Adventures with Jane and her Legacy 01 Jane Austen Ruined My Life (17 page)

"I guess I'm going to the theater," I mumbled to myself. An elegant lady walking a large standard poodle gave me a curious look as she passed by me.
Great
. Now I was making a habit of talking to myself in public.

The second envelope was marked
Open Afterward
. I presumed that meant after the play. With a sigh, I tucked the tickets back into the first envelope, stuck both envelopes into my purse, and headed off in the direction of the Underground station. Now I just had to figure out something to do for the rest of the day, because the last thing in the world I wanted to do was go back to Hampstead and Adam.

When I arrived at Covent Garden, the stores weren't even open. Once upon a time, the area had been home to a thriving produce and flower market, but today it held upscale shops and boutiques, along with restaurants that ran the gamut from trendy chains to some of London's oldest dining establishments.

Now, though, in the hazy morning light, the cobbled streets
were sparsely filled with shopgirls on their way to work and the occasional delivery man on his morning rounds. Luckily, I found a branch of Boots, the popular drugstore, open for business. I ducked inside and emerged a few minutes later with an unexpected purchase--a notebook and pen. I stuffed these in my purse next to the envelopes Mrs. Parrot had given me and resumed my meanderings.

The center of Covent Garden boasts an early Victorian arcade whose light-filled, vaulted canopy feels like a smaller version of the great train stations of London. I walked the length of the enclosure, watching as the open-air vendors set up their wares for the day. Edward would have rolled his eyes at their kitschy, secondhand goods, but I found its shabby genteel air rather charming.

At the other end of the arcade, I emerged to find myself looking at St. Paul's Church--not the famous cathedral but the smaller one built for the Duke of Bedford and later made famous in the opening scene of
My Fair Lady
. It was another sight I would never have seen had I been with Edward. He would have deplored the whole area as a tourist mecca, but I was charmed.

In Austen's day, Covent Garden was still a produce market. I could imagine her here, while she was staying with her brother Henry in nearby Henrietta Street. Perhaps she had helped to shop for the day's supply of potatoes and peas. Perhaps she had arranged to meet Jack Smith while she was shopping, quite by accident, of course.

These thoughts entertained me as I completed my circumnavigation of the market. By then, I was starving, and I was more than ready to find a small cafe and order coffee and a croissant. First, though, I wanted to wander around to Henrietta Street and see where Jane had stayed, however briefly, when she'd been in London.

A few minutes' walk brought me to my destination. The row of Georgian terraced houses was taller and more severe than my current roost in Hampstead, but the classical simplicity remained the same. I spotted the green plaque that marked where Austen had stayed--not one of the famous blue plaques, for she had not actually lived there. Still, I remembered reading that this marker, put up by the City of Westminster, was the only tribute to an Austen residence in London.

I loitered on the opposite sidewalk, noting the dates on the plaque. She had stayed there between 1813 and 1815, long after her early infatuation with Jack Smith, so perhaps there were no meetings in Covent Garden as I'd imagined. But had he still been a part of her life then? She would have been in her late thirties, at least.

There were many questions still unanswered, and I had no idea how long Mrs. Parrot intended to drag this out. Shaking my head, I turned to head down the street ...

And ran smack into Barry.

"Emma!" He grabbed my shoulders to steady me. I looked up and was immediately weak-kneed at the sight of his sexy grin. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, no. I'm fine." I stepped back, and his hands fell away. "What are you doing here?" I had thought he would have left for Italy by now.

"I could ask you the same thing." He looked around. "What's the attraction?" His eyes landed on the green plaque on the building opposite where we stood. "Hot on the Austen trail, huh?"

I shook my head. "At this point, I don't know what I am." I still couldn't believe the coincidence, running into him again. "So, am I stalking you, or are you stalking me?"

He shrugged and smiled. "I don't care, as long as it ends up with us together." He glanced at his watch. "Let me buy you some breakfast."

I knew I was playing with fire. A gorgeous bad boy combined with my need to run away from my fledgling feelings for Adam--even I could see that I was assembling the ingredients of a recipe for disaster.

I hesitated but Barry didn't. "You don't have to be anywhere, do you?" he said. "Everybody has time for breakfast."

"I guess." It was not exactly my most gracious acceptance, but I was locked in a death battle with my better judgment.

"How about that French cafe around the corner?"

I nodded, not entirely certain which restaurant he meant, but the choice of cafe wasn't what I was worried about.

"What are you doing out and about so early?" I asked him, ready to deflect the conversation away from myself.

"Sophie had another spa day booked around here, and she's still not comfortable on the Underground by herself."

"Oh." What else could I offer as a reply? Despite being born and bred a good Southern girl, I'd never been able to pull off the helpless female routine with any success. The Sophies of the world possessed a secret knowledge I hadn't been given.

"Here it is." Barry pointed to the black storefront with
Paul
stenciled in gold letters. The rest of the sign advertised the place as a boulangerie and patisserie.

Barry led the way inside, past the black-and-white-tiled floor of the takeaway area in front and into the back room, with intimate tables and gaily colored murals on the walls.

"How's this?" he asked, pulling a chair out for me at a table for two in the corner. His action nullified the question.

No modern woman worth her salt would admit it, but sometimes it's a relief when a man takes charge. This truth is only operative, though, when a woman has the means and the power to tell him to cut it out when it gets annoying. I'd learned this basic fact all too well after I'd married Edward and become emotionally and financially dependent on him.

The waitress appeared, deposited our menus while charming Barry and ignoring me, and then disappeared only long enough to return with a pot of coffee. Soon enough, we 'd given her our order--crepes for Barry, an omelette for me--and she couldn't find another reason to linger by our table.

"Does Sophie mind that?" I asked, nodding toward the waitress's disappearing back.

Barry shrugged with a self-satisfied expression that was one-hundred-percent male. "I don't know. She's never said anything."

Of course not
, I wanted to say, because that's how the game is played when you're trying to catch a man. But I refrained.

"So did you really come to Covent Garden just to see a plaque?" Barry asked.

I shook my head. "No. I wanted to do some shopping, but I was way too early." I wasn't about to admit that I couldn't go home because I was having unwanted feelings for my housemate. "I thought I'd just wander around, and I wanted to scout out a theater. I've got tickets to a play tonight."

"What are you seeing?"

"Sheridan's
The Rivals
."

Barry nodded in approval. "Good choice. Can't go wrong with eighteenth-century drama."

"You really are an egghead, aren't you?" I said with a teasing smile. "Despite the macho Hemingway thing."

"Don't tell. It would ruin my image." Then he winked at me. "You'll keep my secret, right?"

That wink, that conspiratorial tone, was undermining any higher-minded impulses I could muster. How many women-- coeds, grad students, other professors' wives--crumpled like a house of cards under the assault of his charms?

"Who's going with you?" Barry asked.

"Where?" I was still recovering from that wink.

"You mentioned tickets. Plural. Who are you taking?"

"Oh.
Um
..." I didn't want to say "No one" because that would have sounded pathetic, but I didn't want to lie either. The only other person in London I knew to invite was Adam, and no way was I going there.

"You, if you're free," I said with a decisiveness that was as forced as it was unusual for me. "Unless you have plans with Sophie--"

Despite Barry's almost compulsive attempts to win me over, what could be safer than a man who already had another woman trying to reel him in?

"What time?" Barry said, looking eager.

I told him the curtain time, and then he leaned back in his chair with a look of masculine satisfaction on his face. "Should I meet you there?"

"Yes. But at the risk of repeating myself, won't Sophie mind?" Even though I had no designs on Barry, my conscience bothered me a little bit.

He waved away my question with a practiced hand. "We're only colleagues. She can manage without me for one night."

His answer sparked a flame of discomfort in the vicinity of my conscience. "She's a very understanding woman."

"Colleague," he corrected me. "We're just colleagues."

And I could see, in that moment, that he truly believed what he was saying. The question was whether the unseen Sophie would agree with his description of their relationship.

"So you're not a couple?" In a way, I was prying, but I was also intrigued by this unfettered access to the male psyche.

He shrugged. "I don't like labels. They're too limiting."

Especially to his libido. "What about Sophie? Isn't she looking for a happily-ever-after?"

Barry laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

I shook my head. "I'm not."

"You've been reading too much Jane Austen," he said, and I couldn't really disagree with that.

"So you don't believe in happy endings?" I asked.

"Is that really what you want from a relationship?" Barry asked, eyebrows arched. "An ending?"

"It's a figure of speech. It's not meant to be literal."

"It is when women use it." Barry crossed his arms over his chest. "Where did women get the idea that once a man commits to marriage, it's all over?" He uncrossed his arms, put them on the table, and leaned toward me. "That's just the beginning."

I frowned. "You don't seem like the kind of guy to have a lot of experience with commitment." And then I was afraid I might have offended him, but he appeared unfazed.

"That's where you're wrong. I've been married. Twice. Never again, though. Wedding vows make women lose their minds. They think the tough part's over."

A flush stung my cheeks, because I was certainly guilty as charged. I had thought that once Edward and I were married, the rest would be smooth sailing. After all, isn't that what Austen had
promised in her novels? That if a woman was sensible enough to marry for love, the rest would be a piece of cake?

"I don't think it's fair to generalize about all women," I said in a weak attempt to defend my gender.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But you can't deny that men are much more pragmatic. We don't set ourselves up to be disillusioned."

Was that what I had done when I'd fallen in love with Edward and married him? Was any romantic relationship merely a disaster waiting to happen once the shiny newness wore off?

The waitress reappeared with our food. When Barry barely acknowledged her, she slammed the plates down with a thunk and stomped off.

"Do you want to have dinner before the play?" he asked, but I shook my head.

"I'll just meet you at the theater."

I needed some time to think about what he had said, to sit with his words and sift through them for any nuggets of truth. Had my unrealistic expectations played as much a part in the demise of my marriage as Edward's infidelity? I didn't want to believe it could be true, but the notion had taken hold in my mind, put down roots, and was determined to grow.

"Dinner afterward, then," Barry said. "Have you ever been to the Ivy?"

I had, but did it matter? His suggestion was meant to impress me. If he could score a same-day reservation for a table at one
of the most sought-after restaurants in town, I actually would be impressed. Even Edward couldn't have pulled that off.

"Sounds great." I lifted my fork and dug into my omelette. I had a feeling I was going to need my strength, because a day that had started off very strangely now promised to get even more surreal. And I hadn't even opened the second envelope yet.