After a bath and changing into fresh corset and a new day dress, Jane fiercely clutched her fake Austenland identity as she waited in the morning room for the much-anticipated visit from the denizen of Pembrook Cottage. Her yellow dress had a V-neck, so her maid had fitted her with a small sheer scarf around her shoulders and knotted at her chest, acknowledging that Regency breasts should be veiled during daylight hours. Miss Charming’s lacy neck scarf lay across her cleavage like a fluttering flag over the Grand Canyon, cowed by that wonder of the vista.
Miss Charming was fanning her neck with a hand. Jane did the same. Her dress was of light muslin, but beneath lay chemise, corset, and stockings gartered to her thighs. And itwas no longer morning in the morning room, the low autumn sun pounding through the windows and flooding the space. Jane waited faintheartedly for the sound of air-conditioning clicking on. No such luck.
At the sound of the bell, Jane and Miss Charming rose from the sofas, straightened their skirts, and listened for the maid to admit the visitors. The men were elsewhere, as receiving guests was a feminine pastime. Aunt Saffronia waited in the front hall.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Miss Charming said, with no trace of her faux-British accent.
“I’d be very impressed if you did.” Just at that moment, Jane had been fantasizing about chocolate soup with meringue and raspberry islands, a dessert she’d once inhaled at a spiffy restaurant in Soho. There was no chocolate in Pembrook Park, though Jane couldn’t figure if that lack was helping or impeding her attempt at make-believe.
“You’re hoping that Amelia Heartwright is an old, unattractive thing and that the boys won’t like her at all. Am I right?” Miss Charming bobbed on her toes.
“Actually, now that you mention it . . .” Miss Charming made an excellent point. Jane gave her a sheepish smile.
Miss Charming offered a big wink, and said kindly, “Solitarily.”
Jane blinked, confused. What could Miss Charming mean? Oh, perhaps,solidarity. A united front, mutually supportive in their shared interest to save the gentlemen for themselves. After all, there were only two, and they had first dibs.
And then into the room came the most disappointingly lovely woman Jane had ever encountered. She didn’t even appear to take steps as she moved. Perhaps hidden under her skirt she had ankle wings.
“Girls! Look who is here at last. Miss Amelia Heartwright. Miss Heartwright, may I present Miss Elizabeth Charming and my niece, Miss Jane Erstwhile.”
The three ladies curtsied and bowed their heads, and Jane noticed how natural and elegant Miss Heartwright’s curtsy seemed. She had clearly been to Pembrook Park before and come back for more, one of Mrs. Wattlesbrook’s ideal clients. She would know the system, the players, the language and customs. Would she be a kindred spirit or a formidable foe, pulling the gentlemen’s attentions?
Her natural-looking blond hair was long, twisted up with plenty of curls around her face. She had an open, honest face (heart-shaped even, as those old writers might have said), pink cheeks and lips, and darling blue eyes. She was slender and tall and was either in her early thirties or had access to the type of skincare only the mega-wealthy could afford.
Jane scratched her ankle with a toe beneath her skirt. Miss Charming scowled, her shoulders visibly slumping.
“Mama sends her regrets, Lady Templeton, but she is quite fatigued today,” Miss Heartwright said in an infuriatingly real British accent. “She bade me bring these apples from our tree.”
Aunt Saffronia took the basket. “Lovely! I will give them to the chef and we shall see what splendid treat he can make out of them. You must stay for dinner, Amelia. I insist.”
“Thank you, I will.”
Jane and Miss Charming looked at each other with sad eyes. All air fizzled out of their solidarity balloon, because who could compete with that angel?
The four ladies sat and chatted, or mostly Miss Heartwright and Aunt Saffronia chatted while Jane and her unhappy ally listened, glumly plucking at their embroidery. But among herother qualities, Miss Heartwright was also generous in her attentions.
“Miss Erstwhile, do you enjoy novels?”
“I do, yes.”
“I know they are naughty things, but I devour novels. TheCastle of Otrantohad me in chills.”
“Yes, how can I forget that giant helmet?” Jane had done her homework on gothic novels a few years ago, thank goodness, in an attempt to better understand Austen’s gothic parodyNorthanger Abbey. “But Mrs. Radcliffe’s writings are my favorite, particularlyThe Mysteries of Udolpho.”
Miss Heartwright clapped her hands with delight. “Wonderful! We’ll have so much to talk about. I hope you will call on the cottage often during your stay.”
Jane was spared answering when the maid announced that the gentlemen had arrived to pay their respects to Miss Heartwright.
“Show them in, thank you,” Aunt Saffronia said.
The gentlemen entered, still looking smart in their sporting attire, unbathed and redolent of the outdoors and animals. Jane stood before them, thinking about whether an 1816 woman would arise for men, accidentally made eye contact with Mr. Nobley, and fumbled her embroidery, sending it to the ground. Colonel Andrews bent to pick it up. On his breath she caught a whiff of tobacco, which only slightly damaged the pleasing effect of that dashing smile up close.
The gentlemen remembered Miss Heartwright from last year, of course, and they all sat and commenced a cordial reunion. Cordial? Jane admitted that they both seemedawfullypleased to see her. Well, the colonel was effulgent and Mr. Nobley was polite—but wasn’t there a knowing lookthat passed between them? Did they, the enchanting Miss Heartwright and cold Mr. Nobley, have ahistory?
“You are looking well, Mr. Nobley,” Miss Heartwright was saying. Jane almost gasped. Who said such things to that man? “I hope your arm is quite recovered from the accident last year.”
And Mr. Nobley nearly smiled! His eyes did anyway. “You remembered. One of my less graceful moments.”
