He was waiting outside the hotel, carrying a picnic basket.
“I remembered how much you like picnics.”
He really wasn't fighting fair, and I was doubly glad I had wiped off most of the makeup.
“Do you think we’ll get in trouble for missing the evening program?” Keep it light, Ellen. Keep it easy.
“Only if Mrs. Parrot catches us.” That familiar, beguiling grin. I’d never constructed any defenses against it in college, and I still didn't have any.
“Then we’d better get out of sight.”
He laughed and nodded toward the path. “After you.”
We made our way through the garden behind the hotel, and I was almost sorry to leave it. It was certainly gorgeous enough, and romantic enough, to have suited any purpose Daniel had in mind. Instead, he led me up a hillside, through a charming trellised gate, and in among the trees that dotted the slope, until we reached the ridge above.
Clouds were piling up in the distance. I realized I should have brought an umbrella. Usually I was much better at remembering such practical things, but something about Hampshire seemed to be undermining my natural organizational abilities.
“Sun or shade?” Daniel asked.
“Shade.” The clouds were darker now, more ominous, and I didn't want to get caught in the rain completely unprotected. Agreeing to spend the evening with Daniel was risk enough for one day.
The view was spectacular, though, a panoramic vista straight out of a Jane Austen movie.
“How can anything possibly be so beautiful?” I said. I sank to the ground beneath the tree where he’d placed the picnic basket. The grass was cool and soft beneath me. “It's like that scene in The Wizard of Oz, where everything's in black and white before Dorothy opens the door to the farmhouse. But then she steps out into a whole new world that's so brilliant, it makes your eyes hurt.”
“Technicolor.” Daniel sat down next to me. “My mother said she saw that movie when she was young. First time she’d ever seen anything in color on the big screen. She said she cried, it was so beautiful.”
He was looking at me with an intensity that set off warning bells in my head. But it also made my chest tighten and my pulse race. I was queasy and electric with excitement. Some reactions could never be tamed, even after more than fifteen years of separation.
I had to banish the intensity of the moment. “I guess that's why it's good to travel. See new places.”
He reached out and laid his hand on mine where it rested on top of the grass. “Or maybe it's a good reason to revisit the past. Reclaim what you missed. What you didn't mean to leave behind.”
I couldn't take it. I wasn't strong enough, even after all those years. I could either run away, revealing myself for the coward I was, or I could brazen it out, as if all of it was just a pleasant trip down memory lane.
“What's in that picnic basket? I’m starving.” Daniel watched me quietly for a long moment and then leaned toward the wicker basket and undid the buckles. “Let's find out.”
“How did you manage this, anyway?”
“My famous Edwards charm.”
“Right.”
“And a few extra pounds in the name of romance.” He shrugged. “The chef is French.”
“Good thinking. Sometimes it pays to be clever.”
He laughed at my fairly weak joke, and I pretended that it was funny too.
I picked up one of the containers, opened it, and looked to Daniel for clarification.
“That would be the Cornish poached lobster with beluga mayonnaise.” There was that devilish grin again.
“How long did it take you to memorize that?”
“Quite a while, given the chef's accent.”
“And this?” I lifted the next container from the hamper.
“Some kind of foie gras. That one I couldn't remember if I tried.”
I opened the last container and nearly fainted onto the grass. “Stilton and pears.” I looked at him, and I had to bite my lip so that I wouldn't tear up. I’d been so strong, not showing any weakness, but I knew this might be my undoing. “You remembered.”
“Are you kidding? Remember that time you made me drive around for an entire day in search of that stinky cheese?”
“You said it would have been easier to find weapons-grade plutonium.”
“And I was right, wasn't I?”
That was the moment I let my guard down. I knew it. Daniel knew it. Even the picnic hamper probably knew it.
“Yes. You were right,” I said.
He took out some utensils and began to transfer the food onto the china plates. “That's what I like to hear.”
Wedgwood, silverware, sparkling water in tall champagne flutes. For once in my life, I decided not to be cautious. I wasn't going to analyze every look, every word. In short, I was going to act like my sister.
We ate in peace. Thunder rumbled in the distance, heralding a coming storm. I hadn't felt this relaxed in months. Not since the day my mother told me about her diagnosis.
“My mom would have loved this.” I spoke the words without thinking.
The clouds cast shifting shadows on the crazy quilt of fields and hedgerows that stretched across the broad valley as far as I could see.
“But she sent you instead.” Daniel studied me, his scrutiny a little too close for comfort.
“Yes.” I set my plate aside and sipped the sparkling water. “That's the part I don't understand. She should have been the one on this tour. She could have come last year, even after her diagnosis. It wasn't until after the second round of chemo that she—”
No. I wasn't going to do this. I blinked hard. Swallowed.
“I’m sorry, Daniel. This is all so lovely, really. I don't mean to be a downer.”
This time when he reached over and took my hand, he lifted it from my lap and laced his fingers through mine. The warm, simple contact was my undoing.
“Ellen…” He leaned over and very slowly, very softly, brushed his lips against mine. “I’ve missed you.”
I didn't trust myself to speak, so instead I leaned toward him and kissed him back.
It wasn't a romantic kiss, really. Not in the traditional picnic-and-champagne kind of way. Instead, it was a kiss of regret. Longing. A ghost from the past.
“I’m glad you agreed to spend the evening with me,” Daniel said as he pulled his lips away from mine. His face was so close. It wasn't the face I remembered, the face of the boy I had loved. Now it was the face of a man approaching middle age. Like my own, it had a few crow's feet around the eyes and some laugh lines around the mouth. His green eyes held knowledge and pain that hadn't been there when we were younger. He was still the Daniel I had known, but now he was much more.
“Have we changed too much?” he asked. “Am I an idiot to think I have a chance?”
No woman who has ever lived—anywhere, ever—could have resisted that. Not even me—sensible, practical Ellen Dodge.
“You’re not an idiot,” I said in a rather breathless voice.
Relief softened the lines around his eyes and mouth. “At least you’re not dumping sparkling water on my head and telling me to get lost.”
“Is that what you thought would happen?”
“I thought it was a possibility.”
And then we were kissing again, and I felt as if I were still twenty. The years, the pain, the loneliness fell away. I had forgotten that anything could feel this good. This right. And my eyebrows didn't matter. My dress didn't matter. What mattered was that I was here. Daniel was here. We had found that connection again. Had, in fact, taken it to a new level. An extraordinary level.
Eventually we came up for air, right before the raindrops started to fall. The air was thick with humidity and whatever electrical charges the distant lightning created.
“I have dessert,” Daniel said. “But that might be redundant.”
“Possibly. Unless it's chocolate.”
“It is.”
“Chocolat
e is never redundant.”
“That's the girl I know and love.” He meant it as a flip remark, but he froze and looked at me as if I might freak out. “Look, Ell, I’m not going to put any pressure on you.”
I laughed. What else could I do? “I’d hate to see your definition of pressure. Following me to England. Stalking me at Jane Austen's birthplace. Romancing me with picnics and thunderstorms. But no pressure.” I was teasing him, mostly. Mimi would have been proud of me. And Daniel hadn't mentioned the diary once. I’d obviously been worrying about nothing.
We sat under the sheltering branches of the tree while the rain fell, content with our chocolate and with getting to know each other all over again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mimi was still in my room when I got back. She’d clearly made herself at home. The bed was scattered with fashion magazines and the wrappers from the complimentary chocolates that the hotel had left on my pillow.
“Some things never change.” I laughed as I scooped up the wrappers from the bed.
“Forget the chocolate.” Mimi scrambled to her knees on the bed, her eyes shining like a child's at Christmas. “I want details.”
I shouldn't have smiled. Mimi let out a whoop of laughter. “I knew it!”
“Shh!” It was late, and no doubt some of our fellow hikers were sound asleep.
“Only if you give me a detailed description of every single thing you ate, said, and did.” She was like a kid in a candy store, but it wasn't because of the chocolates.
“We don't have time for that,” I said, reaching for my daypack. “It's late. Let's get through as much of the diary as we can.”
Mimi sighed. “You’re such a party pooper. I want the scoop, not some dreary old diary entries about how many pence per yard muslin costs.”
“You never know. There might be juicy, salacious gossip in here. It might be like a Regency version of the National Enquirer.”
“I’d still rather hear about Daniel.”
I rolled my eyes and joined her on the bed. “Do you want to read first, or should I?”
Mimi shook her head. “You start. I’ll try to stay awake.” She yawned.
“C’mon, Meems. We have to get through this. There may be something in here that Mom wanted us to see or to know. We have to figure out why she sent it to us.”
“She sent it to you. You should figure it out.”
“Just keep your eyes open and listen.” I began to read.
Jane is too young to know her own mind. Why can she not see that? Jack has intelligence and manners to recommend him, but he is wild still and not to be relied upon. She will surely come to grief if she persists in this folly.
As we read, we found Cassandra's thoughts about Tom Lefroy, the man many people believed to be the love of Jane Austen's life. Cassandra, though, clearly thought otherwise.
There were more couples in the crowded room than space to dance, but in time the furniture was removed. Jane wore a flower in her hair, thus signaling her desire to dance. She may regret this last decision, but not more than the one to ask Tom Lefroy for a lock of his hair. I am sure it will not be her last effort to shock, for she has many years ahead of her to wreak havoc upon my nerves.
Jane must behave with discretion or her reputation will be ruined. Tom Lefroy may age like a fine wine, but at present he is a care-for-nothing flirt. He must mean her no harm, but at her age…If only sisters could be allowed the management of one another's hearts. This is not to be the first time I have persuaded her to favor the sublime over the ridiculous. But Jack Smith is not forgotten, for first love never is, though she never mentions him. Tom Lefroy is a distraction from the loss of Jack, but I warned her to be careful that he does not become more.
The newest fashion in hats is for grapes, which must oblige us to run to the village for fresh trimmings for our hats. I am quite appalled at the quantity of fruit required, but Jane's plan for refurbishment of her straw bonnet is quite clear…
There was Cassandra's own sorrow, too, when we came to the passage about the death of her fiancé.
Jane is my comfort in these dark hours. She offers no advice, no recriminations against my dear Tom, only handkerchiefs and a glass of wine for my relief. My father feels the loss keenly, for now I am once more a burden he must discharge. But how shall I bring myself to think of marriage again? How could I forget my dearest Tom and accept a lesser man? For when set against his memory, they are all lesser men. Jane must be the one to marry, for I cannot.
We learned from an entry written several years later that Jane's affection for the mysterious Jack Smith had fared no better than Cassandra's love for Tom Fowle.
Jane has written from London with unexpected news. Jack's ship went down off Portsmouth. She had written to renew her affection for him, much against my advice. I was right to persuade her to refuse his offer when it was made. What other advice could I have given? They would have had nothing to live on and no certainty for their future.
So that was what had happened to the mysterious Jack Smith, the man Jane Austen had loved. He had died young, and Jane had been left to her regrets. I wondered if she had resented Cassandra for her well-meant, if somewhat tragic, advice. Would Jane rather have been poor and married than single with only the prospect of one day marrying someone wealthy?
“Wait a minute,” Mimi said. “Turn back to where we started.”
I did as she said. “What's the matter?”
She squinted at the faded writing. “Why are there words underlined in that part about Tom Lefroy?” Mimi pointed to a faint mark under one of the words. I fought back the impulse to snatch her finger away from the page. We ought to have been handling the diary with gloves on as it was.
“Careful.” I contented myself with gently easing the diary out of her reach.
Cassandra Austen's handwriting, like most Georgian penmanship, held enough similarities to modern writing to make it readable, but it was quirky too. The s's looked more like f's, and some of the spellings were strange. But Mimi was right. Here and there, Cassandra had continued to underline random words. I flipped back to the beginning of the diary and leafed through the pages one by one.
I looked at Mimi. “Why would she do that?”
“Maybe it's some sort of a secret code?” Mimi said with mischief in her eyes. “So she could keep things from her nosy little sister.”
I smiled at that, at the shared memory her words provoked. When I was twelve and Mimi was ten, I’d gone to extraordinary lengths to keep her from reading my diary, and she had gone to even more extraordinary lengths to thwart my efforts at secrecy.
“Mom always said they could have used you to help break the Enigma Code during World War II,” I said, teasing her and enjoying it.
“You liked the challenge,” she replied, flopping back on the bed pillows. “You loved to prove you were smarter than me.”
“Prove? Prove?” I grabbed a pillow and tossed it at her. “My superior intelligence was self-evident. No proof necessary.”
Mimi grasped the pillow and hugged it to her midsection. “I admit you’re the smart one, except when it comes to being devious. You never were any good at that.”
I should have continued to laugh, but her words caught me up short. If I had been a more devious person, I would have tried to undermine Daniel's relationship with Melissa all those years ago. I would have made a play for him, exploited his feelings for me. But I was my mother's daughter and, in a way, Jane Austen's too. Honor mattered more than anything, and stealing a man from another woman…well, it wasn't something an honorable woman, an Austen woman, would ever do.
“Ellen? Are you okay?” Mimi levered herself to a sitting position. “I didn't mean to offend you.”
“What? Oh, I’m not offended. I just thought of something.”
“What?”
I began flipping through the diary again. “The words…What if Cassandra didn't underline them as she went along?” I paused at a page where three random words had b
een heavily underscored. “Look. The ink where she drew the lines is darker than the words. Like it's newer, not as faded.”
Mimi studied the page for a long moment. “We should make a list of the underlined words. From the beginning. In order.” She took the diary from me. “If Cassandra went back afterward, maybe she really was trying to communicate with someone. A secret or something.”
I reached for the pen and pad of hotel notepaper on the nightstand. “You call them out. I’ll write them down.”
“Okay. Ready?”
“Shoot.”
Mimi flipped back to the first entry and began to scan the writing. “Along. The. Narrow.” She paused. “I think this one's underlined. Way.” She looked up at me. “Along the narrow way?”
Our eyes met, and I shivered despite the still summer warmth of the room.
“It is on purpose.” I said the words so softly that I barely breathed them. A strange mixture of anxiety and excitement twisted in my stomach. We hadn't just been given a secret diary. We’d been given a diary with a secret.
“Keep reading,” I commanded Mimi, who was only too happy to comply. She searched and I scribbled, and a few minutes later, we had this:
Along the narrow way it goes
From house to house and back again
A carpet for a traveler's woes
That always brings one home again.
I read it out loud, but once I had, the sparks of excitement I’d felt began to fizzle.
“That's it?” Mimi said, crestfallen. “It's just a riddle. And not even a very good one.”
I shared her disappointment. “Mrs. Parrot said the Austen family liked riddles. Jane used them in Emma. It was probably just Cassandra's way of testing Jane to see if she was reading her diary. Nosy little sisters can't resist showing off when they figure something out.”
Mimi sighed and closed the diary. “I’d argue with you, but it's true.”
The Dashwood Sisters Tell All Page 10
