Charlotte rarely sat anywhere just to listen, to appreciate a moment. The mood was otherworldly. She folded her hands in her lap and bade them be content not doing anything. In its idleness, her mind started spinning, searching for a productive occupation. First it worried about her kids.
Stop that, they’re fine, she told herself.
So the wheels spun in the direction of the mystery.
Not now, let it lie, she admonished her thoughts.
She felt Mr. Mallery’s gaze on her, and she turned and met his eyes, contemplating him in return. It wasn’t a staring contest or a smoldering flirtation. The music just buffered the usual social awkwardness of gazing at another adult. It was easy for the moment, just as it was easy to stare at a small child or a dog. Not that Mr. Mallery was a dog. Quite the opposite.
Goodness, that corset felt tight.
After a time, Miss Gardenside stopped singing and just played, smoothing over the roughness in the room, making everything feel all soft and cozy.
Charlotte drifted by the piano and whispered to Miss Gardenside, “I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a performance so much. You are wonderful.”
Miss Gardenside blushed.
The guests and actors didn’t bother with card games but instead spoke in small relaxed groups. Soon enough, Charlotte found herself with Colonel Andrews on a settee. Charlotte had never used that word before—“settee.” But in Austenland, settees were prolific. There seemed to be a virtual herd of them in the house, reproducing like bunnies.
“You really are a gem,” she said. “You put people at ease, and your mystery games are splendid.”
“Why, thank you, Mrs. Cordial.” He seemed touched.
“Do you … stay often at Pembrook Park?”
“Most summers. I love the Park. I used to visit other homes nearby, but …”
“Like Bertram Hall?”
“You have heard of it? Yes, the Wattlesbrooks used to keep up other houses besides Pembrook Park—the sadly fallen Pembrook Cottage, of course, but Windy Nook and Bertram Hall as well. But times are hard.” Colonel Andrews blinked, as if adjusting his thoughts to the proper time period. “The Napoleonic Wars. War takes men from home, incomes are spent overseas. Bertram Hall was sold, Windy Nook was let, and Pembrook Cottage …”
She nodded.
“At least we still have the beauty of the Park to console our bones.” He gestured to the grandeur of the drawing room. It was a gorgeous chamber, with wide double doors, hanging candelabras, sets of furniture to create several spaces within the room. The ceiling itself was worth gazing upon, with scenes of Cupid with a bow, ribbons and arrows worked into the molding. She felt queenly just sitting there, though she couldn’t imagine living in the house. What kind of a person would desire this full-time?
Mrs. Wattlesbrook must, though her husband, apparently, did not. Miss Charming had of late. And Charlotte could not imagine Mr. Mallery outside this world.
She could picture Eddie in casual clothes—maybe a gray sweater or peacoat, some jeans, a five o’clock shadow. Why not? And Colonel Andrews too—though she imagined him in a bit more color. A shiny lime green shirt came to mind.
But Mr. Mallery in jeans? Her imagination failed her. He seemed carved from this time period, molded for breeches and riding cloaks. He didn’t even look silly in a top hat.
Miss Charming and Miss Gardenside sat together in the corner, visually the opposites of each other, both giggling over a book. The piano bench empty, Mr. Mallery sat and began playing. It took Charlotte a few moments to absorb the melody and realize it was beautiful. He played softly, unobtrusively, with a gentleness that surprised her.
Usually the women in Austen played the pianoforte. Men were too busy being men—getting money from farmers who lived on their land, hunting game birds, and visiting relations, where they sat around in drawing rooms not playing the piano.
But Mr. Mallery seemed to do things. She wished she knew what he did when he was out of sight. The musician in him seemed but a hint.
She sat beside him.
“What were you thinking of while Miss Gardenside played? When you looked at me?” he asked, his eyes on his hands moving over the keys.
He was direct, wasn’t he? In Austenland, men and women usually played and teased in conversation. Forthrightness came in rare outbursts that either separated couples or brought them together. They were rare and dangerous events, but apparently Mr. Mallery didn’t play by all the rules.
“I was thinking that you are a handsome man,” she said.
He didn’t react.
“And I was wondering if you would still make me nervous if you weren’t. How muc