The Man Who Loved Jane Austen

state. “My God, were you taking notes?” he asked sarcastically.

“How can you explain all of these strange words and the devices that you carry with you,” she said, gesturing at his watch. “Like your watch that never needs winding. Virginia is but a few months, sailing time from England; surely such wonders could not long remain hidden from the world if they were not the tools of some secret and sinister mission…”

“Yes, you’re right,” he replied, cutting her off. Darcy paused for a minute, trying to think of some way to explain without making his position any more precarious than it was. “Very well,” he said after a moment, “I’ll try to explain if you’ll promise not to repeat what I’m going to tell you.”

Jane stiffened at the suggestion. “I shall make no such promise to protect your foul secrets,” she proclaimed.

Darcy glared at her in frustration. “Fine!” he retaliated. “Then let me tell you a few secrets about yourself, Miss Austen. At night, after you have removed your clothing and put on your nightgown, you sit at that dressing table by the fire to write. Often before you actually begin writing you carry on imaginary conversations between your characters, or wonder aloud how they might react to a lover’s intimate touch. You are presently working on a novel about five sisters who are all hoping to marry well. Two of them do in fact, but another one is seduced and deceived by an infamous scoundrel you’ve named Wickham.”

For a fraction of a second Darcy toyed with the idea of informing her that the hero of her romantic novel would be named Fitzwilliam Darcy. But he saw with grim satisfaction that his unexpected disclosures had hit home and he had no wish to reduce the effect. For Jane’s face had turned pale as he spoke and she’d stumbled a step backward, as though he had physically struck her.

“Sir,” she murmured resentfully, “you have been spying on me, and reading my most intimate private papers—”

“I have not read anything!” Darcy said coldly. “How could I when you never have more than a few sheets of your writings with you at any time and you never let them out of your sight?”

She turned away in confusion. “You…only think to confound me with more riddles,” she accused. “You cannot know what is in my book, which I am not yet finished writing.”

“But I do know,” he insisted, regretting the need to resort to such crude, bullying tactics but unable to think of any other way to keep her under control until he could find a way to escape from his dangerous situation. “We both have secrets we’d rather keep, Miss Austen, and I know some of yours. That is my only point,” he concluded.

He moved closer to her and spoke as gently as he could. “Now, if you will only listen calmly and with an open mind, I’ll try to explain myself to you. But I must have your pledge of secrecy.”

Pointedly stepping away from him, Jane walked to her vanity table and sat weakly in the chair.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but once I’ve explained, I think you’ll understand my reasons.” He tried a reassuring smile on her. “If it makes you feel any better, I also happen to know that you’re an extremely gifted writer.”

Defeated by his disclosures, Jane shook her head. “Please, just tell me who you are,” she said wearily.

Before Darcy could reply, the bedroom door opened and Edward Austen walked in unannounced. His eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Darcy awake and fully dressed.

Jane immediately rose and went to her brother’s side.

“My dear Mr. Darcy,” Edward exclaimed with evident pleasure, “I came down to look in on you because Mr. Hudson reported that you were still abed. But happily I see that you are instead greatly improved. Excellent, sir! Excellent!”

“Yes, I’m feeling much better, a bit weak but definitely better,” Darcy replied, keeping a wary eye on Jane, who stood like a statue coldly regarding him from the sanctuary of her brother’s side. Darcy continued to Edward, “I was just thanking your sister for her great kindness in looking after me.”

To Darcy’s relief Jane curtseyed slightly in his direction. “You are most welcome, sir,” she murmured.

Edward was all smiles. “Well then, Darcy, you must move up to Chawton Great House. I insist upon it.” He moved to a window at the far end of the room and pointed out across the fields to a forest of chimneys and the top of a mansard roof rising above a line of distant trees. “My house is only a short journey away on the other side of the meadows that you see beyond that small wood,” he said proudly. “There you may complete your recovery in greater comfort whilst we continue our efforts to locate those friends of yours.”

Darcy’s eyes darted to Jane, who was watching him with a grim little smile that seemed to say, Let’s see you get yourself out of this one, pal.

“Oh, my friends!” Darcy stammered. “Yes, well, it’s rather embarrassing, but as I have just explained to Miss Austen, that knock on the head really confused me.”

He looked at Jane and saw her triumphant smile fading. “In fact,” he continued, “I know no one in this part of the country. I was simply riding through on my way to London when my horse bolted and ran into the fields.”

“Ah, I see!” said Edward, seemingly satisfied with the American’s nebulous explanation. “I suppose that explains it, then.”

Chapter 22

A short time later they stood at the front gate of Chawton Cottage, where Edward’s carriage waited.

“Miss Austen, I am obliged to you,” Darcy said, bowing at the waist to Cassandra, as he had seen Hudson do earlier.

“Not at all, sir.” Obviously pleased to have the handsome stranger in her debt, Cassandra rewarded him with a radiant smile and returned his overly formal bow with a polite curtsey.

“I hope we’ll meet again before I return home,” Darcy told Jane, who was standing beside her sister and making no effort whatsoever to conceal her irritation.

“I would take great pleasure in such a meeting,” she said, raising her eyes to his and looking straight into them. “For I still have many unanswered questions to ask about your fascinating life in…Virginia.”

Darcy fidgeted nervously beneath her steely gaze, certain that she was about to give him away. He breathed a sigh of relief as Edward stepped forward and addressed her.

“You two shall indeed have another meeting, Jane,” Edward cheerfully informed her. “Have you forgotten that my brother Frank is arriving today at Chawton Great House? You and Cassandra are to dine with us this very evening. And several of your friends will be there as well.”

Edward suddenly broke off his cheerful discourse and cast an apologetic look Darcy’s way. “Of course,” he continued, “we had thought to delay those jolly plans because of Mr. Darcy’s incapacity, but if he is now well enough…”

Forced to make some polite reply, Darcy tried to sound enthusiastic at the unsettling prospect of dining with all the Austen clan and their friends. “I feel quite well now,” he assured Edward, quickly adding, “however, I wouldn’t want to impose on your hospitality, sir.”

In fact, Darcy wanted nothing more than to be taken to his horse so that he could flee from these people at the earliest opportunity. He most decidedly did not want to be forced into a social situation where his ignorance of early nineteenth-century customs would surely mark him as an impostor.

Edward, however, was having none of his feeble protests. “Nothing of the sort, sir,” he assured Darcy. “We shall enjoy a fine dinner of excellent fish and fowl, and then be charmingly entertained by the ladies.”

Turning to Jane and Cassandra, he said, “Shall I send my carriage at seven?”

The ladies both smiled in appreciation of their brother’s thoughtfulness. “Yes, thank you, Edward,” Cassandra replied for both.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Darcy climbed into the open carriage with Edward and it drove away. He looked back through the etched glass backlight to see Jane waving good-bye to him, a little smirk of satisfaction pasted on her lovely face. And he realized that she was actually looking forward to his undoing.

Leaning back against the padded leather seat cushions, Darcy only half-listened to Edward, who was enthusiastically describing the local hunting conditions. Between polite nods, the anxious American covertly