“I’m supposed to leave tomorrow,” she said, “but Mrs. Wattlesbrook cheated me out of one day of the fortnight. I’ll bet I can arrange to stay at least one more day, maybe two, if not here then in a hotel, far away from Wattlesbrook’s scope of vision. And then . . . I could see you. Just hang out a bit before I go home, no weirdness, no pressure, I promise.”
He smiled broadly. “That’s an offer I can’t refuse because I’m simply mad to see you in trousers. I have a feeling you have a very nice bum.”
Boyfriend #15
Jimmy, age thirty-eight
Jane had lost most of her social life with the departure of boyfriend #14 and the dog, so unless Molly was free, she stayed at home. Every night. Oh, joy.
Months hobbled by and Jane was still avoiding eye contact with the opposite sex. Molly tried to set her up with friends of Phillip’s, but Jane spurned them all sight-unseen.
And then, Jimmy. They jogged the same path through Central Park every day, and despite her iron-willed reluctance, the romance just happened. It felt like a tiny, perfect miracle that she was allowing herself a chance to fall in love again. They decided not to burden each other with psychiatric profiles or travelogues through past failed relationships and instead just experienced each other. So refreshing! Such a graceful way to begin loving! For five months, Jane wondered why she’d never tried this before.
And then one fateful spring morning, Jimmy snorted while laughing. What’s wrong with that? Absolutely nothing. It should be a cute idiosyncrasy in the man you adore. But it stung Jane like a hornet, and it swelled and itched and bothered her till she sat up in bed at 2 a.m. and said aloud, “Mr. Darcy would never snort.”
She altered her route through the park.
Day 13
Jane didn’t make it down to breakfast that morning. She took her time in her room, bathing and dressing herself in her favorite blue-gray day dress with the embroidered bodice, going without a corset, and leaving her hair down to air dry, loose and wavy. She packed up her toiletries and her paint supplies but left behind the still-wet paintings. Maybe they would end up hanging in Pembrook Park’s gallery. Or more likely, in the rubbish bin. She felt no sadness about this. The real joy had been in the process of creation, not in the end results. Besides, she liked that a part of her would remain in Austenland, a link in the chain of the Jane she had been and the Jane she was becoming.
She wasn’t sure what the future would hold, but she felt a rare sense of calm that it would hold something good. She wouldn’t give up her art again, that was certain. The lack of meaning in her job no longer felt worth the security it provided. Perhaps she could transfer to another imprint at thepublisher who was hiring an art director. Maybe in children’s books. And if she kept working at it, she might eventually make a living not just directing art but creating it. What a hopeful thought. What a dream.
When she tiptoed downstairs at last, she found the entire house had a sad, sleepy air of after-party. The ballroom was quiet and cold, the floor stained with tread marks, sticky pools of spilled punch in the corners. In the morning room, greasy and crumb-stuck breakfast dishes were abandoned on the table, cold meats and collapsing pastries sat on the sideboard. She smiled at the still-present bowl of rotten olives.
Colonel Andrews was alone in the drawing room, reading. She didn’t disturb him. Captain East and Miss Heartwright were taking a goodbye stroll through the park. Jane thought if she strolled that park one more time, it would permanently damage the sane part of her brain.
She passed Miss Charming in the corridor.
“Off you go, then?” asked Miss Charming. “Cheerios. I’m staying an extra day to get an eyeball of the new recruits and make sure they know my colonel is taken.”
“I don’t blame you.” Jane looked around and exhaled as slowly as her breath would go. “It’s for the best that I’m forced to go, or I’d be tempted to stay longer. If I could get away with it, I might just stay forever.”
“Forever sounds spit spot.” Miss Charming hooked Jane’s arm, they leaned into each other, taking in the beauty of the house with complete solidarity.
“This really has been wonderful. Thanks for being my friend here, Lizzy, sister of my bosom.”
“They’re real, you know.” Miss Charming placed her hands beneath her breasts and gave them a hearty shaking.
“Really?” Jane said, gaping openly.
“Y’all better believe it. People always ask, so I thought I’d save you the wondering. As a parting gift.”
“Thank you,” Jane said, and she meant it sincerely. It was good to know what was real.
They said their goodbyes, and on her way out, Jane passed by the library. There in a corner sat Inflexibility. He raised his eyes when he heard her footfalls.
“Oh,” said Jane, antsy with embarrassment. “Good morning, Mr. Nobley.”
“You weren’t at breakfast,” he said.
“I’m off.” She indicated her bonnet and spencer jacket. “Just saying goodbye to the house. It’s a lovely old house.”
“New, actually. Built in 1809.”
“Right.” His insistence on maintaining the charade chafed her. She had a surging and ridiculous desire to plop down beside him and shake him and make him talk to her like a real person. Her foot lifted as if it would take a step, but she placed it firmly back down. A small fear was fizzing through her that if she got close enough to touch him, she would grab him and never let him go. And since letting go of him—that is, letting go of the dream of Mr. Darcy—was her entire mission, she couldn’t scuttle it now.
“Well, since I ran into you, I can thank you in person for a great vacation.” She was embarrassed by her words, so thin and insubstantial and not getting close to conveying how grateful she was for him, for the magnitude of this experience, all the ways he’d made her feel and all he’d done to help start her return to herself.
