Jane and Austen (20 page)

My mouth firmed. I was sick of Bertie’s cattiness. “Oh, I apologize,” I said in a voice that implied the opposite. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m the event coordinator for Taylor’s wedding. I’m also known as Jane, Taylor’s good friend. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Bertram-Rush.”

She watched me narrowly. “You actually think you’re in charge? I never would have guessed. Someone even halfway capable of her job would never let Taylor touch her own wedding. She’s been half crazed with worry the whole time that I’ve been here.”

“The whole time
you’ve
been here? How strange. Are you sure your presence has nothing to do with it?”

“Oh, don’t get smart with me, missy,” Bertie spat. “How about I get Taylor to send you back to your attic. That’s where you live, isn’t it?” She sneered. “I could fit my closet in there.”

Everyone knew I lived in the attic? I tried to figure out who had blabbed, but knew it didn’t matter anyway. There was nothing wrong with the attic. It was cute and cozy and I loved it. I was tired of proving that I was human to these backward people, anyway.

They all wanted me to know my place—like poor Fanny Price in
Mansfield Park
, constantly run to the ground by her aunt and her cousin Maria Bertram-Rush . . . . My breath caught in my throat. Too late, I noticed Bertie’s eyes gleam in triumph at my reaction, but I was too busy reeling under the strange coincidence to care. First Mary and now Bertie were clones in a Jane Austen novel with names suspiciously close to the characters that they took after. A rush of nerves exploded through me at the thought.

Bertie sauntered through the ladies as they wrapped toilet-paper wedding dresses around their friends while they posed as live mannequins.

“Jane.” Ann-Marie found me in the chaos and slipped me her cell phone. “You’ve got five texts. They’re all from Dancey.”

“Five?”

I exchanged Bertie’s little teacup sized puppy with Ann-Marie for her phone, but before I could get through Dancey’s texts asking Ann-Marie for my number, my phone vibrated. “That’ll be him,” she said with a little pout, seizing her phone. “I just gave him your number—that means he won’t be calling me anymore.” She sighed and squeezed Bertie’s little rat-bear. “Did you get into a fight with him? That’s so romantic. I want to do that. Making up is always so fun.”

I gaped at her, feeling like I had been flattened by a four by four. Ann-Marie. Backwards, her name became Marianne—piano-playing, ruled-by-emotions, twisted-ankle-drama-queen Marianne from
Sense and Sensibility
. Turning, I spied Taylor in the chaos. There was a Taylor in
Emma
too. The heroine in that novel had set up her beloved mentor Ms. Taylor with the most pleasant man in the village. The two had been happily married . . . or were they? My gut wrenched at the thought.

And then there was Dancey.

My phone wouldn’t stop beeping as it filled with texts. Ann-Marie’s eyes were on mine. “He’s trying to tell you sorry.”

In ten texts? I opened up my phone and sure enough, each text said, “I’m sorry.” He must have accidentally sent it ten times. The original Darcy in
Pride and Prejudice
had delivered a whole exposition to Lizzy about why he had done the things that he had done. But with such a non-descriptive text, I had no idea what Dancey was sorry about—that he’d kissed a crass American or that he had lost one?

“So.” Ann-Marie licked her lips. “Are you off the market now? Because,” she went on hurriedly, “I told Austen that I was interested in him last night, but he said he wasn’t interested in me, but now that you’re taken, he might . . . ?” She let the thought hang threateningly. “Austen is so cute. The way that his hair sticks up when he takes off his bike helmet is so adorable. He’s got so much hair, you know. So thick and curly—I want to run my hands through it every time I see him. And his eyes. They’re hazel, but sometimes they look yellow . . . I wish he looked at me the way he looked at Junie. Oh, Junie makes me so mad. I don’t know what the guys see in her. Austen’s always talking to her . . .” She hesitated. “What are you doing with that cupcake, Jane?”

I glanced down at the oversized cupcake in my hand. Sure enough, I had mangled it. “Ann-Marie,” I said. “I think you should try to see if he’s interested again. Guys like Austen need a kick in the pants.”

She nodded.

“Very beautiful. What lovely ladies.” The male voice sounded wrong in a room full of giggling females. The women turned to stare in irritation at the male intruder. Colin had made his appearance.

I pushed my cell phone into my pocket and tried to wipe the frosting off my hands.

“Oh, this one looks like a winner.” Colin lingered near Bella who was covered in toilet paper, obviously judging the lady, not the dress, because the tissue hung limply over her arms in a mess. He hurriedly slid past Mary in her cleverly-crafted masterpiece.

“Jane.” Colin predictably found me in the chaos. “Why aren’t you slathered in toilet paper?”

I coughed over my laugh.
That sounded so gross.
“Ann-Marie and I were just cleaning up.” I avoided Bertie’s satisfied smirk when I gathered leftover cupcake wrappers and threw them into the trash.

“It won’t be too long until you, too, are celebrating your own wedding,” Colin said with a suggestive wink.

That got Bella’s attention. She gave me a thumbs-up. I shook my head at her. “I doubt it, Colin. I’m one of those confirmed bachelor rats.”

Ann-Marie sighed beside me. “That’s easy for her to say. All the men are crazy for her and I keep waiting and waiting. I’ve tried everything. But you know the saying: ‘Women are like apples. The best ones are at the top of the tree.’ And the guys are just too lazy to climb up to us, so they just marry the ones who fall on the ground—you know, those nasty rotting apples full of worms.”

I tensed as every married woman mentally stabbed us with their eyes. Colin added to the discomfort with his own unblinking stare. “I had better take up climbing,” he said.

I gave an uneasy laugh. “No, I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, Colin.”

“Are you coming down from the tree then?”

In a way I was going down, but not because of Colin. I avoided the question, noticing that Taylor had waved me over. I escaped him to get to her side. “Did you need me?” I asked.

 “Yes.” She glared at the new owner of the North Abbey and lowered her voice. “I don’t want
him
here, but I can’t just ask him to leave. Colin basically owns the place, but . . .” she clenched her teeth, “get him out!”

Flirt to divert. It was low, but it was Taylor’s wedding and I was already failing as her event coordinator. “Sure.” I returned to Colin, feeling the dread a criminal might feel confessing to a murder. “Colin, I need to show you something outside.”

Colin’s eyes glittered with anticipation. “Jane, you turn more interesting by the hour. Lead the way.”

I let him take my arm, feeling like the pied piper for unwanted men. “Jane,” Mary said in an undertone. She stepped off a chair and swished her way towards me in a confection of toilet paper and duct tape. “What was in those cupcakes? My stomach feels like a ball of fiery gas.”

“Flour, sugar, eggs.”

“Oh.” She groaned. “This feels worse than what I ate at Churchell’s Shack at the brunch. My stomach felt like it was eating itself. What are you feeding us?”

I stiffened and lashed out, “Food. Would you like me to burp you?”

“Would that work?” she startled me by asking.

“Ask Bertie to do it,” I said and left the bridal shower with Colin following after me. I was not cut out for this job. I didn’t have Taylor’s experience, and I didn’t have the patience of Job; though once Jennings’ photographs hit the internet, I
would
have the reputation of a scarlet woman. It wouldn’t look good on my resume.

Once we were in the hall, Colin studied our surroundings with interest. “Where’s the rock star?” he asked. “Is he staying here?” I cringed at the mention of Dancey and kept walking. Colin didn’t seem interested in my answer. “I have a few song ideas that I’d like to discuss with him.”

“I thought maybe you might want to see the game room, Colin.” I led him there, hearing a game of billiards in play. Balls scattered and smacked against each other. Men’s voices were low in conversation. A female laughed through the noise.

Hesitating at the door, I wondered whom I’d find inside. Word was that Dancey had business in L.A. today—I hoped that meant he wasn’t back yet. Before Colin could mistake my lingering as an invitation to get cozy, I pushed inside the room. Bigley and Crawley were at the pool table. They both glanced up. Crawley’s eyes filled with interest and I smiled at him, remembering his pep talk earlier. It was the only thing keeping me sane right now.

Even better, there was no Dancey and no Austen.

Redd rolled the end of his pool stick in blue chalk, not turning to me . . . as if he had some inner radar that told him to ignore me when I was near. Not surprisingly, Junie had joined the boys in their game. They were all dressed down in jeans, shorts, and T-shirts. Junie had ditched her shoes again. I was envious. She carried her pool stick like a spear over her shoulders, then swung it into place on the table like the tough chick she was before she executed a perfect hit. Two balls went into the side pocket. The boys groaned.

“You’re making us look bad,” Bigley said.

Junie caught him with her frank gaze. “Oh Chuck, you don’t need me for that.”

Crawley laughed behind them. Junie and Bigley knew each other better than I’d thought. I guessed it made sense since Junie had stolen my vacation to London with Taylor—they would’ve had plenty of time to get to know each other there. Bigley looked more at ease than when I had seen him last. His jacket lay over the back of a chair, his sleeves rolled up. Junie went for her next strike and scratched when she pocketed the wrong ball.

“Don’t worry,” Bigley teased her. “Mistakes happen.”

“Only when I’m with you.” She didn’t look up this time. “I prefer to make my mistakes in the game where no one gets hurt.”

Bigley shook out his shoulders like he was letting the trash talk roll off. It was his turn, and he took careful aim at a striped ball. It veered the opposite way, and he groaned.

“Maybe you should play on Junie’s team,” Crawley said with a laugh.

“Are you sure his mother would approve?” she retorted. “I’m not the kind of girl she likes.”

I sucked in my breath. Junie was on one. She must’ve joined the crusade with Taylor to fight for Bigley’s independence, but I wasn’t sure if this was the best way to go about it.

Redd bumped fists with Junie as he passed her to the table. He stood needlessly close to her while he took aim. He pocketed the ball. With a start, I saw him watching me where he still crouched over the table. As soon as we met eyes, he looked away.

“Oh.” Colin advanced on the game as if drawn in by a magnet. “I’ve played this before. I used to be quite good at it. Let’s see.” He picked up a pool stick and aimed it at one of the balls.

“Colin!” I tried to stop him. “You have to wait for the game to end. They’re still playing.”

He jerked up at my voice, his aim slanting and upending the entire game. The boys grimaced. Junie’s eyes met the ceiling.

Colin didn’t get that he was seriously overstepping bounds. “Let me try again.”

Crawley snickered. Bigley leaned on his stick, shaking his head at me. His eyes twinkled. “What plague have you brought on us, Jane?”

I would’ve stepped inside the game room to join the brothers at the table, but Redd’s glower stopped me. I hesitated at the door, though Bigley tried to wave me in. “Come talk to us. Crawley was just telling me that you’re jogging buddies.”

I smiled. “Really? We jogged together
once
.”

Crawley teased me with a mischievous look. “The other time you ran away from me. That doesn’t count?”

“Jane? Run away?” Redd asked bitterly. “That’s so unlike her.”

Crawley’s eyes shot to him and then to me. A grin took over his face. “Is that him?” he mouthed to me.

I froze at Crawley’s reference to my two love interests. I looked over at Redd to make sure that he hadn’t noticed. Redd’s attention was fixed firmly on Junie. He was taking extreme care with showing her the particulars of the game—overly so.

“No,” I mouthed back to Crawley.

Crawley held up three fingers and raised his brows at me like he was shocked. “Three guys?”

“No,” I mouthed back. I had no intention of stringing along three men.

Bigley’s eyes ran between me and his brother.

Crawley tipped his head at Colin with a suggestive smile and then held up four fingers as if saying Colin counted as my fourth suitor. I tried not to burst out laughing.

“Jane,” Redd’s voice cut through our game of charades. “I’m glad to see that the years have been kind to you. Now you can get away with flirting with much younger men.”

My face felt hot. I had almost forgotten that Redd saw me for what I truly was. Yeah, I got that the spell I’d once had over the captain was broken already—I got it a million times over. Still,
that
was hurtful. Harry Crawley was probably only three years younger, anyway.

Glaring at Redd, I could only see Captain Frederick Wentworth from
Persuasion
, some guy crippled by his bitterness because he had been jilted by a girl. The difference between me and the heroine in that book was that she actually wanted her captain, but . . . my thoughts cut off when I came to another realization. Captain Redd Wortham? Jane Austen had named her captain Frederick Wentworth. Their names almost rhymed. It was too weird.

Junie? Did she fit the pattern, too? I studied her. Junie raised her brows at me at the same time that I put her story together. She was so Jane Fairfax from
Emma,
Emma’s not-so-secret archrival. “Fair” was Austen’s shortened version for Junie’s last name. It was all close enough to make me nervous. I leaned heavily against the door, trying to take it all in.

“Jane?”

I turned. Crawley put up five fingers and pointed to himself like he was the last member of my entourage of suitors. He gave his infectious laugh and the similarity hit me. Henry Crawford from
Mansfield Park
. That’s who Harry Crawley was. His flirtatious ways said it all, even down to his surprising spurts of thoughtfulness and charm.