Undressing Mr. Darcy (26 page)

“You told him I slept with Julian, and you had no right to say that to him—or anyone! For once and for all, I’m done with you, Lexi!”

“Look, that line about you sleeping with him just sort of spilled out. And I do apologize about that, although I think it’s better to let Chase know where you stand with Julian. He deserves to know the truth of the situation.”

Lexi may have been right about that.

“And you’re not done with me. I have the description of the writing desk and the ticket stubs to the library and Madame Tussauds, proving we were there.” She patted her red leather purse. “You’ll need them to win.”

“And I have the description of the drawing and receipt of our donation to the National Portrait Gallery, proving we were there. So we’re at an impasse.”

“The thing is, I’m not in it to win the dinner with Julian. I was just trying to get my old friend back by helping her out. So much for trying to be good.” She checked her watch. “But right now I need to dash over to the British Museum to see a Regency-era condom and some Italian wax phalli in the Secretum for my research project.”

Vanessa did a face palm. “What?”

“You mean you didn’t know that every major European museum had a secret room of saucy artifacts for leering Victorian gentlemen ‘scholars’? Haven’t you heard of the books
The Sinner’s Grand Tour
and
Napoleon’s Privates: 2,500 Years of History Unzipped
?”

“Um—no.” Why was it that, no matter what, even if it involved going to museums, Lexi had more fun? “But don’t you realize that it was
you
who screwed up everything with Chase by announcing that I slept with Julian?”

Lexi ignored her. “The British Museum had the Secretum, founded in 1865. It included the wax phalli collected by Sir William Hamilton. His wife, Lady Hamilton, had a scandalous affair with Lord Nelson—you know, the Lord Nelson on top of the column in Trafalgar Square?”

Vanessa’s head was swirling. She needed to get back on task! What did she care about Lord Nelson other than that he reminded her of Chase trying to draw her attention to the column?

“Now most of the objects are on display in the Department of Medieval and Later Antiquities, like the famous Warren Cup, an ancient Roman silver cup depicting gay sex, and a replica of a statue of the god Pan copulating with a she-goat.”

“Pan with a she-goat?”

“Now you’re with me.” Lexi smiled. “And you thought the British were all stuffy and repressed. The rest of the collection is only available to view by appointment. It’s stored in cupboard number 55. How cool is that? I have an appointment at four.”

Vanessa got her mind back on track. “I would say even though you’ve ruined mine, you haven’t lost your mojo, Lexi.”

“That’s good because after the museum I’m heading back to Bath to meet David for the movie. Don’t wait up for me.”

“Have I ever?”

“But if you want the tickets and description you can have them. You’ll just have to bring me back a little souvenir.”

Vanessa didn’t need to ask—Lexi would tell her. It would start with “I want.”

“I want that life-sized replica of the Colin Firth wax figure in the Madame Tussauds gift shop. Buy it and bring it to me in Bath and I’ll reimburse you, hand over the ticket stubs, and everything.”

“Oh, right! How am I supposed to believe any of this?”

“Fine. Don’t believe me. But you didn’t want to believe me when I warned you Chase had feelings for you, either.” She stepped back. “See you in Bath with the replica.”

“You won’t.”

“I will. I’ll see you with my life-sized Colin Firth under your arm.”

“Nope. I don’t care about Julian
that
much.”

“I’m afraid you do. God knows why. He’s not worth it. But that man who just abandoned you here in front of the British Library? Now
he’s
worth it.”

With that Lexi headed out of the courtyard, turning a few male heads as she strutted along.

“Lexi!” Vanessa shouted out toward Lexi’s miniskirt. “I will
not
be bringing Colin Firth to you!”

Quite a few people, many looking up from their books and phones, turned around and gaped.

Vanessa grabbed her phone, only to see through the cracked screen that it was already three o’clock just as Sherry headed out of the Last Word with a bag full of seltzer waters and snacks.

“Thank you for buying the drinks. How much do I owe you?” Vanessa asked as she opened the next clue.

“Where is everyone?” asked Sherry as she looked around.

Vanessa read the clue as she spoke. “You don’t want to know. Basically, they left. It seems that, after years of me leaving everyone, people are now leaving me. Do you want to leave, too?” She made a flourish with her hand toward Euston Road even as she mapped out where Twinings tea shop was on her phone, which, despite the crack, still worked, thank God.

“Now would be a good time because I have to hustle down to Twinings at the Temple tube stop.”

“Hell no! I’m with you!”

Vanessa reached out and hugged her.

“Twinings? Where Jane Austen bought her tea!” Sherry beamed.

“How do you know that?”

“Oh, I read it on the Austen Authors blog.”

Vanessa pulled out her phone. “What’s the Web address?”

“AustenAuthors.net. It’s a group of Austen-inspired authors and a couple of them have posted pictures of themselves visiting Twinings—where Jane Austen bought her tea when she visited her brother Henry in London.”

“So that’s why we’re headed there. Here’s the clue.” Vanessa read it out loud.

“I am sorry to hear that there has been a rise in tea. I do not mean to pay Twining till later in the day, when we may order a fresh supply.” —Jane Austen to Cassandra, March 5, 1814

Congratulations! You have been very successful on your hunt in London. You only have a few items on your shopping list to acquire before your return journey to Bath. One of them is a small purchase of the 1706 tea blend with receipt proving you were there. Hurry along now . . .

“We don’t have much time left. I might need to hit Madame Tussauds gift shop before they close at six. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll explain everything.” She started walking, and quickly, leaving the Last Word behind.

Chapte
r 16

O
kay, where the hell was Julian? She’d been in England for more than two full days, first in Bath, now crisscrossing all over London. What grown woman would chase all over the globe for a man like this? There was that word: chase. What was she chasing and why? She was too damn old for this schoolgirl behavior! Or was she? Do we ever really grow up?

They were at Twinings tea shop on the Strand, a narrow place crammed with colorful packages of tea and large copper bins promising every possible blend of loose tea while the entire place emanated—what else?—a tea-leaf aroma.

Vanessa, after standing in a line much like Austen herself might have done, bought the requisite 1706 Blend, which the cashier told her had been named for the year Thomas Twining opened his tea shop. She never knew that Twinings was more than three hundred years old, and she didn’t think she’d ever look at Twinings the same again when she’d see it on the shelves at the grocery store back home.

Sherry, meanwhile, had been sucked in by the Loose Tea Bar in the back of the shop near the little Twinings “museum,” complete with Twinings ephemera of all sorts. Among the displays were official instructions on how to make a proper cup of tea that resulted in Vanessa steeping her mind in—Julian.

“We don’t have time to sample tea.” Vanessa took the warm cup of tea right out of Sherry’s hands and set it on the counter. “We need to figure out who’s going to hand us the next clue.”

Vanessa thought, it being so late in the London part of the hunt, that Julian must be making an appearance, but no, she didn’t see him anywhere in the shop. Nor did she spot any likely person to hand off the next clue. For a moment she stood outside Twinings, looking up at the architectural detail above the white-columned doorway, wasting time admiring the artistry of it; having no new clue, she had no place else to go.

Above the very familiar
TWININGS
typeface in black letters on a gold bar above the doorway stood a golden family crest flanked by sculptures of two Chinese tea men and topped by a statue of a golden lion. The English truly knew how to build, decorate, and embellish. Almost everywhere she looked, both in Bath and London, her eye fell upon a gargoyle, a fan-shaped window, a pub sign so gorgeous it could be museum worthy.

Her mind turned to Aunt Ella and then, for some reason, to Chase. When she used one of her networks to pinpoint his location, she discovered he had done a check-in at the Ritz already. And he hadn’t blocked her on any of their shared social networking sites yet, either. So that, she interpreted, was a good thing.

It was three forty-five already, and she paced in front of the tantalizing doorway until Sherry came out and took her bag of tea from her.

“How does it smell?” She opened up the tin of 1706. “Mm-mm.”

“Really, Sherry? Can’t you just help me figure out where to get the next clue? We’re running out of time—”

“Hey, look, here it is!” Sherry pulled a slip of paper from the tin of loose tea leaves. “The clue!”

Vanessa read it out loud:

“‘If you need to buy a small vial of lavender water fit for a queen, a genuine badger shaving brush, and a book, all from places Jane would’ve known, there’s only one place to go: St. James’s—where you will find yourself transported to Regency London. Fetch the lavender water from Floris, the shaving brush from Dr. Harris, Chemists and Perfumers, and a book from Hatchard’s.’”

“It’s a shopping list,” Sherry said.

Vanessa did a quick search for Floris. “We’re off to Green Park tube station.”

She and Sherry emerged from the station and hurried up Piccadilly for a bit until Vanessa stopped suddenly.

“What is it?” Sherry asked.

Vanessa stood staring at the stone archway above her with the carved face of a bearded man in it, and, underneath, within black wrought iron scrollwork under the arch, were golden letters studded with lights:
THE RITZ
.

In an instant, she gathered herself. She was all about prioritizing and always had been. With a tap of Chase’s umbrella on the pavement and a rustle of her Twinings bag she said, “It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

“You’re beginning to scare me,” Sherry said.

“I am?”

“You really are obsessed about winning this thing, aren’t you?”

“I’m just competitive, Sherry, and I always have been.”

* * *

S
he wasn’t prepared, though, to fall more in love with London with every bow-windowed specialty shop in St. James’s she passed. Each store had been established in the 1600s or 1700s, and each exuded more British charm, more polished mahogany, and more mirrored glass cases than the last. The uncanny combination of quirk and elegance struck her like no American shop ever had.

The whirl of hatters, gentlemen’s shirt makers, wine merchants, and antiques shops would have made her really feel as if she were Jane Austen, had it not been for the cars in the streets and the people on the sidewalks in their modern clothes checking their phones and walking, quickly, as the rush hour approached, with their earbuds in, toward a cocktail bar, restaurant, or home. Vanessa thought for a moment, she could live here, in London, quite happily, with history and modern times brushing shoulders.

The only thing missing was—Julian. An emptiness came over her, like a spoon with nothing on it.

The apothecary jars and rows of wooden apothecary drawers the size of old library card catalogs at Dr. Harris, Chemists and Perfumers, hadn’t changed in two hundred years, and neither had the fact that they still made and packed by hand many of their perfumes, colognes, and soaps on the premises.

In the bastion of gentlemanly shops along Jermyn Street, including the clothier Thomas Pink she’d seen at Heathrow, they found the lavender water at Floris, perfumer to HRH (Her Royal Highness)
and
Julian.

“Jane Austen couldn’t have afforded to shop here,” Vanessa said to Sherry.

“No, but she might’ve been sent here to buy something for her rich brother Edward.”

Sherry shook her head while they waited for change from a very handsome, suited cashier. “I can’t believe we’re just a few blocks away from Almack’s, Beau Brummell’s club White’s—”

The cashier looked at Sherry while he ever-so-politely slid a velvet pad across the wooden counter toward Vanessa with her change on it.

That just about made her fall over. She couldn’t take it anymore! She’d fallen for England, and she probably would buy an
I Love London
mug at the airport—if she even decided to go back home!

She was ready to sign on the Anglophile dotted line.

The hot Englishman behind the mahogany counter explained that the velvet salver had been in use for centuries because it had always been more genteel to put your purchases on account and not pay with cash, but once cash had become de rigueur, Floris would polish the coins and iron the bills flat, and present your change to you, the lady, in your clean white gloves, coins gleaming and bills pressed and perfumed, on a velvet salver.

Once Vanessa had gingerly taken the change and her navy blue and gold Floris gift bag, and smiled at whatever the gorgeous English guy had been saying to her in his silky accent as she put her wallet away, she hurried out the door amid a flurry of “thank you’s” and “do come back’s” from the other salespeople and leaned against a lamppost outside the door for sheer support.

She looked up, wondering how much more of this English charm she could take without tossing her American passport into the Thames. But, as she looked up, she saw pink and white flowers blooming in the window boxes about the brass
FLORIS
nameplate topped with a royal coat of arms.

“Okay, I surrender!” she said to nobody in particular. “Aunt Ella was right. How can you
not
love England?”

“Wait till you get a whiff of this lavender water,” Sherry said, suddenly beside her.

“No! I mean, no, thank you. That would do me in.”

Sherry opened the bottle anyway and sniffed. “Oh. My. God. I could drink this stuff. By the gallon. It’s lavender. On steroids. I feel like I’m in a tampon commercial, skipping through the lavender fields—”

Vanessa laughed so hard she began to cramp up. “Sherry, I think you deserve to have dinner. And a drink. A big, tall drink.”

“And a tall drink of water, too,” Sherry joked. “But what about you?”

“I’m going to have to part ways with you for the evening because I have to take care of two men: Colin Firth and Chase. In that order.”

She couldn’t deal with having Chase disenchanted with her.

“Colin Firth?!”

“The fake Colin Firth and the real Chase. I’ll explain everything when I see you back in Bath tonight.”

* * *

V
anessa bought the life-sized Colin Firth replica just before closing time.

Now she stood in line at the London Eye ticket pavilion with him under one arm and Chase’s umbrella under the other because, according to his location social networking site, he was here at the Eye. But now she couldn’t get a signal on her phone anymore. Could the cracked screen have finally affected the phone itself?

“One ticket, please,” Vanessa said.

“Is he going with you?” the humorless ticket woman asked at a fast clip, glaring at Colin.

“Let me ask him,” Vanessa said as she stood him up and pretended to converse with the plastic replica. “Would you like to join me for a date on the London Eye, Mr. Firth?”

But the ticket woman was not amused; nor were the people in line behind her. “I’m afraid you’ll have to pay for him.”

Vanessa didn’t have the time or the energy to argue, especially with a woman who had no sense of humor and spoke too fast, and especially when she needed to get out of this line and into the one for the Eye itself. She’d looked and hadn’t seen Chase inside the ticket pavilion at all.

Of course Colin needed a ticket! He was, after all, six feet two. She’d have to set him down while on the Eye, so she bought the two tickets without a fight.

By the time she stood in line to get on, the sky had turned to twilight, one of the best times to see London from above, the Australian family behind her said.

But she hadn’t come here to see an aerial view of London.

She scanned the snaking line for Chase, didn’t see him anywhere, and feared he might already be in one of the futuristic Ferris wheel capsules.

But then, as she reached the top of the line, a crowd of Asian women and a few Asian men parted, and there, in the center of them, like the spoke on a wheel, stood Chase.

“Chase!” Vanessa called out as she hurried forward. He didn’t hear her and she almost shouted again.

But one of the ticket takers grabbed her by the elbow. “You—and Colin Firth—must get back in the queue, I’m afraid, luv.”

Queue.

“But—”

“Sorry.” He firmly guided her back to her spot. She’d just missed the cutoff point for getting into Chase’s capsule by about ten people, so she ended up getting on the one behind his. Using Colin as a shield she shoved her way to the window and stood him up next to her. The people in her capsule looked at her funny, but she didn’t care.

She could see Chase from here! For a moment she put her hands on the rounded glass as she watched him laughing and chatting with the well-dressed and well-coiffed Asian women.

Vanessa looked down at herself, at what that morning had been a cute little outfit but now, after a day of literally running around London both above and underground, not to mention carting a six-foot-two plastic man across town, looked bedraggled at best.

A woman next to her stared at Colin Firth while Vanessa pulled out her phone to text Chase. She still wasn’t getting a signal.

She watched as his capsule floated up, above hers. She had to fix this rift with him. Still, she hadn’t taken the time to take care of it until she’d accomplished what she needed to for the hunt, and he was smart enough to know this.

She thought she might gain points by smoothing everything over in person instead of her usual approach, which would’ve been via text or e-mail.

People around her began taking pictures not just of London, but of themselves with Colin. She became, by default, the most popular person on the ride, even though she didn’t want the attention or the distraction.

She moved to every possible corner on the capsule to get her phone to kick in, but maybe the height had something to do with it. They were high above the city now, and she finally had to look away from her lifeless phone and marvel at Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, and even the Tower Bridge far off in the distance.

She left Colin Firth with a group of American women so she could get a better look at Buckingham Palace lit up in the night. What a gorgeous, glittering, endless city London looked from above. She couldn’t believe she’d be leaving tonight without having seen any of the sights up close. Who goes to London without seeing Buckingham Palace, St. Paul’s, Westminster Abbey, or the Tate Modern, or touring the Tower of London?

As she looked at Buckingham Palace she had to laugh to herself at the thought of Lexi’s stories from junior year abroad as she tried to get the palace guards to crack a smile.