Pride and Premeditation

by Steffanie Holmes

  “It has?”

  “Oh, yes. Outside of Austen circles, he’s something of a laughingstock. His academic work is often juvenile and full of holes, but this recent book is practically nonsensical.” Professor Carmichael gestured to the center of the market. “But I have monopolized you too long. It appears at least two of your suitors are now properly attired. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mina Wilde. I hope to see you at my lecture.”

  I glanced over to where Lydia and Morrie danced in the middle of the aisle, while the string band in the corner played a Regency reel version of Lady Gaga’s latest hit. Morrie still wore only his stockings and shirt. Young women in bonnets crowded around, clapping their hands in delight while Lydia tried to pinch his bottom. Behind them, a group of older ladies whispered disapprovingly at the spectacle. We haven’t even got to our rooms yet and we’re already more scandalous than the Bennets at the Netherfield ball. This is going to be an interesting weekend. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “I hope you’ll bring your delightful friends.” Professor Carmichael curtseyed. “At least then I shall have four souls in attendance.”

  “I’ll tell you what, I’ll drum up an audience for you if you cut me in on your book royalties.”

  She laughed. “How about if I buy you a drink at the ball tomorrow night? You’re likely to come out better off.”

  “It’s a deal.” I curtseyed back, nearly falling over in my ridiculous shoes.

  “And stay away from Hathaway!” With a final wave, Professor Carmichael disappeared into the crowd.

  Chapter Ten

  Half an hour and five pairs of stockings later, Heathcliff and Morrie were properly breeched, buckled, and cravated. They looked amazing, even if Heathcliff kept scratching himself and Morrie’s voice had risen half an octave from the tight stockings.

  Lydia’s performance had left her with no shortage of admirers. Young girls fawned about her, excited to make acquaintances with the gregarious socialite who was quickly becoming the talk of the event. But her attentions were diverted by three male graduate students – wearing the red-coated livery of officers – who competed for her attention and made dates for her to sit at their table at breakfast. Lydia Bennet was in her element.

  After wrangling Lydia away from her entourage, we presented ourselves to Cynthia, who deemed us properly attired. Finally, she led us up the sweeping staircase and right to the end of a cream-paneled hallway. “Here are your rooms.”

  I sucked in a breath as I stepped into an extravagant suite. A canopy bed made up with blush-and-gold linens and draped with matching curtains stood on a raised plinth in the center of the room. Delicate vanity screens in the corner surrounded a claw-foot Victorian bath, set beneath a window overlooking the main drive and parterres. An alcove on the right led into a high-ceilinged study and opulent bathroom decorated in gold and white marble.

  “Here is the second room.” Cynthia pushed open a door behind the bed, revealing a second room with a similar layout, decorated in teal and gold. A lounge suite was arranged around the high window overlooking the grounds. On the table in front of it stood a bottle of Champagne in a silver bucket and a tray of fancy chocolates.

  “These are some treats from us. Grey is sorry he couldn’t be here to greet you in person. They’re pushing ahead with the King’s Copse development, and he’s on site at all hours trying to get as much done as possible before the weather turns completely dreadful.”

  “Tell him we’ll happily save his bacon anytime.” Morrie was already working the cork off the Champagne bottle.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Cynthia held out four lanyards. “These are your passes for the weekend. Wear them at all times to ensure access to the events, except for the ball. You’ll find ribbon wristbands inside for that – we can’t have these ugly things ruining our outfits! If there’s anything you need, speak to one of the staff and they’ll accommodate your every whim. Have an Austentacious time!”

  Cynthia left in a whirlwind of perfume. As soon as she was out of sight, Heathcliff loosened his cravat. I kicked off the silk slippers and slid on my Docs. Ah, comfort, how I missed you.

  “The Lachlans certainly are going above and beyond to give us the star treatment,” Morrie said, handing me a glass of Champagne. I noticed he wasn’t in a hurry to remove his outfit. Heathcliff was already gulping from his hip flask as he stomped on his cravat.

  “It’s just as well. From your little performance downstairs, I imagine this suite will quickly fill up with Lydia’s admirers.”

  “Perhaps that was my plan all along, to divert her attention away from my own fragile body… speaking of the annoying wench.” Morrie held up a third glass. “Lydia, where are you?”

  Lydia poked her head around the door. “I have decided Lord Moriarty and I shall take the pink room with the larger bed. It better suits my complexion.”

  Morrie’s hand froze. “We’re not sharing a bed.”

  “There are four of us, and but two beds,” Lydia pointed out. “How else do you propose we make our arrangements? Unless, perhaps, you are the kind of man who does not sleep, because he is awake all night taking care of his amorous duties?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Morrie said, his words careful.

  “Silly goose! I mean that if you’re not to share my bed, then where will you sleep?” Lydia’s trilling laugh filled the room. “Because you’re not going to share with Mina and Heathcliff. Whatever would people say?”

  “People wouldn’t say anything, because you wouldn’t tell them,” Heathcliff growled. “Our sleeping arrangements are none of their business.”

  “And is your true origin none of their business, too?” Lydia asked sweetly, her eyes sparkling with malice.

  I glanced at Morrie and Heathcliff, and read everything I needed to know on their careful expressions. Lydia’s presence had highlighted a key flaw in their operation – their honesty in the hands of the wrong book character might lead to their downfall.

  I had assumed we three would share and leave Lydia on her own, but it occurred to me that even as flirtatious as Lydia was, she would not react well to the idea of a woman with multiple partners. And if Lydia chose to make her opinions public or make too much of a spectacle, as she seemed inclined to do, she could cause big trouble for all of us.

  I sighed. Perhaps there’s a way we can solve this on Lydia’s terms? “None of us are married, Lydia. It wouldn’t be proper. Think what your poor father would say!”

  She stamped her foot. “Damn their pomp and propriety. You have feminism now, you told me. And they’re not here! I shall never see them again.”

  “Be that as it may, if you share with Morrie, word will get around that you’re committed to him, and your three suitors will quickly lose interest. The key is to incite jealousy, but not to deter them completely.”

  “Yes, I suppose that makes sense.”

  Ah, now I’ve got her. “You and I will share the pink room, and the boys will have this room.”

  Lydia gasped.

  “What?” I demanded. “What’s wrong with that idea?”

  “Two women, sharing a chamber? Won’t people gossip?”

  “Exactly,” I grinned. A slow smile passed over Lydia’s face as she contemplated my words.

  “Oh, I do adore your century.” She downed her champagne in a single gulp and held out her glass for more.

  Chapter Eleven

  Between them, Morrie and Lydia polished off the rest of the Champagne, and we adjourned to our separate rooms to put our things away and prepare for the day’s schedule of activities. I took a moment to text Quoth and ask him how his day was going. A moment later, my phone beeped.

  “The first customer today asked for a book called Far from the Maddening Crowd. He grew irate when I tried to tell him the title is actually Far from the Madding Crowd, and insisted on speaking it incorrectly even when I presented him with the book cover as evidence. It’s not even eleven am yet and already I long t
o defecate on people. I fear I’ve turned into Heathcliff.

  Stifling a giggle, I sent back a text telling him how much I missed him already.

  Once Lydia had fixed my bonnet and demonstrated the proper way to wear a muff, we met Heathcliff and Morrie in the hallway. The pair of them couldn’t have been more different. With his stiff collar and black shirt, Morrie had an air of the clergy about him, which was hilarious given his personality. His ice eyes surveyed my outfit with a piercing attention that – were he a real Regency priest – would’ve seen him excommunicated on the spot. I couldn’t help but think all that black would look particularly striking on Quoth, as well.

  The military tailoring on Heathcliff’s topcoat perfectly flattered his physique, drawing attention to his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His wild hair hung free about his face, and the line of stubble along his chin that he refused to shave and the gleam in his dark eyes gave him an air of danger. His bronze buttons glittered, and at his side hung a thin sword.

  “I thought Victoria had your blade?” I asked, touching the elaborate basket hilt.

  “This is a spare.”

  “A spare sword? In case you have more people to stab than weapons available for the task?”

  Heathcliff was about to respond, but Lydia twirled around Morrie, dragging him toward the staircase. “Quickly! My new friend David is saving a seat for me.”

  I linked arms with Heathcliff. “To Pemberley!”

  In keeping with her word to name the event’s rooms after famous locations from the books, Cynthia had named the grand ballroom Pemberley. It was located off the rear of the entrance hall, accessed through a wide hallway between the staircases that led into a marble anteroom (Uppercross) where the refreshments and goody bags were stationed. Off either side of the entrance hall were two drawings rooms to be used for the smaller workshops – Northanger Abbey and Mansfield Park, and just along from Mansfield Park was Netherfield, which we’d already had cause to visit.

  We followed the train of costumed people into Uppercross, where we waited for the doors to the grand ballroom to be opened. While Lydia stole Morrie away for photographs, Heathcliff and I took a turn around the room (mostly for the benefit of scoping out the food being offered). A row of tall, narrow windows along one side let in bright light from the snow-covered lawns outside.

  Although stately in proportions and decoration – the high ceiling boasted a mural of songbirds sitting amongst gilded vines – Uppercross bore more touches of Cynthia’s eclectic interior design, with some odd choices of furniture. Gilded portraits hung from the walls, and plaques beside each one described the exploits of its subject. That was where the English Heritage ended and the bling began. One wall was dominated by an enormous stone fireplace that had been gilded in gold. It reflected light from the enormous crystal chandeliers. In front of the fire, on a shaggy cream rug, stood a wingback chair in bright cherry red, the wings oversized, pointing up to the ceiling as if the chair hoped to fly away and join the birds.

  “Do you think everyone in this room has their breeches up their arse?” Heathcliff muttered under his breath. “Or just me?”

  “At least seven people have given me dirty looks for wearing my Docs under my dress,” I added. “We make quite the pair.”

  “As long as you’re as miserable as I am,” he whispered back, “this weekend won’t be a complete turd.”

  “Want to stuff our pockets full of tiny sandwiches?” I asked.

  “Bloody hell, yes.”

  Heathcliff and I made our way to the buffet. I lined the front pocket of my purse with tissue and dropped several sandwiches and four slices of brownie inside. Meanwhile, Heathcliff shoved macarons up his sleeves. All around me, conversation flowed, discussing everything from historical accuracy in the film adaptations to ‘fuck, marry, kill’ their favorite male characters. Gold necklaces glittered from bare throats and pearl earrings dangled from every lobe.

  The Argleton Jewel Thief could be in this room right now, sizing up his or her next victim.

  “… the old Don Juan is at it again. He makes me sick.”

  My ears pricked at Professor Carmichael’s voice. She was on the opposite side of the food table, her head bent low as she spoke to a young Asian woman wearing a bright blue muslin dress and a string of colorful beads around her neck. They both frowned at a blonde man at the end of the table. He had his back to us, but from the way he kept bending down to touch a young Janeite on her arm and swipe a rogue curl off her face, I knew I was looking at the infamous Professor Hathaway.

  Curious now, I moved closer to Professor Carmichael and the other woman. I hovered my hand over a tray of sweets and slices, pretending to be utterly preoccupied with the choice of red velvet cupcake vs miniature lemon curd tart (in reality, I had four of each wrapped up in my purse).

  “…it’s the absolute last straw,” Professor Carmichael hissed to her friend. From this angle, I could see she was a slight woman with high cheekbones and strong chin of Korean features wearing a simple dress that perfectly showed off her creamy skin. “He will pay for what he’s done. I won’t sit back any longer. I don’t know if I can even wait until your article comes out.”

  “Are you sure?” the Korean woman leaned toward the professor. “If you go to press with this, your own reputation will be on the line. You know how these things usually go. They will say you are jealous of his success, that you are trying to besmirch his name. If you could get a victim to speak, it would be better, but even then it is a big risk.”

  “I’ve reached out to everyone I can, but they won’t speak against him, for all the reasons you’ve stated. If I must be the voice, then so be it. The evidence I have to show is scientifically undeniable—”

  Before I had a chance to wonder what their conversation was about, the doors opened and the crowd surged into the ballroom. Heathcliff and I were swept along with the tide. No less than three women shot me filthy looks when my Docs crushed their dainty slippers.

  Heathcliff choose seats at the back of the room. I squinted at the stage, unable to read the words on the projector from this distance. I rose to move forward, but Lydia dragged a defeated-looking Morrie into our row and plonked down beside me. One of her new admirers trailed after her and took the seat on the end of our group. Now we were trapped. I sat back down.

  “May I introduce my new friend, David Winter,” Lydia said, arching her back so her cleavage jutted out into David’s field of vision. “David is a graduate student and personal assistant to the fine Professor Hathaway. He is also, I’ve been told, somewhat of a demon on the dance floor.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, David.” I reached out my hand to shake with him. My cheeks flushed as he turned my hand over, raised it to his lips, and offered a light kiss on top of my knuckles. He really was taking this Regency manners thing quite seriously. “What are you studying?”

  “History. My thesis is on currency and measurement in Regency England.” His face lit up, like the idea of looking at old coins was exciting or something. “I’m actually giving a lecture on the subject this afternoon, in Mansfield Park, if you’re interested in learning about the fascinating world of numismatics. That’s what we call the study of currency—”

  “Yes, yes.” Lydia waved her hand in front of his face. “While I’m sure that’s terribly fascinating, what Mina and I are really interested in is finding partners for the ball. I am a very accomplished dancer and need someone who can keep up, whereas Mina’s utter lack of grace and refinement will need to be tempered with an experienced partner, and her Heathcliff is not up to the task.”

  “That’s not true at all—” I started, but then my elbow knocked my purse off the end of my chair, and Lydia grinned at me in triumph.

  “You must reserve a set for me, Lydia.” David’s eyes wandered to the front of the room, where they rested on a slim, blonde figure chatting with some of the older academics off to the side of the stage. “However, I am sorry to tell Mina that I’m engaged for the
rest of the ball. I’ll be dancing most dances with Christina—”

  “But of course you are. Mina doesn’t care, do you, Mina? She doesn’t even know how to dance. Whereas I have been dancing practically since I could walk…” David nodded as Lydia prattled on, his eyes glued to the blonde’s head. He’s besotted. Whoever the blonde is, I hope for her sake she has a passing interest in currency.

  Beside me, Heathcliff leaned over. “Too bad you didn’t pack any chocolate-covered coins into your purse,” he whispered. “You’d be beating him off with a stick.” I broke down into giggles.

  Lydia frowned at Heathcliff’s sleeve. “What’s that on your cuff?”

  “Macaron crumbs?” Heathcliff dumped four slightly-smushed biscuits onto his lap. “Do you want one?”

  “I’d rather have my head gruesomely bashed in than eat something from your sleeve.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  I waved to Professor Carmichael as she strode past to sit down at the front of the room. The Korean woman she’d been speaking to settled into a seat directly in front of me. Her bold blue dress stood out amongst the pastel colors. She pulled out a rainbow-colored notepad and set up a dictaphone app on her phone. From the conversation I’d overheard earlier, I gathered she was no Hathaway superfan, so that left two possible options – academic or journalist.

  After a few moments, Cynthia stepped onto the stage and tapped the microphone to get everyone’s attention. “Welcome scholars and makers, ladies and gentlemen, Janeites and long-suffering partners, to the first annual Jane Austen Experience here at Baddesley Hall. I know you’re all excited to experience a fine home where Jane herself spent a magical Christmas with her friends. Here, she danced, and dined, and played the pianoforte after breakfast, although never in company—”

  A smattering of titters echoed through the hall. “That’s a reference to her niece Caroline Austen’s biography,” I overheard Mrs. Maitland two rows in front of us explain to her bonneted friend. “Jane was introduced to the piano at the Abbey school, aged nine. Caroline said, ‘Aunt Jane began her day with music, ‘tho she had no one to teach; was never induced to play in company; and none of her family cared much for it’.”