Midnight in Austenland Read Online Free

ruled by proxy for nine years. He was the Prince Regent, and thus this era is known as ‘the Regency.’ ”
    â€œAha! I am so clueless. Why was King George unfit?”
    â€œBecause he succumbed to madness.”
    â€œOh,” said Charlotte, feeling as shocked as a nineteenth-century woman who’d just heard the news. There was nothing like madness to make her feel unsettled. Madness and plane crashes. And ghost sightings. Also toxic mold and flu epidemics. And carbon monoxide leaks.
    â€œIf that is all, allow me to acquaint you with some of the characters in your session.” Mrs. Wattlesbrook scanned some papers, speaking as she flipped through. “Mr. Thomas Mallery dotes on his dear aunt”—she indicated herself—“and has come to visit me at Pembrook Park. Mr. Mallery has invited his old schoolmate Edmund Grey along, as well as Mr. Grey’s sister, the young widow Charlotte Cordial.”
    â€œI have a brother?” Charlotte asked. Clearly this Mr. Grey would not be her Romantic Interest. She was relieved there would be at least one safe gentleman in the house. She supposed romance was an integral part of the Austen Experience, but she was pretty well done with setups.
    â€œYou have a brother,” Mrs. Wattlesbrook confirmed. “And note that while Etiquette demands a woman address a man properly, by his surname and with the designation of mister , Edmund, as your brother, may be addressed in the more familial sense.”
    Charlotte blinked. “What?”
    â€œMr. Grey’s sister would naturally call him ‘Edmund.’ ”
    â€œOh.”
    She doubted that would be natural, even if she were his sister. She had a prejudice against formal-sounding names, especially ones with an abundance of hard consonants. “Edmund” did not roll off her tongue. Neither did “Slobodan.” Or “Abednego.”
    â€œThere will be two other guests at Pembrook Park during your stay. Miss Elizabeth Charming has been with us for … some time. Miss Lydia Gardenside is new to Pembrook Park, like yourself. She is suffering from consumption and is here to convalesce in our peaceful country estate.” Mrs. Wattlesbrook made herself busy, rearranging papers, looking down while she spoke. “I believe Miss Gardenside is a girl of some renown in the cities and in the papers, but at the Park she needs relaxation and anonymity. No hustle and fuss to disturb her recovery. We understand each other?”
    Mrs. Wattlesbrook peered at Charlotte over her reading glasses.
    Charlotte blinked. Was Miss Gardenside a famous convict recently released from an English jail? Or perhaps royalty?
    â€œOf course,” said Charlotte. She just hoped that this duchess or countess or whatever wouldn’t feel slighted when Charlotte had no idea who she was.
    Charlotte didn’t have long to wonder. A manservant entered, dressed in a tailed jacket and white wig, and informed Mrs. Wattlesbrook that the carriage was ready.
    â€œVery good, Bernard. Fetch Miss Gardenside from her room.”
    The servant bowed and went into a back room.
    Charlotte finished her tea, brushed the crumpet crumbs from her chest, and looked up to see on Bernard’s arm the very person whose poster hung on her daughter’s bedroom wall, whose face graced Lu’s school notebook, whose rainbow-colored name was imprinted on Lu’s sheets. It was her, the twenty-year-old actress from the celebrity magazines, the Grammy winner, the television star. The British girl who’d gotten millions of American teens to use “fancy” as a verb and “brilliant” instead of “cool.” So famous she only had one name: Alisha.
    â€œOh, it’s you!” said Charlotte’s mouth, completely without her permission. Because, of course, if Charlotte had been in control of her mouth, she would have smiled nonchalantly and said, “How do you do?” or something