The Jane Austen Marriage Manual

by Kim Izzo

  “I can’t believe it.” I giggled. “Am I the only one who didn’t know?”

  “It seems that way,” he said. “That was the secret I asked Scott to keep. And obviously he’s a man of his word.”

  “Oh, fuck,” I swore, suddenly horrified. “I said you were gay!”

  “I know,” he said wryly.

  “Well, we both know that rumor didn’t catch on,” I said. “I still can’t believe it. Not even Clive or Emma said a thing. Wait until Fawn finds out.”

  “Yes, Fawn may approve of me now.”

  I smiled. No doubt he was right about that; a real aristocrat would make her bend the rules a bit.

  “Though I don’t fit into your scheme. You see, the Saunderson family may own Penwick, but we are without a fortune. Quite nearly broke, I’m afraid. When my father died I inherited the title and Penwick and all its debt. My younger brother works in the City, and my sister is a jewelry designer. I run this place as a tourist trap.”

  I was stunned. “You must do well hosting weddings and things,” I said hopefully.

  He shook his head. “We manage to make ends meet, but you’ve seen the state of things. Penwick needs to make much more money to maintain it, never mind renovate it.”

  “So all this time when I’ve been pretending to have money and pass myself off as Lady Kate, you’ve pretended not to be Earl of Penwick?”

  “People treat you differently when you have a title,” he said with a smile. “I never much cared for special treatment. And just so you know, one of the keys to behaving like you’re from old money is never to talk about money.”

  “Gotcha,” I said and felt my face flush. “Were you afraid I’d chase after you if I knew who you were?” I asked, knowing the answer.

  “Yes, and for all the wrong reasons,” he admitted. “I didn’t want it to be because you thought I was rich, which I’m not.”

  I nodded. Thinking, sadly, he had a point. I looked down at my dress, at the hole in the skirt, and a wave of sadness hit me again. He saw my expression and put his hand over mine.

  “Doris might be able to mend it,” he said softly and studied me as if I were a painting. “She’s a wonder at invisible mending.”

  I sat quietly, still fingering the hole, remembering when I’d bought the dress and all the years it had hung unworn in my closet. Strange, it was one of the longest relationships I’d ever had.

  “Tell me about your dress,” he said gently.

  “My grandmother bought it for me,” I began. “She died a few months ago.” I drew in a deep breath, feeling another crying fit coming on. “She was like a mother to me. I miss her.”

  And cry I did, and through my tears I told Griff everything, including how my mother’s gambling had cost me my home. He listened and when I was done he brought me a box of tissues. I blew my nose and wiped my eyes. I was sure I looked frightful.

  “So, that’s why you’re marrying Scott?” he asked. “It wasn’t just a lark.”

  I nodded.

  “You’re grief stricken,” he said sympathetically. “Now I understand.”

  “Why does everyone say that?” I snapped, fed up with everyone telling me why I felt as I did.

  “Because it’s true,” he explained. “It’s not a sign of weakness, you know. Losing the person you loved most in the world isn’t a cold that works through your system.”

  “I just want to feel normal again,” I said simply. “I want to be happy.”

  As if that were a cue, Griff took my hand and pulled me up out of the chair toward him. I closed my eyes and felt his soft but firm lips on mine and we kissed, a lot, and I didn’t try to stop him. As our kissing became more and more passionate he lifted me up and pinned me against the bookcase. I opened my eyes briefly; we were smack up against the entire volume of Jane Austen’s first editions. I giggled and kissed him harder.

  Then suddenly, he stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “We should break the news to Scott that you’re not marrying him,” he said.

  “I’m not?” I answered and pushed myself free.

  “Kate,” Griff said with a smile. “It’s obvious; we’re in love.”

  I was stunned that the words came so easily to him. “In love?” I repeated, astounded.

  He looked at me, puzzled and disappointed. “Are you saying you don’t feel the same way?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. The overwhelming thing I felt was confusion. “I’ve avoided you for months. Half the time we seem to dislike each other, the other half—”

  “That is true,” he admitted and reached out to touch me but I pulled away.

  “The wedding, the guests,” I stammered. “It’s too much.”

  “You can’t stand there and suggest you’re going to marry him tomorrow?”

  I stood stock still. I didn’t know what I was doing, or feeling. The conflict welled up so vehemently I wanted to scream. Somewhere deep down my intuition was searching for its voice but the struggle against the months of single-minded plotting ensured it remained silent.

  “I’ve come this far.”

  “Kate, I’ve seen boatloads of gold-digging women in my time. I’ve even had a few take a swipe at me just to get their hands on my title,” he said bluntly. “You’re not one of them.”

  “Are you so sure about that?” I spoke in a strained voice. “You don’t understand what marrying Scott means to me. You couldn’t, you have Penwick; even if you’re not rich, you’ve grown up knowing who you are, who your family is, and knowing that no matter what, this is your home.

  “Marrying for money isn’t all about buying things, Griff. You know what having money means? Independence. When I’m rich I don’t have to rely on anyone for anything. Who cares if Scott divorces me in a year? I’ll be free and able to live how I want and no one will be able to hurt me again.”

  He recoiled at my words. “There’s nothing wrong with relying on people,” he argued. “You can rely on me, on your friends, your family …”

  “Family? You mean my father who ran off, or my mother who gambled away my home? No thank you, I’ll rely on me. I have to go,” I said firmly. “Scott will be wondering where I am. I owe him an apology.”

  “You’re not who I thought you were,” Griff said sadly.

  “Tonight I’m Lady Kate,” I answered. “Tomorrow I’ll be Kate Madewell.”

  Not waiting for a response, I walked out and closed the heavy door behind me as though it were a secret passage to a place that didn’t exist in the real world, or at least not in mine.

  I should have raced around Penwick desperately seeking Scott but that’s not what happened. It was as though the hole in my dress had released months of pent-up emotions, and the realization of what I was doing and Griff’s words had shaken me to the core. I was in no condition to see Scott. What I needed was time alone to think things through. Slowly I climbed the staircase, then inched along the hall, dragging my feet to my room. Once locked safely behind its door, I perched on top of the window seat and sat there, staring blankly at the damask curtains. When some time had passed, and no right answer had come, I couldn’t delay any longer and I called him. Within seconds I heard the familiar cell phone ring and peered through the curtains and down onto the terrace, where we were to be married. There was Scott, standing alone as he reached into his pocket.

  “Where are you?” he said grimly, staring off into the dark woods.

  “I’m in my room,” I answered and gazed down at him. He made for a lonely figure, stranded on the stone slabs, whispering into the night air. “I’m so sorry. I wish I had a better explanation, but the champagne, the crowd, my dress, I just had a meltdown.” He stood breathing into the phone, completely unaware he was being watched and paced back and forth as if contemplating jumping off the terrace, which was ridiculous since the stone steps were probably less than two feet high. I waited, wanting him to get angry, waiting for the wrath I deserved. But instead, he was calm.

  �
�Are you all right now?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Can you forgive me?” I responded warily, feeling the tears that had vanished for months return all too easily tonight. “I still want to marry you.” I thought my voice sounded unconvincing and again, I watched for his reaction.

  “Okay then,” he said. “Do you want me to come see you now?”

  Relief swept over me and I forced a smile; even though he couldn’t see it, I wanted him to sense it. “No, that can’t happen. It’s after midnight and it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”

  “Kate, don’t be superstitious,” he said.

  I flinched a little. I needed to take advantage of superstitions, no matter how I hated them.

  “I’m not superstitious, I just want tomorrow to be perfect,” I pleaded and traced his silhouette on the glass with my finger. Before he answered, a shadow crept across the terrace and he turned and extended his hand toward it. Like a panther on the hunt, Tatiana strolled sinuously across the stone. She took his hand and in one stride she was in his arms and stroking his face as though he were a wounded child. I couldn’t pry my eyes away, yet as I watched I only felt numb where jealous rage should be.

  “I’ll see you at the altar,” I said coolly.

  He hung up without another word. I stared down at them as they strolled away like lovers and returned into the belly of the house. If I listened carefully I would probably hear their footsteps coming to his room. I went to the door and pressed my ear on the keyhole like a vaudevillian actor in a detective skit. And there they were, faint footsteps marching toward my door. I braced myself, expecting the thump of Scott’s size-thirteen brogues, followed by the patter of Tatiana’s paws, I mean platforms, to pass swiftly by, when there was a bang on my door. I leapt upright.

  “Kate? Are you there?”

  It was Marianne. I took a deep breath and opened the door a crack. Marianne, Fawn, Emma, and the others were gathered outside my room.

  “Are you okay? We were worried sick,” Fawn said breathlessly.

  Seeing their alarmed faces, I softened my lips into a smile. “Look, I had my freakout. I’m fine now. But what I really need is my beauty sleep.”

  “Have you seen Scott?” Fawn asked, I thought with a hint of suspicion. “Is he here with you?”

  “He’s in his room,” I said dismissively, half expecting him and Tatiana to hoof it by us any moment. “We made up. The wedding is still on but I’m going to bed. Good night and I’m sorry you were all so worried.”

  I shut the door on their anxious faces and raced over to the window in case Scott had returned, but the terrace was as empty as a vacant parking lot. I hoped none of my friends would find them together. A few moments later I heard another set of footsteps and ran to the keyhole in time to see Scott walking alone to his room, turn his key, and close the door behind him. He must have put Tatiana into a cab. With bewildered relief, I flopped on my bed and stared up at the ceiling in the dark. It was going to be a long night.

  35.

  Family Fortune

  But when a young lady is to be a heroine … Something must and will happen to throw a hero in her way.

  —Northanger Abbey

  The first time I encountered heartbreak was the night my father left. I was four and have only the slightest memory of Iris’s hysteric wails in the darkness as my grandmother tried to soothe me to sleep. The second, I remember more vividly. It was after Ann’s first boyfriend broke up with her. It was late and far beyond the bedtime of a twelve-year-old like me, but as I soon discovered there is nothing quiet or still about a teenage girl’s broken heart. When Ann came home, sobbing, stomping, and slamming about, she woke us all. Bleary-eyed, I wandered into the living room and sat on the floor as Nana and Iris consoled Ann and railed against the injustice of her being dumped.

  “Peter is a fool to listen to his parents,” Nana said critically. “You’re every bit as good as they are.”

  As Ann cried, the story flowed with the tears; Peter had been told to break up with her because his family didn’t approve of the relationship. His father was a very successful real estate developer who owned shopping malls and condo towers and preferred his son to date girls from the local private school.

  As I listened, half-asleep, to the drama unfold, it never occurred to me that Ann would probably have her heart broken many more times in the course of her life. All the fuss convinced me that this was a once in a lifetime event.

  But that night stood out for another reason. Ignoring me as I slumped on the floor, my head on a sofa cushion, my grandmother told Ann about a man named Mitchell.

  They had met during the Great Depression at a neighborhood café. My grandmother worked across the street in a dress shop and once a week, as a treat, she’d sit at the counter and order coffee and a sandwich. Mitchell was from some industrial city like Pittsburgh. He was in New York visiting a cousin and he asked Nana out the first time he saw her. He took her to a movie, even picked her up in a convertible that belonged to a relative. My grandmother still lived at home with her mother and stepfather, who were very strict, and she lied to them about where she was going and who she was going with. “Mitch was a sweet boy,” she told us. “We went out together for weeks. He’d pick me up after work and we’d walk in the park, or go to the movies, even went out dancing once or twice. But then he was to go back home.” She got a sad look on her face and her lip trembled, only slightly, and she continued. “Our last night together he asked me to marry him.” At this, I sat up and rubbed my eyes hard to stay awake.

  “Our plan was simple. He would return in two weeks and meet me at the train station, we’d get married at city hall, and I’d go home to Pittsburgh with him.”

  I blinked some more; the thought that I might have been born in Pittsburgh scared me. It sounded so far away.

  Nana rocked gently on the edge of the sofa and wrapped her bathrobe tightly around her waist. “My stepfather found the one letter Mitch had written me, giving the date and time of the train. My mother was livid. Mitch worked in a factory, see, and that wouldn’t do. Pittsburgh was full of steel factories and no daughter of hers would marry a laborer. She spent her life on the sales floor at Bloomingdale’s and wanted me to have what she didn’t. Only a lawyer or doctor for me.”

  My grandmother stopped her rocking and her eyes turned brazen, as though it were still within her power to defy her mother. “They tore up the letter and wouldn’t let me contact him or meet him. Of course I’d memorized the date, so I knew when he was supposed to be on that platform. But so did my mother. She made me stay in that house all day and all night. And Mitch …” her voice trailed off into memory.

  “He just waited there,” Ann finished her sentence. “He probably thought you’d changed your mind.”

  “I still picture him waiting, endlessly checking his watch, heartbroken that I never came. Then again maybe he didn’t show up, either. I never knew because I never had the courage to contact him afterward,” Nana said. “I certainly didn’t have the courage to stand up to my mother. Mitch was good enough for me. You’re good enough for Peter. Parents shouldn’t meddle. He’ll regret listening to his mother, mark my words.”

  We all sat in silence, contemplating the future regret of Peter, a boy I’d only seen half a dozen times and I thought had greasy hair, when out of the quiet came my mother’s voice.

  “The good news is that your grandmother met Grandpa,” Iris said. “If she had run off with Mitch then I wouldn’t have been born and none of you would be here.”

  My grandmother nodded and smiled, putting her hand on Iris’s knee. I thought about this for a moment and shook my head. “We would,” I disagreed. “We’d just be living in Pittsburgh.”

  Dawn arrived and it was my wedding day. The skies opened up and sheets of rain and hail pelted the stone terrace where the ceremony was to take place, a bad sign if ever there was one. I had sat up most of the night watching the storm gather, feeling trapped in my room li
ke my grandmother on the day she was to meet Mitch at the train station. What if he had been her one great love and she’d let him go, only to make a life with a man she didn’t love who gave her artificial roses instead of real passion. I was desperate for my grandmother’s advice; she would know what to do. But she was dead and I was alone. For the first time since I’d arrived at Penwick I wanted to call home. I wanted my family, what was left of us, to pull me away from here and ground me. I supposed I was reacting from last night’s outburst. But it was too early to call Iris and Ann. Besides, how could they help? My intuition would have to do and do quickly for I was running out of time. But Lady Kate was still battling against plain old Kate’s gut instinct.

  At noon I could be a rich man’s spoiled bride. I could be financially secure. I could have a home, or several. Yet what stood out above all was that Scott never said he loved me, or I him. I tried to remember any instance where we’d spoken the words but it was as though I thought I remembered it rather than it actually happening.

  On the other hand Griff did tell me how he felt. His assertion that we were in love and that I wasn’t the type of girl to marry for money played over and over in my mind, like an annoying jingle you can’t get out of your head.

  There was a knock at the door. It was Griff, I was sure of it. I raced to the vanity and, confirming that my hair and makeup was perfect, I flounced to the door.

  “If you’re here to change my mind,” I snapped as I opened it to the puzzled faces of Marianne and Emma.

  “Should we?” Marianne asked and marched past me. They were dressed in their bridesmaid gowns, which I had left up to them to choose. Each wore pink but Marianne’s was a sleeveless, floor-length gown with a high neck, while Emma’s was a miniskirt with long sleeves and an empire waist in case she suddenly started to show.

  “I thought you were someone else,” I said with a light laugh.

  “Evidently,” Marianne answered. “The ceremony’s been moved to the ballroom as you wanted.”

  “Change your mind about what?” Emma asked.