What Would Jane Austen Do?

by Laurie Brown

  “It’s quite all right,” Digby said to Alanbrooke. “I find the nuances of military service fascinating.”

  “You would get a firsthand view if you bought a commission,” the major suggested.

  “If only I could,” Digby said with a dramatic sigh. “But I have so many responsibilities. Now, if any of you gentlemen would consider marrying my sisters, I’d be free to don a uniform in time to get in on the action.”

  Shermont’s estimation of Digby’s character fell even further with his crass comment. Unfortunately, until he’d completed his mission, he couldn’t afford to alienate his host by giving him the set-down he so deserved. He turned his head away and spotted a bit of yellow muslin disappearing into the woods.

  “Not I,” Rockingham said. “Unlike the rest of you, I haven’t any family money expectations. I’m holding out for an heiress with at least five thousand pounds per annum.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Alanbrooke said. “I’m holding out for a female without an obnoxious brother.”

  After a moment of awkward silence, Shermont clapped Alanbrooke on the back and laughed. “Good one.”

  Then everyone joined in the laughter, and the tension dissipated.

  “I believe this is the point where I make a timely exit,” Shermont said. He bowed to the other gentlemen. “By your leave.”

  He headed toward the ruins where Miss Holcum, Miss Maxwell, Miss Hazel, and the two lieutenants had found seats among the large flat rocks and were in animated conversation. The rest of the clearing was deserted except for Mrs. Maxwell dozing in a chair and the servants busy at their tasks.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked the group seated on the rocks.

  “Oh, here and there,” Beatrix said.

  He nodded, even though he was sure she’d only kept track of Digby. None of the five had noticed anyone leaving. He announced he was going for a walk and set off at a leisurely pace. After making sure he wasn’t observed, he ducked into the woods and made his way to where he’d last seen Eleanor.

  Her tracks weren’t difficult to follow. What she was doing in the woods he found harder to fathom. At first he was sure she had headed for the ancient oak, taking the trail from the road and approaching the tree from the far side. Was she picking up or leaving a message? Then her trail wandered off in another direction—which was a relief. He found her handkerchief and tucked it in his pocket. She obviously was not an experienced country walker. Evidence pointed to her bumbling her way through difficult terrain when an easier path was nearby, but where she went he followed.

  He found her standing transfixed in a flower-filled meadow. The sight of her captivated him. He was content to gaze upon her, but the yellow flowers turned into butterflies that swirled around him and seemed to push him in her direction.

  “What a magical place,” she whispered in an awed voice. “I expect a unicorn or fairies to appear.”

  “What would the fairies be doing?” Shermont asked.

  “Waltzing with the butterflies,” she answered before thinking.

  Slowly she turned to face him.

  He made an elegant leg, bowing low and sweeping the air with his hat before tossing it aside. “May I have this dance?”

  A flight of butterflies swirled around them, casting a magic spell and urging them closer.

  To Eleanor it seemed the most natural response in the world to place her right hand in his and step into his arms—as if she belonged there. He held her gently, and their first steps together were tentative, formal. Then she stumbled on the uneven ground, and he caught her up close with an arm around her waist.

  As one, they waltzed around the field of clover to nature’s music, the breeze in the trees and the warble of a lone songbird. Neither spoke, afraid to break the enchantment of the moment. Slowly, imperceptibly, they came to a stop as the wind gradually subsided. Neither moved.

  He held her in his arms and never wanted to let her go. He placed her right hand over his heart. He traced the line of her jaw with his fingers and tipped her chin upward.

  The rapid beat of his heart throbbed beneath her palm, and her pulse echoed its rhythm. Breathless, she slid her hands across his shoulders to the back of his neck.

  Shermont wrapped both arms around her waist and tightened his embrace. He waited to read the “yes” in her eyes before he leaned forward. He stopped with his lips a breath away from hers. “I have wanted this every minute since the moment we first kissed,” he whispered.

  His kiss started gently, exploring the shape of her lips, breathing in her scent, tasting her.

  Eleanor gave in to her craving to run her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. The warm honey in her veins became lava, pooling in the pit of her stomach. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself to her tiptoes, pressing her breasts against his rock-hard chest, grinding her hips against the bulge she felt against her belly.

  Before her passionate response undid him completely, he thanked his lucky stars she was no inexperienced schoolgirl. Eleanor was all female. Her kiss demanded he give in to his raging desire. He ravaged her mouth, holding her tight against his body, trying to get closer … closer. Her mewls of pleasure egged him on. Groaning her name, he slid his hands down to cup her sweet bottom. He lifted her and could have sworn the minx tried to wrap her legs around his waist, until her clothing prevented further movement. He trailed kisses down her throat to the tops of her breasts, and she tipped her chin up and leaned back.

  Eleanor wanted more. She wanted naked skin against naked skin. She wanted to taste and lick and breathe in his essence. She wanted his delicious mouth on places currently inaccessible. She wanted to strip off her clothes along with his—if he couldn’t undress fast enough. She released his shoulders and placed her hands on his cheeks, raising his face so she could look him in the eye.

  “Put me down,” Eleanor said, her voice husky with need, her request a command and a promise.

  He gave her a cocky grin and set her back on her feet. He stepped back. “As you wish,” he said, but his amused tone implied that he was game. “What do you want me to do next?”

  Before she could describe any of the wicked fantasies that flashed through her brain in nanoseconds, she heard someone calling her name from not too far away. “Damn.”

  He raised both eyebrows.

  “Someone’s coming.”

  He cocked his head and recognized Digby’s voice. Yet one more reason he disliked the man. Shermont nodded in the direction of the calls. “He’ll be here in a minute. Two at the most.” Shermont cupped her face in his hands. “Promise you’ll meet me later.”

  “I’ll try,” she said.

  Her response was less than he’d wished to hear, but she left room for hope. He moved to block the coming man’s view of Eleanor.

  She straightened the neckline of her dress, picked up her dropped bonnet and plopped it on her head. “Am I a terrible mess?” she asked.

  When he looked she was nervously smoothing her skirt. Her bonnet was on crooked, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright, and her lips showed signs of being well kissed. And left wanting more. “You are lovely,” he said as he straightened the brim of her hat.

  She appreciated the sweet gesture. After all, he had to be as frustrated as she was. She ducked her head and had to turn away before she jumped into his arms and to hell with anyone who came upon them.

  Trying to regain her composure, she took several deep breaths and blew them out slowly to the count of ten. She quickly had reason to be thankful for Teddy’s calls as she noticed Deirdre, Mina, and Huxley crossing the meadow from the opposite direction with waves and wide smiles. How long had they been in the glade?

  “Aren’t they beautiful,” Mina said, twirling around in a circle with her arms held wide in the midst of the swirling butterflies.

  “Colias croceus of the Pieridae family, also known as the clouded yellow,” Huxley said. “This is apparently one of the sporadic mass migrations we refer to as C
louded Yellow Years.” The butterflies seemed as delighted with him as he was with them. They landed all over his coat, folding up their wings to show the greenish underside with the white dot before taking off again to join the merry dance of their friends.

  “We saw a few when we were looking for wildflowers and followed them here,” Deirdre said. “We knew Uncle Huxley would love to see them. He said they were attracted by the clover—”

  “Their favorite food,” Huxley interjected.

  “We know of a huge field of clover beyond that hill and just had to go see. The butterflies are even thicker over there.”

  “Millions,” Mina said. “So many you can hear them flapping their little wings.”

  “We should plan a trip to the coast,” Huxley said. “There are probably even more there. Maybe week after next.”

  “I thought butterflies only lived a day or two,” Eleanor said.

  “Migratory species live for six, eight, ten months, some even longer,” he explained. “How else could they fly hundreds, even thousands of miles?”

  “Do you want to go see the clover field?” Mina asked.

  Before Eleanor had a chance to answer, Teddy stomped up with a scowl. “What in the world possessed you two to wander off alone like that?”

  Although he spoke to his sisters, Eleanor had the strange feeling he was really talking about her and Shermont.

  Mina and Deirdre apologized immediately, cowering together.

  “If I can’t trust you at a simple picnic,” Teddy continued, building up a head of steam, “how can I take you to London?”

  “No, Teddy. Please don’t say that,” Deirdre begged.

  Eleanor could not stand it. She stepped between the girls and put her arms over their slumped shoulders. “It’s my fault. It was my idea, and I acted as their unofficial chaperone.”

  Teddy narrowed his eyes and looked at her as if he could see the imprint of Shermont’s lips upon hers.

  “Their welfare is my responsibility, and therefore my decision is all that counts. You are not an appropriate choice of chaperone—”

  “But I am.” Huxley stepped forward with his arms folded, challenging Teddy to deny him.

  “This is not the Dark Ages,” Eleanor said. “They have every right to make decisions for themselves.” She chucked them on the shoulders. “Come on. Stand up for yourselves.”

  Teddy flashed Eleanor an indulgent smile. “That may work well and good for a widow and an American. After all, what are your prospects? But I entreat you not to spout bluestocking rhetoric within my sisters’ earshot. I’ll have enough of a problem finding husbands for them as it is.”

  Shermont stepped forward. “Oh, I doubt that. I think they’ll be the toast of the next season.” He bowed to the girls.

  Eleanor threw him mental kisses. Lordy, lordy, she could just eat that man up. He looked at her as if he heard her thoughts and smiled.

  Apparently, Teddy realized he couldn’t win the argument against such odds. “I guess we’ll see about that.” He turned on his heel. “Come along, Deirdre, Mina,” he called over his shoulder without looking back.

  The girls hesitated only a few moments before scurrying after their brother.

  “At least they thought about it for a second or two before giving in to him,” Huxley said. “A small step in the right direction.”

  “There will be more steps,” Eleanor said. “They’re bright girls.”

  Huxley nodded. “The daughters I never had.” He offered Eleanor his arm.

  As Shermont followed behind them, an unexpected thought slammed into his brain. Where did Eleanor learn to waltz? The dance was only done on the continent and had not been deemed acceptable in London. And yet she’d brought it up and had not hesitated for a step. Did they waltz in America? He didn’t think so. Did that mean she’d been to Paris?

  Of course, it also begged the question: where had he learned to waltz? He rubbed his forehead. As with so many unanswered questions, he was forced to accept that he might never know the truth.

  Was Eleanor an agent for the French? That was the question he needed to answer. And soon … before he became even more spellbound by her unique magic.

  They returned to the picnic area, and everyone gathered at the tables. Eleanor hoped for a chair next to Shermont’s, but Deirdre and Patience had already assigned seats. Throughout the picnic lunch served by footmen on elegant china, Shermont flattered and charmed all the women, all except her.

  At the end of the meal, she drew Mrs. Holcum aside and was directed over the hill to where the servants had set up facilities for the gentlewomen. Behind sheets draped in a large square, a chair, washstand, and dressing table had been arranged. A maid provided hot water and clean hand towels.

  Eleanor was glad to have a few moments alone. She didn’t know what to make of Shermont’s hot and cold alternating attitude. One explanation was that he lusted after her, but didn’t actually like her. Unable to cope with that dichotomy, he chose to ignore her until his passions could no longer be denied. Or it could be the good girl vs. bad girl mentality. For Regency men the concept was black and white, angel or temptress. A woman could not be both. Neither theory about Shermont’s behavior was a flattering explanation. Her only course was to ignore him in return.

  She returned to the group and participated in the conversation and games until time to leave. Thankfully, Major Alanbrooke was an attentive friend who raised her spirits, which helped to restore her equilibrium. The trip back was dominated by talk of the play.

  Chapter Nine

  When Shermont returned from the picnic at one o’clock, his valet waited impatiently with news. In spite of instructions to stay inside and nurse the cold he’d caught after the night in the rain and the mad ride to town, Carl had slipped out and checked the tree. He’d found a note.

  “You were right,” he said to Shermont in a begrudging tone. “The note referred to the article in the paper about the capturing of Napoleon’s agent and said they would have to discontinue operations and leave immediately.”

  “Let me see the note.”

  “I left it, so they wouldn’t know their secret spot had been discovered.”

  “Probably a wise move.” Shermont leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Tell me everything you can remember.”

  “No salutation. Female hand. Written on house stationery.”

  That didn’t help. House stationery was left in every room in case the guest had not brought his or her own. That meant every female in the house was suspect. Even the servants had access, though most were likely illiterate. “Perfume?”

  “I think so, but to be honest, with this stuffy head I can’t say for sure.”

  Shermont jumped up. “I have to see that note myself.” Perhaps he could identify the perfume and that would either clear Eleanor or seal her fate. He found himself hoping for the former. Eleanor was intelligent and beautiful, and the same qualities that made her attractive also suited her to espionage, the work he dreaded she might be doing. He was torn between his attraction to her and his mission. Either way, he had to know.

  He couldn’t sneak out in broad daylight, so he simply walked out the door and down the drive as if going for a stroll. Once beyond the sight of anyone at the house, he left the road and cut through the woods. At the old oak tree he found a different note. In bold strokes the writer reassured the receiver. There is no imminent threat. Remain steadfast. We leave as scheduled. Same paper. Second writer.

  He now knew there were at least two persons plus the courier, and they intended to escape, probably soon if plans were already made. He returned to the house determined to catch the agents before that happened. And before he fell in love with one.

  He decided to take a role in the play, the better to keep an eye on Eleanor. He found Digby in the ballroom checking on the construction of a rudimentary stage by several footmen and what appeared to be several gardeners.

  “I’m willing to take a role in your play,” he said,
gritting his teeth and forcing a smile. He’d already heard a good portion, and there was nothing he wanted less than to get up on a stage and emote the inane, self-aggrandizing lines Digby had penned.

  “I knew you would come around,” Digby said with a satisfied grin. “I’m just on my way to hand out the parts now.”

  Shermont joined Digby on his way to the parlor, where most of the guests waited to receive their assigned roles. As soon as they entered, Digby called for everyone’s attention.

  “I have here …” He paused for dramatic effect and raised a sheaf of papers. “Your parts for tonight’s play.”

  Everyone cheered.

  “But before I hand them out …”

  Everyone groaned.

  “I want to explain how this is going to be staged. Due to the short time available, we didn’t have time to copy a complete script for each person, so these papers contain an explanation of the story, facts for your character, and only a few key lines to memorize.”

  Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

  “The rest of the lines you’ll make up as we go along.” Digby passed out a paper to each young person.

  “What if I can’t think of anything to say?” Beatrix asked as she took her page with a shaking hand.

  “As long as you say those few lines I’ve given you that are crucial to the progress of the story, everything will be fine.” Digby walked by her without apparent concern for her distress and went on to the next person.

  Shermont hoped she wouldn’t swoon. The poor girl was probably only doing this to please her supposed fiancé, who didn’t act as though he was her intended. “It won’t be as difficult as you imagine,” he reassured her. “We’ll all help one another.”

  Beatrix flashed him a grateful smile.

  Shermont looked at his assigned part and stifled a guffaw. A pirate?

  “What’s all this?” Deirdre asked, thumbing her sheaf of pages. “I can’t memorize all—”

  “You will be able to read your lines. As the narrator you’ll stand to the side of the stage, like the Greek chorus did in ancient times. Your lines will bridge the story action, and you can fill in the gap if someone forgets a line.”