What Would Jane Austen Do?

Chapter Two

Eleanor woke and had no idea what time it was. She fumbled for the watch that she’d left on the bedside table. At least she thought she’d left it there. Had she put it in her carryon? She sat up and blinked in the pale light.

Mina and Deirdre were seated by the window.

Eleanor pinched herself. “Ouch!”

“Good morning, slug-a-bed,” Mina said with a bright smile. “It is half past ten on Wednesday the twenty-third day of June in the year 1814.”

“Oh no,” Eleanor said, shaking her head. If she wasn’t dreaming, that meant the ghosts were real. “Why are you still here? Why are you haunting me?”

“We promised we would be here to help you with the nuances of Regency life,” Mina said.

“Even though there is much you cannot possibly understand, especially in the short time available,” Deirdre added.

Eleanor held up her hand. She needed a minute to deal with this … whatever this was. What was it they always said to ghosts on TV? “You should go toward the light. Move on to whatever—”

“We explained that we can’t leave this property.”

“Right. I remember. Look, I’m only going to be here for a week. There is no other room where I can stay, so why don’t we come to an agreement? I’ll try to not bother you if you’ll try to not bother me. Sound reasonable?”

“But we can help you—”

“I don’t want your help. In fact, I don’t want to see you anymore, or hear you, or … or sense your presence. Is that clear?”

Mina nodded, her expression sad.

Deirdre crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “You are not properly prepared to manage—”

“Whatever happens this week, I’ll figure it out. Now, I want you both to promise you’ll leave me alone.”

“Perhaps you should listen to her,” Mina said with a nod toward her sister.

“Arrrgh!” Eleanor flopped back on the bed and pulled the pillow and blanket over her head. “Go away!”

After a few minutes, Eleanor realized she might as well get up because she wasn’t going back to sleep. Yet she hesitated. What if the ghosts were still there?

She heard the door open and someone moving around. In one quick move, she whipped off the cover and sat up. “Why are you—”

A scream stopped her mid-sentence. A maid stood in the center of the room, her hands to her mouth, her eyes as wide as if she’d seen a ghost.

Eleanor apologized for startling the girl, who didn’t look much over the age of fourteen. At the same time, she was impressed that even the maid was dressed in an appropriate period costume for Regency Week. She wore a white mobcap and a simple gray ankle-length dress covered by a long white apron.

“I weren’t expecting no one to be here,” the maid said as she picked up the dropped linens and draped them over her arm.

“Understandable.” Eleanor gave the young girl a sympathetic smile. “I arrived late last night, and Karen Simms put me in here.”

“I don’t be knowing no one by that name, but they made a terrible blunder. This be the mistresses’ suite. Miss Deirdre won’t like a stranger sleeping in her bed.”

Eleanor didn’t want to hear more about the ghosts. “I’m sure everything will be fine.” She got up and put on the robe she’d left on the foot of the bed. “My luggage should be arriving from the airport, if it hasn’t already. I’d appreciate it if you would keep a look out for my suitcases. Two, both black. My name is Eleanor Pottinger. I’m from America, but I’m sure you already deduced that from my accent.” The girl still seemed nervous. “What’s your name?” Eleanor asked to put her at ease.

“I be Twilla.” The maid curtseyed, maintaining her role, but she had a confused expression. “Miss Eleanor from America. Two black cases arriving from the port.” She repeated the information as if memorizing foreign language phrases. Suddenly her face lit with comprehension. “Aye, you must be the cousin they been expecting for over a fortnight.”

“Actually, I’m—”

“I’ll be right back with a pitcher of hot water.”

Now Eleanor was confused. But she had no time to question the maid before the girl scurried out. Eleanor looked around the bedside table for her watch. She got down on her hands and knees to look under the bed.

“Miss?”

Eleanor sat back in surprise. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it was the maid, not the ghosts. Perhaps it really had been no more than a dream.

“I forgot to ask if you want a breakfast tray. Cocoa? Toast?”

“Coffee would be great.” Eleanor stood and brushed off her hands, even though there was no dust on the floor she could have picked up. “Thank you.”

“If you was looking for the chamber pot, it’s in the corner,” Twilla said. “Behind the screen.”

Eleanor turned in the direction the maid indicated. She didn’t remember seeing the three-panel Chinese screen before. A chamber pot! She was all for realism in attire for the conference, like not using zippers or polyester fabrics. It was fun to imitate the manners and activities of the Regency, but expecting the attendees to sacrifice use of a modern toilet was too much to expect. She turned to say something, but the girl was gone.

The respite gave her time to realize the maid was not the appropriate person to speak to about sanitation arrangements. When Eleanor went downstairs, she planned to have a talk with the inn manager, Mrs. Ruth Simms. Until then, she would play along with the program.

Twilla returned, a pitcher of steaming hot water in one hand and a bundle in the other. She deposited both behind the screen. An even younger girl followed her into the room carrying a tray with a silver coffee service, delicate china cup and saucer, plate of toast, and a large snowy napkin. The child set the tray on the table near the window and then curtseyed on the run as she scurried out.

“I’ve brought everything I expect you’ll need for your morning ablutions. Be there anything else, Miss?” Twilla asked. “Simply ring when you are ready, and I will return to help you dress.” She indicated the bellpull that hung next to the painting over the fireplace.

Eleanor hadn’t had anyone help her dress since she’d learned to tie her own shoes. “Thank you. That won’t be necessary.”

The maid quickly masked her surprise and nodded. “As you will, Miss. Nuncheon is served for the ladies at eleven o’clock. The dancing master is in attendance today.”

“Thank you.”

“Just ring when you are ready, and I will take you downstairs.”

Eleanor was sure she could find her way without a guide, but she nodded rather than argue. As soon as the maid left, Eleanor headed straight for the bathroom. The rosette latch on the armoire wouldn’t budge. She tried every bit of decorative carving, in case she had remembered the location of the latch wrong. Nothing moved.

“Damn it.”

Locking the bathroom door was taking matters too far. Mrs. Simms was in for an earful.

In desperation, Eleanor was forced to use the chamber pot. Without her suitcases, she had to make do with the materials provided by the inn. She added the skimpy linen washcloth and hand towel to her list of complaints. On the plus side, the tiny square of handmade soap that smelled of honeysuckle was an unexpected pleasure.

She examined the wide-toothed comb that appeared to be tortoise shell. Since that was illegal, like ivory, it must be plastic. Good imitation. She pulled the comb through her hair, glad she’d recently cut it short and allowed it to curl naturally.

Then she examined the wood-handled toothbrush with strange brown bristles. She set it aside with a shiver of revulsion. A small round can labeled “tooth powder” contained a white substance that tasted like baking powder with a touch of mint. Since her disposable toothbrush was locked in the bathroom, she used her finger to rub a bit of it over her teeth.

As she dressed, she thought about Twilla’s earlier announcement of the day’s activities. The schedule change was a bit of a worry. What if they’d changed the time she was to speak? She’d better get downstairs and register for the conference so she could check the handouts for other revisions.

At least she didn’t need to change the outfit she’d planned to wear. The sprigged muslin was appropriate for luncheon, or nuncheon as it was called during the Regency, and a dancing lesson. Although Eleanor was mostly interested in the fashions of the Regency, she’d planned to attend as many seminars as possible in order to make contacts and check out the costumes the competition had produced.

She decided not to spare more time looking for her watch, which she would have stuffed in her reticule anyway, so as not to spoil the illusion of the period dress. A gauzy shawl of sunny yellow and a Japanese fan completed her outfit.

In the hall, a faint feeling of unease niggled at the back of her brain and slowed her purposeful stride. Nothing seemed familiar. True, she’d been exhausted last night, but apparently she’d totally spaced out. The colorful Turkish rug beneath her feet was at odds with her vague memory of generic neutral carpeting. And a plethora of portraits and landscapes hanging on the walls replaced the tastefully framed photos of the manor’s architectural features that she remembered.

When she reached the landing halfway down the grand stairway, she came to a complete stop. She blinked. “Omigod,” she whispered.

Either a crew had renovated the entrance hall overnight, or she was in a different place. Gone was the shuttered monstrosity of a registration desk. A round table topped with a large Oriental vase of flowers sat directly below an ornate crystal chandelier. The tarnished suit of armor was gone. As Eleanor descended the last steps, a footman dressed in blue and gold livery and a white pony-tailed wig opened the ten-foot-tall double front doors and stood at attention to one side.

Eleanor was treated to a scene from a movie version of a Jane Austen novel. Two men dismounted their horses and handed the reins to a stableboy. In a classic macho moment, the taller one thumped the other on the back. She didn’t hear what was said, but male laughter rumbled ahead of them as they strode up the front steps. As they entered, the first man removed his tan leather gloves. His high stiff collar, snowy cravat, buff breeches, and knee-high Hessian boots were accurate in every detail, fitting his physique as if they had been glued on his body. His dark hair was casually windblown and a bit on the long side. He handed his high-crowned hat, gloves, and riding quirt to the footman with an air of entitled nonchalance not many men could pull off. His intense gaze drew her attention to his stormy gray eyes, but his frown caused her to quickly look away.

The other gentleman, also wearing an impeccable riding costume, had blond curls à la Byron, boyish good looks, and laughing blue eyes. Standing side by side, it appeared as if an angel and one of Satan’s own had declared a temporary truce. The angelic one noticed Eleanor standing on the stairway and said, “Ho, now, what have we here?”

A butler, who seemed to appear out of thin air, proffered a folded message on a silver salver and whispered something into the blond man’s ear.

“Thank you, Tuttle,” he said, dismissing the servant with a wave before stepping toward her. “My dear cousin, please allow me to welcome you. A bit belated, but no less sincere.”

She descended the stairs in a state of confusion. Did the festival have an official host? If so, they’d chosen well. He must be a politician or used car salesman in his real life. Unlike the taller dark-haired man who stood glowering, this man was open and friendly.

“I’m so pleased you are arrived in time for the house party,” the host said. Her puzzlement must have shown on her face. “Come now. I can’t have changed that much.” When she didn’t respond, he continued, “But maybe I have. I’m Lord Digby in case you haven’t guessed.” He made a low elegant bow, one leg forward. “But I insist you call me Teddy, as you did when we were children. After all, you are a member of our family.” He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something.

Eleanor tipped her head slightly to the side, trying to make the circumstances fit into a logical framework. Had some attendees of the festival assumed a persona like reenactors sometimes did? Nothing in the conference literature had mentioned role-playing. Maybe they had hired actors to play the residents of the manor who lived during the Regency.

“I’m overwhelmed,” she said. And that was the truth.

“My sisters will be pleasantly surprised you have finally arrived. We passed their carriage on the road, so Deirdre and Mina should be here shortly.” Digby turned and motioned his companion forward. “Lord Shermont, allow me to present my cousin from America—”

The rest of the introduction was lost to her. Shermont’s presence was the undeniable last straw. Eleanor could no longer rationalize everything that had seemed out of place. As she was descending the last stair, the unbelievable truth hit her mid-step.

Omigod. The ghosts had actually done it. She’d really traveled back in time.

The enormity of the realization caused the earth to drop from under her feet by at least two inches. Or so it seemed as she stumbled forward. Shermont steadied her by supporting her elbow. Even so, she nearly fell into his arms.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, regaining her balance and pulling free. She crossed her arms and surreptitiously rubbed her elbow, still tingling with the warmth of his touch.

“Meeting you is a … unique pleasure,” Shermont said with a wicked, teasing smile that sent her blood racing.

“Here now,” her erstwhile cousin said. “I’d heard of females throwing themselves at you, Shermont, but I never thought to witness it myself.”

“Mind your manners, Digby,” Shermont said in a low, just-short-of-threatening voice.

The younger blond man only laughed at the reprimand. “This is the Age of Sensibility, and man must follow his penchant. It is my nature to be too honest and forthcoming.”

“Also known as rudeness.”

Digby frowned. “If that comment had come from anyone other than you, Shermont, I might be obligated to defend my honor.”

Surely Regency men wouldn’t duel over such a silly reason. Eleanor felt she should say something, but she had no idea how to diffuse the situation she’d inadvertently caused. Quick, quick, what would Jane Austen do? The scene that came to mind was when Knightley criticized Emma after the picnic where she had treated Miss Bates so badly.

“Gentlemen, isn’t the essence of good manners to make sure no one is uncomfortable?” Eleanor asked.

Shermont quirked an eyebrow in recognition of her riposte.

She continued, refusing to acknowledge the heat his tacit approval ignited. “Please don’t compound my embarrassment by turning my clumsiness into an affaire d’honneur.”

Both men were immediately contrite, verbally stumbling over each other in attempts to absolve her of any responsibility and to assure her their sparring was only good-natured jibes between friends and of no consequence. The impromptu competition of flowery apologies was thankfully cut short by the arrival of Deirdre and Mina. The sisters looked exactly like their ghostly counterparts, only the live ones were more vibrant in coloring and manner—more … alive.

Lord Digby interrupted the girls’ enthusiastic greeting of Eleanor to present his sisters to Lord Shermont.

“Haven’t I had the pleasure previously? You both seem quite familiar,” Shermont said. He rubbed the spot where a faint one-inch scar marked his forehead.

“I don’t think so,” Deirdre said. She made a slight pout with her lips as if trying to remember.

“No doubt we would—”

“Highly unlikely that we have met,” Deirdre said, interrupting her excited sister. “Neither of us has been presented at court as yet, and therefore we have not been in attendance at any functions of London society.”

Mina rocked forward on her toes. “Our brother promised next spring we—”

“Perhaps you have been a guest at another country house in the area?” Teddy offered. “Perhaps last summer?”

“Unfortunately, my affairs usually keep me in London year-round,” Shermont said.

“Then I insist there will be no discussion of business this entire week.” As Teddy spoke the footman closed the front door. “Where is Uncle Huxley?” Teddy turned to his sister. “Didn’t you delay your homecoming so he could accompany you?”

“He went with the coach to the stables,” Deirdre said as she removed her bonnet. “He brought his new filly along and wanted to see her settled properly.”

“I dare say he thinks more of horses than people,” Mina said as she handed her bonnet to the maid who waited nearby.

“Then we shall go to the stables to welcome him,” Teddy said.

“And perhaps take advantage of the opportunity to show off your new stallion,” Shermont said.

“I have been caught out,” Teddy admitted with a laugh. He turned to his sisters. “I’m told the fairest of our guests are in the parlor, and I’m sure you would prefer their company. If you will excuse us?”

“You are excused, but only because you are not properly dressed to be considered desirable company,” Deirdre replied to her brother. She turned to Shermont. “A dancing master has been engaged to demonstrate the latest steps. I do hope you will join us later this morning, even though you probably know all the new dances from London.”

Shermont gave a slight bow. “One can never be too well-versed in the pleasures of the dance.”

Though his answer was noncommittal, Deirdre smiled and preened under his direct attention. Eleanor easily decided Deirdre must be the sister who was seduced.

When the gentlemen were gone, Deirdre turned to Eleanor. “Dear Cousin Ellen,” she said. “We are so pleased you have arrived safely. I can hardly believe it’s been eleven years since your father took you off to the Colonies.”

“You look just the same,” Mina said. “Well, maybe a little older, but your teeth are still good. That’s an advantage in the marriage mart, believe me.”

“I’m not—”

“We won’t talk about marriage just yet,” Deirdre said. “Ellen just arrived.”

“Such a long time-consuming journey,” Mina said.

She didn’t know how right she was. “Actually, my name is Eleanor Pottinger, and I must tell you—”

“And we want to hear everything, absolutely everything. You’ve had such a terrible time these past three years, losing your father, your house, your fortune, and your husband to the war. May God rest Captain … what was his name again? Oh, yes, I remember. May God rest Captain Pottinger’s soul.”

Eleanor blinked at the list of woes. Poor Ellen.

“But you must consider this your home now and stay as long as you want.” Deirdre hooked her arm through Eleanor’s. “You’ll share our suite until after the ball because we have so many houseguests expected. We will have a long cozy chat later. Just now I am parched and cannot bear another moment without a cup of tea.”

Mina took Eleanor’s other arm. “Dear Cousin Eleanor, you are not to worry. Deirdre and I will take care of everything.”

Her words had a familiar echo. Inside the parlor, Eleanor was presented to their aunt, Patience Aubin, whom she was supposed to recognize, but, of course, didn’t.

Patience was in her mid-forties, at least, and dressed in the fashion of a woman half her age. Her neckline was cut too low and her corset laced too tight, resulting in the danger of her ample breasts popping out of her bodice. A few stray wisps of unnaturally orange hair escaped her old-fashioned turban headdress.

The older woman gave her an assessing glance. “Welcome back to Twixton,” she said.

Although the words were correct and polite, Eleanor detected no warmth or sincerity in her tone.

Deirdre introduced Eleanor to the other guests present, starting with Mrs. Holcum and her daughter Beatrix. The mother was elegantly attired with not a hair out of place. She gave Eleanor a condescending nod and immediately turned back to her previous conversation. The daughter was a walking advertisement for aristocratic breeding: flawless complexion, small straight nose, rosebud lips, flaxen hair, and an attitude of entitlement.

“Always a pleasure to meet Teddy’s, I mean Lord Digby’s, relatives,” Beatrix said, although the sentiment didn’t reach her icy blue eyes. “I’ve heard so much about you from his dear sisters.”

“All good, I’m sure,” Eleanor said with a smile.

Beatrix blinked, apparently unable to think of an appropriate put down. She turned and flounced away.

Deirdre pulled on Eleanor’s elbow, directed her to the woman sitting on the sofa next to Aunt Patience, and introduced her to Mrs. Maxwell, who was in attendance with two daughters. Fiona and Hazel, still in their teens, stood by the large bay window. Both willowy girls had dark hair, lively brown eyes, delicate features, and sweet smiles, obviously taking after their paternal lineage. After curtseying gracefully, they returned their attention to whatever was outside the window.

Deirdre took an empty seat next to the table with the tea service. Mina dodged a pacing Beatrix and joined the others by the window.

Eleanor grabbed the arm of a chair in the corner and eased herself down. As chitchat regarding various journeys and the weather swirled past her, she tried to wrap her mind around what had happened. Even though she knew time travel was impossible, she now had no choice but to believe. If the ghosts brought her here, could they send her back? She intended to ask them—no, demand that they …

Suddenly she realized someone stood directly in front of her, blocking her view of the rest of the room.

“I know why your cousins invited you to live with them,” Beatrix Holcum said softly, her voice a sneer. “You can forget any notion of marrying Teddy, because he and I have an understanding.”

“I hadn’t—”

“Shhh. Don’t play the innocent with me,” she whispered, crossing her arms. “I know your sad little story, but I am not responsible for your troubles. You and your cousins may expect their brother to marry you, but Teddy is already promised to me. You will have to look further afield for the rich husband you so desperately need.”

Even though Eleanor didn’t have any designs on Teddy, she didn’t particularly like the way Beatrix was attacking her. “An understanding? What exactly does that mean?” she whispered back. Tipping her head to one side and putting her finger on her chin, she added, “Oh, yes. That’s the same as not engaged, isn’t it?”

Beatrix dropped her arms to her sides and curled her hands into fists. “We are engaged. We are only waiting to make the formal announcement until after his sisters are presented this fall during the Little Season. We will be married in January.”

“Really?” Teddy hadn’t told his supposed fiancée that he wasn’t going to take his sisters to London until spring. Not only did the beloved Teddy sink in her estimation, she suddenly felt a kinship to poor Beatrix, another woman who would get cruelly jilted. Of course, even if she told Beatrix, she probably wouldn’t believe her. “My grandmother always said, don’t give the milk away for free if you want to sell the cow.”

Beatrix looked confused. “Your grandmother was a dairymaid?”

“Of course not.” Before Eleanor could explain her advice, they were distracted by the commotion near the window.

“It’s him. It’s him,” Fiona cried out. She leaned forward, nearly knocking the vase of flowers off the table. “They’re coming back from the stable.”

“Let me see,” Hazel said, squeezing in next to her sister to get a better viewing angle. “He’s so handsome.”

The girls reacted as if a rock star was walking up the drive. Their whispering and sighing prompted their mother to ask, “Whom are you talking about?”

“Lord Shermont, of course,” Fiona said. After a lingering look out the window, she turned and flounced across the room to join the other women. “I do hope he asks me to dance.”

“I think I’d faint if he asked me,” Hazel said, arriving on her sister’s heels.

“I’m disappointed we didn’t get a look at Huxley’s filly,” Shermont said as they reentered the manor.

“Believe you me, you’re not missing much,” Digby responded, again handing his hat to the footman. “She’s not much to look at.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.” Shermont considered himself a good judge of horseflesh and knew from experience speed and stamina did not always come in a pretty package.

Digby waved off the words of wisdom. “Bit rude of Huxley to put the exercise of his mount over greeting his host, don’t you think?”

“Not necessarily. Owning an animal carries responsibilities as well as joys.” If the horse had been kept tied to the back of the carriage the whole way over, the animal probably needed and deserved a good run.

“That’s why we have grooms,” Digby said.

Shermont understood not wanting a stranger on his favorite horse. “I don’t allow anyone else to ride my stallion. A heavy-handed groom would ruin his sensitive mouth.”

Digby could not deny that, so he changed the subject. “I’d much rather spend time with the ladies. I intend to change and join them.” He started up the stairs.

Shermont followed with a similar plan. He entered his room and threw off his coat. “Carl?”

His valet appeared with a basin of hot water and fresh towels. “Yes, milord,” he answered in his somber tone. Dressed in his usual black, his demeanor was funereal except for his one vanity: an elaborate and ugly wig to hide his baldness and protruding ears.

Born in the mews of London to an abusive father, Carl had left home at the age of eight after his mother died of consumption. Admitting only to being fifty years old, he’d had various careers: pickpocket, sailor, acrobat, jockey, cat burglar, to name a few. The previous Lord Shermont had recruited him straight out of Newgate to steal an incriminating document from a third-story bedroom. A patriot despite all, Carl had stayed on to help find and neutralize foreign agents who were selling information to the enemies of the crown. He could now add valet to his colorful resume. The bandy-legged little man had proven himself a worthy partner.

“I wish to change and get back downstairs as quickly as possible,” Shermont said, stripping off his clothes.

“Some men take as much as two or three hours to complete their toilettes,” Carl said with a hint of disapproval. “A gentleman is often judged by the care he takes with his appearance.”

“Attention to detail is fine. Wasting time is not. We have another suspect. There is a new guest. A female.”

Something about her—the way she talked, the way she acted—seemed familiar. Was it a memory from the past he couldn’t remember? As usual, thinking about his life before what he called the “accident” gave him an instant headache over his right eye, a stabbing pain that blurred his vision. He applied pressure on the scar and cleared his mind. The throbbing lessened to a manageable level.

“The cousin from America,” Carl said with a nod. “She could well be a Napoleon supporter.”

“Digby wasn’t acting very cousinly toward her.” Shermont dismissed the niggling jealousy, calling it excitement that their hunt for a foreign agent in the area was finally achieving results. He hoped that by changing clothes in record time he could get downstairs to question her before Digby arrived.

“A distant cousin,” Carl clarified. “According to the servants, she’s a childhood friend of the sisters. Their uncle Huxley was married to a Roberta Donaldson, and her brother is Mrs. Pottinger’s father.”

“Married to …”

“Widowed eighteen months ago.”

Shermont released a breath he wasn’t sure why he’d been holding. “The husband?”

“No one seems to remember him. Only reference was to the Captain. They did say her husband was killed in battle,” Carl continued. “Another reason she would have no love for the English despite being born here.”

“Send a message to our contact at the diplomatic corps, and see if they have any information on a Captain Pottinger. He could have been military or even a private ship’s captain. Did you find out why she’s here? Seems a dangerous time to make such a hazardous journey simply to visit old friends.”

“According to Twilla, the ladies’ maid, the sisters hope to foster a marital alliance with their brother. It would be an advantageous match for the American, as she has no fortune and no prospects. Other servants are quite sure Digby will marry Miss Holcum.”

“What does his valet say?” Shermont asked, knowing a man could keep few secrets from his manservant.

“His valet is closemouthed, as is proper.”

Shermont had finished dressing and turned to the mirror to check his cravat. “Excellent.” He patted the elaborate knot Carl had tied. “Keep your ears open,” he encouraged as he headed for the door with a light step.

“Yes, milord.”