Austenland (Austenland 1)

And Martin. He was in the back, and the room was dark, but no one else was that tall. Imagining the spectacle from his eyes, she saw anew how ridiculous that little play had been, and how all of Pembrook Park must seem so to him—the false lines, the feigned exclamations of love. Artifice. Pretense. Lies. Schoolgirl daydreams.

Jane leaned away from Mr. Nobley.

“Well, my dears, what a show. Quite professional!” Aunt Saffronia said, rushing their little stage. Mrs. Wattlesbrook was right behind her. A barrage of compliments engulfed the cast, and Jane smiled and nodded and smiled. She was conscious of Martin moving up, standing behind Mrs. Wattlesbrook, gesturing to Jane. Such a tall man was difficult to ignore. She ignored him.

“Uh, Miss Erstwhile?” he said quietly. He was shy. He was embarrassed. He sounded a little desperate.

Aunt Saffronia was plunging the profound intricacies of the script. Mrs. Wattlesbrook half-turned to glare at Martin.

“Miss Erstwhile?” he said again, sounding a little braver.

Jane met his gaze dead on. Martin blinked, smiled hopefully, and opened his mouth to speak again. What did he have to do with her? She was trying—for Carolyn, for herself, for her darling Mr. Darcy, she was trying to live this, and Martin’s presence had the effect of shining a light on how shallow it all was, besides reminding her of every guy who had tossed her aside. She was having a grand time and his judgment was souring the punch. She turned her shoulder to him and addressed Mr. Nobley.

“Thank you, sir. Thus far the highlight of my stay has been making love to you.”

Mr. Nobley bowed in acknowledgment. The conversation completely quieted. Jane thought she detected Martin sort of slump his shoulders.

“Well, good night, all,” Jane said, and made a quick getaway to her room . . .

. . . where she lay on her bed, stared at her canopy, and wished that encounter didn’t stick to her still, that she could just scrape it off her shoe. What would Martin have said if she’d let him speak? No, never mind, these things never end well.

Wait, there had been something good, coiling on the edge of her memory . . . ah yes, Mr. Nobley had been about to kiss her. She closed her eyes and held to that moment as she would to the tatters of a really great dream in the waking gray of dawn.

Boyfriend #12

Tad Harrison, AGE THIRTY-FIVE

She’d broken down and purchased the Pride and Prejudice DVDs by now (much to the lament of her video rental store’s bottom line), but she hid them away for Tad’s sake.

Things got serious. They were engaged after a year, adopted a dog together, even picked out future baby names. But he wouldn’t set a date.

“Things don’t feel quite right,” he’d say cryptically. “Not just yet. But soon.”

After another year and some, she suggested they take a breather until things felt right, hoping that with a little distance he’d be ready to commit. She waited five months for him to make up his mind. He waited two weeks to start sleeping around.

The worst part? Worse than wasting over two years on that confirmed loser, worse than the humiliation of being cheated on? He got to keep the dog.

day 19

THE NEXT MORNING, JANE PAINTED in her chemise. She was satisfied with the self-portrait except for the eyes, which still looked back uncertainly. Since she’d only just taken up a brush again, she was not good enough to force the paint to do what it didn’t want to do.

She meant to make it down for lunch, but she didn’t have a timepiece and mislaid several hours tumbling through the second canvas, coming up for air again with a sprawl of the view from her window. She’d originally thought it would be lovely and pastoral, but it ended up very Twilight Zone, which she decided she liked even better. Somehow, it seemed more real.

She put down the brush, stretched, and realized that she was ravenous, so dressed, ate, and walked outside to hunt the gentlemen. With only two days left, her pulse clicked in her neck, Hurry, hurry! She was feeling at home here, no question. But what did she still have to do to feel resolved? How was she going to conquer Mr. Darcy?

No one was in the park. As she strolled by the servants’ quarters, Jane stopped, guilt gnawing at her. Last night, Martin had called her name twice, and in front of Mrs. Wattlesbrook and everything. She should have at least given him the opportunity to speak.

Jane strolled casually to the servants’ building and rapped on his door.

No answer. What a relief.

She rapped one more time and sauntered away, seeming not to wait. As she paced toward the end of the building, she overheard conversational tones. From behind the camouflage of a climbing rose vine, Jane peered around the side of the building and caught sight of Colonel Andrews smoking a cigarette and speaking to someone else just out of sight. The colonel was nodding and smiling, and seemed quite content. He passed the nearly defunct cigarette to the unseen person, who took a drag then flicked the butt away. Colonel Andrews checked his pocket watch and sighed.

“Well, time to get back to work.” His smile vanished.

Probably has a meeting with Miss Charming, Jane thought.

She edged away from the servants’ quarters and was ambling toward the front door when she heard someone overtake her.