The Jane Austen Marriage Manual (41 page)

I sigh. Then Doug walks in and sees the three of us staring at one another. He is carrying a tray with three champagne flutes full of pink bubbly.

“I thought Kate’s surprise homecoming needed celebrating,” he says and gives each of us a glass.

“Don’t you want a glass?” Ann asks, but Doug has grabbed his coat and is kissing her on the cheek.

“When I get back,” he says wisely. “I think the three of you have lots to catch up on.” He squeezes Iris’s shoulder reassuringly on the way out. It is a gesture of kindness that surprises me.

“He seems like a nice guy,” I say when he leaves. “And I don’t mean that in a bland way.”

“Ann is lucky,” Iris says and takes off her coat and sits down in between Ann and me on the sofa. “Or I should say, Doug is lucky.”

We clink our flutes and sip the champagne. With my lack of sleep and jet lag it doesn’t take more than a few sips to get the requisite buzz and with it comes a sigh of relief that I am home. As awkward, dysfunctional, and moody as the three of us are, it feels like home, minus one very important person, my grandmother.

“Doug will need luck,” I say with a smirk. “If he’s going to spend any great amount of time with our family.”

We all laugh and as we do my eyes rest on a photograph of my grandmother that was taken years before I was born. It is one of my favorites. She’s in a pencil skirt and fitted jacket and has a mink stole wrapped around her shoulders, very glamorous.

“How old was Nana in that shot?” I ask and point to it.

“I don’t know,” Ann answers and furrows her brow as though trying to guess.

“She was your age,” Iris says with authority.

I keep staring at the photo. My grandmother died at ninety-three. When this photo was taken she still had fifty-three years of life. That was a long time, long enough to make changes. Who knows how long I’d live but I have good genes. A woman can do a lot in fifty-three years.

I’ve been home one week and I’m sitting across the desk from Jennifer. She has in her hands the hard copy of my article.

“ ‘The Jane Austen Marriage Manual,’ great title,” she says. I only nod and think back to Griff’s disapproving tone when he’d said it and the memory instantly darkens my mood. “I love it,” Jennifer continues with her signature crooked smile that is more of a smirk. “Especially the stable boy bit.”

“Thank you,” I answer, hoping her approval will get me a rush on the check.

“But in the end your advice is Austen only works if you fall in love with the object of your desire.”

“That’s correct,” I answer simply. There is no way I will change the ending.

“You may be right. Remember Tina?” she asks.

How can I forget? Tina is one of the most ruthless gold diggers I’d ever met. She could give Tatiana a run for her money, pun intended. I nod.

“She fell head over heels in love with an auto mechanic and has moved with him to Minnesota.” Jennifer says all this with a wrinkled nose, as if she smells something rotten.

“Good for her,” I say, though I’m loathe to admit that Tina is smarter than me.

“So, your article is right-on,” she continues. “It will be a big hit, I can tell. But what about your personal ending? You don’t really say … no Darcy, no Knightley for you?”

“I’m still looking,” I say vaguely. She agrees to rush my payment and I stand up to leave.

“Why are you in a hurry?” she asks. “I love what you did and I have loads of other freelance articles for you to write.”

I don’t bother to sit down. I smile and say, “I’m taking a break from writing.”

She looks aghast, as if I’ve slapped her. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m joining the family business,” I answer as gamely as I can.

SIX MONTHS LATER

T
hey say time heals all wounds. And nothing makes time stretch like working twelve hours in a steamy kitchen slicing, dicing, and stirring five different types of special sauce. In six months of kitchen duty, my wound hasn’t healed nearly enough for me to say I am over him. By him, I mean Griff. I still think of him daily, often alone at night when I crawl into bed on my sister’s pullout sofa, but also when I am stirring that bubbling brownish red goo. There is something meditative about the process and involuntarily my thoughts drift back to Penwick, to my days riding Ratina, and my conversations with Griff. How just a few weeks can impact a life! For despite months of chasing Scott I think little of him now, but Griff is an ache that pounds sharply in my chest.

Speaking of Scott, he was arrested for fraud and embezzlement, but not until after he had married Tatiana. According to Fawn, who knew many of the people who lost money, Tatiana admitted she had understood all the e-mails she’d read that night in St. Moritz, and after they were married she wisely convinced him to put a lot of his assets solely in her name so that when he was arrested, his property confiscated, and his bank accounts frozen, she had already accumulated millions of her own. Now she was filing for divorce. It was perhaps the cleverest of all bank heists. Scott had underestimated her.

To think that could have been me. But Tatiana’s money still belongs to other people and I am no thief. Making sauce is making money the honest way and that is just fine.

Doug and Ann had grown the company enough to employ Iris, as well, and to get her some much-needed counseling. She goes to classes, or sessions I suppose you’d call them, twice a week, including Sundays. We refer to it as her “Sunday school.” I am living rent free with Ann until all my searching for a rich husband debt is paid off. Life is all right. I am managing.

I would have carried on like this, until one day it comes in the mail—an invitation to Clive and Emma’s baby christening. They had a son they named Jonathan. Clive got another job at a bank but it’s at a branch in Dorset, not London. They are still living with his mother for now, but Emma assures me that the extra pair of hands is helpful with the baby. I want to go. I want to bake her a lasagna and help. And it isn’t just a regular invite; Emma asked me to be Jonathan’s godmother. It is a huge honor and I want to accept but I don’t have the money to fly back to England. The thought that Griff will be invited to the christening also gives me pause. I’m not ready to see him again.

“You have to go back,” Ann insists when I tell her about it.

“I can’t, it’s too expensive,” I say.

“I’ll pay for you,” Ann offers and a wide smile comes across her face.

“No, you can’t do that,” I say and wave my hand. “You’re just starting a business.”

“I have capital,” Ann corrects me, her smile growing even wider. “In fact, we can all go. It’s a research trip; Doug and I can meet with Waitrose or Marks and Spencer, even bring Mom with us.”

My eyes stare at her in disbelief. “I’ve always wanted to go to England,” she continues. “We could use a family holiday and besides, isn’t the christening awfully close to your birthday?”

She has me there. My forty-first birthday is two weeks after the christening. A year after our grandmother had died.

“I’ll arrange everything,” she says gleefully. “Now, you call Emma and tell her you’re going to be the godmother. Do it.”

“Holy shit, it
is
like an Austen novel!” Ann exclaims from the back of the rental car as Doug slowly cruises past Penwick. I had tried to dissuade my family from spying on Griff this way, but they just stuck me in the backseat and said they would act lost if anyone came out of the house. No one did. But we are down the drive and on the road to the village church before I can breathe again.

“Will your Griff be at the church?” Iris asks.

“He’s not ‘my Griff,’ ” I correct her harshly. “Never was.”

“I’m sure it will be a large party,” Ann says reassuringly. “You will hardly see him unless you want to.”

That is the trouble, I think sullenly. Part of me does want to see him, even though I know he despises me. My thoughts run back to his cruel words that I behaved in an unladylike manner. Even though I know he’s right, I want to prove to him that he is also wrong and that the real, plain Kate is ladylike and no fool.

We find the church and park the car. There seems to be quite a crowd gathering. Ann is right. It will be a big party, which means that Griff sightings will be few and far between. I leave my family to find seats as I go to find the private church room where Emma told me to meet her. But before I take even a few steps, my name comes loud and clear across the parking lot and it comes with a southern drawl.

“Lady Kate!”

I turn to see Fawn running toward me on her signature dove gray kitten heels. We throw our arms around each other.

“I haven’t been called that in a very long time,” I comment wistfully.

“Darlin,’ I just can’t get used to you being regular ol’ Kate!” Fawn beams. “You’ll always be a lady to me.”

“I’m so glad Emma invited you.” I smile at the irony of her words. If only Griff could hear her!

“She’s a doll!” Fawn grins. “And since I’ve moved to Europe to be with Marco, I haven’t had a chance to see you, so this is perfect.”

We walk toward the church arm in arm and catch up on things
beyond what we’ve shared in e-mails since my ill-fated wedding day. We find the private room and knock.

“I’m sure Emma would love to say hello,” I say to Fawn as we walk into the room.

“Kate!” Emma shouts and runs over. We clutch each other tightly, but I notice as Emma squeezes me that Fawn is staring awkwardly at the ground, which isn’t like her. I pull gently away from Emma and touch Fawn’s arm.

“What’s wrong, Fawn? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” I say, half joking.

“Oh, yes,” Emma says knowingly. “I wanted to tell you about it sooner. Griff is to be Jonathan’s godfather.”

I look up and there he is, standing across the room, holding the baby in his arms as Clive chats to the priest. He hasn’t seen me yet, but from Fawn’s reaction, she had seen him the moment we entered the room.

“That’s just charming,” Fawn says to Emma with a big smile.

“Does he know I’m here?” I ask nervously, wondering how long it will take for him to notice me.

“He does now,” Fawn says and points. My eyes follow her gesture and I find myself staring into those giant blue eyes again.

“Is this the godmother?” the priest asks jovially.

Emma leads me toward him and we shake hands as though meeting for the first time. “Have you met Griffith Saunderson? He’s to be your partner in this.” Griff barely ekes out a smile as he shakes my hand. Feeling his touch again, I am torn between wanting to pull him toward me and kiss him and slapping him across his handsome face for hurting me.

“We have met,” I respond.

“Indeed,” Griff answers, then proceeds to turn away and follow the priest and the others into the church. The priest’s words, “He’s to be your partner in this,” echo in my head as the ceremony begins and I perform the rituals required of any good godmother.

Throughout I keep wishing for Griff to make any gesture of warmth, a smile, a knowing look, but he blatantly ignores me.

Before I know it, I am in the church garden and drinking a Pimm’s.
Fawn hit it off with Ann, Doug, and Iris and is situated beneath a giant chestnut tree discussing the food business, Marco’s coffee and Ann’s sauces. I take my drink and stand off alone, watching Emma and Clive introducing their son to the guests.

“They look happy, don’t they?” a voice asks. I don’t bother to turn around. I know Griff is right behind me.

“They deserve to be happy,” I say, desperate to keep any whiff of nerves out of my voice. “We all do.”

“And have you figured out the key to your happiness, Kate?” he asks.

If only he knew. But I give him the answer that matters most to me.

“Family,” I answer and move my gaze to Iris, Ann, Doug, and Fawn under the tree chatting merrily. “And friends.”

“Ah, but what about love?” he asks. He is so close I can feel his breath on the back of my neck and I shiver.

“Family and friends are love,” I answer, still refusing to turn around. How dare he talk to me like this? There had been no e-mails, no text messages, not a word for six months and now he is behaving like an intimate friend?

“Yes, but surely you need more than friends and family to be truly happy; what about romance?”

That does it. I whirl around ready to tell him off when he grabs me and kisses me. I am too shocked to resist and as he continues to kiss me, his arms wrap around my waist and I lean into him. I wonder if everyone is watching but I realize I don’t care. When we pull away he gently touches my cheek. My eyes close against his fingers and I smile as the tears come but stop short of falling.

“What are you doing?” I manage to blurt out.

“I’m not sure, to be honest,” he says quietly. “What would you like me to do?”

“Don’t play with me,” I snap suddenly and turn and walk away from him.

“Kate, stop!” he shouts. I notice that quite a few guests, including my clan, witnessed the kiss and now the brief chase. “Come with me for a drive.”

“I don’t think so,” I say in a muffled voice. “Why should I?”

“Because I’m asking nicely,” he retorts and smiles for the first time that day. “And because I love you.”

I feel my eyes widen and my jaw go slack. Maybe I’m asleep and I am going to wake up and still be on the flight to Heathrow.

“I should never have let you go,” he continues breathlessly. “I’ve thought about you constantly. And Emma, well, she’s kept me informed. I know you’ve been working with your sister and that’s wonderful. It’s great you’re building such a life for yourself back home. But Emma said you still had feelings for me, too.”

I shoot Emma a scathing look of betrayal but she is busy cooing over Jonathan with some lady in a shocking pink outfit wearing two different shoes.

“You said I lacked character and judgment. And that I was no lady,” I remind him.

“I cringe when I think of how I behaved and what I said,” he answers passionately. “But it was my ego talking. When you said you were still going to marry Scott I was jealous and hurt. I was a fool and not a gentleman. Can you forgive me?”