What Would Jane Austen Do?

Chapter Twelve

Eleanor had fallen into an uneasy sleep by repeating a litany of all the things she missed: sneakers, toilets, M&Ms. When she woke with a toothache, she added twenty-first-century dentistry to the list. Apparently, using her finger to apply the tooth powder had not been effective, even though she’d mixed it half and half with salt as instructed on the can. Twilla had proudly pointed out the wooden toothbrush with boar’s hair bristles, but Eleanor, who hadn’t known boars even had hair, couldn’t stand the idea of putting such an offensive substance in her mouth.

She sat by the window, her hand cupping her sore jaw. She also missed extra-strength Tylenol. To take her mind off the pain, she added items to her catalog. Her car. Shopping online. Dove dark chocolate. Lights and music available at the flick of a switch. And her cell phone. How could she have forgotten to add that to the list? It was one of the top ten—right up there with hot and cold running water and flush toilets.

A knock on the door interrupted her mental exercise.

“You’re not dressed,” Deirdre said, entering Eleanor’s bedroom.

“Thank you for that statement of the obvious.”

“Oooo. And grumpy,” Mina said as she followed her sister. “I hoped after the hours you spent with Teddy last night that you and he—”

“I did not spend time with Teddy. I didn’t even see him.”

Deirdre flashed Mina a smug look. “See. I told you so.”

“Then who—”

“Why don’t you two go downstairs and deal with your guests. I didn’t sleep well due to this toothache and won’t—”

“I know what to do for that,” Deirdre said. She used the bellpull to summon the maid and requested oil of cloves, red flannel, and willow bark tea. She ordered Eleanor back to bed, and Mina set up a small table within reach for some books and fetched a warm shawl.

“I’m not an invalid,” Eleanor complained.

“We’re just trying to make you comfortable.”

Twilla brought the supplies. Even though Eleanor doubted the archaic remedies would work, she submitted to their ministrations for no other reason than it distracted the girls. After dousing the tooth with oil of cloves, Deirdre wrapped the flannel under Eleanor’s chin and tied it on top of her head, which looked positively ridiculous. The willow bark tea was bitter and tasted, no surprise, of cloves.

“Now, you try to get some rest,” Deirdre said.

“You look terrible,” Mina added.

“We’ll check on you in a few hours, and if you’re not any better, we’ll send someone to fetch the barber from the village.”

“The barber?” Eleanor asked.

“Very experienced in tooth extractions,” Deirdre said. “Takes care of all the locals, but, of course, if you’d rather wait, we can fetch one of those modern trained dentists from London. I’m sure Old John will do as good a job.”

“No, no. I’m sure everything will be fine.” No way was Eleanor going to let the local barber near her mouth. He probably didn’t wash his hands and most likely had never heard of sterilizing his equipment. “I’ll try to sleep now,” she added, hoping the girls would take the hint.

They left, and Eleanor immediately got up and paced the room.

Despite the attractions of the time period, including one too sexy Lord Shermont, she wanted to go home. She could never be happy without the conveniences she’d taken for granted all her life.

“All right, you ghosts,” she said. “Manifest yourselves or whatever it is you do. We need to talk.”

No response.

“I did what you asked, and now I want you to send me back.”

No response.

Then she heard movement in the sitting room and rushed to slam open the door, startling Twilla as she set a large arrangement of pink and white roses on the table. She almost caused the girl to drop the porcelain vase.

“Oh, miss, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Twilla said, using her long apron to wipe up the water she’d spilled from the vase. “Lord Digby sent you these.” She pulled a note from her pocket and handed it to Eleanor.

“They are beautiful,” she said. The note from Teddy was a formal wish for her speedy recovery—reserved, proper, and impersonal. She tossed the note on the table.

After Eleanor reassured her she didn’t need anything, Twilla left.

In truth, the treatment had made her feel a bit better. She wandered to the window and watched the other guests playing at archery. Shermont scored a bulls-eye, and all the women cheered. Eleanor was almost thankful for an excuse not to be down there. She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to resist his charms.

Even from a distance, she could see Mina and Deirdre seemed determined to catch his attention. And their so-called chaperone was nowhere in sight. The naïve girls could still get into trouble.

Was that why the ghosts had not yet sent her home? Would they send her back if she failed?

Eleanor paced again. She couldn’t do anything cooped up in her rooms, and she had to do something other than mope around in self-pity. She spotted the girls’ sewing boxes and got a brainstorm. Digging in one, she found white embroidery thread. She cut a length of fourteen inches and separated one of the six twisted strands to use as dental floss. She dislodged a piece of food. After several saltwater rinses, she felt well enough to get dressed.

She heard Mina and Deirdre moving around in the sitting room and opened the door from the bedroom to find the girls had brought a guest.

Shermont stood in the open doorway to the hall and refused Mina’s invitation to enter. He extended both hands, one with a simple bouquet of cheerful daisies and the other with a recently published book, Mansfield Park. “I thought you might enjoy this.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor said, touched by his thoughtfulness. Just seeing him brought back vivid memories of the previous night, causing the back of her neck and other body parts to heat. She didn’t want to get any closer, so she asked him to lay the gifts on the table by the door.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said.

“Of course, we are, too,” Deirdre said. “What a rapid recovery. One might even say miraculous.”

“Yes,” Mina said. “When Lord Shermont insisted on bringing his trinkets in person, we told him you were probably asleep. Where is your red flannel?”

“I believe you are mistaken,” Shermont said. He leaned against the doorjamb. “I asked you to deliver my best wishes personally, and you insisted it would mean so much more if I accompanied you. Though I admit, due to my concern, I wasn’t difficult to convince.”

Deirdre glared at Mina as if the younger girl had let the cat out of the bag. Indeed, she had.

“How sweet of both of you.” Eleanor smiled with insincere sweetness at the sisters. They had meant for Shermont to see her swollen and wrapped in red flannel.

“Come in,” Mina said to him. “Make yourself comfortable. Eleanor can act as our chaperone.”

“Yes,” Deirdre said. “We’ll order some tea and have a nice cozy chat.”

“No, thank you,” Shermont refused again, maintaining his position in the doorway. He covered a fake yawn with his hand. “I hate to admit it, but I think I’ll take a little rest. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

He said it with a straight face, but a hint of a cat-that-got-the-cream smile curled the corners of his mouth.

“Apparently the storm made for a restless night for everyone,” Deirdre said.

“Yes,” he agreed. “A tempest of a night.”

“Hopefully we’ll have good weather for the ball tonight,” Deirdre said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I now have a certain fondness for storms. I was rather hoping for a repeat of last night.”

“Don’t even say that,” Mina said, horrified. “We must have good weather, or we can’t set off the fireworks we ordered. Oops! I wasn’t supposed to let out the surprise. Please don’t tell anyone, especially Teddy.”

“Why? Doesn’t he know?”

“Of course he does. He made the arrangements, but I don’t want him to know I told you.”

“My lips are sealed,” Shermont promised. “However, I will take my leave before any more secrets are revealed.”

He bowed, but Eleanor caught his glance.

“I have no secrets worth revealing,” she said with what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug.

He raised an eyebrow and would have said something, but Mina grabbed his arm, demanding his attention.

“I can’t let you leave without promising me a dance tonight,” she said.

“Mina!” Deirdre said with a horrified expression. “A girl should never, ever ask a gentleman for a dance.”

“Then how will he know I want one?” Mina replied and stuck out her bottom lip.

“Very sensible,” Shermont said. “I shall be honored to ask you to dance this evening.”

“And me,” Deirdre said.

“A promise gladly given to both of you,” he said. His gaze touched each face, but his look to Eleanor promised much more than a dance. “By your leave.” He stepped back and bowed before walking away.

Mina closed the door and sagged against it. “He is sooo handsome. He makes my knees weak.”

“Well, don’t faint now,” Deirdre said. She stood. “We have lots to do today. Change your shoes quickly. Mr. Foucalt is scheduled to start the dancing lesson in ten minutes.”

Eleanor fought the urge to roll her eyes. She’d just put on her walking boots to go outside. At least her day dress was appropriate. She changed into soft leather dancing shoes, and the three of them hurried downstairs to the ballroom, where the other women of the party waited. She was disappointed to note the Austen sisters were not in attendance.

“Excellent,” Mr. Foucalt said. “Now we begin.” The dancing master waved the late arrivals forward.

The tall, gaunt dancing master reminded Eleanor of an exotic bird with his large hooked nose, heavy-lidded dark eyes, bright yellow coat, and royal blue satin knee breeches. Sparse wisps of hair escaped his combed-forward hairdo and stuck straight up like the feathers on a parrot’s head. Red stockings covered his thin legs. Eleanor suspected his talented tailor had added strategic padding to his ensemble, even to supplement the calves of his hose. Although obvious to a seamstress who had been called upon more than once to perform costume magic to make an actor look better, a casual observer would assume the man was in fantastic physical shape.

Mr. Foucalt had them stand at arm’s-length in two lines six feet apart. Eleanor, Mina, Beatrix, and Fiona made one set of four, and Deirdre, Hazel, Countess Lazislov, and a mousy girl named Cecily made up the second group. Patience sat at the harpsichord in the corner, and the other chaperones sat in the chairs along the wall.

“Now take the hand of your imaginary partner,” Mr. Foucalt said, demonstrating by raising his left hand to almost shoulder height, elbow slightly bent.

“My partner is Raoul Santiago De Varga, aide to the Spanish Ambassador,” Mina said.

“Lieutenant Whitby,” Fiona said, batting her eyelashes to her left.

Beatrix didn’t have to announce, though she did, that her imaginary partner was Teddy.

“You are with Lord Shermont,” Mina said to Eleanor with a knowing smile.

“No, this dance belongs to Mr. Darcy,” Eleanor said.

“Your attention, please,” Mr. Foucalt said, pounding his tall walking stick on the floor. “Thank you. This dance is one I composed for the Prince Regent and is now all the rage in London. I call it “On a Midsummer Night,” and it is included in my new book of dances available next month from Corinthian Publishers on Fleet Street. Maintenant, salute your partner.” He demonstrated a half turn to his left and a curtsey.

All the dancers copied him.

“Now, all take two steps forward and clasp your hands behind your back. You will promenade to your right around the men in a lively step-close-step. Right foot first. Music please. Allez-vous.”

Eleanor followed Mina, imitating her footwork, while Patience pounded out a fairly fast pace.

Mr. Foucalt called, “Right, close, right, left, close, left. Non, non, non. Mademoiselle Maxwell. Do not lift your knees so high like the prancing horse.”

“How dare you,” Mrs. Maxwell said, jumping up with fisted hands. “My daughter—”

“It’s all right,” Fiona said to her mother. “He’s only trying to help me.”

Mrs. Maxwell sat down, but she glared at the dancing master.

“You are gliding … gliding,” he said. “Better.”

As the dancers returned to their original positions, Eleanor could see why the Regent would like the dance. She could just imagine him ogling the pretty girls parading in front of him.

“And salute your partner,” Mr. Foucalt said. “Très bien.” He rapped his stick on the floor twice and the music stopped. “Then the gentlemen will have their turn, which we will, of course, skip over.”

“Perhaps you should have a gentleman demonstrate,” said a deep voice. Shermont entered the ballroom from the open French doors that led to the terrace. He took the spot next to Eleanor, usurping poor imaginary Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Foucalt bowed low. “Milord. Thank you for the offer—”

“But we do not condone mixed lessons,” Mrs. Maxwell said, stepping forward.

Eleanor could see her point. Who would want her daughter called a prancing horse in front of a potential husband?

“Are you French?” Shermont confronted Mr. Foucalt directly.

“I am from Belgium,” the dancing master said, raising his chin. He clicked his heels together and bowed.

“Same difference, isn’t it?”

“Just because that odious little Corsican annexed my country does not make me French. I have been in this country for twenty years, a political émigré.”

“Now, if you will excuse us,” Mrs. Maxwell said, a not-so-subtle hint for Shermont to skedaddle.

“There you are,” Teddy called to Shermont from the door. He was backed by the entire military contingent. “We wondered where you’d got to. Are we interrupting?” He looked around as if the gathering was a total surprise. His voice seemed hopeful rather than expressing regret.

Mrs. Holcum practically ran across the room as he spoke. She took his arm. “You are just in time,” she said, towing him toward her daughter. “I think having the gentlemen participate in the dancing lesson is a marvelous idea.”

The other men scrambled to take a place in the lines of dancers. Alanbrooke bowed and asked Deirdre for the honor of the dance. Parker and Whitby jockeyed for position next to Fiona, Whitby winning when she took his arm. Parker rushed down the line to partner Hazel. The countess snagged Rockingham’s arm as he made his way to the heiress Cecily’s side.

There was a moment of awkwardness when everyone realized Mina and Cecily stood alone.

“I think my imaginary partner Raoul is the best dancer here,” Mina said. She motioned Mr. Foucalt toward Cecily. He bowed and took her hand, and she sent Mina a grateful look. Seeing she was defeated, Mrs. Maxwell retreated to the sideline.

Mr. Foucalt explained the dance, starting from the beginning, not forgetting to mention it was the Regent’s current favorite, and again plugging his upcoming book. He rapped his stick on the floor, and Patience played with more enthusiasm than talent. After the gentlemen did their promenade, each couple, alternating sides, made the circuit in the same step-close-step manner. “While you are waiting your turn,” he said loudly as he danced down the line with Cecily, “it is appropriate to chat with your partner.”

“I missed you this morning,” Shermont said to Eleanor.

“Perhaps it was for the best,” she replied. “I can’t shoot a bow and arrow, and I might have injured an innocent bystander.”

“I missed you at archery, too,” he whispered.

Eleanor hoped her blush wasn’t obvious to all as she and Shermont took their turn and promenaded between the other couples. They resumed their places.

“May I have the first dance at the ball tonight?” he asked.

She shook her head. “If I count this, I know the steps to a grand total of one dance. There’s no guarantee “On a Midsummer Night” will be the first dance of the evening.”

“I remember another dance among the butterflies,” he reminded her. The spark in his eyes said he remembered other activities as well.

“The waltz is considered too risqué and not—”

“Ah, you are wrong,” he said with a smile. “I did some checking, and it seems the rules at country parties are much more lax than at Almack’s.”

“Even so, I truly doubt the first dance will be a waltz.”

“That depends on who calls the first set. Who do you suppose will be the ranking female at the ball?”

“I have no idea,” she replied. She had assumed Deirdre would be the one to open the ball and call the dances.

Shermont looked thoughtful as the steps of the dance caused them to separate and link up with the person across the line.

She raised her left hand as Teddy lifted his right, and they walked in a circle, fingertips touching.

“Unfortunately, I must open the ball, but I would dance the second set with you,” Teddy said when his back was to Beatrix, a statement rather than a request.

“I must decline the honor due to lack of dancing knowledge,” Eleanor replied with an insincere frown. “So sorry.”

“What did he say?” Shermont asked when she returned to her starting point.

She was taken aback by the fierceness of his expression. Regency men were so possessive and presumptuous. “None of your business.”

“My apologies. I phrased that wrongly. You seemed upset.”

“I am quite capable of taking care of myself,” she assured him as they clasped hands across, left hand to left and right hand to right.

“I’m sure you are.” He twirled her under his arm, so their opposite hands were now on top. “That doesn’t mean I can’t be concerned.”

They sashayed … slide, slide, slide … up the line, twirled, and then came back. While the others took turns with the same moves, they stood quietly in place.

As a grand finale, the dancers made a large circle. Each gentleman swung his partner around before twirling her under his arm and passing her to the man on his left. Another reason for Prinny to love the dance.

Eleanor went from Shermont to Teddy to Whitby, who held her too tight and stared down at her décolletage while asking her for a dance later that evening. She declined without remorse. Rockingham acted as if she were a mere imposition, his attention glued on the heiress Cecily. Foucalt swung her expertly and handed her off to Alanbrooke.

“You could smile when you step toward me,” he said with a teasing sparkle in his eye.

She did just that. “Sorry. My mind was a million miles away.”

“How flattering,” he said in a dry tone. But he returned her smile before passing her to Parker, who stammered out his invitation to a dance that evening. She regretted she could not accept and explained her ignorance of the popular dances.

Then she had a moment to breathe with Mina’s imaginary partner Raoul. Eleanor reminded herself that if she wanted to keep an eye on Shermont, she would have to mend a few fences. She approached him with a smile.

“Am I forgiven?” he asked.

“My apologies. I’ve gotten so used to being on my own. I forget life is different here.”

“No need to apologize. I should remember you aren’t like other females. I’m just glad we’re back on good terms.” The music ended and he bowed. “I look forward to the evening ahead.” His wicked smile promised more than his polite words.

The music stopped, and everyone applauded. “That is all we have time for today,” Patience said with a bow.

Deirdre closed her mouth.

Eleanor wanted to help Deirdre regain the status that Patience seemed determined to usurp. “What does our hostess have to say?” Eleanor asked in a loud voice, pointedly looking in Deirdre’s direction. “Do we learn another dance?”

Deirdre sent her a grateful look. “Regretfully, Aunt Patience is right.”

Eleanor hid a smile at the double meaning. Did Deirdre regret that time was up or that Patience was right?

The gentlemen gave their polite adieus and left. Then the women meandered back to the entrance hall and up the stairs in twos and threes, chatting about everything that must be done to get ready for the ball.

“Shall we bathe before our naps or afterward?” Mina asked as they entered their sitting room.

“Bathe?” After washing in a basin, Eleanor was all for a bath. “Let’s do that first.”

“Good idea. There might be a rush on hot water later,” Deirdre said as she rang for Twilla to ready the bathing chamber.

“Rochambeau for who goes first?” Mina asked.

Deirdre agreed, so Eleanor nodded without knowing what she was agreeing to do. Deirdre gathered them into a circle of sorts and held out her fist toward the center. Mina followed suit, so Eleanor did too.

“On three,” Deirdre said.

She raised and lowered her hand on each slow count, so Eleanor copied her. On the count of three her hand was still fisted like Deirdre’s, but Mina had made the two-fingered sign for scissors. Eleanor immediately understood the game played by a different name.

“I hate bathing in used water. Why do I always have to lose?” Mina stuck out her lip and marched off to the bedroom.

“Because she always does scissors,” Deirdre whispered.

“Now what?” Eleanor asked.

“Loser goes second in the tub?” Deirdre asked as she sized up her new opponent.

Eleanor reasoned out her next move. Since Mina always took scissors that meant Deirdre always took rock. But since Deirdre had just told her that, then she wouldn’t take rock next. But if she took scissors, then she would be mimicking her sister, something Eleanor didn’t think she would do. But Deirdre wouldn’t expect her to use rock twice, so …

Omigod. She was turning into Vizzini from The Princess Bride with his convoluted logic. Eleanor decided to wing it.

“Ready?” Deirdre asked, staring at Eleanor as if her choice would be flashed on her forehead a second before her hand dropped.

“Go for it.”

After the count, Eleanor ended with a fist. And her rock beat scissors.

“Congratulations,” Deirdre said in a tight little voice, unaccustomed to losing, but keeping the traditional stiff upper lip. She spun on her heel and went into the bedroom, head held high, passing her sister without a word.

In the process of donning her robe, Mina came into the room wearing her chemise and slippers. She stared after her sister as she tied her belt. Turning to Eleanor, she asked, “What’s wrong with Deirdre?” A slow smile of comprehension lit her face. “You won!” She clapped her hands. “I love it. Well, what are you waiting for? Go on. Get ready. I’m going to enjoy this.”

“I don’t know what—”

“Go on.” Mina shooed her into her bedroom.

Eleanor still didn’t know what to expect, but she did what she’d been doing since she arrived and mimicked one of the girls. She disrobed down to her chemise, took off her shoes and stockings, and donned her robe and slippers. She was ready to go to the bathing chamber, an unfortunate name. The only other ones she could think of were a judge’s chamber, a decompression chamber, and a torture chamber, none of which sounded like a pleasant experience.

Shermont propped his feet up and accepted the drink his valet handed him. “I can’t be one hundred percent certain without a letter by letter comparison, but I’d bet my new Hessians the handwriting on Digby’s note was the same as the one from the tree.”

Carl shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would a peer risk everything? Could someone else have written the note for him? His steward? His valet? I’ve written notes for you.”

“To complete a mundane task such as ordering stationery or to decline an invitation from a stranger, but not a personal note. And never a missive to a lady.”

“I agree. He probably wrote the note himself, but that still leaves the question of why,” Carl said.

Shermont shrugged. “I don’t really care why. If he’s guilty, we arrest him.”

“If we know why, it may help us identify the other foreign agent or agents.”

Shermont was fairly certain he knew who the other was, but he held his tongue. Since omission was a form of lying, his silence counted as the first time he’d lied to his partner. He took a swig of his tea. “Probably one of the big three motivators—money, love, or revenge.”

“My research on Digby didn’t turn up any incidents that could even remotely incite a need for revenge. Just a normal, aristocratic childhood.”

“His mother was French,” Shermont reminded his friend.

“And she brought him to England in order to escape Dr. Guillotine’s diabolical invention. Well, not exactly his mother. She died on the journey, but his aunt brought him.”

“So that leaves money. We know Napoleon pays well for information.”

“You must be joking. The estate, the house, the servants—”

“All of which cost beaucoup sous to keep functioning. Digby is a strange mixture of extravagance and economies.”

Carl gestured around the luxurious room. “Economies?”

“I’ve told you. It’s all in the details. For instance, the bed linens the girls used for costumes had been mended multiple times by different seamstresses, some more skilled than others.”

“Extras. With so many guests …”

“Possible. But lots of little details add up. The house and grounds, though grand and well-maintained, have not been updated for many years—nothing in the newer styles of furniture and no modern conveniences. I noticed the drapes used on the stage were sun-faded on the back and had not been replaced or even relined. Several pieces of furniture need to be reupholstered. At dinner last night my chair wobbled so badly I feared I might land on my backside if I crossed my legs.”

“Perhaps Digby has no interest in furnishings. Many men leave that to a wife, which he doesn’t have.”

“Does he also take no interest in the gardens? New plants are the rage every year. He has none. The paths remain quite wide, a style popular twenty years ago, so that a man could escort a lady wearing the voluminous skirts of the time without stepping into the grass or flowerbeds.”

“Gardening may not—”

“I’ll give you only one more example, even though I could go on for hours.”

“Please, no.”

Shermont smiled. “The wine cellar.”

“Surely you have no complaints regarding the wine and potables served. Digby has an excellent nose. The stock is first-rate, maybe even exceptional.”

“You are a better judge than I am in such matters, but I agree. However, on the tour Digby gave me when I first arrived, I noticed something peculiar. No new vintages have been laid away for future use.”

“Hmmm.”

“I see you’re still not convinced. Start looking, and I’m sure you’ll find examples of your own. Especially in behind-the-scenes areas.”

“What about the third motivator? Who does Digby love?”

“Other than himself?”

“But it is a possibility?”

“Love?” Shermont leaned back and closed his eyes so Carl wouldn’t see the truth reflected there. “You never know what a man will do for love.”