Midnight in Austenland (24 page)

“Perhaps I might powder my nose with mud or pour grease on my hair?”

“Provocative suggestions, but I think my presence at your side might dim the splendor effectively.”

Miss Gardenside took his arm and, with an affected American Southern accent, said, “Honey, you could catch a fish without a hook.”

“If my lady desires fish, my lady shall have fish.” He gestured to the ballroom and they proceeded in.

Still not meeting her eyes, Eddie said over his shoulder, “Good evening, Charlotte.”

“Hello, Eddie.”

Mrs. Wattlesbrook waved a hand to get Charlotte's attention. She wore an extremely lacy dress and feathers wiggled in her hair. Without her marriage cap, she seemed quite festive. “Mrs. Cordial, may I present Lord Bentley, a very old friend of our family. He has expressed a desire to meet you especially. Sir Charles, Mrs. Charlotte Cordial.”

Lord Bentley was a tall man, taller than must be comfortable for everyday living. Sure, Charlotte was a tall woman, but partnering her with the Chrysler Building seemed like overkill.

“Mrs. Cordial, I daresay this is a pleasure. Am I presumptuous, are you otherwise engaged, or may I request your hand in the first two dances?”

So here she was on yet another blind date. Another man forced into it by a friend—or in this case, because he was paid. Did that make him a gigolo? Weren't they all, then, essentially gigolos? Ugh.

Charlotte took his arm and entered the ballroom. Hundreds of candles dazzled in the chandeliers, the music dazzling right back. Couples were already dancing, and the swirl of dresses was as beautiful as a coral reef. Tables along the walls were heavy with punch bowls and pastries that emanated sweet, crunchy aromas. Charlotte gasped. Never had Austenland felt so real.

“It's beautiful,” she said.

“So are you,” said Lord Bentley.

Oh gag, said her Inner Thoughts.

Charlotte danced with Lord Bentley, sometimes watching Mr. Grey dancing with Miss Gardenside. And sometimes Mr. Grey watched Mrs. Cordial dancing with Lord Bentley.

“I have heard much of you from Mrs. Wattlesbrook,” Lord Bentley said as they waited their turn to sashay down the middle.

“Have you?” Charlotte asked. Eddie and Miss Gardenside were sashaying. Charlotte wanted to laugh. It was hardly a romantic dance. Then again, he
was
holding her hands.

“You intrigue me,” said his lordship. “I rode in from London just to meet you.”

“That's a long way,” she said.

“It was worth it,” he said. Then they sashayed. It was a bouncy passage down the middle, sidestepping at a skip. She hoped no one held a hidden camera. She didn't want this to end up on YouTube to embarrass her children.

The second dance was a little less Virginia reel and had more style. Partners stood opposite, coming together then away. Lord Bentley seemed to have given up conversation in favor of smoldering looks. After having been professionally smoldered by Mallery, she found Lord Bentley's attempt to be just sad.

At one point in the dance, ladies crossed to the gentlemen on their right. Charlotte lifted her hand. Eddie took it. All the magic and smells and dazzles surrounded her with that touch. She was no longer observing; she was inside Austenland. She was real.

“I'm sorry,” Eddie said softly.

“Don't be.”

They crossed behind other dancers and met again.

“It's not right,” he said.

“That's not for me to decide,” she said. But she wished it was.

They returned to their partners. Lord Bentley was all eyebrows and brooding looks. She discovered a new appreciation for Mallery, who had probably smoldered from birth. Even his sweat had been broodish.

The dance was over. Miss Gardenside took Mr. Grey's arm, and they walked off together.

“Excuse me, I've got some … lady business,” Charlotte said as awkwardly as possible, in hopes of avoiding any inquiries from her date. Lord Bentley bowed and she hurried away. Was she being dishonest? Perhaps she was just being clever. But that wasn't likely, given that she had stalking in mind, and her stalking track record wasn't impressive.

Charlotte followed Eddie and Miss Gardenside at a discreet distance. The couple wandered into the conservatory. Charlotte stopped at the doorway, hidden behind a fern. The air in the glassed-in room was tropically warm and felt as sweet as a sweater on her bare arms.

Mr. Grey took Miss Gardenside's hand and spoke. This was the moment. This was the proposal, the one Charlotte would have had from murderer Mallery. It was an all-inclusive vacation, including meals, wardrobe, outings, and a marriage proposal. Right now, elsewhere in the house, Colonel Andrews was probably proposing to Miss Charming for the umpteenth time.

The couple strolled between plants, their voices low, their heads leaning toward each other. Miss Gardenside's hand rested on his arm. His hand lay atop hers. Charlotte's throat constricted. She was torturing herself, that was all. Would she have wanted to peer into a motel room at James and Justice? Certainly not. She started down the hall.

A moment later she was back. Eddie was holding Miss Gardenside's hands, speaking earnestly. She seemed elated. Were they going to kiss? Yes, any moment, they would certainly kiss. The moonlight was angled in the window just so, as if propped up for this scene, and the air was heady with love and plant sap. No kissing please. Charlotte couldn't bear that, even if it was supposed to be pretend. If Eddie kissed Miss Gardenside, it meant he wanted to, didn't it? Alisha was so beautiful and young. Maybe Eddie was more like James than she'd thought. Charlotte's heart bounced inside her chest, encouraging her to flee.

She put a hand over her eyes and sought after her Inner Thoughts.

What do I do?

Her Inner Thoughts skipped forward, happy to be asked. Leave 'em alone and go get some punch. But stay away from Lord Bentley, 'cause he gives me the creepos.

But what about Eddie?

Nothing's real here, including him. Nice people don't mess up someone else's expensive romantic moment, especially since you're clearly not ready to love Eddie for real. Get out before you make an idiot of yourself or get that heart broken again. We're still aching from the last time, thanks very much.

No, said Charlotte, surprising herself. I am ready. I'm ready to love again, and I choose him. I don't know how, with two kids in one country and this man in another. But I can't imagine anyone else I would want to be with besides Eddie. Is that selfish? Does that mean I'm not nice?

Yeah, said her Inner Thoughts.

Well, forget you. I'm going to be the heroine in this story.

She started into the room just as the couple, apparently concluding their conservatory business, was starting out.

“Charlotte?” he said.

“Eddie,” she said, not knowing what else to say. But she was spared the formation of words by the mercifully loquacious Miss Gardenside.

“Oh, Charlotte, is it not wonderful?” she effused, hurrying to Charlotte's side.

“Is it?”

“Now do not tease. Though I know you will mock me for being so blind, I am not as arch as you, my dearest, sweetest friend. You can find out a murderer, but I could not see true love when it formed before my face!”

“Don't beat yourself up,” said Charlotte. “True love can be so easily mistaken for other things—friendship, humane concern, indigestion …”

“Stop it, you delightful thing. Now that I look back over the past two weeks, I see the mark of it running through everything that happened. Mr. Grey's gallantry, his constant attention, his reluctance to dance even. Why, I simply thought him uneasy, given it is our last night. But in truth he was harboring a secret all along! Do not think I mind for my own sake, my dear Charlotte. You are sly, but I understand, though I should scold you amazingly. Sometimes one does not mean to fall in love. Sometimes it just happens.”

Charlotte was about to argue this point. She had a year's worth of thoughts and impressive opinions on the subject of choice in love, but she stopped herself, because suddenly she was confused. “Wait … what?”

Miss Gardenside studied her face, her expression kind. “You really don't understand, do you? Then do I get to tell you the news?” She glanced at Eddie but didn't wait for permission. “He's in love with you, Charlotte! He is desperately in love with you! And not really your brother, of course. All this time, he took my arm out of obligation, but I free him from that freely now! You are free to love!”

“What?” She couldn't seem to soak in what Miss Gardenside was saying, perhaps distracted by her liberal use of “free.”

Alisha whispered, “He fancies you for real.”

She smiled and squeezed Charlotte's hand.

Charlotte dared look at him now. He smiled broadly, showing teeth, his cheeks fully dimpled, his eyes wide, as if slightly fearful of her reaction.

“But … he's scripted for you.”

Alisha—it was definitely “Alisha” now, in accent and manner—screwed up her mouth and shrugged one shoulder. “I'm not here for the romance. To tell the truth, I find it all fairly weird.”

She kissed Charlotte's cheek with a smile and left without another word, and Charlotte was left in the warm breath of the conservatory alone with Mr. Edmund Grey. Or with Reginald, perhaps. But certainly with Eddie.

“Not quite the way I imagined this moment,” Eddie said.

He'd imagined it! Charlotte pressed her icy fingers to her cheeks to cool them down.

“What did you have in mind?”

“ ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer's day,' that sort of thing. It always works, doesn't it?”

She was near him now, though she didn't remember walking into the room. Perhaps she was floating like Colonel Andrews's ghost-on-wheels. “Why not give it a try?”

His smile softened. His hand was warm in hers.

“You are more like an autumn day. Your presence makes me sure that change is coming, and it is a change I want and welcome.”

“I'm sorry I spoiled your evening with Lydia. I hope you won't get docked pay or anything. But I … missed you. Is that silly?”

“Wisest thing I've ever heard.”

They were sitting on a bench, though Charlotte didn't remember walking there either. She seemed to be floating all over the place. Someone could tie a string to her and sell her at carnivals.

“I have a confession to make,” said Eddie. “I have a friend, a former cast member here, who fell in love with one of the clients. I thought he'd confused fantasy and reality and imagined he was in love when he was just acting a part. I hadn't thought it truly possible. But you made it possible.”

She laughed. “This is crazy!”

“I have yet another confession: I love crazy.”

He kissed her.

You were wrong, Charlotte told her Inner Thoughts.

The Inner Thoughts nudged her kindly then took off, giving them some privacy.

And he kissed her.

And Charlotte thought: He seems to like me. He really does. Maybe (oh my, if he keeps doing that, I won't be able to breathe), maybe there's nothing really wrong with me. (Holy everything, he has the most delicious lips.) Maybe James would have snookered me for Justice no matter what I did. Maybe (good gracious, I could kiss this man forever), maybe it wasn't about me after all. Maybe I'm not broken and unwantable. Maybe I'm … (Is a man holding your face while he kisses you the sweetest thing ever? Because it feels like the sweetest thing ever.)

And still he kissed her.

Now that they'd stopped talking, Charlotte could hear the music through the walls, through the windows, an echoey, spectral sound. It was sad and eerie and beautiful too, and Eddie pulled her to her feet and they danced. He held her hand, held her back, and spun her around the room. She supposed it was the waltz, or nearly. She didn't really know what her feet were doing.

It must be near midnight by now, Charlotte thought and idly wondered if her dress would turn to rags, and horses, née mice, would come to fetch her home.

But I'm not ready to go home yet, she would tell those pesky, homebound mice. And she wouldn't care if her dress turned to rags and she was barefoot before Eddie, the dazzle magicked away. She wouldn't care as long as she could stay. And for the first time, she felt confident that he would want her to.

They danced to the ghostly music until it stopped. Then they kissed well past midnight and talked till dawn.

Home, last year

“I'm not leaving you,” James told the children as he emptied the closet of his clothes.

“I'll always be your father. I'll never leave you,” he said as he packed up some boxes and left.

Austenland, day 14

It was dawn. Eddie and Charlotte walked slowly up the stairs, the pale light from the windows pushing down on them like gravity. Her body felt like a sack of straw, but her mind buzzed, and her hand tingled where Eddie held it. They passed Colonel Andrews and Miss Charming heading for bed, and Eddie still held on.

At Charlotte's door, they stopped, too tired to do anything else and too sorry to let go.

“I have two weeks off before the next session,” he said, his voice hoarse with morning.

“I'd like to stay,” she said. Could she stay two more weeks? Would her kids be okay? She hoped so. But what then? It didn't matter. She was in love, and her heart felt brand-new.

She went into her room before her practical mind could wake up worrying.

She didn't bother wrestling out of her ball gown. It turned out it was possible to sleep in a corset, though perhaps not advisable. She shut her eyes against the growing light and dreamed instantly of a truck carrying crates of cabbages.

Her Inner Thoughts grumbled. Come on! There's nothing the
least
bit romantic about cabbages. After a night like that, at least you could shoot me something hot and steamy.

Charlotte, asleep, shrugged. Couldn't be helped. Dreams chose themselves, and that morning, it was cabbages. In a truck.

She woke feeling shy. And sore. Really, it's worth the time to remove the corset. The sun was high—she'd slept past breakfast. She was hungry but embarrassed too. Today was The End, and she wasn't sure how she was going to wrangle a permanent happily-ever-after into it. She definitely wasn't sure two more weeks could form something strong enough to withstand the Atlantic Ocean when it rushed between them. And after they put Austenland behind, would it become weird between her and Eddie? Would he realize that she was normal, would he make excuses and send her home?

He's worth the risk, she told herself. Don't go back to being numb.

After bathing, Charlotte put on the corset one last time—feeling sentimental about the constricting, torturelike undergarment—dressed, and went out.

“Good morning, Charlotte,” Miss Gardenside said. “You missed breakfast.”

“I was up late,” said Charlotte.

Miss Gardenside/Alisha gave a low, throaty chuckle.

“Thanks for giving me Mr. Grey,” said Charlotte. “He was meant for you.”

“Gross! He's old enough to be my dad.”

He probably wasn't, but Charlotte smiled anyway.

“Could I ask a favor?” she asked. “This is probably going too far, but … do you think you could write a note to my daughter and tell her you think I'm cool? Or something? She worships you, and she thinks I'm … well, I'm Mom.”

“For my dearest, sweetest bosom friend? Absolutely.”

“That's … that's amazing. Thanks. And if you don't mind, I'm going to write a note to your mother, telling her how wonderful I think you are.”

Alisha's smile was sad. “Actually, I don't mind at all.”

Charlotte planned to write it longhand on fine paper. Perhaps she'd even use a quill pen.

Alisha gave Charlotte a hug and two cheek kisses and left to pack. Charlotte wandered by Miss Charming's open door.

“Are you staying on?” she asked.

Miss Charming was sitting on the floor, painting her toenails a bright coral. “Yeah, why not? This session didn't feel really real, with the murders and guns and everything. I don't want to end with
CSI: Pembrook
Park
. Besides, Colonel Andrews will still be here for another two months, and I should keep him company.”

Charlotte sat on her bed. “Are you two really an item?”

“Naw, the colonel doesn't swing for me. We love each other in our own ways. That's probably all I need.”

“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.”

“But … but your dad said you were having the time of your life, and Justice said you called her ‘Mom.' ”

“By accident, duh. She's weird. She gets in your face all lovey and cutesy for a few seconds, then every night she locks herself in her room so we can't bug her. And Dad turns on the TV like he doesn't know what to say to us, and lately they go out for dinner and leave us with a pizza. It's weird not having dinner all together, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“I really miss you, Mom.”

He missed her. He hadn't said anything like that since he was little.

“I miss you tons, Al,” she said, using his nickname. As an infant, he'd resembled Al Gore to a disturbing degree—the VP era, not the bearded era.

“You're coming back tomorrow, right?” he asked, his voice worried.

Charlotte hesitated for three seconds—three seconds to imagine her two weeks with Eddie, three seconds to weigh her hoped-for happiness against Beckett's. She did her best to keep any regret out of her voice when she said, “You bet.”

“Good,” he exhaled.

Charlotte cleared her throat and forced herself to smile so he could hear the smile in her voice. “How's Lu been?”

Beckett snickered. “A huge pain in the—”

“Beckett.”

“Yeah, okay. But really, I wouldn't hate it here so much if she weren't so mopey.”

“She having a hard time with Justice?”

“Maybe. I don't know. She's always on the phone or with her friends complaining about Maggot Boy—don't get mad at me, that's what she calls him.”

“Who?”

“Maggot Boy. That guy, what's-his-name.”

“Pete?”

“Yeah, she loved him
sooooo
much, and then he was a jerk apparently and now she hates him forever and ever. That kind of thing.”

“What did he do?” Charlotte asked casually.

“Two-timing, I guess.”

She knew it! Charlotte just knew it! And now her daughter was boyfriend-less! Yes! Wait—no! Oh no, poor Lu. Oh, ouch, poor thing. Why were boys so stupid? She'd kill that Pete! Well, maybe there'd been enough murder, lucky for him. Lu would find someone better. Charlotte believed that, and even hoped for it.

“Is Lu there?”

“Yeah, hang on.”

She could hear Beckett open the door and call to his sister, who yelled something back.

“She says she's on her way out.”

“Let me just talk to her for two seconds.”

“Two seconds!” Beckett yelled.

A pause. Lu said, “Hi.”

“Hi baby. I just wanted you to know that I miss you.”

“Yeah. I got your letter.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I've gotta go.”

“Okay, I'll see you tomorrow.”

Then Beckett's voice again. “She read that letter like a hundred times.”

“Shut up, Beckett!” Lu yelled from the distance.

Beckett laughed. Charlotte did a little dance.

Next, the phone made it to James's hands. She could hear him walking while making idle chitchat, and another door closing. He was probably in his bedroom.

“We're not going to be able to take the kids that weekend next month,” he said, a slight
hem
in his voice the only sign of shame.

Charlotte pursed her lips. Normally she would say “okay” and be done. But someone had tried to kill her, by golly, and she'd just given up hope of being with Eddie. After that, a person is entitled to a few questions.

“Why not?”

“Well, with my conference coming up—”

“Your conference is in November.”

“Right, so it's only three months away and I need to prepare—”

“All weekend, every weekend next month, you'll be preparing for your November conference.”

His voice slipped into a half whisper. “Justice never had children, you know. And these past weeks have been hard on her. I'm not sure a full month each summer is the best idea.”

Charlotte took a very deep breath, a breath that pulled right up from her toes and smoothed over the shout that had been building up in her chest.

“James Nathan Kinder, we are going to have this conversation one time, right now, and then never again. You are Lu and Beckett's father. A father puts his children first. Before your new wife, before your work, before yourself. That's what parenthood means. They love you, poor kids. They
need
you. And you will do everything in your power to make sure they know you love them too and are constantly, without hesitation, their father, on call day and night, their biggest supporter, their biggest fan, and the one man who will always open his home to them.”

“Of course, sure, in an ideal world, but—”

“No
but
s. Not a single
but
. This is a simple issue, Mr. Kinder. And in this single conversation that will never be repeated again, I'm going to give you a little incentive, since your heart appears to have shrunken to Grinch size and can't be depended on to help your head make good choices. You think you're safe because I signed divorce papers? Don't sit back on your bank account. You were having an affair for months before our divorce, weren't you? You were already breaking your marriage vows when you asked me to add your name to my accounts. You know Lenny wanted to go for the jugular during the negotiations, but I held him back. What do you think he'll do if I give him a second chance?” She could almost hear James quivering on the other end. Lenny was an excellent lawyer, and James was fully aware Charlotte had muzzled him. Whether or not a renegotiation of the settlement was possible now that the divorce was final Charlotte didn't know—but then, neither did James.