The Dashwood Sisters Tell All Read Online Free Page A

related to Jane Austen.”
    The sparkle was back in her eyes, but I had learned long ago to be wary of it. “Is he on the tour?”
    Mimi smiled. “That's the best part. C’mon.”
    She grabbed my hand and towed me across the room, but before we could reach her latest quarry, an older woman with vibrantly orange hair stepped in front of us.
    “You must be the Dodge sisters.” Despite the warmth of the June day, she wore a tweed suit that was neither brown nor gray but some unfortunate hybrid of the two. “I’m Gwendolyn Parrot.” She extended her hand as if she were drawing a sword.
    “I’m Ellen. Ellen Dodge.” I shook her hand and tried not to wince at the iron grip. “This is my sister, Mimi.”
    Mrs. Parrot studied us through the thick lenses of her glasses. “We’re delighted to have the two of you as part of our tour.”
    “We?” Mimi asked.
    “Mr. Braddock is the tour leader, of course, whilst I am the Jane Austen expert. I’ll be traveling with you to deliver the odd lecture, answer questions informally, that sort of thing.”
    Mrs. Parrot was no doubt nothing more than a sensible British matron, but for some reason, she made me uncom-fortable. “Are you a professor at one of the universities?” I asked.
    “Retired, dear. Tom asked if I would lend my expertise for the week, and I agreed.”
    Her answer was ordinary enough, but something about Mrs. Parrot didn't quite ring true. My mother had always had that typical British reserve, and Mrs. Parrot should have displayed the same thing, not such an obvious enthusiasm for meeting us.
    “We’re looking forward to learning more about Jane Austen,” I said and tried to move past her, but she blocked my way again.
    “Are you lifelong Austen devotees?” She was only making casual conversation. Given the chance to talk about their life's obsession, most people could chatter away forever. But something about this woman's eyes, the way she seemed to be sizing me up, made me uneasy.
    “Our mother was the true Austen fan,” I said. “I’m not sure either of us quite lived up to her hopes on that front.”
    She frowned. “ Hmm. I see.”
    I see? What did that mean?
    “Our mother was British,” Mimi offered, but she wasn't looking at Mrs. Parrot. Instead, she cast her gaze over the woman's shoulder as she searched the room for the elusive Ethan.
    “Your mother couldn't join you on the tour?”
    I winced. Mrs. Parrot's question was innocent enough, but any reminders about my mother's death still stung.
    “She passed away six months ago,” I said.
    “My condolences.” Mrs. Parrot leaned forward and placed a hand on my forearm. “If there's anything I can do, please let me know.”
    What a strange thing to say. I looked more closely at her. She had to be seventy, at least, and tall enough to be imposing. I couldn't envision her tramping through Hampshire. Perhaps she would only be around in the evenings or when we stopped for lunch. I hoped that would be the case. I had enough to juggle without adding a nosy Austen expert to the mix.
    “Thank you. But we’re fine.”
    “Well, one never knows when something…unexpected might turn up. I mean…happen.”
    The champagne flute slipped from my fingers.
    “Ellen!” Mimi shrieked and jumped away from the spray of liquid. Fortunately we were standing on a thick carpet, so the glass merely bounced instead of shattering.
    “I’m so sorry.” I looked down in dismay.
    Mrs. Parrot wiped at the champagne droplets on her sensible tweed skirt. Not that you could actually see them against the mottled fabric. “It's no matter, dear. Entirely an accident, of course.”
    She straightened, and this time when our gazes locked, I was prepared. An electric jolt shot down my spine.
    She knew about the diary.
    “Ellen? Are you okay?”
    I turned on my heel, and there was Daniel, looking concerned.
    “Yes, yes. I’m fine. Just clumsy.”
    Mrs. Parrot looked seriously displeased at the interruption.
    “Daniel!”