What Would Jane Austen Do? (17 page)

   Before Eleanor had a chance to answer, Teddy stomped up with a scowl. "What in the world possessed you two to wander off alone like that?"

   Although he spoke to his sisters, Eleanor had the strange feeling he was really talking about her and Shermont.

   Mina and Deirdre apologized immediately, cowering together.

   "If I can't trust you at a simple picnic," Teddy continued, building up a head of steam, "how can I take you to London?"

   "No, Teddy. Please don't say that," Deirdre begged.

   Eleanor could not stand it. She stepped between the girls and put her arms over their slumped shoulders. "It's my fault. It was my idea, and I acted as their unofficial chaperone."

   Teddy narrowed his eyes and looked at her as if he could see the imprint of Shermont's lips upon hers. "Their welfare is my responsibility, and therefore my decision is all that counts. You are not an appropriate choice of chaperone—"

   "But I am." Huxley stepped forward with his arms folded, challenging Teddy to deny him.

   "This is not the Dark Ages," Eleanor said. "They have every right to make decisions for themselves." She chucked them on the shoulders. "Come on. Stand up for yourselves."

   Teddy flashed Eleanor an indulgent smile. "That may work well and good for a widow and an American. After all, what are your prospects? But I entreat you not to spout bluestocking rhetoric within my sisters' earshot. I'll have enough of a problem finding husbands for them as it is."

   Shermont stepped forward. "Oh, I doubt that. I think they'll be the toast of the next season." He bowed to the girls.

   Eleanor threw him mental kisses. Lordy, lordy, she could just eat that man up. He looked at her as if he heard her thoughts and smiled.

   Apparently, Teddy realized he couldn't win the argu ment against such odds. "I guess we'll see about that." He turned on his heel. "Come along, Deirdre, Mina," he called over his shoulder without looking back.

   The girls hesitated only a few moments before scurrying after their brother.

   "At least they thought about it for a second or two before giving in to him," Huxley said. "A small step in the right direction."

   "There will be more steps," Eleanor said. "They're bright girls."

   Huxley nodded. "The daughters I never had." He offered Eleanor his arm.

   As Shermont followed behind them, an unexpected thought slammed into his brain. Where did Eleanor learn to waltz? The dance was only done on the conti nent and had not been deemed acceptable in London. And yet she'd brought it up and had not hesitated for a step. Did they waltz in America? He didn't think so. Did that mean she'd been to Paris?

   Of course, it also begged the question: where had he learned to waltz? He rubbed his forehead. As with so many unanswered questions, he was forced to accept that he might never know the truth.

   Was Eleanor an agent for the French? That was the question he needed to answer. And soon… before he became even more spellbound by her unique magic.

   They returned to the picnic area, and everyone gathered at the tables. Eleanor hoped for a chair next to Shermont's, but Deirdre and Patience had already assigned seats. Throughout the picnic lunch served by footmen on elegant china, Shermont flattered and charmed all the women, all except her.

   At the end of the meal, she drew Mrs. Holcum aside and was directed over the hill to where the servants had set up facilities for the gentlewomen. Behind sheets draped in a large square, a chair, washstand, and dressing table had been arranged. A maid provided hot water and clean hand towels.

   Eleanor was glad to have a few moments alone. She didn't know what to make of Shermont's hot and cold alternating attitude. One explanation was that he lusted after her, but didn't actually like her. Unable to cope with that dichotomy, he chose to ignore her until his passions could no longer be denied. Or it could be the good girl vs. bad girl mentality. For Regency men the concept was black and white, angel or temptress. A woman could not be both. Neither theory about Shermont's behavior was a flattering explanation. Her only course was to ignore him in return.

   She returned to the group and participated in the conversation and games until time to leave. Thankfully, Major Alanbrooke was an attentive friend who raised her spirits, which helped to restore her equilibrium. The trip back was dominated by talk of the play.

WHEN SHERMONT RETURNED FROM THE PICNIC AT ONE o'clock, his valet waited impatiently with news. In spite of instructions to stay inside and nurse the cold he'd caught after the night in the rain and the mad ride to town, Carl had slipped out and checked the tree. He'd found a note.

   "You were right," he said to Shermont in a begrudging tone. "The note referred to the article in the paper about the capturing of Napoleon's agent and said they would have to discontinue operations and leave immediately."

   "Let me see the note."

   "I left it, so they wouldn't know their secret spot had been discovered."

   "Probably a wise move." Shermont leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "Tell me everything you can remember."

   "No salutation. Female hand. Written on house stationery."

   That didn't help. House stationery was left in every room in case the guest had not brought his or her own. That meant every female in the house was suspect. Even the servants had access, though most were likely illiterate. "Perfume?"

   "I think so, but to be honest, with this stuffy head I can't say for sure."

   Shermont jumped up. "I have to see that note myself." Perhaps he could identify the perfume and that would either clear Eleanor or seal her fate. He found himself hoping for the former. Eleanor was intelligent and beautiful, and the same qualities that made her attractive also suited her to espionage, the work he dreaded she might be doing. He was torn between his attraction to her and his mission. Either way, he had to know.

   He couldn't sneak out in broad daylight, so he simply walked out the door and down the drive as if going for a stroll. Once beyond the sight of anyone at the house, he left the road and cut through the woods. At the old oak tree he found a different note. In bold strokes the writer reassured the receiver.
There is no
imminent threat. Remain steadfast. We leave as scheduled
. Same paper. Second writer.

   He now knew there were at least two persons plus the courier, and they intended to escape, probably soon if plans were already made. He returned to the house determined to catch the agents before that happened. And before he fell in love with one.

   He decided to take a role in the play, the better to keep an eye on Eleanor. He found Digby in the ball room checking on the construction of a rudimentary stage by several footmen and what appeared to be several gardeners.

   "I'm willing to take a role in your play," he said, gritting his teeth and forcing a smile. He'd already heard a good portion, and there was nothing he wanted less than to get up on a stage and emote the inane, self-aggrandizing lines Digby had penned.

   "I knew you would come around," Digby said with a satisfied grin. "I'm just on my way to hand out the parts now."

   Shermont joined Digby on his way to the parlor, where most of the guests waited to receive their assigned roles. As soon as they entered, Digby called for everyone's attention.

   "I have here…" He paused for dramatic effect and raised a sheaf of papers. "Your parts for tonight's play."

   Everyone cheered.

   "But before I hand them out…"

   Everyone groaned.

   "I want to explain how this is going to be staged. Due to the short time available, we didn't have time to copy a complete script for each person, so these papers contain an explanation of the story, facts for your character, and only a few key lines to memorize."

   Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

   "The rest of the lines you'll make up as we go along." Digby passed out a paper to each young person.

   "What if I can't think of anything to say?" Beatrix asked as she took her page with a shaking hand.

   "As long as you say those few lines I've given you that are crucial to the progress of the story, everything will be fine." Digby walked by her without apparent concern for her distress and went on to the next person.

   Shermont hoped she wouldn't swoon. The poor girl was probably only doing this to please her supposed fiancé, who didn't act as though he was her intended. "It won't be as difficult as you imagine," he reassured her. "We'll all help one another."

   Beatrix flashed him a grateful smile.

   Shermont looked at his assigned part and stifled a guffaw. A pirate?

   "What's all this?" Deirdre asked, thumbing her sheaf of pages. "I can't memorize all—"

   "You will be able to read your lines. As the narrator you'll stand to the side of the stage, like the Greek chorus did in ancient times. Your lines will bridge the story action, and you can fill in the gap if someone forgets a line."

   Deirdre leaned back in her chair, obviously not excited with her role. Judging by the mostly silent reac tions, no one but Digby seemed overly pleased.

   "This is not fair," Lieutenant Parker said. "Why do I have to be a soldier? I have to wear a uniform all the time."

   "At least you're not the narrator," Deirdre grumbled.

   "Why do you get to be the enchanted Frog Prince?" Whitby asked Digby. "You always get to be the hero."

   "Because I wrote the play, and I have a green waistcoat."

   "So does Uncle Huxley," Mina whispered.

   But the play was just for the young people. The older generation and any late arriving guests were the intended audience.

   "What we need are costumes," Digby said. He clapped his hands, the signal for four footmen, each carrying a large trunk, to enter. "Each person is responsible for putting together his or her own costume, but these items from the attic may give you some ideas."

   There was a mad dash for the trunks. Shermont waited for the rush to die down then picked up an ornate sword and belt. He debated between a black seventeenth-century Musketeer-style wide-brimmed hat with a sad white feather and one with lots of gold braid that looked like it had once been worn by an admiral. Since Digby had named the pirate the Black Blade, Shermont chose the first hat and held out the other to Parker.

   "I don't need a costume," he said in a disheartened tone.

   "Generals are also soldiers."

   It took a moment, but Parker's face lit up. "I could be a general." He stood at attention, stuck out his chin, and gazed into distant battlefields. "Sir Henry Parker, Commanding General, First Brigade."

   Shermont plopped the hat on the young man's head.

   "Just don't expect me to salute you," Alanbrooke said as he walked by carrying an armor breastplate and helmet.

   "Your attention, please," Digby called. "Your chosen items will be taken to your rooms, and you'll have a chance to refine your costumes later. Right now, we're going to walk through the scenes. Please bring your scripts and follow me."

   As they walked to the ballroom, Eleanor slowed Mina with a hand on her arm and whispered, "Where are Fiona and Hazel? Didn't they want to participate in the play?"

   "Their mother is scandalized at the very idea of us putting on a play and won't let them take part unless she can read the script first and be present during the rehearsal," Mina whispered back. "Teddy categorically refused."

   "I'm surprised Mrs. Holcum didn't insist on chaperoning."

   "Did you forget? It's Teddy's project. And anything he does is perfect. At least until her precious daughter gets a wedding ring around her finger. How could she not agree to his terms? But I'd bet she gave Beatrix an earful of instructions. Do this. Don't do that."

   "Mostly don't do that," Eleanor whispered, and Mina giggled.

   "Whenever you're ready to start," Teddy called to them. He stood on the stage at the far end of the ballroom with his arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently.

   Eleanor hadn't noticed they'd fallen so far behind. All the others stood in front of a wooden platform framed by curtains that looked suspiciously like the drapes from the dining room.

   Everyone soon learned Teddy took his theatrics seriously.

   "I thought putting on a play was supposed to be fun," Deirdre said. "Like when we were children." She listlessly sorted through the two additional trunks the servants had brought down from the attic. She held up a white silk domino with elaborate gold braid around the edges and peeked through the eyeholes of the mask which covered the upper half of her face.