Jane and Austen (14 page)

Austen smiled up at her as though it was completely normal to end a flirt session with me to go on a lunch date with another woman. Junie watched him possessively, and I finally knew why she hated me: Austen. Was he playing us both?

I dropped the rest of my flowers on the refreshment table and took up the little flower girl’s hand. “I’d better return this little runaway before Taylor releases the search hounds. Have fun on your date with Junie, Austen.”

My disappointment leaked through the memory of our earlier laughter together. It was so easy to get caught up in the magic of Austen. He made it so that I couldn’t think about anyone else. I could feel Austen’s eyes on my back as I walked away, and I knew I had to find a way to forget about him. So far the only person to help me do that was Dancey, and if Austen could go after someone else, then so could I.

Chapter 12

“Human nature is so well disposed towards those who are in interesting situations, that a young person, who either marries or dies, is sure of being kindly spoken of.”

—Jane Austen,
Emma

The glasses clinked together.
Voices murmured. Soft music provided the perfect background for it all. Pemburkley Hall was completely transformed under the soft glow of the night. The little candles Austen had helped me stuff into the decorative lamps revealed faces that I was just beginning to recognize from the wedding party.

Since red was denied me, I wore a white dress with a flirty skirt. I had piled my auburn hair high on the top of my head and allowed the curls to escape down the side of my face. Taylor sat at the long table with Bigley at the front of the room. Her face was awash with a soft glow that I only noticed in women in love. Take that, Austen. Taylor was happy.

My heels clicked against the wooden floor on my way to the microphones. I tapped the mics to make sure that they were working. Everyone looked up at the noise, and I felt a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck. The tension from the guests was thick in this room, and I blamed it on the latest arrivals.

The Bigleys had come to town only hours earlier. Ann-Marie had breathlessly confided all the gory details to me. Bigley’s mother had checked in only moments after his father had stepped in with wife number two. The first Mrs. Bigley had taken one look at the second Mrs. Bigley and, without saying a word to her former husband, left for the beach, leaving instructions for Freddy to bring her luggage to her room without her. She hadn’t returned to the main house.

Judging by appearances alone, Bigley’s dad must like the blondes, since he’d married another one so soon after he divorced the first—though the second Mrs. Bigley looked to be a blonde in bottle only. The two women were near enough alike that they could be sisters, though years apart in age. Now all the Bigley women made a row of blondes to the left of their son. I wasn’t sure how they’d managed the seating arrangement, since we had tried to keep the bickering group apart.

Mrs. Bigley the First had claimed her son’s side. Bigley’s father sat next to her, nestled tightly between wife number one and number two. Either Bigley senior had no idea that his former and present wives were at war with each other or he thought that he could keep the peace by pretending that they weren’t. He smiled at the glowering women.

Mrs. Bigley the Second was tall and lanky; possibly a former model. She draped over Bigley senior’s arm like a second skin. Though she had a smile that seemed pleasant, her narrowed eyes told a different story. Wife number one was shorter and stouter, with more wrinkles. She groomed her son with tight, rough movements, undoing his tie and redoing it. The poor guy looked stressed.

I left the mic and went to their table to lean over Taylor. My long necklace brushed her shoulder. “Everyone here?”

“Where’s Dancey?” Bigley looked strangled by his mother’s hands. “If we’re doing speeches, I want him to say something.”

“Chuck, dear.” His mother smoothed down the invisible wrinkles on his jacket. “I don’t want a repeat of your sister’s wedding. Tell your father that he cannot have more than two glasses of Tequila sunrise if he’s going to speak.”

Bigley glanced over at his father, hesitated, and with his mother’s unrelenting eyes on him said, “Dad, what’s that you’re drinking?”

The senior Bigley guffawed and held up his glass. “A sugarplum Martini. And tell your mother that I plan on getting quite drunk.”

Mrs. Bigley the First swung around, dropping the pretense of using her son as a mediator. “Is that what you really want to do, Herb? Remember what happened last time.”

“It’s a wedding, Louise,” Mrs. Bigley the Second hissed over her new husband’s arm. “Try to act like a human for once.”

Bigley’s mother glared back. “Stay out of this, Carol.”

Bigley senior laughed. His son, with his eyes trained on his elders, downed his drink in one gulp. Taylor’s hand went to his sleeve, and she shook her head. Bigley forced a laugh, and suddenly I saw the similarity between him and his father. I didn’t like it. I noticed the dark circles under Taylor’s eyes. Behind that loving glow, her worry was eating at her. If Austen saw it, he’d misinterpret and spring to action.

“Okay, great.” I clapped my hands. “Are the speeches all ready then?”

“We’ll wait a little longer,” Taylor said, nodding to her side where her mother sat alone at the far end of the table. Mrs. Weston had flown all the way from Massachusetts. She had dark features like her daughter, but the lines around her mouth showed that she pursed them often. Her lips were smothered in red lipstick. “Dad should be here any moment.”

Taylor’s own personal drama had gotten lost with the loudness of the Bigley’s family feud. An empty seat between mother and daughter represented where Taylor’s father should be sitting. Mr. Weston was finishing up a business trip in New York before flying in to attend his daughter’s wedding between business deals—he should’ve been here hours ago.

I squeezed Taylor’s shoulder. “Let me know when you’re ready.” Taylor’s parents weren’t big on the whole sentimental thing. After meeting them over the summer, I had decided that the severe couple could hold
“Baby, I Love You, But I Just Can’t Smile”
contests and both come out as winners—or, in reality, big losers. I felt terrible for Taylor. “Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”

“No, thank you, Jane. We’ll just wait.”

Bigley reached out to give me a grateful pat. I jerked when he got my backside instead, and I tried not to laugh in embarrassment. Instead I gave him one of those reassuring smiles that meant I wasn’t going to file charges.

Taylor fixed her fiancé with a look that I couldn’t read. “When will Dancey be here?”

Bigley’s eyes twinkled in what could only be a Herculean effort to restore his usual good humor. “I’m not worried. He’ll be here soon.” He reached out and touched me again, this time avoiding anywhere scandalous. He got my arm instead. “You look smashing, Jane, but this is Taylor’s night. Try not to run away with the prince, Cinderella.”

I nodded, having no idea what he was implying, and made good my escape. My stomach had been growling ever since I’d laid eyes on the hors d’oeuvres. Junie and I might be rivals, but it didn’t mean that I didn’t enjoy her food. My thoughts wandered to Austen, and I hoped I’d find him soon. I needed someone to distract me from the Bigleys. I stole a slice of chocolate cake and spiked a folded wafer delight with a toothpick.

“Oh, I hoped they’d let you come to this boring dinner.”

I stifled a groan when the groom’s stepbrother cornered me with his one-liner. Crawley had his plate piled as high as I hoped to have mine. “Of course I came,” I managed a pleasant tone. “I’m in charge.”

His eyes slid over me from the curls in my hair to my black heels. His gaze lingered on my fitted white dress. “Taylor should’ve at least insisted that you wear rags. No one will be able to pay attention to the bride with you dressed like that.”

My stomach dropped, and it made me lose my appetite—that was the second comment on upstaging Taylor in the space of a minute, and it only mirrored Austen’s accusations earlier. I angrily swiped more food from the table onto my plate, not sure if I’d be able to stuff any of it into my mouth now. “Why did you say that? That’s not really something that a girl wants to hear. It’s completely insulting.”

“Is it?” he asked lazily. “You’re always lecturing me on what’s polite. You’d give Dear Abbey a run for her money.”

“I’m not sure she’d survive you,” I said. “Are we through here?”

“I hope not. Where are we sitting?”

I grimaced, hoping to pass that off as a dismissive smile and headed for the farthest table. Crawley followed me. He set his food on the table beside mine and left. Before I could think about moving, he came back with a raspberry punch for me. “You forgot this.” He set it beside me and sat down. “See, I’m not all bad.”

I allowed myself a nervous laugh. “I didn’t say you were bad, Crawley.”

“You just don’t want to talk to me. I get it.” He took a sip of his drink, staring at me like I was a particularly hard puzzle to figure out. “Do you want to blow off this party and go hang out somewhere, private?”

I almost choked on one of Junie’s delicious pastries. “Now I know that you’re teasing me.”

A deep dimple played at the corner of his lips to show me that I was right on. I felt myself relax. “As a matter of fact,” I said, “I do want to get to know you better. Tell me about your mother.”
Wife number two,
I amended silently.

He straightened unconsciously and wiped a napkin at his mouth. “You really know how to ruin the mood, don’t you?”

This time I burst out laughing, realizing that I actually felt more sympathy for Crawley after meeting the family. “I excel at ruining the mood, actually.”

“It’s a terrible habit.”

I nodded. Romantics knew their stuff. A flurry of excitement at the other side of the room let me know that Bella had entered . . . in red. Her pearly white skin shone against the contrast. As soon as she met my eyes, I waved her over. I couldn’t help it. She was pretty enough to catch Crawley’s attention and smart enough to keep her distance, especially if I hinted at video games in her near future.

“Jane!” She made her elegant way to our table and eased down into the seat, smoothing her red skirt down. Her blond hair glistened in the candlelight.

Crawley turned into the perfect gentleman as soon as he saw her. “Are you hungry?”

“A little,” she admitted.

He left to gather the necessary enticements to win her affections. I tried not to laugh—it was easy to distract Crawley from me. “I’m so glad I found you,” Bella said. “Freddy is being a total nuisance. He said he wants to take me home—like I want to go to his mother’s stuffy basement.”

I coughed into my hand. “Let me guess. He tried to tell you that the place belonged to him?”

Her finger trailed over the scarlet tablecloth. “Yes, can you believe it?”

Harry Crawley placed a plate in front of Bella with the perfect blend of sweets and greasy meats. Bella took it gratefully. Her eyes zeroed in on Crawley with sudden interest. “You’re Bigley’s brother. How come you don’t have his hot British accent?”

“A mistake I’m working on,” he said, grinning at her with a sweetness I’d never noticed in him before. “We’re stepbrothers, so I didn’t grow up in Britain.”

“Neither did Dancey.” I said it without thinking, and their eyes went to me. I saw consideration in Crawley’s. Yes, the loner rock star actually stooped to talk to me. I downplayed it. “I
think
he grew up in Massachusetts. It’s on wiki somewhere.”

A tinkling of glasses let me know that Taylor was ready for her speeches. Her father now graced her end of the table. His frown added to the collection of severe lines down his face. Dancey was still noticeably absent. It was ironic that his tragic figure could actually add cheer to the group.

 “You’ll have to go on without me, Bella,” I said. “Take care of her, Crawley. I’m on duty.”

I left them, feeling like a proud mother leaving her cubs. Crawley wasn’t so bad, I decided—he was more of a jokester. And Bella was a sweet girl. I had misjudged both of them, which meant I was more than eager to throw the two together and enjoy their resulting happiness. Approaching the mic, I slid it out of the holder. The musicians took my lead and let their music die down.

“Thank you all for coming to Chuck and Taylor’s rehearsal dinner.” I winced inwardly when I said their names aloud, hoping no one noticed it sounded like the shoe brand.
Thank you very much for pointing that out, Austen.

I licked my lips. “You number among Chuck and Taylor’s dearest friends and family. Thank you for sharing one of the happiest, most important events in their lives. We are going to start out with a few words from Taylor’s parents, followed by Chuck’s. After that, we invite anyone who would like to stand and congratulate Chuck and Taylor on their coming nuptials to please do so.”

Taking the mic in a firm grip, Taylor’s father cleared his throat for his speech. I backed away and almost ran into Austen. The darkness shadowed his firm jaw. The candlelight made his hazel eyes gold, and my heart quickened at the sight of him. He was decked out in a white V-neck and dark jeans, his towering height giving me the security that I craved.

“The happiest event in their lives?” he asked me in an undertone.

Even his predictable disapproval was comforting. I glanced over at him, aware that his arm rested against mine. “That’s generally what a marriage is,” I said.

“It’s supposed to be,” he countered.

I gave him a warning look. If he was holding me to not wearing red and putting my hair up, then I was going to insist that he didn’t rain on Taylor’s parade. His eyes flicked over me. “You look good.” He didn’t sound happy about it. Still, it didn’t stop him from sliding a protective arm against the wall behind me.

Resisting the urge to ask him how his date with Junie had gone, I watched while Taylor’s parents and then the Bigleys stood up to give their speeches. They were so proud. So happy. So excited. The moment failed to touch me like it normally did. It was all fake. The presence of Mr. Doom and Gloom beside me only made me notice the warning looks the parents shot at each other and at their children—the frowns, the slurred speeches, the shifting eyes.

Bertie stole the mic next. She also wore a flowing red dress. It sparkled under the candlelight. She put the microphone to her lips. There was a hard edge to her words, like she was staking her claim as best friend of the bride. “It’s hard to believe that Taylor is leaving me for London. We’ve had so many adventures together.”

Bertie expounded on her role in Taylor’s life without including anything about Taylor—the speech filled me with sadness and made me wonder if Bertie cared about the bride at all. If Taylor didn’t have her best friend, and she didn’t have concerned parents, who did she have?