The Austen Playbook

by Lucy Parker

  “He told her, then?” Charlie asked in a low voice, nodding towards where Rupert stood, still looking out the window, his own shoulders held rigidly.

  “She worked it out for herself,” Griff said. “She’s not an idiot.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, the memory of her expression seared into his mind. His muscles were still tense with wanting to hold her. “Although she obviously thinks I treated her like one. I should have told her right away. She got the impression that I brought her father down here to decide alone how to handle the situation, without bothering to involve her at all.”

  Charlie puffed out his cheeks. “What a fucking mess, the whole thing.”

  Griff didn’t bother to corroborate; it was stating only a plain fact.

  At the window, Rupert suddenly turned. “I imagine,” he said coolly, “that I’m not going to play a very flattering role in this film of yours, when it goes into production.”

  Griff didn’t bother to soften his words. “Despite your deficiencies in that area, you’re Freddy’s father. It would devastate her to see your reputation destroyed, even if you did bring it on yourself. I seem to have made a good job of unintentionally hurting her, but I’d never actively do something that would harm her.” He leaned against the desk. “I gave serious consideration as to whether we ought to just let the truth stay buried, and work out with Charlie and Freddy some other way—any other way—to keep Highbrook.”

  He didn’t miss the sudden flare of hope in Rupert’s eyes, but Charlie added, with a quick, grateful look at Griff for that inclusion, “But as Griff said, he’s not acting alone in this, and I’m afraid I’m not quite so self-sacrificing where my home is concerned.”

  “And Freddy wouldn’t stand for it,” Griff said. “However guilty she feels about the impact on you, and however much she’s had to repress these past years to live up to your expectations, she’s such a fundamentally honest person. She might have been understandably tempted to keep quiet for about five seconds, but it would prey on her mind for the rest of her life that she knew the truth and had done nothing.” He held Rupert’s gaze, his own very direct. “And Freddy’s happiness is my priority.”

  A multiple of emotions cycled through Rupert’s expression as he held himself very still. At last, he seemed to steel his spine, in a way that exactly echoed the movement Freddy had made before she’d left, locking down her feelings because the show had to go on. “So, what do you suggest we do?”

  “As Freddy has as much right to be involved in this discussion as anyone else, I suggest we hold off making any final decisions until after the performance tonight.” Griff found himself walking over to the window and looking out, scanning the grounds. More chaos—Nick Davenport’s crew had arrived. Fuck, he couldn’t wait until this circus was over. Nick was posed under an umbrella, talking to Sadie Foster, probably trying to coax her into a better mood before the broadcast tonight. That was playing with fire; Griff had heard the roll of thunder a few minutes ago, and if lightning was imminent he wouldn’t advocate standing next to the she-devil while holding a metal stick.

  He finally located Freddy, already disappearing into the trees on her way back to the theatre. She was walking very quickly, and even from this distance her body language was furious.

  “Fortunately,” Charlie said behind him, “your daughter is not only honest, she’s also kind-hearted. And if she does take pity on my socially inept brother, this whole thing becomes a family affair. Therefore, when Freddy’s less distracted, I suggest we start by coming to an agreement where royalties past and future are concerned.”

  Turning, Griff lifted a brow. “A natural acumen for business after all?”

  “Just dusting off my qualifications before I put them to use working towards opening my workshop.” Charlie looked at Rupert. “I believe you’re not short of a bob or two, which is lucky, because I’m afraid you’re going to have to crack open the purse strings.”

  Rupert’s mouth compressed, but he moved his head to the side in a brief jerk of assent.

  “It’s not solely a financial matter,” Griff said grimly. “There’ll be legal repercussions. And the press will seize hold of this and tear us all to shreds if they can.”

  Charlie sat down on the edge of the desk. “Do you think there’s a risk of prosecution?”

  Rupert was turning progressively paler. Griff came over to the desk. “The plagiarism was perpetrated decades ago. As far as Henrietta is concerned, there’s nobody left to prosecute. And where you’re concerned...” His gaze on Rupert was very cool, but to his credit, the other man didn’t look away, despite how humiliating he had to be finding this situation. Having to put his fate in the hands of the enemy, so to speak. “For Freddy’s sake,” Griff said again, stressing the point, “I suggest we...skate over the small detail of exactly when you discovered the rightful playwright.”

  Rupert tightened his hands on his walking stick. “Not exactly honest.”

  “No. But if you’re prepared to make amends privately,” Griff said pointedly, “and Violet’s work is recognised, even this belatedly, then I don’t see the point of making the situation uglier than it has to be.”

  Rupert was silent for a moment, before he said, “I thought you’d want to throw me under the bus.”

  “Tempting. But—”

  “But family sticks together,” Charlie said, and Griff’s eyes locked with his brother’s.

  “Christ,” Rupert muttered. Then, standing up straighter, he said, “Regardless of how we release the truth—” his voice still sounded sour “—my family’s reputation is going to be put through the wringer.”

  Griff was prepared to do what he could for Rupert, but he was never going to like the man. “Then in the interests of pre-emptive damage control, we’ll have to make some shrewd decisions as to how we deliver this discovery to the media, and what angle we push. Because if it breaks in the wrong way, the fallout could be fucking disastrous.” Very faintly, his mouth lifted. “As your daughter would say, we’ll have to get our Slytherin on.”

  * * *

  To really cap off the shit turn to the day, the moment Freddy charged out of the house she bumped into Sadie. Their resident problem child was standing under the jutting eave that the myriad smokers in the company had commandeered, using her own break to have a cheeky cigarette. It was a terrible habit for anyone to pick up, and a disastrous one for actors who relied on their voice and stamina, but Sadie wasn’t demonstrating much care for her career in general today, so who was really surprised.

  “If it isn’t our femme fatale,” Sadie drawled, tapping a bit of ash from the end of the cigarette. With a peculiar little smile, she added, “Such a...worthy addition to your illustrious family,” and Freddy turned, in no mood to deal with her.

  “Careful. The act is slipping. You’re becoming more and more unconvincing as a human being. If you give the soulless, demonic bitch full rein, even Lionel Grimes will struggle to place you in work.”

  Sadie lowered the cigarette and lifted her eyes to Freddy’s face. There was a vivid light to her pupils. Freddy was surprised they weren’t glowing crimson. “I’d be careful what you say to me, Frederica.”

  “Why?” Freddy asked, with biting scorn, the latest wave of disillusionment still washing through her. Her caution about not falling out with a co-star this close to curtain went flying out into the rainy greyness. “Because you’ll slither around, hissing a few words of gossip about me and Drew Townseville? I don’t give a shit. You want to dig your claws into me instead of torturing Maya, who by the way, is so good in every respect that she makes you look like a talentless, immoral hack? Great. If it compensates for the fact that one day, nobody will even remember your name, because you’re so fucking heartless you give nothing to people, nothing that affects them, nothing they can hold on to—then do your worst.”

  That glint in Sadie’s eyes deepened. “Yes. Our saintly Ma
ya.” She looked Freddy up and down. “And I suppose you think your name will go down in the history books? Like your infamous grandmother?”

  Muscles all over Freddy’s body twitched simultaneously, and she couldn’t stop herself from an abrupt flinch.

  Sadie’s lip curled. It was the sort of smile that a spider might give upon spotting a fly caught in her web. “Do my worst? Do you know, I believe I will. And I think, poppet, you’ll find you do give a shit.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Showtime

  The rain this morning had been a mild drizzle compared to the downpour tonight. It fell in a hard rhythm against the theatre roof, and sound technicians stood around in corners with morose faces, muttering about acoustics. Freddy sat in a chair in one of the makeup rooms, with her feet wrapped around the rungs and a plastic bib protecting her old-fashioned stays and petticoats. She was trying to breathe slowly and keep still.

  Leo Magasiva, a makeup artist she’d worked with in the past, skilfully applied a contour shade under her chin. The makeup was lighter than usual, to adapt for the high-definition cameras that would be filming in close-up. “Am I tickling you?” he asked in his incredibly smooth, deep voice, reaching for a new brush. When he shook excess product from the bristles, his enormous biceps flexed. She’d forgotten how bloody huge he was, all heavily packed muscle and warm brown skin. He was a treat for the eyes, and she couldn’t even be bothered to have a good perv, because her heart and mind were otherwise occupied, twirling about in love with a prat. “You’re not usually this jumpy before an opening.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t sleep well.” Freddy made a renewed effort to keep still so he could start her eye makeup. It was a subtle art to make it look as if she was both well-rested and not wearing a scrap of cosmetics. Lydia might have run around with the militia, but she would have drawn the line at visible kohl liner. “It’s nice to see you again. It’s been a while. How’s your girlfriend? And your baby?”

  “A couple of troublemakers, the pair of them,” said the doting boyfriend and father. Then he winked at her. “Lights of my life.” Leo’s dark eyes had gone very soft, and it made Freddy’s heart hurt more for Griff.

  Because of Maf’s insistence on preparing until the last moment, she’d been in the theatre all afternoon, so she hadn’t seen him, or Charlie, or her father since this morning. She was still simmering over the fact he’d gone behind her back, but—She bit down on her lip, and Leo lightly nudged her with the balm he was trying to apply.

  Unlike her father, who’d lied by omission for his own ends, when it came down to it, Griff had acted the way he had to protect her.

  It was still infuriating, but as the day had progressed, it had been hard to maintain the level of mad.

  Unfortunately, she loved the acerbic, patronising dickhead to bits.

  An assistant stuck her head into the room. “Fifteen minutes,” she said, looking harassed, “and the interviews go live. Freddy, Maya, Sadie, we need you out there in ten.”

  Freddy looked around Leo’s wide torso and met Sadie’s eyes across the room. She was sitting cross-legged on a high stool, looking pretty and ringleted and impossibly sweet. Except for that scheming little tilt at the corner of her rosebud mouth.

  Mockingly, Sadie lifted two fingers to her temple and saluted Freddy.

  She disliked the other woman too much to ever be afraid of her—she wouldn’t give her the satisfaction—but an ominous, uneasy feeling settled low in her stomach.

  Her gaze shifted towards Maya, in another chair. She was in full costume already, and her fingers were in knots in her lap.

  “You’re creasing my base,” Leo murmured, and dabbed at Freddy with a sponge. “Cheer up. It’ll all be over before you know it.”

  She looked at Sadie and Maya again. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  When the transformation into Lydia was fully complete, she stowed her water bottle in her bag and checked her phone screen out of habit. A frown flickered between her brows. There was a text from Akiko, and every word just about hummed with guilt. Sabrina had pounced on her and extracted the full story about Henrietta and The Velvet Room. Apparently Sabs didn’t anticipate being on secret-sharing terms with Freddy any time soon.

  Out in the hallway, she ran into Charlie. He surveyed her and gave a token wolf-whistle, but his eyes searched hers. “How are you doing, sweet pea?”

  “I have a horrible, sinking feeling that this is going to be a total disaster.”

  “Jesus. You really are sounding more like Griff every day.”

  She bit her lip again, then rubbed at her teeth in case the faint tint of colour had rubbed off. “Where is Griff?”

  “Over at the main house, schmoozing Fiona Gallagher for you,” Charlie said, and she blinked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “This downpour has turned the west road into a muddy mire, and her car got stuck for almost half an hour. The lady was not in a mood to be impressed when she finally made it here, so Griff’s plying her with brandy that’s been in the basement since the days of Napoleon. That stuff warms you up from the gut upwards. One good gulp and all is right with the world. By the time the curtain rises, she’ll be ready to put you to work for the next decade.”

  A little smile broke through Freddy’s roiling apprehension. “Griff is schmoozing?”

  “I know. The mind boggles. If Lady Influence is pacified, I think we can thank the cognac rather than my brother’s dubious charm.” Charlie’s expression suddenly turned serious. “I don’t think there’s much he wouldn’t do for you, Freddy. And it’s keeping him from striding over here and forcibly demanding forgiveness, which would probably land him in the doghouse for weeks.” He tucked his hands into his pockets in a way that was very reminiscent of Griff, and that ache in Freddy deepened.

  Griff might be lacking in the charm department, but she wanted his matter-of-fact, reassuring, grouchy presence.

  “He’s trying,” Charlie said, and she lifted her head. “He’s had a lifetime of having to take charge and act alone. He’s not used to having someone else to turn to for advice and support.” He gave her a significant look. “And he’s sure as hell not used to...caring about someone the way he does about you. I’m sorry, but you’ve endeared yourself to a bloke who’s overprotective and overbearing by nature, and you’ll have to deal with the consequences. But he is trying. With all of us.”

  “I know,” Freddy said, quietly.

  Charlie cleared his throat. “He wouldn’t thank me for interfering, but Griff didn’t ask your father down here to do some sort of ‘all boys together’ plotting behind your back.”

  She stopped fiddling with the lace at her cuff. “What do you mean?”

  “I agree that he should have just told you upfront. I mean, mate.” Charlie shook his head. “My longest relationship was nine days, and even I know that you don’t keep shit from your bird. But he ordered Rupert down here and basically threatened to tie him to Ma and Pa’s miniature train tracks in the garden if he didn’t come clean to you right away. He didn’t want you tormenting yourself worrying how to break the news.”

  Freddy stared at him in silence, then made a frustrated sound and put her hands to her bonnet. “He’s a prat.”

  “Yep,” Charlie agreed. “But a well-intentioned prat.” He hesitated. “Look, if he knew I was telling you this, I’d be train fodder as well, but when Griff gave me a heads-up about the situation, he brought up the possibility that we just keep our mouths shut. Find another way to save Highbrook and let Henrietta keep her writing laurels forevermore. Because he didn’t want to do anything that would hurt you.”

  A rush of unexpected tears stung the backs of Freddy’s eyes, and she had to blink rapidly, fanning her lashes uselessly with her hands. She had a live interview in about four minutes’ time. But God—

  “We can’t just let it lie,” she said. “I thought for a s
econd that maybe I could. Should. But it’s morally wrong, what happened, and it needs to be put right. And I’m not going to be responsible for you all losing your home when there’s a chance to save it.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Charlie’s response was emphatic. He waggled a finger between their foreheads. “We’re like one mind, you and me.” He coughed delicately. “I admit I applied a little more weight to your second excellent point.”

  A small, slightly wet laugh bubbled from Freddy’s chest, and his smile turned affectionate. He studied her for a moment, and then unexpectedly, with no jokiness at all, he said, “Thanks, Freddy.”

  “For putting my foot down about Griff being too uncharacteristically noble for his own good?”

  “No.” Charlie put a hand behind her head and pressed a very fraternal kiss beneath the brim of her bonnet. “For giving me back my brother.” His smile turned crooked. “He’s actually seeing me again.”

  Freddy stood looking after him as he strode down the hall, her shaking hands tucked under her arms.

  “Two minutes, Freddy,” one of the stagehands called as she passed. The Henry was too old to have the electronic cue system that Freddy was used to in London, so it was down to old-fashioned dashing about and verbal warnings.

  She moved her fists to her hips, grounding herself. Impulse and instinct demanded that she fly out into the rain and throw herself into Griff’s arms, but she took her job seriously, and always had.

  And there was a lot riding on this performance.

  With three different TV crews in the house, she expected the stands to be unadulterated chaos, but everything seemed to be clicking over like well-oiled cogs.

  On the technical side, at least.

  Sabrina was standing stiffly next to Nick Davenport, and judging by her sister’s body language, in about five minutes’ time his head was going to be outside in the rain, detached from his body and mounted on a spike.