Midnight in Austenland Read Online Free PDF Page B

She tiptoed down the hall, strangely afraid of disrupting the stillness with her passage.
    I don’t trust old houses, she told herself, as if acknowledging the fact would make her more brave.
    She was intimidated by the creaky, sleepy lurkiness, the nooks and crannies and doorways and passages, the unexpected noises, the many places a stranger could skulk. Who could rest easy in a house with wings and battlements—and, no doubt, dungeons?
    A glimmer beckoned from downstairs, and she followed it into the drawing room.
    At last, plenty of light—kerosene lamps (both real and electric, it seemed), candles, a fire, furniture upholstered in gaudy fabrics, and an enormous mirror with an ornate gilded frame holding court on the wall. The brightness and colors were briefly overwhelming.
    â€œMrs. Cordial!” Miss Charming bounced up from her sofa and took Charlotte’s arm. She leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “Now you get to meet the men! It’s the best part.”
    â€œGood evening, Mrs. Cordial,” said Mrs. Wattlesbrook. “You look lovely this evening. I see I did well assigning Mary to you. She has a way with shorter hair. I am sorry she is such a skittish thing, but I hope you find her abilities outweigh the vexation of her personality. Yes, very good with short hair …”
    Mrs. Wattlesbrook looked her over as if she were a cow going to market. Not that Charlotte had any personal experience with selling cows, or with market per se, but there just wasn’t a good metaphor in her realm of experience.
    â€œWell,” the hostess said approvingly.
    Charlotte’s smile was genuine. Perhaps Mrs. Wattlesbrook had forgiven her the transgression of wanting to be a missus.
    â€œMrs. Charlotte Cordial, may I present our gentlemen guests.”
    At her words, two gentlemen, who had been sitting on sofas just out of sight, arose and came forward. Charlotte gasped.
    In movies, we are accustomed to seeing handsome actors. It’s so commonplace on the screen, large or small, that we barely note it as extraordinary. But in life, rarely do we encounter an onslaught of beauty, enter a hive of handsomeness, find ourselves awash in an ocean of attractiveness, drowning in a miasma of hotness. Charlotte was unprepared. She momentarily forgot her animosity toward dark old houses.
    â€œThis is Colonel Andrews,” said the hostess. “The second son of the earl of Denton and a dear family friend.”
    Colonel Andrews bowed in a very pleasing way. He was darling—fair hair, a naughty smile. He must have been at least ten years her junior.
    Oh, Charlotte, what are you getting yourself into?
    â€œAnd of course you know your brother, Mr. Edmund Grey.”
    Apparently Mrs. Wattlesbrook only hired eye candy. While the colonel had a roguish appeal, Edmund was handsome in a cheery way. His slightest smile produced Death Star–size dimples in both cheeks, and his blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight. Not just metaphorically. Truly sparkled.
    â€œSister dear! How delightful that you should come. I was telling Andrews that you are jolly good company and game for anything, is that not so?”
    To be honest, Charlotte didn’t feel game for much. She felt as poorly disguised as Alisha, though instead of being a famous and talented starlet, she was a frazzled mommy playing dress-up. But Edmund Grey’s blue eyes kept on shining, and she trusted their hopeful promise that he would get her through this somehow.
    â€œThat’s right. The Greys ever were game.” She thought she should say something more, something charming, tell a witty story about Edmund when he was younger and repay him for his dazzling blues, but she felt shy in a push-up corset and low-cut dress. Should she slouch to keep her bust from sticking out so much? Would her proper posture make them think she was trying to flaunt her cleavage? At least no one was obviously looking her over. Except for