Page 26 of The Austen Escape
We made a wide variety of noises as we crossed the marble hallway—the tap of high heels, the squish of a driving loafer, the thud of an oxford, and the soft shuffle of a couple pairs of ballet flats. I wondered if tomorrow we’d hear only a masculine heel strike and a whisper of soft silk slippers.
The dining room was long and narrow. A rectangular table, capable of seating at least twenty, stood centered beneath two impressive chandeliers. Light bounced everywhere and refracted to reveal the full spectrum off the crystals and the glasses below. It appeared as if thousands of tiny rainbows had been tossed into the room.
It felt like magic. White linen place mats allowed the light to bounce off the table’s red-black mahogany, adding warmth to the cool light display. Clara stopped so abruptly I bumped into her.
I laid a hand on her shoulder. “Me too, kiddo, and look at that table. There are no lines. It’s one piece.”
Gertrude heard me. “It is. When they renovated this room it could not be easily moved, so they built a crate around it. Thenthey suspended it by a pulley system to finish the floor underneath it. The family’s history has that it came in through the windows before they finished the stone and glass work in 1767.” She gestured to several small tables nestled in the two bay windows. “I’ve seated us together this evening, but the individual tables will be set in the morning for breakfast.”
I walked down the table’s right side as Clara followed Isabel down the left.
“Thank you, Herman.” Isabel ignored Clara and scooted her chair closer to her clear admirer. If possible, Herman’s chest swelled further.
“Herman told me this is an anniversary trip.” Isabel leaned forward to address Helene, on his opposite side.
“It is long overdue. Our first trip in over twenty years.” He matched Isabel’s posture, blocking the view to his wife.
“We are celebrating our sixtieth anniversary this month.” Helene addressed the entire table.
Herman turned from Isabel to Helene. He looked at her again with such devotion that I understood her indulgence as he gave time to Isabel. In my world, I’d call it flirting—regardless of the inappropriate age difference—and so would Isabel. In his, I suspected, he would call it chivalry. And Helene was right; it was a gift.
“Let us toast to your anniversary.” Aaron raised his champagne glass. “That is truly something worthy.”
“Helene always wanted to come to the English countryside and most especially to Bath... We’ve saved twenty years for a trip, and this is what she chose.” He leaned to Isabel. “Like you, these stories have been very important to my wife.”
He then looked around the table and seemed surprised bywhat was before him. We held our glasses high. Herman reached for his so quickly he almost toppled it.
Helene helped him right it, and he joined us. “We celebrate my beautiful bride.”
In that toast and flowing from Herman’s obvious warmth, the disparate groups in the parlor became one. Conversation flowed smoothly throughout an endive salad, a light fish course, and a main course of beef tenderloin, before the discussion turned to tomorrow and the roles we were to play.
“It was not a hard choice for me. I have always loved Elizabeth Bennet,” Helene said, “but my time for her has passed. At my age, I am more suited to Mrs. Bennet or Lady Catherine de Burgh. But either would give us all a headache. But Mrs. Jennings, as you said, dear...” She looked to me. “She enjoys life and has fun.”
Helene’s very nature contradicted any comparison to the sour and dour Lady Catherine ofPride and Prejudice.
“Jane Bennet was easy for me too. I’ve never been called quiet or demure, and I’ve wondered what’s so alluring about those qualities.” Sylvia winked at Aaron.
He raised a brow. “I find nothing alluring about them at all. Ice and fire, dear.” The raised brow became a wink and his wife turned crimson.
“What about...”
“And...”
The names and stories flew faster than I could catch them. Isabel sat in the center of it all and visibly relaxed, but having read all the books in a week, I was soon lost in the myriad ancillary characters.
“And you, Mary? How did you choose Catherine Morland?” Gertrude’s soft question reached me through the cacophony.
“I...”
Isabel lifted her chin. “I’m not sure she’s right for you. We’ll discuss it tonight. You might have more fun joining with Clara and Helene.”
Clara grinned at me. “Mama says I’m Margaret fromSense and Senseless.”
“Sense and Sensibility.”Isabel’s correction fell harsh and heavy.
Clara bit her lip and frowned at her lemon tart.
The conversation continued, but Clara did not raise her head again and I did not speak. I suspected we struggled with the same weight. I laid down my fork. She pushed her tart away, untouched.
