Izzy certainly looks rather worse for wear. I think she had probably taken to drinking more than she should have earlier in the evening, for a bit of Dutch courage. We feel responsible for her; she seems so young and vulnerable and evidently has precious little support from home. Her stepmother obviously wants her out the way and her dad’s pretty oblivious, so it isn’t surprising she is a bit of a mess.
‘I’m not leaving.’ Izzy starts crying again. ‘You have to make him come and talk to me. I can show you the texts he sent. He told me it was forever. I want to know what can have happened to make him turn against me like this.’
‘We can’t, love,’ Maria explains gently. She really is a sweet person. ‘Why don’t you come back to the hotel and tomorrow you can come and stay with me for a couple of days.’
‘But he told me he loved me…’
‘I know,’ Maria soothes, ‘but nothing more can be done tonight. The others are right, this isn’t the place.’
After some effort, we finally manage to persuade Izzy to come back with us all to the hotel. Our abrupt departure upsets Rob but he soon rallies, announcing he has an important chess tournament in a few days, so he ought to have an early night.
And that’s the end of my first Regency Ball – I’m not sure I could exactly call it a success, more like a rollercoaster ride. After all my hopes and imaginings, romance is as far out of my reach as ever and it’s increasingly looking as though nothing less than the matchmaking genius of Jane Austen can sort out this muddle. I wonder if The Jane Austen Dating Agency has any relationship counsellors.
Chapter 17
Not surprisingly, the next day is a bit of an anti-climax, to put it mildly. It’s inevitable that after really looking forward to a wedding or party, it’s all a bit of a damp squib when everything is over, as reality strikes again. Although to be fair, we had a pretty healthy dose of real life the night before.
Once back in London, we go our different ways. Chloe has been very quiet and reserved on the return journey. I tell her to phone me whenever she needs to. I have five missed calls and two texts from Mark who’s obviously itching to find out how I got on with Daniel. I don’t feel like talking about it.
Maria texts me to say that Izzy is reasonably okay considering, but is still heartbroken. She is apparently barraging Josh with endless texts and calls, all of which he is totally ignoring. I feel utterly despondent; perhaps romance only belongs in Regency fiction after all. This feeling isn’t helped by returning to our flat which is long overdue a clean, and we’d left all the washing-up from Friday to come back to, always a bad idea.
I often think there must have been some dreadful mistake somewhere along the line with regard to my background. I feel that some freaky twist of fate propelled me into the wrong family. In my opinion, I should have been born into a wealthy household as I have a definite taste for the finer things in life.
I love to daydream about being rich enough to have a butler, housekeeper, cook and perhaps even a PA, which would all contribute to a really luxurious and comfortable existence. Something like the team of servants who looked after Lady Mary on Downton Abbey would be amazing. I could just waltz down to dinner in my latest couture gown and after I have eaten a healthy and ethically sourced dinner, prepared by the chef, I could leave the washing-up and curl up with my favourite romance. (Though thinking about it, I already postpone the clearing up, but then I still have to do it the next morning.)
Or better still, I could snuggle up to my handsome hero and watch a movie. Oh no, back to escapist daydreaming again, I must stop this. But I do truly believe I could do really good things if I had lots of money, and having met rich people, they often have no taste at all. If it belonged to me, I could buy such gorgeous clothes, have designer furniture, and of course give loads to charity. I read about some guy a few years ago who won twenty-one million on the lottery and then said he didn’t know what to spend it on. ‘Give it to me… GIVE IT TO ME!!! I know what to spend it on, it’s really not a problem…’
It’s one of life’s ironies that people who have lots of money don’t spend it or maybe don’t want to. Or perhaps that’s why they have money and I don’t.
My philosophical contemplation on the unfairness of life is broken by a ring at the doorbell, probably someone trying to sell me something. Although, actually, that ring sounds like Mark’s. Fab, I fancy a good gossip about the events of the ball over a cup of tea.
I trot to the door, swinging it open with gusto, but then want to run back inside slamming it behind me again, as it’s none other than Rob Bright. He still looks a bit bleary-eyed and rather more ponderous than usual after the revelry of the night before. In spite of our early departure, it had been late for him; he probably goes to bed at nine every night with a large volume entitled 50 Shades of Chess. He must have driven all the way home this morning and come straight round.
‘Miss Johnson.’ He smiles crookedly. ‘Can I come in and talk to you for a moment?’ I don’t know how he’s got hold of my address, surely Emma wouldn’t have given it – she knows how I feel about him.
‘Erm, I’m just on my way out actually,’ I reply. Hah, I’m getting better at this being assertive thing.
‘It’ll only take a minute.’ Rob pushes heavily past me into the lounge and plumps himself down onto a comfy chair.
Oh dear, epic fail, maybe not that much better then.
‘You can’t be in any doubt as to why I’m visiting you at your home.’ Rob launches into conversation without preamble as I perch gingerly on the edge of a chair on the other side of the room, as far away as possible. He continues unperturbed. ‘You must’ve noticed I prefer your company over that of anyone else.’
‘Erm, not really,’ I mutter. Here we go again. I seem to be irresistible to weirdos.
‘Nearly as soon as I met you at the Regency Dance evening, I chose you to be my long-term companion, the one with whom I can share the triumphs and tribulations of being a chess champion. But before I’m run away with by my passionate feelings, it’s probably best I tell you my reasons for wanting a partner and why I joined The Jane Austen Dating Agency.’
At this point, I’m so busy trying not to laugh, I’m unable to prevent Rob continuing his obviously much-rehearsed speech.
‘Ahem,’ he noisily clears his throat. ‘I joined The Jane Austen Dating Agency, not because I’ve ever read any of her books…’ (what a surprise) ‘but because I hoped I would meet the right sort of serious, educated young lady such as yourself. My reasons for wanting a partner are…’ He pauses ceremoniously, he’s totally loving this…
‘Firstly, I think everyone should have a partner, and besides, it sets a better example at work events if I have a beautiful lady on my arm. Two, I’m sure it will make me happy. Three, actually I probably should have made this number one – my mentor Richard Simms has advised it… He suggested it a few weeks ago, over a chess match.
‘“Rob,” he says in his deep authoritative voice, “you need to get yourself a partner, young man. Choose carefully, not someone too intelligent, nor someone stupid, as that would be very irritating as a housemate. She must be able to cook, clean up and be an excellent hostess so she can make herself useful on our chess evenings. Find this woman as soon as you can and I will come and visit her.”