The Jane Austen Marriage Manual (27 page)

The photographer jotted it down. But what did it matter? I was nobody to the British press.

Luckily, once inside the safety of the limo, I began to relax and all thoughts of Griff faded—I was finally alone with Scott. Something romantic was bound to happen. But I remembered Fawn’s rule: withhold sex. I wasn’t convinced her rule should be applied to Scott. Any chance to move the relationship forward I would take. And the evening was ending in the right direction. As we drove through the city he played travel guide and pointed out the sights, and I leaned on him and he put his arm around me. I looked up at him as he spoke, ignoring the passing scenery. He was handsome, but, and maybe this was because it was late; he looked older than he had in Switzerland or in Florida. He was probably just tired. Damn Griff for pointing out that Scott was so much older than I was. I refused to think about it.

But suddenly all I could think about was what sex would be like with a sixty-year-old man. Probably great; after all, he had decades of experience. Yes, I would assume amazing sex was ahead for me. But I wasn’t going to find out anytime soon, and I didn’t need Fawn’s rule to prevent it. When the limo stopped we weren’t at Scott’s hotel as I’d assumed, we were in front of Emma and Clive’s town house.

“Here you are,” Scott said. “Thanks for being my guest.”

At first I just sat there motionless, unsure how to react. Was he being a gentleman, or didn’t he find me attractive after all, or worse, did he think I was too old for him? It’s one thing to have a no-sex rule but it was quite another not to be asked.

“It’s so early,” I suggested feebly, wanting to make a move. “Did you want to go someplace for a drink?”

“Not tonight; it’s been a long day and it’s past my bedtime,” he said gently and gave me a hug. A hug! Then, as if sensing my disappointment, he added, “Are you free for dinner tomorrow?”

“Yes, that would be lovely.” I smiled at last and stepped out of the car into the damp night alone. A dinner date was nice but I would have preferred a kiss good night. As I slowly climbed up the front steps of the town house in my wasted effort, aka too expensive outfit, I watched the limo pull away. He didn’t even wait to make sure I got inside. I slumped into the house. All the lights were off. I crawled into bed and lay awake most of the night until sleep eventually won out.

“Oh my God!” Emma squealed as she stared at her laptop. We were having breakfast when she shouted at me, “Kate, you’re in the
Daily Mail
!”

Clive ran to the computer. “Bloody hell!”

“What is it?” I asked and nervously stood over their shoulders to take a peek. My eyes widened in horror. It was from last night’s gala. Scott had been cropped out of the photo; it was just me and my boy briefs on full display, illuminated by dozens of flashbulbs. I looked practically naked and not dissimilar from some of the Z-list celebrities who had also made the page. I felt sick. And if my skin and undies weren’t enough, the caption read, “Lady Kate dares to bare more than most.”

“I want to die,” I said and flopped onto the sofa.

Clive burst out laughing. “Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance into London society,” he said.

Emma had her hand cupped over her mouth. “You didn’t go around telling people you were Lady Kate, did you?”

“Maybe,” I admitted.

There was no denying that everyone in England would think there was a Lady Kate.

“I guess we really will have to call you ‘lady.’ ” Emma chuckled.

“What if the reporter snoops around to see who Lady Kate is?” I asked, suddenly worried. “Scott thinks I really am an aristocrat.”

“That is a problem,” Emma agreed.

“Just say you’re a budding pop singer and it’s a stage name,” Clive suggested.

“Ha!” I said with a fake laugh. “A pop singer using a fake title like ‘Lady So-and-So’? That would never fly!”

Clive shrugged.

“The evening went downhill as soon as I saw your friend, Griff Saunderson,” I said accusingly.

“Oh, was Griff there?” Clive asked innocently.

“Yes,” I said tartly. “We had a fight. I told him I knew he was gay and—”

Clive spit coffee everywhere. “He’s not gay!”

Emma burst out laughing. “What makes you think that?”

“I thought I heard him admit it to someone,” I said sheepishly.

“You can’t have. I mean, he’s no ladies man,” Clive explained. “But he’s as straight as a poker. Just never met the right girl to marry. I’ve met several of his exes, though, and trust me, they were all real women.”

“Apparently I heard wrong. Griff was offended,” I said, cringing as I recalled the conversation.

“Don’t worry, it’s an easy mistake to make. It is hard to tell with boys who went to their school,” Emma said as Clive shot her a look. “Joking, darling!”

Clive shook his head in disbelief and Emma kept chuckling.

“Turns out he’s been trying to get me to go out with him. On a date,” I admitted.

The exchanged looks made me wonder if this wasn’t news to them.

“Has he said anything about me?” I wondered.

Clive shook his head. “He wouldn’t. Strong, silent type.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Do you want to go out with him?” Emma asked with a raised eyebrow.

I had pondered this all morning but there was only one answer. “No,” I said with authority. “I admit I find him attractive. But I can’t let myself be distracted from Scott. He’s the man I’m meant to be with.”

“Because he’s rich?” Emma said derisively.

“It doesn’t hurt,” I said, trying to make it a joke. No one laughed.

“Don’t worry, Kate,” Clive said. “Griff will be at our party tonight. You can get a second look at him before you decide once and for all to kick him to the curb.”

Then it hit me. The repossession party was tonight and I had made plans for dinner with Scott.

“You okay?” Emma asked, seeing the look of panic on my face.

“Scott invited me to dinner tonight. I forgot about your party.”

Clive said nothing, choosing to busy himself with cleaning the espresso machine. Emma looked at him and then back to me.

“You can bring Scott to the party,” she said thoughtfully. Again, Clive was silent.

“That would be wonderful. Thanks,” I said gratefully. “Can we come here after our dinner? I need to have some alone time with him.”

Clive banged a pot in the sink. Emma glared at him.

“Of course,” she said with a weak smile. “After your dinner.”

“Let me call and ask him,” I offered and dashed upstairs for some privacy. The call was brief—he didn’t appreciate the humor of a repossession party but if that’s what I wanted to do, he was in. I hung up, pleased that I could uphold both obligations. I came downstairs to tell Clive and Emma the good news but paused when I heard what sounded like arguing.

“She’s just a bit much,” Clive said angrily. “You never told me that Kate was such a shallow, inconsiderate little bitch! I mean ‘
Lady
Kate,’ what the fuck is that about?”

I gasped. They were fighting about me.

“She isn’t like that; you hardly know her,” Emma defended. “She’s been through hell. Losing her grandmother, her house, her job. She’s struggling to find herself.”

“Well, she can take her bloody midlife crisis or whatever it is out of our home,” he snapped. “Trotting out some billionaire to our repossession party! Bloody insensitive. And you’re pregnant; why can’t she see that her escapades have been a drain on you? It’s all Kate, Kate, Kate! Or rather, Lady Kate!”

I felt wretched. But Clive was right. It was the slap in the face I needed. I hadn’t given much thought to their situation, or anyone else’s, since I began this marrying well journey. I had to do better. I coughed loudly and entered the kitchen. They straightened their posture and got busy cleaning, but I couldn’t let it drop.

“Clive,” I began. He stopped his fussing and looked at me. “I’m sorry I’ve been a drain on you and Emma. I hadn’t realized.”

Emma stood up and rushed to hug me. “I’m so sorry you heard that. He didn’t mean it, did you, Clive?”

Clive shrugged and hesitated before saying, “No, I’m just under stress.”

I looked into Emma’s eyes. She was a dear old friend and we’d been through lots together, even if we hadn’t lived in the same country for more than a decade. She was in as much of a bind as I was. Doubly so, when I considered the baby. She was stressing out for two now. She needed me, her friend, to help her through her ordeal.

“I have an idea,” I began.

A few moments later I was back in my room. I picked up my mobile and called Scott, and he answered on the first ring.

“Look, there’s been a slight change of plan …”

I
f my friends had wanted to make a show of their newfound poverty they had outdone themselves. And there I was, having canceled my dinner plan with Scott to help my friends prep the house, standing alongside Emma and Clive and admiring our handiwork. We had “decorated” for the occasion. Gone were the pristine white rugs and sofas, gone was the home theater system, gone was the pricey espresso maker Clive had been cleaning that morning, and in their places were folding chairs and milk crates, a boombox and CDs from the 1980s and 1990s, and Styrofoam cups for beer and wine with Ritz crackers laden with cheese spread and gherkins. Where the light fixtures had been, bare bulbs and exposed wires hung, casting the normally artfully lighted space in gloom.

“You really didn’t have to cancel your dinner for us,” Emma said and put her arm around me, which meant she was glad I had done just that.

“Are you kidding? I know only too well what it feels like to lose your home, remember? Besides, this was much more fun than dinner at the Wolesley or whatever the place was called,” I said happily. “I just wish there was more I could do to help.”

Clive and Emma exchanged knowing looks. “Ah, the Wolesley is one of the most glamorous restaurants in London. Teeming with celebs,” Clive pointed out.

I shrugged. “Scott said he’d drop by here. It’s better this way. I can help you guys with the party. Anyway, it makes me look mysterious and not desperate.”

“Ah yes, very wise thinking,
Mrs. Bennet
,” Emma said and we both burst out laughing.

“I’m just thinking of darling Elizabeth,” I said in a fit of laughter.

“You girls are too much.” Clive grinned.

As it turned out, Clive was right. We were too much—at least for a man of Scott’s stature. He arrived with the party in full swing and seemed unimpressed by our decorating.

“Your friends have quite the sense of humor,” Scott commented wryly. I gulped. Clive was across the room opening a bottle of wine. I waved at him. He galloped over and stuck his hand out for Scott. He was stupid-drunk.

“Is this the man of the hour?” he slurred. “Scott, I’m Clive. Kate has told us much about you.” Clive winked at me. “Welcome to what was once my home.”

Scott shook his hand good-naturedly and wasn’t squeamish when Clive handed him a Styrofoam cup.

“You want red or white?” Clive asked with a grin. “Now that we’re poor we no longer distinguish between cabernet and shiraz or pinot grigio and sauvignon blanc. It’s just color codes.”

“Red will do fine.” Scott smiled politely.

“White for me,” I said and searched the room for Emma. I found her standing by the living room wall where the plasma television once hung, with a box in her hand.

“I want you to meet Emma,” I said and, grabbing Scott’s hand, led the way through the crowd. As we got closer I saw what she was up to. She and a handful of revelers had each chosen a large Magic Marker from the box and were drawing graffiti on the walls. I stood in shock. Emma spotted me and laughed.

“Don’t look so scared, Kate.” She laughed, then nudged me. “If the bank is going to take the house, they can bloody well take the autographed copy!”

Clive dashed over to us and grabbed a black marker to scrawl his name illegibly in all directions.

“Woohoo!” he shouted gleefully as he wrote in huge strokes. “I haven’t had this much fun since I made that one-point-six-million bonus in 2005.”

I looked at Scott to see how he was taking my friends’ rash behavior. He stood stock-still and sipped his wine and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. What must he be thinking? He was still successful and had been good with his money. Why had I brought him here to witness Clive and Emma’s downfall?

“I’m going upstairs to grab my handbag,” I whispered in his ear. “Then we can go somewhere else, if you’d like.”

He nodded gravely. “Yes, let’s do that.”

I left him and was navigating the sea of drunken partygoers to the foot of the staircase when I felt someone grab my arm. Of course it was Griff. I kept walking up the steps, but he followed me.

“I was hoping I’d find you here,” he said with surprising warmth. “Emma told me you turned down your date with Scott to help her clear the house. That was nice of you.”

“She’s one of my best friends,” I said. “Of course she matters more than a date.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “Look, I want to apologize.”

“I should apologize to you,” I said, cutting him off. “I’m sorry I offended you last night.”

“Don’t worry. Though I must admit that you looked rather fetching in the
Daily Mail
,” he went on.”

“Thanks, I guess,” I said, shaking my head.

“Tabloids usually only run shots of famous people, not …”

“Not nobodies like me?” I said, annoyed, and stood with my arms folded, one step above him.

“That’s not exactly what I meant. But in general, yes, I thought they would overlook you, but I should have known that you’re not the sort of woman that one overlooks.”

“That’s generous, coming from you,” I said and allowed a hint of a smile to creep across my face.

“I mean you’re a walking calamity, half the time falling into manure or picking up Russians mobsters …”

My smile quickly vanished and my expression turned to stone.
“Quit while you’re ahead, Griff,” I said and marched to my bedroom door. “Charm is dangerous in a man like you.”