The house party would offer a range of social activities and amusements, open to all, and all voluntary, of course. “We’re aware guests like to take pictures of their time here, but we’d ask that no pictures be taken of staff who wear a gold pin on their lapel. Following refreshment our footmen will show you to your rooms; you can recover from your journey and dress for dinner there. We do ask for phones to remain in your bedrooms. Should you wish to send someone a more discreet message, at this desk you’ll find paper and pen. A workshop on how to write a letter and fold it will take place after breakfast tomorrow. Any questions?”
Professor Paisley had quite a few.
An elbow nudged his ribs and Ashling’s eyes widened, then nodded towards the door behind them.
Josh scanned the room for an escape. He didn’t dare turn around. Only just managed a lazy wink and the press of his finger to his mouth for Ashling. His palms grew damp as the air stirred behind him. Too many layers, and this neckcloth! Suffocating.
Earlier today, he’d been a model student. Pounding out his views on ethical influences on fictional characters. Stopping only to drink coffee and indulge in a few online debates between academics.
Now he was dressed in boots and breeches and lying through his teeth. A true Austen villain for sure. Everyone knew what happened to Austen villains!
Ka rawe, he was destined to end up miserable.
Any more miserable than the path you were already headed?
His shoulders slumped.
From the other side of the Aubusson carpet, Cassius’s gaze moved over Josh’s shoulder. Disbelief crossed his face, settling to smugness when West pivoted and halted at the edge of the carpet between them.
He was elegant and dashing in his costume, hands held behind him, attention focused on their host. He was crushingly gorgeous, and Cassius was right. Out of Josh’s league.
Information delivered, the master of the house invited them to sit. Afternoon tea would arrive shortly.
Professor Paisley perched herself on a chair. “In actual fact, afternoon tea wasn’t formalised until 1840. The Duchess of Bedford got hungry around four and liked tea and cake to be brought to her. She invited her friends to join her and it quickly popularised.”
“We’d all starve if we had to wait for dinner.” All heads turned to Mr West. “That isn’t served here until eight. I propose we make an exception.” The wink he gave was full of confident charm, and two people in the room watched Josh with narrowed eyes, waiting for him to receive one. To be acknowledged in some way.
Josh was the muppet of all muppets.
How to pull this off? Faint into his arms?
Decidedly difficult in a room full of antiques. Even without the breakables, he wouldn’t dare it. His luck, Mr West would unknowingly step aside and—gosh, no. He couldn’t crash to the floor. His professor would think he was bonkers.
More bonkers.
Lizzy and Darcy. Right. He’d have to engage in debate. Banter.
“Exceptions?” Okay, more shock than he was aiming for. Mr West startled and pivoted toward him, blinking. “Making exceptions in such an environment might be considered disrespecting the cultural history of the early nineteenth century. It disrupts the feeling of authenticity, which is what one comes here for.”
Brows rose.
Apparently, Josh wasn’t finished yet. “Afternoon tea might seem trivial, but one exception leads to many. It leads to confusion, and no doubt many a visitor going home to host their own Jane Austen themed afternoon tea. Should this establishment be dispelling misinformation? Isn’t there enough of that in the world already?”
Oh dear.
Not the back-and-forth banter he was going for. This was a one-sided tirade. This was a cringey one-sided tirade. This was a disaster.
But the only way out was through.
“Indulging your guests in exceptions is a sure-fire way to cause dissatisfaction. Those aware of the inconsistencies will question any other experience offered here.”
Lady Gaga blasted from his waistcoat pocket, the French revolution lyrics to “Bad Romance”. His cell phone.
Mr West’s brows couldn’t rise any higher.
Josh nodded with all the dignity he could muster and turned to the windows, scrambling to mute his phone.
Georgian antiques and broken ribs be damned. He should have fainted.
The worst thing was that his pride wouldn’t let him back down, which meant declining the most scrumptious looking cake, proper tea—none of that bagged nonsense—and delicate finger sandwiches.
He sat in one of the armchairs, pretending he’d eaten lunch and his belly was not protesting.
After many glances in his direction, between bouts of lively laughter with the rest of their group, Mr West came over with a tray.
“No, I’m truly fine.”
His eyes twinkled. “Oh no, these are for me. I just wanted a change of scenery.”
Josh frowned. “Are you teasing me?”
“Well, it is the most fun I’ve had so far today. Indulge me a little longer?” He picked up a sandwich and bit into it with a delighted moan. He had a very generous mouth. Sensual. And Josh had gone and screwed up any possibility of a real Meet Cute.
Physically—all he had to go on at this point—Mr West was definitely his jam. The icing he’d like on top of his cake. The cherry he’d like to—
Josh’s stomach gurgled.
He clasped his hands over it like it might soften the sound. No such luck. It growled again. “You are a tease,” he said in a low voice.
“I’m all about taking pleasure in the moment.”
Josh’s absolute opposite, then. Good to know. Save him getting carried away with something as appalling as an insta-crush.
Another provocatively large bite of sandwich. “So. Authentic experience? At Camp Austen?”
Well.
That.
The whole hypocrisy of him, well, faking everything. He flushed.
Mr West smirked. “Yes, this is fun.”
Josh caught Cassius looking at them and smiled sexily, hoping it didn’t look too stiff. He leaned toward Mr West. “Would you—”
His tummy rumbled again and Mr West laughed as he shoved the rest of the sandwich in Josh’s mouth.
Cassius’s jaw dropped.
Josh was running late, and the dining room made him feel even smaller than he’d felt already. Mint green walls displaying framed paintings, a massive fireplace with urns on the mantel, and at the centre twenty guests at a long, clothed table, murmuring to one another as soup was poured.
Cassius rolled his eyes. “Where were you? The dinner bell rang ten minutes ago.”
He would not tell him he’d got lost trying to find the library and then spent too long memorising the guest list, having found out its importance the hard way. “Got caught up admiring the view.”
“It is a fine estate.” Professor Paisley gestured to the seat awaiting him—right next to Mr West.
Had that been devised on purpose? He glanced around for Ashling, who stood in closely tailored footmen’s livery against the wall. She kept her face impassive, save for the twitch of her lips.
He’d managed to avoid social interaction since afternoon tea, and he’d been hoping he could pull off his ruse with little further embarrassment. Alas, now he’d have to conjure up more conversation.