Bad Austen (15 page)

S
arah and
K
atherine

L
AURA
D
RAVENSTOTT

The ladies entered the room decorously, proceeding at a modest pace whilst the gentleman indicated the appropriate seats, upon which they were to recline gracefully during the whole of the interview. The first lady, indeed, was all smiles and amiability, nodding to one and to the other as she surveyed the room and took notes of which cameraman might be disposed to present her at the most beneficial angle, and she favored him with a nod, aware that her entrance from the left of the stage presented her figure to great benefit.

The second lady presented a visage more inclined to the sedate, not serious to be sure but yet reluctant to compose such smiles as wreathed the face of her more amiable companion. Indeed, it seemed to the cameraman that she had perhaps much at stake and that her reserve, though modest, indicated a sterner mental faculty than her partner, which perhaps would bode ill for the first lady.

The gentlewomen were seated. The first, the most honorable governor, Mrs. Palin, made certain that her spectacles were aligned most becomingly and demonstrated her prepossession with another smile and nod at the assemblage. The second, the elegant and reserved Mrs. Couric, found her focus not upon the opposite lady’s countenance, but upon her hairstyle, which elevation and contrivance seemed most amazing.

Mrs. Couric opened their intercourse with a condescending query as to her companion’s experience with foreign nations. “My dear Mrs. Palin, I have heard you state that your proximity—in your fair home of Alaska—to other nations contributes to your experience in the areas of foreign policy with these nations. Would you take the trouble to explain what you have meant by that?”

Mrs. Palin tilted her excellently coiffed head. She reflected but briefly on what she was to include in her response, preferring more to rely upon the goodwill of her companion than to any wit or intelligence that might be required of the answer. “Why, Mrs. Couric, to be sure! I was merely indicating that Alaska—my home state, which you are, of course, acquainted with—has quite a narrow maritime border between itself and a foreign country, which is Russia. On our other side is the land, the boundary you might say, that we have with Canada. I found it rather startling and not so very amusing that my comment was ill treated by the uncouth reporters who rather …” She hesitated, confused either of how to reprimand said reporters or of which syllables were most appropriate to include in her pretty speech.

Mrs. Couric courteously rushed to provide a word for her amiable companion. “Did they mock you, my dear Governor Palin?”

“Yes, mocked. I suppose that is the word. Indeed.”

Mrs. Couric delicately cleared her throat and proceeded upon this line of questioning, the object of which, though pointed, had yet to reveal any definite danger to the fair respondent. “If you might explain to me why that position—of Alaska—enhances your refinement and credentials in the arena of foreign policy?”

Governor Palin’s smile drooped but little as she perceived the less-than-generous vein of her companion’s inquiry. “It most certainly does! Of course! Our neighbors—the very neighbors that adjoin to our state in the location next door—they are foreign countries. They are in the fair state that I am currently the executive of. And there, in Russia …”

“Have you, yourself, ever had the occasion to be personally involved with any negotiations, for example, with the Russians?”

“Well, we have trade missions back and forth. We—, we do! It’s very important when you consider even national security issues with Russia as that rogue and ill-mannered scallywag, Mr. Putin, rears his head and enters the airspace of the fair United States of America—I ask you, where, where do they go? I tell you, good Mrs. Couric, it is Alaska. It is just right over the border. It is from Alaska that we send those out to make sure that an eye is being kept on this very powerful nation, Russia, because they are right there. They are right next to—to our state.”

The fair governor had some difficulty in responding and hoped that some change of subject would avail. Mrs. Couric allowed herself to reflect for the briefest moment how the interlude may reflect fairly on her networking career. For in some aspect of her adept mind, she had recognized that this interview would in a fair way encourage the offer—to her—of broadcasting’s most honorable prizes. It put her in mind to retain quite a good temper.

T
he
E
ldest, the
Y
oungest &
M
atchmaker.com

T
AMI
A
BSI

Elizabeth drew her favorite china teacup from her lips and rested it on the saucer. The delicate plate protected the articles on her drawing table: a quill pen, some ivory stationary, and a computer.

She searched for
Matchmaker.com
and scrolled through the competition first. The titles before the ladies’ names were impressive, but a reader learned little else past the maidens’ monikers. The comments posted revealed the ladies to be empty-headed with nothing worth saying. Elizabeth imagined those women received several invitations from equally unimpressive suitors, no less than knights.

Lydia sauntered into the room, hoping to search for the latest fashions, for which Elizabeth showed perfect unconcern. When Lydia saw the screen, she stopped dead and grew pale. “My dear sister, why are you looking at the women?” she said with an indelicate amount of concern. “Surely, you’re not indeed.” Her voice trailed off, too horrified to speak of it.

Elizabeth hid an impudent grin. “Why, no, not that. I wanted to see with whom I might compete before profiling.”

“You haven’t profiled? You are almost twenty-one. Do you not fear spinsterhood?” gasped Lydia. “Let me help you. There is no reason to scroll and look at each and every one of them. See? Thus, you order the women by rank, inheritance, numbers of servants, and the orderliness of their homes. With the last category, I suppose the webmasters were want of a rank for the lower-class women with no real basis for breeding.”

Elizabeth commandeered the mouse. “The men, my dear Lydia, can they be thus arrayed?”

“Certainly, but with the men, their pictures speak volumes, and only the eye can categorize them to my liking,” Lydia stated while smoothing her best, silken gown.

“Ah,” Elizabeth sighed. “You are the youngest. Is it proper for you to be cataloging men? Prudence dictates you should be the last to marry.”

Lydia pulled powder from her purse and dabbed her forehead. “I could not wait for all four of you, especially at your pace. The light is good this time of the evening, and with a lit candle beside the monitor, you’ll take a fine profile picture. Let me show you how to take a romantic-looking portrait.”

In the midst of her comments, she pushed up her corset and forced her sleeves a bit farther down her shoulders. Elizabeth could hear stitches popping, and she knew Mother would be annoyed.

After Elizabeth had profiled for the first time and after Lydia updated her picture, Elizabeth shared another concern. She said, “There is so much more about a man than one can assess through these pages.”

“How so, sister?” Lydia challenged.

“What of the way he moves, especially on the dance floor? How will he interview me as we stroll across the park to visit the neighbors? Is there no way to line them up according to their love for art, knowledge of music, singing, or, perhaps, tone of voice?”