The Dashwood Sisters Tell All (10 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

I
managed to paste a smile on my face and walk beside Daniel to Upper Farringdon without any further outbursts. After lunch at the charming pub, we returned to Chawton to tour the Great House. The stately home was now a center for the study of early women's writing and so served more as a library than a tourist attraction. If we hadn't been with Tom and the tour company, we’d never have gotten inside, since it wasn't open to the public.

We were asked to leave our packs in the office while we toured the house. It was decorated in a mixture of styles but was still strongly influenced by the original Jacobean structure. Dark wood paneling, tapestries, and mullioned windows gave it more of an Elizabethan than a Regency feel, and Jane and Cassandra would have dined there frequently when their brother was in residence. Just as the enormity of the Vyne had made me wonder how the sisters felt about the size of their house compared to it, I wondered now if they minded that their brother had put them in a cottage while he and his family lived in such splendor.

Daniel gave me some space on this tour and walked with the others, leaving me on my own. It felt strangely empty to move through the dark hallways and paneled rooms alone. I’d fought my feelings for him from the moment I came across him on the path outside Oakley Hall. Now, though, I realized that I was tired of fighting. I wasn't ready to surrender, but maybe I could relax just a little.

Ellen was acting strangely, so I avoided her. I wasn't being a very good sister by Austen standards, certainly not up to the devotion of the Dashwoods in
Sense and Sensibility
, but I was preoccupied with figuring out why Ethan ran so hot and cold. One minute he was flirting with me and taking me to his house, and the next he seemed indifferent or vaguely tolerant. After the tour of Chawton Great House, I was glad to be out in the open air again, even if the sun was wreaking havoc with my complexion. I’d slathered on sunblock for sensitive skin and donned the baseball cap that Tom had found in the back of the van. I hoped no one would want it back, because at the rate I was perspiring, it would be pretty revolting in a matter of minutes.

Tom didn't seem to mind my sweat though. He walked beside me as the groundskeeper or gardener or whoever he was led us across a pasture liberally strewn with horse manure.

“Picturesque,” I murmured under my breath. I didn't mean for Tom to hear me, but he laughed.

“That's one word for it.”

I looked up at him. He really was a very nice man. He’d rescued me at lunch, when Ethan very deliberately moved away from the table where I’d been sitting. Tom hadn't hesitated to pull up a chair and join me. I’d acted as nonchalant as I could, but I was crushed by Ethan's on-again, off-again actions. What did he want from me? I wasn't a mind reader.

With Tom, no mind reading was necessary. We’d had a very pleasant chat, and he’d told me stories about the time he was stationed in a remote northern location, one that he wasn't allowed to name. He told tales of frozen pipes, long underwear, and growing a beard so his cheeks wouldn't freeze, and it made me almost glad for the summer heat. It could definitely have been worse.

The gardener at the Great House didn't believe in dawdling, and we soon found ourselves at the back of the group.

“You okay?” Tom asked.

“Don't fuss,” I said, but I smiled. “I’m stronger than I look.” Men tended to think that blonde curls meant not only a low IQ but physical inferiority as well.

“I don't doubt that.”

“People always think I need special treatment.”

“People like men? Or people like your sister?”

I shouldn't have been surprised at his perceptiveness. “Both, actually.”

“I’ll try not to be one of them.” But it went against his nature, I could tell, not to watch over me. I didn't know whether it was because of his military background, his old-school conditioning as a gentleman, or his interest in me. Or all three.

Still, Tom was as easy to walk with as he was to talk to. I had to pause a couple of times on the uphill bits to catch my breath, and Tom stood quietly beside me, taking in the surroundings with a patient gaze.

“Are you glad for a break from herding us all around?” I asked him when we came to a stop at the bottom of a hill. We’d emerged from a short portion of trail under the trees into the blaze of the afternoon sun.

He shrugged. “I like being in charge, so it's really not an issue.” He wasn't being vain, I could tell. Just honest.

“It's nice having a break from work,” I said. “If nothing else, I’ve gotten that much from the trip.”

He turned to me with a smile. “I hope you’ve gotten more than that.”

“Oh, I didn't mean that the tour—” I blushed.

“I know. Sorry. Just teasing.” His eyes sparkled in a very attractive way.

We started off again and caught up with the others as we made our way around the back of the Great House. We crossed through a line of trees at the top of the ridge, and the path became overgrown.

Tom looked back over his shoulder. “Watch out for the—”

“Ouch.”

“Nettles.” He reached for my arm where the vicious little brutes had attacked me.

“That hurts.”

“Don't sound so surprised. I warned you yesterday.”

“Yes, but I didn't expect it to be this bad.” My skin burned like fire.

“Hang on.” Tom stepped to the side of the path and looked around. Then he reached out and plucked a couple of dark green leaves. “Use these.”

I eyed them with suspicion. “What are they?”

“Dockweed.” He reached out and rubbed them vigorously on my reddening arm. Almost instantly, the pain disappeared.

“Thank you. Although I’m not sure there's actually anything in these leaves. I think it's just the rubbing.”

He chuckled. “Either way, it helps.”

It did, thank goodness. “Much better.” The stinging died down. The redness too. “You always seem to be coming to my rescue.”

The others had moved into the next meadow, and we were alone. Tom stood awfully close, and I felt a strange twist of anticipation in my midsection. That was silly, of course. He was just Tom.

“Mimi…” He reached out and took my hand in his. I was too surprised to protest.

“Do you ever let anyone see the real you?” Then, to my unexpected disappointment, he dropped his hand. Only why should I have been disappointed? I wasn't trying to encourage him.

“I don't know what you m—”

He kissed me. Out of the blue, didn’t-see-it-coming, full-on kissing. He was pretty good at it too. The problem was, he wasn't Ethan, and I had never meant for this to happen.

I stepped back before either of us could get carried away. “Tom—”

“I’m sorry.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “That was unprofessional.” He looked truly distraught, and my heart went out to him.

“Don't worry about it. Really. It's okay.”

“It's not, but you’re nice to say so.” He paused, swallowed. “I don't want to make you feel…uncomfortable.”

He really was too nice a man for me to let him twist in the wind. “It's okay. Really. Besides, it's always nice to be admired. It's just that I don’t—” I didn't want to hurt his feelings. “I mean, I don't think it's a great idea.” Although the jelly in my knees might have said otherwise, if I’d let it do the talking.

“I guess not. I am sorry.”

I hated that he was so distressed, but I hated even more that I was. I would never have expected that. “Why don't we catch up with the others?” I kept my tone bright. “As for this”—I waved a hand—“I won't tell if you won’t.” I shot him my best girlie smile. “You know what they say. What happens at Chawton Great House stays at Chawton Great House.”

His shoulders relaxed, and he looked relieved but also a little sad. I didn't want him to look sad. I’d experienced enough sadness, caused enough sadness even, in the past year without distressing a perfectly nice man like Tom Braddock.

“I think the gardener mentioned something about roses?” I slipped past Tom and took a few steps down the trail.

Thankfully, he followed without any further apologies. With any luck, he’d let it go, just as we’d agreed. I tried to refocus my mind on Ethan. A week wasn't very long to build some sort of a relationship with him. I needed to stay focused on my goal, because I couldn't afford to be distracted by relationships that were never going to go anywhere or by men who didn't fit the bill.

I kept telling myself that, but it didn't make it any easier to forget that kiss. And I wasn't sure what bothered me more—that I’d enjoyed it more than I should have or that Tom had jumped straight to remorse afterward.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

W
hile we’d been touring Chawton that day, Mrs. Parrot had overseen the transfer of our luggage from Oakley Hall to our new hotel at Langrish. I could only hope that no bellman had slipped a disk trying to lift Mimi's monstrosity. I had made a point that morning of putting the diary into my daypack. No way would I trust it in a suitcase that would be under anyone's supervision but my own.

The new hotel was more secluded and less glamorous than Oakley Hall, but it also had a certain careless charm. Whereas Oakley Hall had been square and elegant, Langrish Hall ram-bled a bit, with distinct sections brought together by the use of the same native gray stone. The hotel was nestled among the small hills, the perfect place to escape from everyday life.

I made the mistake of telling Mimi about my dinner plans when we reached the hotel. She barely paused to unpack in her room before she appeared in mine, ready to prep me for my big evening out.

I’m not the kind of woman who should be plucked and pruned, cosmetically speaking, except maybe pruned in a too-long-in-the-bathtub kind of way. I looked at Mimi's reflection in the bathroom mirror and marveled at how her perfect eyebrows had ever been created, much less maintained in all their arched beauty. Even with professional assistance, they couldn't have been easy to pull off. My own eyebrows were a disaster. I could never remember which part to pluck—above or below?—so I left them to grow unfettered in all their scrubby glory. I thought they looked normal, ordinary, like the rest of me. They weren't noticeably atrocious, except to my sister.

“That's what you’re wearing?” Mimi had moved on from my eyebrows and was now scrutinizing my trusty blue dress with decided skepticism.

“I don't have anything else.”

“You only brought one dress?”

“Yes. That's why I can lift my own luggage.” I couldn't resist. She had it coming, with all the eyebrow scrutiny.

“Touché.” She smiled. More perfection, of course, with whitened teeth and lipstick that had been outlined with a lip pencil. “Want to borrow one of my dresses?”

I was touched by the offer, actually. Mimi rarely—no, make that
never
—loaned out her clothes. But I couldn't see myself pulling off a dress like the strapless, pink number she’d worn to the welcome dinner.

“I think I’ll just stick to Old Faithful.” I’d felt fine about my dress until I saw it through my sister's eyes. Now all I could see were the wrinkles, the slight stain on the skirt, and the hemline that was a little short.

“At least let me do your makeup.”

I sighed. “Okay, but you’re not touching my hair.”

In the end, she got her way with my hair too. As I left my room to meet Daniel, I still wore the plain blue dress, but my hair had been straightened into a sexy curtain that hung well below my shoulders. Really, it didn't even look like my hair. My eyes appeared bluer and a little mysterious, thanks to all the smoky eyeliner, and my lips glistened with pale pink gloss.

I made it as far as the lobby before I lost my courage. I slipped into the women's restroom, dampened a paper towel, and proceeded to remove most of my sister's handiwork. I might have been opening the door just a crack to Daniel, but I wasn't ready to fling it wide open.

He was waiting outside the hotel, carrying a picnic basket.

“I remembered how much you like picnics.”

He really wasn't fighting fair, and I was doubly glad I had wiped off most of the makeup.

“Do you think we’ll get in trouble for missing the evening program?”
Keep it light, Ellen. Keep it easy.

“Only if Mrs. Parrot catches us.” That familiar, beguiling grin. I’d never constructed any defenses against it in college, and I still didn't have any.

“Then we’d better get out of sight.”

He laughed and nodded toward the path. “After you.”

We made our way through the garden behind the hotel, and I was almost sorry to leave it. It was certainly gorgeous enough, and romantic enough, to have suited any purpose Daniel had in mind. Instead, he led me up a hillside, through a charming trellised gate, and in among the trees that dotted the slope, until we reached the ridge above.

Clouds were piling up in the distance. I realized I should have brought an umbrella. Usually I was much better at remembering such practical things, but something about Hampshire seemed to be undermining my natural organizational abilities.

“Sun or shade?” Daniel asked.

“Shade.” The clouds were darker now, more ominous, and I didn't want to get caught in the rain completely unprotected. Agreeing to spend the evening with Daniel was risk enough for one day.

The view was spectacular, though, a panoramic vista straight out of a Jane Austen movie.

“How can anything possibly be so beautiful?” I said. I sank to the ground beneath the tree where he’d placed the picnic basket. The grass was cool and soft beneath me. “It's like that scene in
The Wizard of Oz,
where everything's in black and white before Dorothy opens the door to the farmhouse. But then she steps out into a whole new world that's so brilliant, it makes your eyes hurt.”

“Technicolor.” Daniel sat down next to me. “My mother said she saw that movie when she was young. First time she’d ever seen anything in color on the big screen. She said she cried, it was so beautiful.”

He was looking at me with an intensity that set off warning bells in my head. But it also made my chest tighten and my pulse race. I was queasy and electric with excitement. Some reactions could never be tamed, even after more than fifteen years of separation.

I had to banish the intensity of the moment. “I guess that's why it's good to travel. See new places.”

He reached out and laid his hand on mine where it rested on top of the grass. “Or maybe it's a good reason to revisit the past. Reclaim what you missed. What you didn't mean to leave behind.”

I couldn't take it. I wasn't strong enough, even after all those years. I could either run away, revealing myself for the coward I was, or I could brazen it out, as if all of it was just a pleasant trip down memory lane.

“What's in that picnic basket? I’m starving.” Daniel watched me quietly for a long moment and then leaned toward the wicker basket and undid the buckles. “Let's find out.”

“How did you manage this, anyway?”

“My famous Edwards charm.”

“Right.”

“And a few extra pounds in the name of romance.” He shrugged. “The chef is French.”

“Good thinking. Sometimes it pays to be clever.”

He laughed at my fairly weak joke, and I pretended that it was funny too.

I picked up one of the containers, opened it, and looked to Daniel for clarification.

“That would be the Cornish poached lobster with beluga mayonnaise.” There was that devilish grin again.

“How long did it take you to memorize that?”

“Quite a while, given the chef's accent.”

“And this?” I lifted the next container from the hamper.

“Some kind of foie gras. That one I couldn't remember if I tried.”

I opened the last container and nearly fainted onto the grass. “Stilton and pears.” I looked at him, and I had to bite my lip so that I wouldn't tear up. I’d been so strong, not showing any weakness, but I knew this might be my undoing. “You remembered.”

“Are you kidding? Remember that time you made me drive around for an entire day in search of that stinky cheese?”

“You said it would have been easier to find weapons-grade plutonium.”

“And I was right, wasn't I?”

That was the moment I let my guard down. I knew it. Daniel knew it. Even the picnic hamper probably knew it.

“Yes. You were right,” I said.

He took out some utensils and began to transfer the food onto the china plates. “That's what I like to hear.”

Wedgwood, silverware, sparkling water in tall champagne flutes. For once in my life, I decided not to be cautious. I wasn't going to analyze every look, every word. In short, I was going to act like my sister.

We ate in peace. Thunder rumbled in the distance, heralding a coming storm. I hadn't felt this relaxed in months. Not since the day my mother told me about her diagnosis.

“My mom would have loved this.” I spoke the words without thinking.

The clouds cast shifting shadows on the crazy quilt of fields and hedgerows that stretched across the broad valley as far as I could see.

“But she sent you instead.” Daniel studied me, his scrutiny a little too close for comfort.

“Yes.” I set my plate aside and sipped the sparkling water. “That's the part I don't understand. She should have been the one on this tour. She could have come last year, even after her diagnosis. It wasn't until after the second round of chemo that she—”

No. I wasn't going to do this. I blinked hard. Swallowed.

“I’m sorry, Daniel. This is all so lovely, really. I don't mean to be a downer.”

This time when he reached over and took my hand, he lifted it from my lap and laced his fingers through mine. The warm, simple contact was my undoing.

“Ellen…” He leaned over and very slowly, very softly, brushed his lips against mine. “I’ve missed you.”

I didn't trust myself to speak, so instead I leaned toward him and kissed him back.

It wasn't a romantic kiss, really. Not in the traditional picnic-and-champagne kind of way. Instead, it was a kiss of regret. Longing. A ghost from the past.

“I’m glad you agreed to spend the evening with me,” Daniel said as he pulled his lips away from mine. His face was so close. It wasn't the face I remembered, the face of the boy I had loved. Now it was the face of a man approaching middle age. Like my own, it had a few crow's feet around the eyes and some laugh lines around the mouth. His green eyes held knowledge and pain that hadn't been there when we were younger. He was still the Daniel I had known, but now he was much more.

“Have we changed too much?” he asked. “Am I an idiot to think I have a chance?”

No woman who has ever lived—anywhere, ever—could have resisted that. Not even me—sensible, practical Ellen Dodge.

“You’re not an idiot,” I said in a rather breathless voice.

Relief softened the lines around his eyes and mouth. “At least you’re not dumping sparkling water on my head and telling me to get lost.”

“Is that what you thought would happen?”

“I thought it was a possibility.”

And then we were kissing again, and I felt as if I were still twenty. The years, the pain, the loneliness fell away. I had forgotten that anything could feel this good. This right. And my eyebrows didn't matter. My dress didn't matter. What mattered was that I was here. Daniel was here. We had found that connection again. Had, in fact, taken it to a new level. An extraordinary level.

Eventually we came up for air, right before the raindrops started to fall. The air was thick with humidity and whatever electrical charges the distant lightning created.

“I have dessert,” Daniel said. “But that might be redundant.”

“Possibly. Unless it's chocolate.”

“It is.”

“Chocolate is never redundant.”

“That's the girl I know and love.” He meant it as a flip remark, but he froze and looked at me as if I might freak out. “Look, Ell, I’m not going to put any pressure on you.”

I laughed. What else could I do? “I’d hate to see your definition of pressure. Following me to England. Stalking me at Jane Austen's birthplace. Romancing me with picnics and thunderstorms. But no pressure.” I was teasing him, mostly. Mimi would have been proud of me. And Daniel hadn't mentioned the diary once. I’d obviously been worrying about nothing.

We sat under the sheltering branches of the tree while the rain fell, content with our chocolate and with getting to know each other all over again.