Midnight in Austenland

Charlotte was about to say what she wished when her door opened. She moved out of Eddie’s embrace, and he whipped out his foil.

Miss Charming screamed, raising her hands in the air. “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”

Eddie lowered the weapon, his face flushed. “Sorry. I—sorry.”

“He’s standing guard in case there’s yet another person in this house who wants to kill me,” Charlotte said.

“Good thing I want you alive, then, so you can do up my back,” said Miss Charming. “Don’t want to ring for a maid. Don’t trust any of them anymore, crazy-eyed, trigger-happy lot.”

She turned her back to Charlotte and submitted to the buttoning, then fixed up the mismatched mess Eddie had made of Charlotte’s buttons, chatting all the while of past balls and favorite dances and the squelchy excitement she always got in her tummy whenever the music started. Her faux-British accent had taken a holiday ever since Mallery had tried to murder Charlotte.

Miss Charming volunteered to do Charlotte’s hair and dragged her to her own room. Through the open door, Charlotte could see Eddie in the hallway, holding his foil uncertainly.

“Go get dressed, Eddie,” she called out. “If any hopeful murderers attack us, Lizzy has promised to beat them with her curling iron.”

Charlotte thought it a reasonable threat, and Eddie must have agreed, for while he hesitated for a moment, he soon nodded and left.

“You really are more beautiful than you seem at first,” Miss Charming was saying, sticking a plastic Bumpit under Charlotte’s hair to add volume.

“Thanks?” said Charlotte.

“You’ve got a look that a person’s got to get used to, then after a while, voilà, you’re beautiful. My Bobby totally would have tested out a mattress sample with you.”

“Okay.”

“ ’Course, not that you woulda. You’re not one of those dangerous women, Charlotte. You’re nice.”

Charlotte heard the ball before she saw it. Music floated upstairs and lured her out to the landing. It was remarkable how different she felt in a ball gown—like someone special, someone princessy.

Miss Charming and Miss Gardenside met her on the landing. Strangers in formalwear swirled through the front door, handing cloaks and hats to servants, laughing as they made their way to the great hall. Charlotte had to wonder where Mrs. Wattlesbrook found them all. A casting agency? The local YMCA? There must have been three dozen fresh bodies in Regency clothing. From this vantage, Charlotte couldn’t see the police tape on Mallery’s door or the bullet hole in the wall. Austenland was primped and pretty.

“Each time it’s like the first time,” Miss Charming whispered. “Each time, I think, This is the ball when everything changes.”

“Does it change?” Miss Gardenside asked.

“Sort of. But maybe … not quite enough.”

Colonel Andrews strode to the bottom of the stairs. Like all the men that night, he wore a black jacket and breeches, white shirt and cravat, the Regency version of the tuxedo. He put one hand behind his back and lifted the other up, an invitation.

“Do not require me to grovel, Miss Elizabeth, for you know I will. Come to me and make me the happiest man in the world, or I will grieve to the heavens of the injustice. I will tantrum until the gods take pity and strike me dead to save me the agony of a broken heart. I beg you, be my lady!”

Miss Charming pressed her gloved hands to her chest and gasped with delight, then jogged down the stairs with much roiling and shaking in her upper regions. Colonel Andrews flew up the stairs to meet her halfway, as if he could not wait another moment to touch her.

He took her hand, kissed it, then sighed to the ceiling. “She is a goddess, I say. A goddess!”

Miss Charming’s eyes sparkled, and she seemed about to cry but giggled instead as he led her away.

Before Charlotte and Miss Gardenside could descend the staircase, Eddie appeared, waiting at the bottom. He did not look at Charlotte.

“Miss Gardenside, I must speak out. I, for one, find your behavior this evening abominable.”

“I beg your pardon?” Miss Gardenside asked with mock offense.

“As you should. Think on the other ladies, Miss Gardenside. Think on their delicate natures, their wounded vanities. It is not enough for you to be merely attractive, but must you outshine your entire sex so egregiously? I say, for shame.”

“Perhaps I might powder my nose with mud or pour grease on my hair?”

“Provocative suggestions, but I think my presence at your side might dim the splendor effectively.”

Miss Gardenside took his arm and, with an affected American Southern accent, said, “Honey, you could catch a fish without a hook.”

“If my lady desires fish, my lady shall have fish.” He gestured to the ballroom and they proceeded in.

Still not meeting her eyes, Eddie said over his shoulder, “Good evening, Charlotte.”

“Hello, Eddie.”

Mrs. Wattlesbrook waved a hand to get Charlotte’s attention. She wore an extremely lacy dress and feathers wiggled in her hair. Without her marriage cap, she seemed quite festive. “Mrs. Cordial, may I present Lord Bentley, a very old friend of our family. He has expressed a desire to meet you especially. Sir Charles, Mrs. Charlotte Cordial.”

Lord Bentley was a tall man, taller than must be comfortable for everyday living. Sure, Charlotte was a tall woman, but partnering her with the Chrysler Building seemed like overkill.

“Mrs. Cordial, I daresay this is a pleasure. Am I presumptuous, are you otherwise engaged, or may I request your hand in the first two dances?”

So here she was on yet another blind date. Another man forced into it by a friend—or in this case, because he was paid. Did that make him a gigolo? Weren’t they all, then, essentially gigolos? Ugh.

Charlotte took his arm and entered the ballroom. Hundreds of candles dazzled in the chandeliers, the music dazzling right back. Couples were already dancing, and the swirl of dresses was as beautiful as a coral reef. Tables along the walls were heavy with punch bowls and pastries that emanated sweet, crunchy aromas. Charlotte gasped. Never had Austenland felt so real.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“So are you,” said Lord Bentley.

Oh gag, said her Inner Thoughts.

Charlotte danced with Lord Bentley, sometimes watching Mr. Grey dancing with Miss Gardenside. And sometimes Mr. Grey watched Mrs. Cordial dancing with Lord Bentley.