My Jane Austen Summer: A Season in Mansfield Park

me—a girl totally lacking in artifice chaperoned by her prickly Jane Austen—but pretending he was made me feel better, even temporarily. 'You're not on stage today?' he asked.

I couldn't remember if we had decided on a response to that question when we scripted the afternoon, but Vera, hovering nearby, said, 'We recast the scene today to free Lily for meetings.' Then she added, 'But you'll see her perform Amelia in the tea-theatre.'

Randolph winked at me and I began to see a way out of missing Willis. But when the actors took the familiar stage and spoke the familiar lines, I couldn't concentrate because, for one thing, I sat next to the owner of Newton Priors, and for another thing, he was not paying attention. Almost immediately, he began jiggling his knee. He stopped jiggling to shift position, but he started again and completely missed the line when Henry Crawford says: 'I will not be tricked on the south side of Everingham any more than on the north; I will be master of my own property.'

*   *   *

Two full hours past the time we'd set to discuss my business plan, Vera summoned me to Nigel's conference room where Randolph and Nigel were sharing a bottle of wine. They had not attended the tea- theatre.

'I was hopeful the numbers would look better,' Randolph said as he swirled his wine.

I accepted the glass Nigel poured for me and took the chair next to Randolph. While they met, I'd rehearsed the basic premise of my business plan: the idea was tourists living in a Jane Austen novel. I ignored my gnawing anxiety he'd not been interested in the festival. Now, Randolph looked at his watch and shoved papers into his portfolio. 'I'm afraid we've gone a bit long. And now something's come up in London.' He looked at me.

Something had changed while he met with Nigel; the ground had shifted.

'Could I persuade you to join me for dinner another night this week to go over your plan?' he asked.

'That would be fine.' I smiled, knowing it would never happen, ripping off a cuticle.

*   *   *

'I expect you're rather busy now,' I said as we walked to his car in the gathering dusk, warm and humid after the rain. I couldn't imagine how he spent his days. Vera said people like Randolph sat in the House of Lords, observing august traditions far older than anything in Texas.

'Yes, quite busy.'

'Will you take up politics?' I asked, imagining Randolph inheriting a robe, the pesky hairline problem concealed beneath a wig.

'Can't,' he said, folding his arms.

'Why not?' I asked.

'Tony Blair. House of Lords Act, 1999.' He smiled.

I would have to look it up.

'But I can reserve an excellent table at just about any restaurant.' He looked at me as if he noticed my presence for the first time that evening, causing me to wonder where he stood on girls without artifice. 'Right now I'd like to take up acting.'

'Did you have a chance to look at my plan?' I asked.

'Not yet.' He patted his portfolio. 'But I will, before we meet again.'

Just then, a tourist snapped our photo: Aristocrat and Texas Girl Outside English Manor House with Jaguar.

'Good,' I said, 'because I have some marketing ideas that might be lucrative for Newton Priors.'

'I'm glad to hear that, because I'm quite torn actually,' he said as he threw his portfolio on the seat. He looked past me into the evening air where I imagined pieces of torn Randolph floating out of order. 'Quite simply, I find I'm the steward of a burdensome asset in which I have no real interest.'

My Jane Austen smiled knowingly as I sighed over the unwelcome piece of information. 'But it's such a magnificent house,' I said.

'So I'm told.' Randolph leaned against his car as if we had all the time in the world.

'Do you ever think about living in Newton Priors?' I asked, wondering what the house looked like to someone who'd known it from birth.

'Not a chance,' he said, frowning, as if I should have known better. 'Nobody lives in these houses.'

'Your grandmother was quite fond of it,' I said.

'Oh yes, sentimental really. In her backward thinking, the economics would reverse, and all of England would return to an agrarian economy, with servants.'

I'd assumed he had servants.

'I don't subscribe to that cult of country house nostalgia,' he said.

I didn't hold out much hope that Pippa did, either. 'But you said you were torn.'

He paused, choosing his words carefully, his hands supporting his weight on the car. 'Regardless of my personal inclination, I must be mindful of my stewardship,' he said, 'to both past and future.'

I imagined him at the deathbed, accepting a golden orb from his failing grandmother, while the past— Newton Priors—and the future—equities in Prague—waited nervously, to see what sort of steward he would be.

'I must hold up my end.' He smiled. 'That is, not let the house and its content go on my watch.'

'Yes,' I said, nodding.

'Nor let the house and its content deplete the trust.'

Odd, he had so much time to talk while London waited on hold.

'At any rate, the house must support itself; that much is certain.' Randolph squinted in a thoughtful way that reminded me of Willis, a welcome contrast to his earlier jiggling knee. 'And from the look of things, Literature Live can't begin to pay the bills.'

Vera had not thought to cook the books. She had done a lot of maneuvering in preparation for Randolph's visit, but she had not, as far as I knew, played with the numbers. We were off the script again. 'Well.' I swallowed. 'Perhaps you'll think differently after you read my plan.'

Randolph nodded and looked at me carefully. He asked, 'Is this the sort of thing you're interested in?' His arms gestured big and at first I thought he was referring to himself. Was I interested in him. But then he added, 'Making a country house pay its way?'

I remembered my mother asking me, as a child, if I wanted a toy badly enough to spend my own money on it. Couched in those terms, my interest always faded. 'Of course,' I said. 'I believe there is a market for escape vacations; a place where people can go to live in a novel. And the premise of my business plan is: tourists living in a Jane Austen novel.' My Jane Austen would not be a good hostess. She'd hide the extra pillows and run out of coffee and then feign disappointment at early departures, 'Leaving my novel already?' She'd install locks on all her books, like diaries, and hide all the keys.

'I must say I'm impressed with your ideas,' he said. 'I had no idea actresses were so resourceful.' In one very smooth gesture he stepped forward and kissed me. A brief and efficient kiss—a husband kissing his wife as he left for the office, as if we'd become a married couple without the work of getting acquainted, without the terrifying exposure of being known. Perhaps he wanted an abridged, intimacy-free version of me: Lily for Dummies. It would be much easier that way. But I knew that would be cheating and My Jane Austen knew it, too.

I smiled and tucked my hair behind my ears. 'It's all in the plan,' I said. We'd been standing there talking long enough for the sky to grow completely dark.

'Let's look at it together,' he said. 'In fact, come with me. Do you have time?'

'Now?' I imagined Vera's rapture at the news.

'My sister's getting married and there's a party in their honor tonight.'

A camera flash reflected off the silver hood like a flare of lightning, illuminating my expression for anyone who was paying attention. Texas Girl Horrified Outside English Manor. I wished I could replay his comment to make sure I'd heard correctly. Did he say the wedding was on? I wanted to ask Randolph if he'd spoken with Willis lately. Are you sure they're getting married? He watched me struggle to look normal as my cosmos shifted once again. Willis at society parties in his honor, something he'd never have had with me. Maybe he