Midnight in Austenland Read Online Free Page A

politely formal and indifferent. Oh, traitorous mouth! Now it was too late to appear unaffected by this incognito celebrity.
    â€œIt is I?” Miss Gardenside asked innocently. Her accent was more formal, like the queen’s, than the rougher tone Charlotte had heard her use in interviews. Nevertheless, there was no mistaking a face that famous, though her long black hair was twisted up and set with silver pins. Her dark skin glowed against the yellow of her gown, and her black eyes looked simpler without her trademark long fake lashes. The girl was extremely thin but still very pretty. Charlotte considered putting an Alisha poster on her own wall.
    â€œI am sorry, have we met?” asked Alisha—or rather, Miss Gardenside.
    Had they met? No … but then again, she wasn’t really Mrs. Cordial, and Mondays didn’t usually find her in a corset and bloomers. Those fake-lashes-less eyes seemed to plead, I’m not Alisha, please pretend I’m not Alisha …
    â€œI think so,” said Charlotte, trying to play along. “In Bath last year? We were introduced at the assembly by … by Miss Jones?”
    Miss Gardenside only blinked before saying, “Yes, I remember now. Of course. That was a lovely evening. If I am not mistaken, you were wearing a fetching little cap fit with cherries and a tiny cupid.”
    â€œExactly,” Charlotte said sportingly.
    â€œI recall you danced three dances with that tall mustachioed officer, you scandalous thing!”
    â€œJust so,” Charlotte said, not without reservations.
    â€œAnd you were so bold at the dance, humming out a tune for the quadrangle until the musicians finally arrived.”
    â€œUh-huh,” Charlotte said, losing heart.
    Miss Gardenside clapped her hands. “I was simply enchanted with you at the time, and swore in my heart that if we met again, I would keep you forever at my bosom. So now it is official. You will always be Charlotte to me, and I Lydia to you, and I claim you most fiercely as my dearest friend and confidant.”
    There was barely a trace of the hair-swinging, shimmying superstar. It would break the game to compliment her outright, but Charlotte wanted her to know that she was doing a good job, so she gave her a sincere smile.
    Miss Gardenside took her arm. “Bosom friends,” she said resolutely.
    The carriage ride was short, too short for Charlotte’s liking. It felt so perfectly surreal to be wearing a bonnet and jolting along a country lane—frankly more like a Terry Gilliam movie than a Masterpiece Theatre episode, but all the same, still very interesting . She and Miss Gardenside gasped in unison when the manor house emerged from the greenery.
    Charlotte had been to parties in some impressive mansions back home, but they were weak sauce compared with this big, old stone house. A few dozen windows faced front, the glare from the sun making them opaque. Perhaps it was all those blind windows and the mystery of what might wait on the other side, or perhaps it was her mental library of Agatha Christie novels, but Charlotte thought at that moment, This is the sort of house where murders happen.
    A line of manservants and maids stood out front. The very thin butler opened the door as the carriage stopped and helped out the passengers.
    â€œWelcome home, Mrs. Wattlesbrook,” he said.
    â€œThank you, Neville.”
    â€œYay!” A brightly blonde woman of fifty ran out of the house and down the stairs. “More girls!”
    She spread her arms wide, her enormous bosom shaking violently with the exercise. The woman seemed to be coming in for a hug at full speed, and Charlotte took a step back, sure she would be crushed against the side of the carriage. But with a look from Mrs. Wattlesbrook, the woman stopped short.
    â€œMay I present Miss Elizabeth Charming, our beloved houseguest,” said Mrs. Wattlesbrook, in turn announcing Charlotte and Miss