“I don’t know,” Ben said, winking at Jane. “This getup does make me feel a little rakish.” He nodded at Byron. “You look pretty sharp yourself. Where did you find that suit?”
Byron, whose attention had been elsewhere, said, “In my closet. Why?”
“Well,” Jane said, “I imagine I will be the scandal this evening, being the one out of costume.”
“Just like Bette Davis’s character in Jezebel,” Byron remarked. “Julie Marsden. She wore a red dress to the Olympus Ball. Everyone was horrified. She only redeemed herself by volunteering to care for victims of the yellow fever epidemic, which of course likely meant her own death.”
“I’ll have to live with my tarnished reputation, then,” said Jane. “I was never very good with epidemics.”
A low whistle from Byron made them all turn their heads in the direction of his gaze. Entering the room was a girl in a beautiful pale blue silk ball gown. Her face was ghostly white, and on her head was an enormous white wig. Behind her were two young men dressed identically in the uniforms of French footmen.
“Is that Chloe?” Jane asked.
“I believe so,” said Lucy. “With Ted and Ned.”
“Why is she dressed like Marie Antoinette?” said Ben.
“Well, it’s roughly the right period,” Byron told him. “Just the wrong country.”
The trio approached the group. When she arrived before them Chloe gave an awkward curtsey. Ted and Ned, looking mortified, bowed from the waist.
“What do you think?” Chloe asked. “I had the wardrobe people whip it up.”
“Whip it up?” said Jane. “That must have taken them days.”
“Don’t the two of you look adorable,” Byron said to the twins, who eyed him balefully.
“I know,” said Chloe. “Couldn’t you just eat them up?”
“Don’t you dare,” Jane whispered in the girl’s ear.
Chloe ignored her. “I only get one of them anyway,” she said. “Ned already has a date.”
“Do you?” said Byron. “And who might that be?”
“Beverly Shrop,” said the twin on the right, thereby identifying himself as Ned. His voice was flat, almost lifeless, and Jane would have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t brought his predicament upon himself.
“Speak of the devil,” Byron said as Beverly appeared. He appraised her costume and added, “Why, that looks as if it might have come from the closet of Jane Austen herself!”
More likely from my mother’s closet, Jane thought as she shot Byron a withering look.
“Thank you,” Beverly said sweetly as she patted Byron’s arm. Jane wondered how he could stand having her touch him, especially as they knew what her and Miriam’s plans for them were. Or at least the outcome of their plans, Jane thought darkly.
“Jane, I’m disappointed that you didn’t make it to the panel today,” Beverly said. “I think you would have found it most entertaining.”
“So I hear,” said Jane.
“Tomorrow’s should be equally fascinating,” Byron said. He turned to Ben and Lucy. “Three romance editors are going to talk about what they look for in a manuscript,” he told them. “One of them is Jane’s editor, Jessica Aber—”
“I’m afraid Jessica won’t be able to join us,” Beverly interjected.
Jane held her breath, waiting to see how Beverly would handle the moment. For her own reasons she herself had said nothing to anyone about Jessica’s death. As far as she knew, fewer than half a dozen people were aware of what had happened at the fairgrounds.
“Oh?” Byron said. “Why not?”
Beverly looked around. “She was called back to New York,” she said. “A family emergency.”
Byron frowned. “What a pity,” he said. “Jane, did you know about this?”
“No,” Jane said. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.” She looked at Beverly. “That certainly is a disappointment.”
“Yes,” Beverly said. “Well, these things happen. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see about the music for this evening.”
Jane watched Beverly leave. I’d love to be inside her head, she thought. Only for a moment, of course. She imagined being trapped in Beverly Shrop’s head forever and shivered.
“Hello, Jane.”
Jane thought she heard Walter’s voice. Then she turned around and discovered that in fact she had. He was standing behind her, dressed in a handsome pair of tan breeches, a cream-colored waistcoat, and a jacket of royal blue velvet that was cut away in front and ended in tails at the back. His cravat was tied in a small bow at his throat, and his hair was tousled, as if he’d just come in from riding. He was breathtakingly handsome, and Jane found herself staring into his blue eyes and unable to look away. It’s as if he’s glamoring me! she thought.
“Walter!” Byron said jovially, putting his arm around Walter’s shoulders. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”
“And you,” said Walter.
“Where is your delightful mother?” Byron asked.
Walter looked around. “Over there,” he said, pointing toward a spot as far away from where Jane and her friends stood as it was possible to get. Miriam had her back to them as she looked over the various plates of cookies and pies laid out on the table before her. Then, apparently finding none of them to her liking, she turned and fixed Jane with a steely stare.
“Such a handsome woman,” said Byron. “I see that, like Jane, she’s opted not to dress for the occasion.”
“No,” Walter replied. “Mother isn’t really one for costumes.” Looking at Jane, he added, “I hope it’s all right that we came.”
“Of course it’s all right,” said Jane. “I’m very pleased to see you, Walter.”
Walter smiled shyly. “I should go keep her company,” he said, nodding slightly in the direction of his mother. “Perhaps we can talk later.”
Jane nodded. “I look forward to it,” she said.
As Walter walked away Byron came close to Jane. “Have you asked yourself why it is you keep falling for unavailable men?” he asked.
“First of all, there have only been two men,” Jane said. “And you don’t count, as I was a silly girl who didn’t know any better. As for Walter, he pursued me. So I hardly see how I can be blamed for that.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Byron. “Still—”
“Still nothing,” Jane snapped. “And that’s the last we’ll speak of that subject.”
Byron opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly the air was filled with a crackling sound that came from speakers on either side of the bandstand. All heads turned to see what was happening. Beverly Shrop, a microphone in her hand, stood on the stage.
“Hello!” she said. “And welcome to what I know will be a magical evening. I’m sure you’re all anxious to begin, so please join me in welcoming our musicians for this evening, the wonderful Haymeadow Trio, as well as English country dance expert Katherine Threadgood.”
As the audience clapped, four people—two men and two women—mounted the steps to the bandstand. One of the women held a flute in her hands, one of the men had a violin, and the second man seated himself at the piano. The second woman took the microphone from Beverly.
“As Beverly told you, my name is Katherine Threadgood,” she said. “I don’t know that I’m an expert on English country dancing, but I’m certainly a great fan. Tonight we want to give you a taste of what a typical night of dancing might have been like in the time of Jane Austen.”
“Oh, joy,” Jane groused.
“Cheer up,” said Byron. “It’s going to be fun. Perhaps they’ll have us do Buttered Pease, or maybe All in a Garden Green.”
Jane groaned. “I couldn’t remember the steps to those when they were all the rage,” she said. “How am I supposed to remember them now?”
“To get us started, we’re going to do a simple circle dance,” Katherine Threadgood announced. “If you would please pair up into couples and form circles with even numbers of couples but no more than twelve couples to a circle, I’ll walk you through the steps.”