Jane and Austen (19 page)

Chapter 17

“It is happy for you that you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are they the result of previous study?”

—Jane Austen,
Pride and Prejudice

Ann-Marie’s fingers danced
over the ivory keys of the piano at Taylor’s bridal shower. The pile of presents grew at the center of the table. They were wrapped in ribbons, decorated with stripes and polka dots and overly bright colors.

The Bigley women, both the “original” and the “improved,” glared at each other from opposite sides of the room. The two had enough plastic surgery to make Barbie jealous. Crawley’s mother wore her blond hair high on her head in a chic twist. Bigley’s mother kept running her fingers through her short bob. Mrs. Weston, Taylor’s mother, sat in the corner, lending elegance to the shadows with her long, dark hair. A thin line made up her ruby lips as she watched the women chattering around her.

Taylor was a nervous wreck, flying from one woman to the next like a momma bird bribing everyone to have a good time by dangling worms—or in this case, oversized cupcakes. The delicious confections from Bates were rapidly disappearing from the table.

Even the stick-skinny Bertie helped herself to one. She was in the process of trying to ingest it without getting frosting all over herself. “Are we ready yet?” her impatient voice cut through the room. As maid of honor, it fell to Bertie to direct the activities. “Sit down, Taylor. Sit down. No more chasing your tail.”

Taylor lowered onto the seat that Bertie had set in the middle of the room. The other two bridesmaids took either side of her, Bella looking eager, Mary tired.

Bertie took charge. “Taylor,” she said, “we want to know how you met Chuck. We want every detail. Spill it.”

The younger ladies sighed as Taylor told her story. The older women looked uncomfortable, probably because the topic was how sexy their shared son was. Bella clapped her hands and squealed every time Taylor hinted that she loved the man she was going to marry. Mary sniffed despondently next to her, occasionally wiping a ball of tissue against her nose. She claimed to have a head cold. The tissues were wadded into a huge pile on the coffee table next to her.

 “And you met Will Dancey while you were in Britain?” Bella asked eagerly. “Tell us all about him. I want to hear every scandalous detail.”

Taylor’s expression went cold. “He sings,” she said and left it at that.

Bertie set her half-eaten cupcake aside and pushed her ramrod back even straighter. “I have the perfect plan. We should invite Dancey to sing at your bachelorette party tomorrow—”

“No!” Taylor cut Bertie off mid-scheming, though her raised voice unfortunately drew everyone’s attention to her. She breathed out and attempted a weak smile. “He’s in charge of Chuck’s party tomorrow night and besides . . . Dancey wouldn’t do that.”

“Get your girl to ask him,” Bertie said, motioning at me.

“My girl?” Taylor asked in icy tones.

“Jane.” Bertie crossed one of her long legs across the other. “That’s your name, isn’t it dearie?”

I adjusted her dog on my lap—I didn’t know her baby’s name yet, so I guessed that made us even. “Uh,
Bertie
,” I said, “why do you think that Dancey would listen to me, of all people?”

“Ah yes, he is a bit of a snob, isn’t he?” Bertie looked gleeful at the thought. Her eyes raked me from head to foot, and I colored. Even though I had broken Austen’s deal the night before, I had put my hair up in a ponytail again and wore a yellow sundress with a white cotton T-shirt, avoiding the more elegant red dress I had bought for the occasion. I wasn’t sure why.

Bertie sniffed my direction. “I suppose he wouldn’t lower himself to talk to someone like you—even with your face.”

That startled me. Was that a compliment? I wasn’t sure.

“Oh, but he
likes
her,” Bella said. “I saw them together last night. They were helping a girl in the kitchen.” She patted my hand bracingly. “Jane could convince Dancey to sing. Couldn’t you, Jane?”

About a dozen jealous sets of eyes zeroed in on me again. Instead of distracting them from me, Taylor shrugged. “Jane does have a way with men. Remember my friend that I tried to set you up with last summer, Jane?”
As if I could forget.
“You know, Redd, the captain, the one in naval intelligence?”

“Naval intelligence?” Bella teased. “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

“Oh, he’s no moron,” Mary said in all seriousness. Before Bella could try to explain what her joke meant, Mary began a list of Redd’s finer qualities. “He’s quite intelligent I’ve found. In fact if I remember correctly, Redd Wortham comes from a very good family in Maine. I think his uncle owns a bank.” She stopped, confused. “Are you sure Redd was interested in Jane?”

“No,” I said firmly. “He wasn’t.”

Taylor snorted. “Jane had him wrapped around her finger, but she broke it off. She’s picky.”

I shook my head.

“Oh, I believe it,” Bella said, looking proud. “She broke Freddy’s heart. And her assistant’s, too. His name’s Austen, isn’t it? He’s so in love with her. I can tell.”

I snickered at how ridiculous this was. “No, that’s not true at all.”

Bella clapped her hands, looking delighted. “Jane, you must use this power you have over men and get Dancey to sing for us!”

Not liking where this was going, I tried for a lighter tone, “I have no magical power over Dancey, Bella.”

“Yes, yes, you do,” Bella insisted. “He wouldn’t speak at the rehearsal dinner and then after you spoke, he couldn’t get to the microphone fast enough. And after he danced with you, you asked him to dance with the girl who hurt her ankle and then he did. Just like that.” Bella gave me a knowing look. “Put a spell over our tragic little rock star, Jane. Tease him. Get him to do anything you want.”

“I . . .” Glancing over at Taylor, I saw her preoccupied look. Bertie’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully on me. Bella wasn’t taking “no” for an answer and so I held up my hand. “Only if Taylor wants him to sing,” I said.

I thought Taylor would say, “no,” but she motioned for me to do her bridesmaids’ bidding. “Yes, Jane, ask him,” her eyes met mine in a challenge, “I’d love to see your power of persuasion.”

Taylor was turning on me too. “He won’t say yes,” I said. “He’ll be much too busy entertaining Bigley. They’ve got big kidnapping plans for the bachelor party Friday.”

“Oh!” The original Mrs. Bigley fidgeted with the string of pearls around her neck. “Chuck will not do that. I will not allow it.”

“Jane.” Mary rubbed at her red nose, interrupting the squabbling. She adopted a pleading expression. “Would you please throw all these tissues in the garbage?”

I glanced over at the wad of tissues that she had wiped her nose with and tried not to make a face. With Bertie’s puppy tucked under my arm, I fetched the garbage can and slid the tissues into them. I set the can near Mary’s chair. Mary wiped another tissue against her nose and threw it on the table to make a new pile of crumpled tissues that looked suspiciously clean. “Jane,” Mary said. “Bring me some water. My throat feels like it’s on fire!”

Sure, it was. My hands formed fists. What a hypochondriac! I unkindly compared her to the one that Jane Austen wrote about in
Persuasion.
They even shared the same name—Mary. I stomped over to the water and slammed the glass on the table next to her tissues.

Bertie nibbled daintily on her frosting and, to my relief, took the attention off me by starting a bridal shower game. “How well do you know your husband-to-be, Taylor? Let’s test your knowledge.” Bertie took out a bag of oversized gumballs and a set of index cards from her Gucci purse. “We took Chuck aside and asked him a few questions. We’ll go easy on you at first, Taylor. What’s his favorite color?”

Taylor squirmed uneasily in her chair. “Green?”

“Yellow.” Bertie elbowed me. “Jane, place a gumball in Taylor’s mouth.”

I almost laughed, then opted to hand Taylor the bag instead, refusing to play the role of torturer. Taylor popped the gumball in her mouth and started chewing.

“Now.” Bertie rolled her eyes upward and took a deep breath. “When was the first time you kissed Chuck?”

Taylor blushed and tried to rush the story. “It happened at one of Dancey’s concerts. He was standing by the soda machine.”

Bertie looked confused. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Chuck said that it happened at the airport,” Bertie said.

“No, it didn’t. I . . . I know when I’ve kissed someone for the first time—especially if it was Chuck. Okay?”

“And he would forget?” the original Mrs. Bigley interrupted. Her blue eyes were hard like steel. “Chuck would know if he kissed you. He’s not like his father.”

“Excuse me?” the “new and improved” Mrs. Bigley lifted a finger and waggled it. “Herb has never forgotten when he’s kissed me. Maybe it’s not the man who’s the problem.” She looked smug.

“Whore,” the “original” Mrs. Bigley said under her breath.

“What did you say?” her archenemy hissed.

 “More?” I asked, purposely misinterpreting her. I tried to salvage the situation by shoving another oversized cupcake at Bigley’s mother. “Here you go!” Even the lady knew she had gone too far and took the cupcake without complaint.

“Put the gumball in your mouth,” Bertie directed Taylor.

“But . . . but, Chuck got it wrong,” Taylor argued. “He didn’t even pick me up at the airport. He sent Dancey to get me. I can’t believe that Chuck forgot that!”

 “Just drop it, Taylor,” her mother hissed. The dignified woman tilted her head at the bickering Bigley females to communicate that their fighting was Taylor’s fault. “Eat the stupid gumball.”

Taylor looked miserable. Her eyes went to Bigley’s mother in mute apology. “No matter where we first kissed,” she said more contritely, “I’ll never forget how I felt. He took my breath away—it was wonderful. He’s so caring.”

The original Mrs. Bigley looked unimpressed. She stuck her pert nose in the air. Taylor stuffed the gumball in her mouth, her eyes watering.

Bella took pity on her. “Harry says that Chuck has a terrible memory.”

“Harry? Harry Crawley?” Bertie asked. She shot a venomous glare at the younger girl. “Why would you discuss such a personal thing with Harry?”

It made me remember that the “very married” Bertie had been flirting outrageously with Crawley the first time that I had met him—it had been one of the reasons that I thought he was trouble. “Harry and Bella are friends,” I said in their defense.

Bertie snorted. “Friends? He doesn’t make
friends
with females.”

The “new and improved” Mrs. Bigley giggled. “My Harry’s quite the player, isn’t he?”

“I wonder where he gets it from?” Bigley’s mother asked; this time there was no mistaking what she’d said.

The “new and improved” brought her eyes to the ceiling. “Do you have problems with how I raise my son, too? At least I let Harry live his own life. Your son can’t breathe without consulting you.”

The “original’s” fingers wrapped around her oversized cupcake in a choking grip, and I cringed, hoping that she wouldn’t smash it into the “new and improved’s” face.

“Mrs. Bigley, you did a delightful job raising your son,” Bertie’s voice came out a purr. The insinuating way she said it distracted both Mrs. Bigleys from their bickering. They tensely waited on Bertie to clarify which son she had her claws on. “Harry is perfectly delightful,” Bertie said with a coy smile.

The “new and improved” didn’t look as amused as she had the first time she’d dismissed her son as a player. She tapped her perfectly manicured nails. “And how is that, Bertie?”

“We have an understanding, he and I.”

 “Mrs. Rush-Bertram,” Bella said in stinging tones, “What sort of understanding would a married woman have with a man who doesn’t make friends with females? Perhaps you only
think
you have an understanding.”

Bertie gave her a dangerous smile, like a lioness baring her teeth at a younger, more attractive cub. “There is no doubt in my mind that we do.”

Bigley’s mother choked out a chortle and turned to her arch nemesis. “You still think you raised your son better than mine, Carol?”

The “new and improved” glowered at her husband’s first wife.

Taylor held up the bag of gumballs as a distraction and tried to talk through the mass of pink goo in her mouth. “Aw we blaying?”

“Dear,” Mrs. Weston corrected her daughter. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Bertie glared at the more youthful and lovely Bella while shuffling through the cards in her hand. She read it. “How many children does Bigley want?”

Taylor picked up a gumball and stuffed it in her mouth without answering. Bertie pouted, her beautiful almond eyes slanting. “You didn’t even try. Bigley said
he didn’t want any
.”

The “new and improved” swung around to Bertie to belt out a laugh—it didn’t go well with her sophisticated charade. “Are you sure about that? Did he consult his mother before coming up with that plan?”

 “He certainly didn’t think it through,” Bigley’s mother grumbled. “I’m sure on further reflection, he’d think better of it.”

The “new and improved” snorted. “He’ll likely come into some money that will change his mind soon.”

“My son isn’t as attached to my money as
some
are. I trust in his better judgment.”

 Crawley’s mother rolled her eyes. “Then no grandkids for you, Louise.”

“No kids?” Bella looked concerned.

Taylor lifted a brow, acting like she didn’t care. “Awe wwwe dumb yet or awe we gonna keep goim until I doke and die?”

“The tissue paper game.” I held up the roll of toilet paper that Bertie had set aside and that Mary had covertly used as Kleenex. Bertie glared, but I took over anyway. “Whoever makes the loveliest wedding dress out of tissue paper wins. Divide into groups of three.”

The ladies all separated, the younger ones chattering happily. The mothers flat-out refused to participate. Bertie came up to me and dug a pointy elbow into my side. “What was that about, Jane? I’m in charge here. You’re not even a guest.”