roguish
appeal that made Jane want to kiss him on the spot. Or the lips, whichever was closer.
Hm, maybe she really could see this through.
“And this is his good friend Mr. Nobley,” Aunt Saffronia said, “who has agreed to honor us with his presence for some of the hunting season while his estate is under renovation.”
Mr. Nobley was taller than Colonel Andrews, and his jaw was in no need of the long sideburns to give it definition. The line of his shoulders identified him as the most likely of the bunch to have been the shadowy lurker from the great hall. In the light, she found him handsome, in a brooding sort of way.
Of course, Jane thought, one man of each type for the buffet. Don’t mind if I do.
Mr. Nobley bowed stiffly, then walked away to look out the window.
“How do you do?” said Jane to his back.
Aunt Saffronia laughed. “Do not mind Mr. Nobley. He is annoyed to be trapped here with such minor country gentry, are you not, sir?”
Mr. Nobley looked back at Aunt Saffronia. “I do not know what you mean, madam.” His eyes flicked to Jane.