The Austen Escape

by Katherine Reay

  “Gertrude would die if she knew I had you working.”

  “Don’t tell her. I love this stuff.” I laid down the pliers as a knock drew our attention to the door.

  Nathan peeked in. “I’ve been searching for you . . . Hey, Sonia.”

  “Hello, Mr. Hillam.” Sonia fitted the last candle into place.

  “Tilney now.” He leaned across the table on his elbows to her. “You can call me Henry, but only in private. I wouldn’t want Mrs. Jennings to hear you, because despite what you may hope, Sonia, we can’t marry. I have to go back to America someday.”

  Sonia giggled, hoisted the candelabra high, and left us.

  “You are such a flirt.” I twisted the last wire and reseated the lamp’s neck.

  “As if you ever noticed.” Nathan circled the table and climbed onto the stool next to me. He pulled the cord on the lamp I’d already fixed. On. Off. On. Off. “This is some room. What do you say we bring Isabel in here, show her all the tech, and wake her up? Turn on all the screens? Show her YouTube?”

  “I don’t think it works that way.” I twisted the lamp’s neck into place and continued to my real questions. “Did I really miss something? You flirted with me?”

  “When I first arrived at WATT, yes. It was highly unprofessional, but I couldn’t help myself. You never noticed. I figured you had a boyfriend. That was an easier blow to the ego than you didn’t like me.”

  “Like you!” My exclamation surprised us both.

  “You have resurrected my ego.” Nathan’s face split into a broad grin. “What was it then? Your focus was definitely elsewhere.”

  I almost quipped that he’d been too subtle, that it hadn’t been my fault. But Moira closed my mouth before I opened it. Everyone can see the way he looks at you. Why do you give him the Heisman every day? Instead I offered him a clueless head shake—it was all I had.

  Nathan laid a palm on my closed computer. “Do you have more work you need to do?”

  “Just a couple e-mails I need to send. I was using the lamps to work out answers to a few of Benson’s questions, but I can send them later.” I placed the harp into its sockets and spun on the finial.

  “Send them now. I’m in no rush.” Nathan pushed away from the table and flopped into the armchair. He grabbed the book resting on its side table. “I’ll wait for you.” He twisted the book to see the spine. “Of course. Pride and Prejudice.”

  “I think they have one in every room.”

  “And why not? It’s a manual for life—setting right pride, prejudice, misconceptions, and self-illusions. Also some good fun. Right now I’m going to take my cue from Caroline Bingley and sit here and admire you while I pretend to read.”

  I blinked; he laughed.

  “Well, go on . . . Get to work.”

  I opened my computer and got to work. Although I was focused on Benson’s questions, I was also acutely aware of Nathan. He filled the room. I felt him lean back and I heard the book’s spine creak upon opening.

  The silence smoothed out until I came to a marketing question.

  “Hey . . . TCG.” I looked up and instantly regretted using Isabel’s nickname.

  Nathan’s eyes remained fixed on the book, but they took on a hard quality, then within the same heartbeat, a hurt one. He cleared it as his gaze met mine.

  “I . . . I have a marketing question for you.”

  “Shoot . . . But you must know what those letters mean.”

  “Tall Consultant Guy.”

  He dropped his head as if disappointed by my dishonesty. “I’m not an idiot, Mary, and by your expression, you know the truth too. TCG. Third. Choice. Guy.”

  “That’s why you said that earlier. Third. How’d you find out? And if you knew . . . why’d you continue to go out with her? Why for six—” I left the question hanging, as I didn’t know how to end it.

  Nathan laid the book in his lap. “She was talking to Tiffany about someone being a first choice guy. Then I caught my picture with the initials on her contacts list one day. It wasn’t hard to put it together. As for your other question, it was never serious. It was more to keep either of us from being odd man out with all the couples we knew. And she was persistent; she kept calling.” He gestured to me. “I get why now. But why did I keep saying yes? I—” He folded his lips in. “Total honesty here? It was probably ego. An attempt to prove I was more. No one wants to be third choice, even if they couldn’t care less about being any choice.”

  “I shouldn’t have asked you to come.” I rested my elbows on the table, head in hands. I recalled Nathan’s stories from earlier. His grandfather was right. How people treat you is more about themselves than about you. Nathan and Isabel were more about Isabel, or even about Isabel and me, than anything else. Me and Nathan? I’d wanted help, I’d wanted to confront Isabel, I’d wanted . . . I looked up at him. Nathan. I’d wanted Nathan. And now he was here, smack between me and Isabel, and he was hurt and it was my fault. I’d made it about me. I raised my head. “I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t ask, remember? I kinda forced it on you.”

  “You did.” I couldn’t offer a smile. He gave me one anyway.

  Nathan pushed out of the armchair and joined me at the table. He leaned against the side directly across from me and, elbows to table, our heads were about twelve inches apart.

  “The minute I heard your voice . . . I didn’t come for Isabel, Mary. I came for you. And her nickname doesn’t hurt me. I couldn’t care less about it—as long as you don’t think of me like that.”

  Nathan narrowed his eyes. They held that intensity I’d questioned earlier, the one I’d hoped was for me, but wasn’t sure about. This time I felt sure. This time I couldn’t look away.

  “I don’t think of you like that.”

  Chapter 20

  After dinner I stood at the edge of the ballroom again. The staff had hung a garland of greenery across the two mantels. Candles filled the room with light and warmth.

  The night before, Isabel had pulled me to the piano so quickly I hadn’t taken it in. Tonight I let my eyes trail through the entire room. The walls were paneled in a pale wood up to about fifteen feet. After two feet of layered and detailed molding, they continued for another ten. This upper section was painted an extraordinary gold color, layered with a green patina. In the candlelight it looked like oxidized copper. There were furniture arrangements tucked close to the two fireplaces, and the rest of the floor space was bare. No carpets covered the beautiful interlacing wood design that spread like octagons bisected and laid across the length of the room.

  Along one wall the staff had laid out a selection of petit fours, chocolates, and cheeses on one table, and wines and crystal decanters of spirits on another. Coffee and tea sat on a third.

  I watched Isabel twirl Clara. She was teaching her the steps to another Regency-era line dance, and Clara hung on her every word. There was no music, but it didn’t matter. Isabel had been waiting for this moment all day.

  When I had returned to our room after losing two games of bowls to Nathan and another we’d both lost to Aaron, I’d found Isabel fast asleep. I nudged her awake.

  “Gertrude invited everyone to the front parlor early tonight for a welcome celebration for Nathan. Then there’s to be dancing. Official stuff, not impromptu like last night. Do you want to get up now? It’s probably time to dress.”

  “Oh . . . Yes . . . Did I sleep all afternoon?” She’d stretched and sat up against the headboard, then wrapped her arms around her knees. “Gertrude promised a proper party tonight. Do you think Nathan likes dancing?”

  I paraphrased the next line for her—it was too easy. “And to be fond of dancing is a certain step towards falling in love?” I studied her. “With you?” I cringed at my need for clarification or reassurance, maybe both.

  Rather than give me either, she gamboled off her bed and opened her wardrobe. “What are you wearing tonight?”

  From there the conversation had turned to dresses and dancing.
It didn’t return to Nathan, and I didn’t press further. At some point when she remembered, we would talk. Until then, it felt like recess and I wanted to play.

  Now I watched Isabel spin Clara again. She caught my eye and smiled. I smiled back, but did not move from my place against the wall. She maneuvered the little girl my direction and stretched out to whisper to me, “I was right about the blue.”

  She had insisted I wear blue this evening. Standing in the bathroom, I’d shoved the dress back to her, saying, “It’s your color. You like the way it makes your eyes pop. You even have a theory that it makes your teeth look whiter. And—” I couldn’t stop myself. “Nathan knows blue is your color. I’ll look silly in it.”

  She laughed and pushed the dress back into my hands. “No one can claim a whole color, Mary. That’s ridiculous. You’ll be the most glamorous woman at dinner tonight.”

  “But—” I stopped there. There was no kind way to say, But you never let anyone outshine you. And I didn’t want to say it. If she was open to something new, I was too.

  I plucked the skirt of my dress. It caught the light, billowed, and drifted back against my body. It had been gorgeous in the bathroom and was stunning here. The kind of dress Cinderella might wear—at the ball, not before. The small pearls and blue glass beads sewn into the bodice, circling the sleeves, and covering a full three inches of the hem shimmered like dark diamonds. Unlike Isabel’s cream dress that floated about her, mine swished. It didn’t just look beautiful. It sounded beautiful.

  Nathan leaned against the wall next to me. I wondered if my dress and his coat had been commissioned for a couple—the colors paired perfectly.

  “Are you playing wallflower?” He gently crashed against my shoulder. I swayed and stepped to keep my balance. “You look extraordinary tonight, by the way. You walked away earlier before I could tell you that.”

  “Thank you.” I glanced over. “You’re kinda cute yourself.”

  Across Nathan, my eyes landed on Helene. She sat only a few feet away and was clearly eavesdropping. She had the most implausibly innocent expression fixed upon her face. I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

  Nathan noticed her too. “Mrs. Jennings.” He pushed off the wall to stand before her. He offered me a sly smile, then turned again to Helene. “Mrs. Jennings, I have news that might interest you . . . I invited a friend to join us this evening. Lieutenant Chessman is on leave and is an eligible handsome man.” He cast his focus to Isabel and Clara. “I don’t think any young lady here would be throwing herself away by consenting to a dance or two.”

  “You are a delight.” Helene stood and tugged at Nathan’s arm, bringing his head a foot lower and on level with her own. She kissed his cheek then wiped away the lipstick with her gloved fingers. She looked with purpose beyond us. “I feel our Emma should lead the first with him.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Nathan directed his three slow words to me.

  “With whom will you dance?” Helene thwapped him with her fan.

  “Miss Morland, if she’ll have me.” He offered us a neat bow, then added, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make sure Lieutenant Chessman knows his duty for this evening.”

  Helene patted the cushion next to her, and I joined her on the love seat. “Your young man is truly divine.”

  I laughed and started to protest, then stopped. Whether he was “my young man” or not, I wanted him to be. “Thank you. I think so too.”

  Helene sank against the cushions. Her face fell as if she’d remembered something exhausting or unpleasant.

  “Mrs. Jennings?”

  “Austen had it right.” Helene rested her head against the back of the love seat. Her fluffy white hair squished against her head. “She focused on the promising young people because they had change and life ahead of them. The rest of us? It has passed us by.” She cast her gaze out to the floor. “I feel that now. It’s a joy to watch you, but I’ve fooled myself into thinking I’m not near the end of my story. It almost makes me wonder, what am I doing here?”

  “You’re celebrating your anniversary.” I squeezed Helene’s hand. Devoid of diamonds tonight, it rested in her lap. “Why don’t you and Herman switch characters to the Gardiners from Pride and Prejudice or the Crofts from Persuasion?”

  Helene’s eyes widened as if I’d missed the point of anything she’d been thinking or saying. “Why?”

  “Because you’re right, Austen favors youth. But she has those two wonderful older couples, who love each other. Austen is very complimentary to them.” I watched Herman join the group in the center. “They are what all we ‘promising young people’ hope to become.”

  “Thank you. That’s a lovely compliment, and suggestion.” Helene squeezed my hand. “You might want to take your own advice and change characters as well.”

  Before I could ask what she meant, she pointed to the central group. “Look at them.” Nathan was now waltzing with Clara. “They are so eager, but Gertrude said the music won’t begin for at least another half hour.”

  Isabel caught us staring and waved me to her. As I crossed the floor, she headed to the piano. I met her midway. “Will you come play for us? I heard the man practicing during lunch, and you are much more accomplished.”

  “Until he arrives.” I dropped onto the bench and sorted the music. Someone had been practicing. New sheet music was stacked over what I had played the night before.

  Isabel leaned over me. “I told Gertrude not to bother with that man. You are by far the superior pianist and you like playing.” She bit her lip. “That was okay, right? You don’t dance. You never do. I thought you’d enjoy playing tonight.”

  I don’t dance? I never do?

  “Why would you think I don’t dance?”

  Isabel’s fingers fluttered at her neck. “But last night . . . I thought . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m happy to play.” I looked to Nathan, who was dancing with Clara. The little girl kept stumbling over his feet every time he pulled her in.

  I ran my hands over the piano—a Bösendorfer with curlicue decorations and detailing that signaled it was old, rare, and, by its condition, well loved, in the best sense. As much as I wanted to test the theory that dancing was a certain step to falling in love, playing this instrument was an honor.

  I positioned my hands when another thought grabbed me. “Isabel, with whom are you going to dance?” Emma had taught me the significance of the first dance and partner. Mrs. Jennings had reminded me. Nathan had lined up Grant for her, but again . . . What was she thinking? Where would her instincts lead her?

  “I had hoped Grant.” She looked back to him just as his gaze met hers. “I thought he was going to ask me, but he didn’t.”

  She walked toward him as if pulled.

  And I began one of Mozart’s Contradances.

  “Another surprise.” Nathan appeared beside me.

  I kept my eyes on the music. “When I say ‘now,’ will you flip the page for me?”

  “Of course.” He dropped beside me. “I had no idea you played the piano, and certainly not like this.”

  “Now.” I tossed him a thank-you smile and played on.

  I glanced up and noted that Aaron and Sylvia had joined Grant and Isabel. Clara, too, as she danced between her parents. Isabel called directions, and the couples ducked under each other and stepped their circles. They laughed more when the steps worked than when they missed and muddled in the middle.

  Herman and Helene joined for the first few, then, glancing up during my fourth piece, I saw them retreat to the love seat. They sat with tilted heads as if sharing unspoken opinions and secrets, a silent communication born of sixty years of marriage. The Crofts.

  It was during my sixth piece, a waltz, that I noticed the couples dancing in more complete union. Isabel didn’t call a single instruction. Her partner absorbed her attention. She was more than radiant—she glowed.

  At the waltz’s end, the Lottes called good night and gently pulled Clara off to b
ed. I shifted my fingers on the keyboard to begin “Brahms’ Lullaby.” It was the perfect denouement to the evening. It was the first song my mom ever asked me to learn, and eighteen years later it never failed to take me back to that feeling of awe and love.

  A note of sadness swept through me. Something had been missing and its absence only felt with its return. Nature abhors a vacuum and will fill it—but you must create an opening. Music was that opening. It felt as if the universe was expanding right before me, in a ballroom in Bath, England.

  And I was diminishing—as one should before the size and unending grandeur of the universe. It wasn’t that I was smaller or less significant; it simply felt like I didn’t need to fight for a place within it or for my own protection. I simply was, and that was enough.

  I glanced up. Isabel and Grant were the last in the ballroom. Even the staff had disappeared. Isabel sent me a smile and a wave, then returned her attention to Grant, who held her arm on a rigid ninety-degree angle within his own, a perfect Regency gentleman or a modern military officer. The only flutter in his stiff facade came as he laid his other hand over hers. She tucked closer as he led her out of the room.

  Where was Nathan? I’d felt him step away during the final waltz, but I’d thought he was in the room somewhere. I scanned corner to corner and felt my body wilt with the song’s last notes.

  “When I was really little, like two, I had a glow-in-the-dark mobile with animals that played that tune. Elephants. Giraffes. Lions. All twirling.”

  I twisted on the bench. “Where did you go?”

  “I wanted to make myself scarce for a minute or two.” A smile played on his lips. It tilted up at one corner as he dropped once more onto the bench next to me. “I didn’t want to sit around talking to those two all night, and I doubt it would interest them either. I’d rather be with you, alone.”

  My delight came out in a burst of song.

  He laughed aloud. “‘Home on the Range’?”