The Jane Austen Marriage Manual (37 page)

Before I could protest any further, the unmistakable sound of silverware clinking crystal reverberated around the room. The crowd parted and in the center was Scott, a cigar in one hand, a champagne flute in the other. He had brought the room to silence.

“Go to him,” Fawn said and gently pushed me forward. Everyone’s eyes were on me as I walked toward him. The loud echo my heels made on the hardwood made me quicken my pace awkwardly.

“There you are,” Scott called out and grabbed me by the waist so that I was practically in his lap. The smoke was too much for me and I swatted it away.

“She’s not a fan of my cigars! But you’ll have to get used to them, sweetheart!” He laughed, and the crowd laughed uncomfortably. It was obvious he was drunk, even more than I was. I’d never seen him like this and I didn’t like it. “But when true love happens, what’s there to complain about?”

He clutched me to him and kissed me hard on the lips. The crowd applauded awkwardly. I couldn’t breathe, his grip was so tight, and the smoke so powerful, I could feel myself struggling to get free. At last he let me go and I stumbled, teetering on my heels. I wiped my mouth as subtly as I could and as I did I spotted Griff, not six feet away, staring at me with an expression I couldn’t put my finger on. Was it pity?

“To my fiancée,” Scott said triumphantly and raised his glass, but as he did so the cigar dropped from his hand and fell toward me. I tried to catch it. But my reflexes were too slow and I missed. The cigar
struck my thigh and instantly burned through my dress and singed my flesh. I gasped, but it wasn’t because of physical pain. It was the hole in my Chanel dress that caused the agony.

The room went deathly silent. I quickly brushed off the ashes but it was no use—seared through the fabric was a hole the size of a quarter. I stared at it in disbelief. I looked up at Scott. He was still grinning. My whole body shaking, I ran my hand over the hole and poked my finger inside. I could feel skin. The cigar had burned through the wool and right through the silk lining. My Chanel dress was ruined. The dress
my grandmother
had bought me. The dress we had fought over, and made up over, and that I treasured dearly because it reminded me of her. Now it was destroyed. I stood like a statue, not knowing what I should do next, when all of a sudden I sniffled, once, then again. It was as though I was struck by a sudden head cold. Another sniffle. Then I knew I was crying, tears were streaming down my face, salty and hot. They ran into my mouth and down my neck. I hadn’t cried in months and now I couldn’t stop. Scott’s voice boomed, cutting through the silence.

“Don’t be silly, my dear,” he said with a laugh. “It’s just a dress. We can buy you a new one.”

That did it. I began to sob uncontrollably. “My grandmother bought me this dress,” I cried. “It can’t be replaced.”

“You’re overreacting!” he snapped and grabbed my arm again and whispered angrily. “Stop behaving like a child. You’re embarrassing me.”

He had never spoken to me like that before. I wanted to snatch my arm away but I didn’t have to; someone else had my arm and was pulling me free. I watched Scott shrug in defeat and turned and saw Griff leading me away and then the ballroom door closed behind me.

“Put your arms around my neck,” Griff said gently, just as he had after my accident. I did as I was told, only this time I did it without objection. He lifted me up and carried me down the long hallway, past the great room and morning room and dining room until we were in the entranceway. But we didn’t stop there, nor did he carry me upstairs to my room. Instead, he kept walking until we reached the mahogany doors. He put me down and, taking a key from his pocket, opened the
lock. The huge door creaked open, revealing an enormous library with floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases, oriental rugs, leather armchairs, and a ruby red fainting couch.

“I thought we weren’t allowed in here,” I said through tears. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

Griff didn’t answer. He led me to the sofa and there I sat and watched as he locked us in, then went to a sideboard where there were glasses and decanters and poured two glasses of wine before taking up residence in one of the leather club chairs opposite me.

“Drink this,” he said and handed me a glass. “It will do you good.”

I nodded and sipped. It was a full-bodied cabernet; its strong taste warmed me up. We sat in uneasy silence. Where was Brandon when I needed him? Even though my tears had dried, I didn’t know what to say, so I turned my attention to the room. It was spectacular, more so than any other in the house. But I was struck mostly by the color of the walls. They were a dusty pinkish grey; it was soothing in an all too familiar way.

“My bedroom was painted a similar color,” I explained. “It was called …”

“Smoked Trout,” Griff finished my sentence. “This room has been this color for nearly three hundred years. Farrow and Ball took samples for their reproduction.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Englishmen don’t joke about heritage paint.” He grinned.

“Wow, I knew Penwick was important.” I smiled then laughed. “Obviously more important than the name of a paint.”

He smiled graciously and beckoned me to follow him to the bookcase, where he grabbed a very old volume and placed it in my hands.

“First edition of
Pride and Prejudice
, as promised.” He smiled.

I gasped. I couldn’t believe it. I carefully opened the cover and read the date of publication—1813—and clutched it to my chest.

“Not so fast,” he teased. “It doesn’t leave the room.”

I smiled innocently.

“You can visit it anytime,” he said. “Read it in this room, if you like.”

“Is this the library where Mr. Penwick reads?” I asked and sat back down with the first edition on my lap. “When he’s here, that is.”

Griff sighed in exasperation.

“There is no Mr. Penwick,” he said bluntly.

“There isn’t?” I was confused. “Doris said the family still lived here, in these rooms, when there wasn’t an annoying wedding going on.”

“She’s right,” he said with a mixture of seriousness and anxiety in his voice, as if he didn’t want to tell me something but knew he had to. “The eldest son lives here mostly, the others only occasionally. But the name isn’t Penwick. That’s the name of the estate.”

“You told me the family was Penwick,” I said, confused.

“I made it up,” he said with a guilty look on his face.

“Why would you do that?” I asked.

“Privacy, I guess,” he said simply. “The name of English estates isn’t always the same as the family name.”

“I knew that,” I said, trying not to sound foolish. Then holding the book up for added emphasis, “I mean, Mr. Darcy lived in Pemberley, not Darcy Manor. Oh God!” I stared at Griff. He took a deep breath. Oh God, why hadn’t I thought of it before? “What is the name of the family who lives here?” I asked even though I knew the answer.

“Saunderson,” he said and smiled sheepishly.

I blinked several times, letting this development sink in. “You mean?” I stumbled over the words. “You’re the, the, the …?”

“Yes, to answer your almost question. I’m the heir of the estate.” He stood up and held his hand out for me to take. “The Eleventh Earl of Penwick, at your service.”

I placed my hand in his and he bowed and kissed it. I laughed.

“I can’t believe it.” I giggled. “Am I the only one who didn’t know?”

“It seems that way,” he said. “That was the secret I asked Scott to keep. And obviously he’s a man of his word.”

“Oh, fuck,” I swore, suddenly horrified. “I said you were gay!”

“I know,” he said wryly.

“Well, we both know that rumor didn’t catch on,” I said. “I still can’t believe it. Not even Clive or Emma said a thing. Wait until Fawn finds out.”

“Yes, Fawn may approve of me now.”

I smiled. No doubt he was right about that; a real aristocrat would make her bend the rules a bit.

“Though I don’t fit into your scheme. You see, the Saunderson family may own Penwick, but we are without a fortune. Quite nearly broke, I’m afraid. When my father died I inherited the title and Penwick and all its debt. My younger brother works in the City, and my sister is a jewelry designer. I run this place as a tourist trap.”

I was stunned. “You must do well hosting weddings and things,” I said hopefully.

He shook his head. “We manage to make ends meet, but you’ve seen the state of things. Penwick needs to make much more money to maintain it, never mind renovate it.”

“So all this time when I’ve been pretending to have money and pass myself off as Lady Kate, you’ve pretended not to be Earl of Penwick?”

“People treat you differently when you have a title,” he said with a smile. “I never much cared for special treatment. And just so you know, one of the keys to behaving like you’re from old money is never to talk about money.”

“Gotcha,” I said and felt my face flush. “Were you afraid I’d chase after you if I knew who you were?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Yes, and for all the wrong reasons,” he admitted. “I didn’t want it to be because you thought I was rich, which I’m not.”

I nodded. Thinking, sadly, he had a point. I looked down at my dress, at the hole in the skirt, and a wave of sadness hit me again. He saw my expression and put his hand over mine.

“Doris might be able to mend it,” he said softly and studied me as if I were a painting. “She’s a wonder at invisible mending.”

I sat quietly, still fingering the hole, remembering when I’d bought the dress and all the years it had hung unworn in my closet. Strange, it was one of the longest relationships I’d ever had.

“Tell me about your dress,” he said gently.

“My grandmother bought it for me,” I began. “She died a few months ago.” I drew in a deep breath, feeling another crying fit coming on. “She was like a mother to me. I miss her.”

And cry I did, and through my tears I told Griff everything, including how my mother’s gambling had cost me my home. He listened
and when I was done he brought me a box of tissues. I blew my nose and wiped my eyes. I was sure I looked frightful.

“So, that’s why you’re marrying Scott?” he asked. “It wasn’t just a lark.”

I nodded.

“You’re grief stricken,” he said sympathetically. “Now I understand.”

“Why does everyone say that?” I snapped, fed up with everyone telling me why I felt as I did.

“Because it’s true,” he explained. “It’s not a sign of weakness, you know. Losing the person you loved most in the world isn’t a cold that works through your system.”

“I just want to feel normal again,” I said simply. “I want to be happy.”

As if that were a cue, Griff took my hand and pulled me up out of the chair toward him. I closed my eyes and felt his soft but firm lips on mine and we kissed, a lot, and I didn’t try to stop him. As our kissing became more and more passionate he lifted me up and pinned me against the bookcase. I opened my eyes briefly; we were smack up against the entire volume of Jane Austen’s first editions. I giggled and kissed him harder.

Then suddenly, he stopped.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“We should break the news to Scott that you’re not marrying him,” he said.

“I’m not?” I answered and pushed myself free.

“Kate,” Griff said with a smile. “It’s obvious; we’re in love.”

I was stunned that the words came so easily to him. “In love?” I repeated, astounded.

He looked at me, puzzled and disappointed. “Are you saying you don’t feel the same way?”

“I don’t know,” I said. The overwhelming thing I felt was confusion. “I’ve avoided you for months. Half the time we seem to dislike each other, the other half—”

“That is true,” he admitted and reached out to touch me but I pulled away.

“The wedding, the guests,” I stammered. “It’s too much.”

“You can’t stand there and suggest you’re going to marry him tomorrow?”

I stood stock still. I didn’t know what I was doing, or feeling. The conflict welled up so vehemently I wanted to scream. Somewhere deep down my intuition was searching for its voice but the struggle against the months of single-minded plotting ensured it remained silent.

“I’ve come this far.”

“Kate, I’ve seen boatloads of gold-digging women in my time. I’ve even had a few take a swipe at me just to get their hands on my title,” he said bluntly. “You’re not one of them.”

“Are you so sure about that?” I spoke in a strained voice. “You don’t understand what marrying Scott means to me. You couldn’t, you have Penwick; even if you’re not rich, you’ve grown up knowing who you are, who your family is, and knowing that no matter what, this is your home.

“Marrying for money isn’t all about buying things, Griff. You know what having money means? Independence. When I’m rich I don’t have to rely on anyone for anything. Who cares if Scott divorces me in a year? I’ll be free and able to live how I want and no one will be able to hurt me again.”

He recoiled at my words. “There’s nothing wrong with relying on people,” he argued. “You can rely on me, on your friends, your family …”

“Family? You mean my father who ran off, or my mother who gambled away my home? No thank you, I’ll rely on me. I have to go,” I said firmly. “Scott will be wondering where I am. I owe him an apology.”

“You’re not who I thought you were,” Griff said sadly.

“Tonight I’m Lady Kate,” I answered. “Tomorrow I’ll be Kate Madewell.”

Not waiting for a response, I walked out and closed the heavy door behind me as though it were a secret passage to a place that didn’t exist in the real world, or at least not in mine.

I should have raced around Penwick desperately seeking Scott but that’s not what happened. It was as though the hole in my dress had released months of pent-up emotions, and the realization of what I was doing and Griff’s words had shaken me to the core. I was in no condition to see Scott. What I needed was time alone to think things through. Slowly I climbed the staircase, then inched along the hall, dragging my feet to my room. Once locked safely behind its door, I perched on top of the window seat and sat there, staring blankly at the damask curtains. When some time had passed, and no right answer had come, I couldn’t delay any longer and I called him. Within seconds I heard the familiar cell phone ring and peered through the curtains and down onto the terrace, where we were to be married. There was Scott, standing alone as he reached into his pocket.