Midnight in Austenland (Austenland 2)

“Is it?”

Miss Charming’s lower lip began to tremble. She screwed the brush back into the polish, leaving several toes unpainted. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go. I can’t imagine leaving, but I can’t just stay forever. Can I?”

She looked up at Charlotte with wide, wet eyes and a little quivering chin.

Charlotte took Miss Charming by the arm and marched her down to the morning room, where Mrs. Wattlesbrook was tidying up her desk.

“Mrs. Wattlesbrook, may I present to you Miss Elizabeth Charming. You have known her as a guest these many months, but she has much more potential. Miss Charming has a keen interest in seeing Pembrook Park remain afloat. She might also consider restoring Pembrook Cottage and renewing the activity of Windy Nook. She is a savvy businesswoman and was half the partnership that built a single mattress outlet into a successful chain of eighteen stores across three states. She has loads to invest and a superpower for eyeballing real from fraud. Miss Charming, in short, is your new bosom friend. I think it’s time you two talked business, ironed out a partnership, and got this place back on its feet.”

Miss Charming gasped three times during her narrative. Mrs. Wattlesbrook was not unaffected. Charlotte could tell by the way her hands flitted about, patting her hair, resting on her chest, finding her lap. But she kept a stern expression.

“And I suppose with the offer of money and partnership will come meddling? Just what do you have in mind, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Well, this is sudden,” said Miss Charming, fanning herself with a hand. She sat down primly. “Here are a few thoughts off the top of my head: You don’t have to shut down all winter, you know. The winter coats and mufflers and what-not are soo cute. Imagine Christmas at Pembrook Park! With more marketing power, you’d have no trouble drumming up new clients, especially if you make some menu changes.”

“Strict observances of the culture of the era—”

“I know, and that’s all well and good, honey lamb, but the food, missus. The food! Does it have to be so authentic? What about having a few dishes each meal that are more human-friendly and still keep one or two that are straight from your Regency cookbooks? I’m not saying Pop-Tarts and corn dogs, just a dish or two people will actually recognize. Are sheep’s eyeballs ever necessary?”

Mrs. Wattlesbrook shrugged, a little hurt.

“Listen, you still be proprietressy, write up the characters for all the actors and guests and their love affair plots and make sure we’re still old-fashioned-like. Let Colonel Andrews plan the entertainment to keep things lively. He loves when we put on the theatricals you wrote, planting mysteries, and he has scads of other ideas. Meanwhile, let me do the business work. You don’t have to be soo secretive and exclusive. Increase security and let’s advertise, bring in fresh clients, do some weekend stints instead of only two- or three-weekers. And we need more men! Two men to each woman, I say, so everyone has a choice, and let them go visit the other estates, make calls on the guests at Windy Nook, and make eyes at their men too, and it’ll be so exciting!”

“Perhaps …” Mrs. Wattlesbrook sat down, her hands in her lap. “Perhaps we could talk numbers?”

“Land’s sake, yes, I love talking numbers! Math was my best subject. Math and anatomy.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” said Charlotte.

As she shut the door, she saw Mrs. Wattlesbrook lean back with a sigh of relief.

Charlotte walked to the inn for the last time.

The kids will be fine, she told herself as she dialed James’s number. They’ll love staying with their dad a couple more weeks. And after that? Could she move to England? Well … no. Lu and Beckett had gone through enough upheaval the past year. She could visit Eddie from time to time. Would that be enough?

Her newly spry heart seemed to slouch a bit in her chest, but she ignored it the best she could. Beckett had just answered James’s phone, and the sound of his “hello” pricked her eyes with tears and made her heart swell. Oh, she loved that boy.

“Hi baby!”

“Mom?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to get a hold—”

“Hang on.”

Sounds of walking, a door shutting.

“What’s going on?” she asked, imagining scenarios where James and Justice had been killed and Beckett was being held hostage by violent kidnappers.

“I just came into Dad’s office to talk. I don’t know why I couldn’t sleep in here. I hate that stupid couch.”

“I’m sorry. We should work out different sleeping arrangements for you next time.”

“Yeah. At least this visit’s almost over.”

“Weren’t you loving it?”

“No,” he said, which sounded like a synonym for “stupid.”