“Mr. Nobley!” cried Aunt Saffronia.
“No, it’s all right, Aunt,” Jane said. “I asked for it. And I don’t even mind answering. One reason why I am unmarried is because there aren’t enough men with guts to put away their little-boy fears and commit their love and stick it out.”
“Andperhapsthe men do notstick it outfor a reason.”
“And what reason might that be?”
“The reason is women.” He slammed his book shut. “Women make life impossible until the man has to be the one to end it. There is no working it out past a certain point. How can anyone endlessly endure the lunacy?”
Mr. Nobley took a ragged breath and his face went red as he seemed to realize what he’d said aloud. He put the book down gently, pursed his lips, cleared his throat.
No one in the room made eye contact.
“Someone hasissues,” said Miss Charming in a quiet, sing-songy voice.
“Don’t we all,” Jane said softly.
“I beg you, Lady Templeton,” Colonel Andrews said, standing, his smile almost convincingly nonchalant, “play something rousing on the pianoforte. I promised to engage Miss Charming in a dance. I cannot break a promise to such a lovely young thing, and break her heart and further blacken her view of the world, so you see my urgency.”
“An excellent suggestion, Colonel Andrews,” Aunt Saffronia said. “It seems all our spirits could use a lift. I think we feel the lack of Sir John’s presence, indeed I do.”
Mr. Nobley, of course, declined to dance, so Jane and Captain East stood up with Colonel Andrews and Miss Charming, whose spirits were rising higher than her bouncing bosom. Twice she turned the wrong way, ramming herselfinto the colonel’s shoulder, saying, “Pip, pip,” and “Jolly good.” Jane spied Mr. Nobley on the sofa, staring at the window and a reflection of the dancers.
Captain East was not so fun and witty as the colonel, lacking that wicked glint that Jane found appealing despite herself, but he was, frankly, gorgeous in a Clark-Kent-sans-glasses way. And such a sure dancer. And made her feel petite and girlish when he put a hand on her waist to promenade between the other couple. It was a scrumptious experience just to be touched, her Regency skin starved for intimacy, her real skin still missing Martin’s fingers. The scurrilous beast.
“We’re so happy you’ve come to visit, Captain East,” said Jane.
“So am I. Indeed I am.”
Was he for her, then? Could Mrs. Wattlesbrook have a soft heart after all? She had warned Jane to have patience and guaranteed her turn at romance. She must have been hinting that another gentleman would arrive later. East would be a very good sort of brick wall to beat her head against and knock out the Mr. Darcy nonsense. He would also be a fine sight on her arm on strolls through the garden, should Martin happen to glance her way.
At the end of the song, gentleman that he was, Captain East went to Miss Heartwright, alone and downcast on the sofa.
“Miss Heartwright, would it please you to dance?”
It seemed obvious to Jane that Miss Heartwright would not be pleased, but she stood up with the captain anyway. What was their story? Sometimes Miss Heartwright seemed like Fanny Price, sometimes like Jane Bennet or Jane Fairfax, sometimes like Anne Elliot. There were so many Austen heroines to choose from, why only pick one?
“I would beg a second dance with you, Miss Charming,” said the colonel. “You do live up to your name!”
“Oh, go on,” said Miss Charming.
The way Miss Charming was blushing now—real, honest blushing—it seemed she’d made her choice, and her choice wasn’t Mr. Nobley after all. And so Jane was left neatly on the sidelines again. She didn’t mind. Seriously she didn’t. Okay, maybe just a little. After all, tonight was the most fun she’d had since she’d come.
“Miss Erstwhile?” Mr. Nobley was suddenly beside her. “It would seem my gentlemanly duty to ask you to dance.”
She glanced at his hand. “You’re still holding your book, Mr. Nobley.”
He set it on a table, put one arm behind his back, and held the other out to her.
She sighed. “I’m sorry I pestered you back there, but I’d rather not dance for duty.”
His hand extended toward her. “But it would be my honor.”
She rolled her eyes but took his hand. Her fingers buzzed, as if with anticipation. The first time he touched her waist, she started. There was nothing passive in his touch, nothing wasted. She was aware of his hands the way she was often conscious of his gaze seeking her out. It was, to say the least, surprising. She looked down at his hand holding hers, marveling at the feel of it. Most of her energy focused on resisting an impulse to rub her thumb across his palm.
With only three couples, they kept in fairly constant motion. As a general rule, conversation is more intimate in a crowd, but among only six people, every word, and silence, became public.
Colonel Andrews: “What a lovely gown, Miss Charming! You wear it well, or should I say, it wears you?”
