The Grumpy Count, page 3
The instant he catches sight of me, he looks away.
Weird.
He surveys his fans. “Have you ever heard of the beauty-brains paradox, otherwise known as Beckhap’s law?”
They haven’t. And they claim they’d love to.
He’s happy to oblige. “If you multiply beauty by intelligence, you’ll always get the same number.”
Anand, the portly fifty-something who plays Mr. Bennet, claims he still doesn’t get it.
“Let me put it differently,” Jonas says. “According to this law, intelligence is inversely proportional to beauty.”
Anand waves to the bartender. “Over here! One more, please.” Turning to Jonas, he adds, “I need another drink to understand what you just said.”
Jonas grins. “How about I try again?”
“Good idea,” Melody nods.
Hyacinth chimes in, “Go for it!”
“Beauty and intelligence don’t add up,” Jonas states. “They compete for the allocated space within each individual. That means the more one possesses of the former, the less they have of the latter. And the other way around.”
“I see…” Anand takes his cocktail from the bartender.
“In other words,” Jonas says, “the world is divided into pretty dimwits and plain sages.”
Anand squints at him. “Which one are you?”
Jonas shifts. “Self-assessments are unreliable… Besides, there’s a caveat. Beckhap’s law doesn’t work for men very well. Too many exceptions.”
Is he saying what I think he’s saying? No, I refuse to believe it.
With a quick glance at me, Jonas rubs it in. “In regards to females, none are exempt from Beckhap’s law. Which is why I prefer to call it the theory of women.”
Yep, he is saying exactly what I think he’s saying.
I fold my arms over my chest. “Would his lordship by any chance be a chauvinist prick?”
Jonas turns to me and stares. Nobody says a word.
In that silence, Anand drains his cocktail, slurping loudly. “I have the poem! People, I’m holding it! This one is philosophical, bold, powerful… A true beauty!”
Visibly relieved for the chance to cut short the standoff between Jonas and me, Liam urges Anand, “Out with it!”
“Hold my glass.” Anand thrusts it to the person next to him, strikes a pose, and recites:
If only I were a pig!
If only I were a dog!
I’d piss where I bloody please.
I’d poo where I bloody want.
The room erupts in applause.
Liam climbs on a chair and cups his hands to his mouth. “Anand is in the zone! I repeat, Anand is in the zone! This party is over!”
My deduction was correct. When Anand is sufficiently inebriated to compose and recite an atrocious poem, it’s the company’s signal that the collective body has had enough to drink and ought to call it a night.
Liam goes around the room, repeating the message to the recalcitrant individuals. I bid Peter good night, dash to the bathroom and then go to bed, praying that I’ll fall asleep easily. I’m lucky that the folks in the rooms around me are quiet. It could also be that the walls are soundproof.
Whichever the case, it only takes me an hour to fall asleep.
CHAPTER 5
MARGOT
“I picked two Regency dances for this show,” Julia, announces. “The quadrille and the ländler.”
“Why not the waltz?” a rich baritone asks from the back.
I don’t need to look over my shoulder to know it’s Jonas.
“Would it be anachronistic?” he asks again.
“Not really, no,” Julia says. “The waltz showed up in the middle of the eighteenth century.”
He gives a satisfied nod. “Some of us already know how to dance it, which should make your job easier.”
“I can waltz!” Hyacinth raises a hand, eyes glued to Jonas. “I’m really good at it. Have you waltzed in this very hall?”
He nods. “Once, ten years ago. My parents held a debutante ball here to mark my sister Celeste’s eighteenth birthday and present her to society.”
“That’s so sweet!” Julia coos. “Thing is, the waltz would still be seen as too scandalous for a small-town public ball in the 1790s England.”
Slowly, Jonas lifts his chin. “Ah, I see. Dancing it on the show wouldn’t be fully authentic.”
“I’m not chasing complete authenticity,” Sandra says, crossing the hall to her director’s chair. “If I were, you’d be dancing all evening, breaking for supper in the middle of the night, and then dancing again till dawn.”
“As in all historical productions, it’s a trade-off,” Liam adds. “We want just enough authenticity to recreate the ethos of the period. The vibe if you’d like. But not more.”
Julia flashes Jonas a smile. “The good news is that one of the dances I picked, the ländler, is a precursor of the waltz.”
Sandra settles into the elevated chair from where she’ll watch the class. “Last night, I viewed the first video tutorial Julia posted for our audience. It’s a slow couples’ dance in three time. Seemed fairly easy.”
“That’s the other reason for my choice,” Julia says. “Sixty or so audience members have signed up to be dancing extras at the Meryton and Netherfield balls. Plus, we have the seven Elizabeths who we want comfortable enough to move with grace… We needed a dance with limited steps and figures, something they could learn at home.”
As we voice our approval, she claps her hands once. “All righty, let me give you a rundown of the proper etiquette of Regency dancing.”
I expect her to show us how to bow like Beau Brummell and curtsy like Lady Byron, but it soon becomes clear that Julia intends to cover more ground than that. She waves a dog-eared 1837 Pocket Book of Etiquette and her copy of Pride and Prejudice with dozens of color-coded sticky notes poking out on the side.
“Ladies, you must wait for a gentleman to ask you to dance,” she begins. “No initiative taking, no dancing on your own or with another woman. When you receive an invitation, you can’t decline it, lest you offend the gentleman.”
My chin jerks high. “Male egos are such delicate flowers!”
I notice Jonas roll his lips to hide a smile.
Julia finds a passage in her etiquette book and reads, “Should the lady commit such an oversight, a true gentleman will forgive her, mindful that the various emotions which may agitate the female heart will furnish abundant cause for her decision.”
Everybody laughs, including Jonas.
I wonder if he’s self-aware enough to realize that his theory of women is more sexist than this Regency view. I also wonder if he actually believes the rubbish he spewed last night, or if he was just trying to smash the goody-two-shoes image we’d formed of him thanks to his generosity…
Stop finding excuses for his unacceptable behavior!
Melody raises her hand. “I remember reading somewhere that a lady of quality shouldn’t walk around the assembly rooms by herself. She must ask her dance partner to accompany her.”
Julia holds up and waves her book. “The author of this manual is of the same opinion.”
“But we’re not going to be religious about that rule,” Sandra says from her makeshift podium. “As Liam said earlier, we’re after the vibe, not perfect accuracy.”
Julia checks her bookmarks. “What else? Ah yes! A gentleman engages a lady for a set of two dances. While they dance, as you already know from Pride and Prejudice, they make conversation.”
If I end up in a set of two long dances with Peter this afternoon, I don’t know if I can handle more of his conversation so soon after last night’s marathon.
Julia doles out a few more dos and don’ts, and then moves on to demonstrate the quadrille and ländler routines that we’ll be practicing today. She’s very good and I applaud heartily when she’s done.
“Let’s begin with the quadrille,” she says, showing us the basic step. “Start with the right foot, then left. One and two, three and four, five and six, seven and eight. Eight counts.”
We repeat the steps over and over again, while she remains in the center of the room, watching and providing feedback. When we have the basic routine down, she shows us more advanced figures. As we progress, Julia gets into the finer details of the dance, and coaches us on our hand and arm movements, emphasizing the importance of good coordination.
I’m enjoying myself immensely, which is no surprise, given how much I love to dance. What’s unexpected is to realize that our semiprofessional intruder Jonas is doing better than I thought. Now that I can’t turn my back to him, like last night at the bar, it’s hard to miss that the man possesses a sense of rhythm and a great deal of natural grace.
As soon as he catches me staring, I look away.
Julia splits us into pairs. Each pair is directed to approach each other, “high-five” in slo-mo, and step away. As we execute, Julia walks around the room, making corrections.
“Touch, don’t bump, and don’t caress,” she instructs us. “Remember, you’re a gently bred country set.”
Counting one and two, I step toward Peter—who Julia paired me with—raise my hand, brush his on three and four, pass through on five and six, and turn around to face him again on seven and eight. Thankfully, he doesn’t talk, too focused on timing the moves. We switch partners, and I perform the same figure with Phil, then with Larry, and then with Jonas.
Julia shakes her head at us. “No lingering!”
Were we? The remark feels unfair because I’m sure I wasn’t lingering.
Well, I don’t think I was.
And even if I were, I didn’t mean to.
Once everyone is comfortable with the steps and figures, Julia nods to our three musicians. We redo everything with live music, and it’s even more fun this way.
“Keep your steps light and delicate,” she enjoins the women. “Give me poise… Give me ballerina grace… Perfect!”
A short time later, she pronounces us ready to do a full run-through of the quadrille first, and then the ländler.
In the back of the room, Sandra rubs her hands in eager anticipation.
“Try to talk while you dance,” Julia prompts us.
“In character?” a few people ask.
“Only if you’re up for it. But if you feel the dance demands more of your attention, then just chat as yourselves,” she says and partners me with Peter.
Jonas is matched with Hyacinth and positioned next to us.
“I had a great time last night,” Peter says the moment the dance begins.
“Yes, it was very nice.”
“We should continue that conversation tonight.”
I give him a tight smile. “Actually, I didn’t sleep well, so I’m going to turn in early.”
“Oh. Of course.” He makes a concerned face. “Lack of sleep can cause memory holes, which is the last thing an actor wants.”
He falls silent after that, and I hear Hyacinth ask Jonas, “How does theater compare to film?”
I smile to myself. When a woman initiates a conversation, she usually does so by asking the man something. A man’s icebreaker, on the other hand, is typically a statement of some kind. After he makes one, he expects the woman to ask him a follow-up question. Rich or poor, nice like Peter or nasty like Jonas, all men are raised to be that way. And mothers are just as much to blame for that consciously or subconsciously differentiated approach as teachers and the rest of society.
“I don’t act in the movies I produce,” Jonas says to Hyacinth. “But, as a general observation, I’d say theater is harder. It’s a live event, and you don’t get a chance to redo a bad take.”
“But is there a way in which it’s easier?” Hyacinth asks.
“I guess…” He wrinkles his nose. “There’s no worrying about the angle of the camera, no gaff tape on the floor to stay inside of, no 180-degree rules…”
Julia corrects our foot placement and posture as she passes by.
“Have you been in a movie?” Jonas asks Hyacinth.
Did Mr. Macho Man just ask a woman a question?
Coming from him, it’s probably a pickup line. Next, he’ll go, “What? You haven’t? Oh, but I can fix that!”
“I haven’t!” Hyacinth gazes up at him. “Can you make that happen?”
“I don’t interfere with the auditions.”
Hmm.
For the ländler, Julia puts me with Jonas. He takes both my hands in the liberatingly silly manner required for this dance, and we begin to move.
One, two, three, one, two, three, I count in my head.
“I believe we must converse,” he says. “What shall we talk about?”
I shrug. “We could rehearse our lines if you’d like.”
“What a commendable idea, Miss Bingley! Which scene do you have in mind?”
I mentally review the scenes he and I have together. “How about the one where you’re writing a letter to Georgiana, and I’m badgering you?”
He nods.
We pirouette, and then I pull an unctuous face. “How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”
He ignores me, just as he’s supposed to.
Julia calls, “Keep those hands joined when you spin, folks! And don’t worry if it looks clumsy. Elegance comes with practice.”
We dance in a circle, holding hands. One, two, three. One, two, three.
I go again, “You write uncommonly fast, Mr. Darcy!”
“You are mistaken,” he says. “I write rather slowly.”
Julia hollers, “Skater position! Aaand one, two, three, right hands together, left hands together, one, two, three, one, two, three…”
Her intervention pulls me out of the scene that Jonas and I are rehearsing. The unfortunate consequence is that I realize how enjoyable it is to dance with him. I revel in having his big, warm hands wrapped around mine. It’s a shameful, guilty sort of pleasure like watching a cheesy, stereotypical rom-com for the umpteenth time.
Jonas’s voice redirects my attention from his hands to his lips. “You were saying something.”
Was I? About what?
He prompts, “You were waxing lyrical about the speed of my writing.”
Oh, right. The scene!
I draw in a deep breath. “How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of a year! Letters of business, too! How odious I should think them!”
“It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours.”
How boldly and easily you deride a woman, my lord!
How harshly you punish me for simply trying too hard and being gauche about it! It’s not like a Regency woman can ask the man she fancies if he’d like to grab dinner, is it? Did Caroline really deserve that quip? And that tone?
Even as I’m venting for Caroline, I’m aware that Darcy’s snide comment is a product of Jane Austen’s, and not Jonas’s, mind. But he barely needed to act to give me haughty sarcasm. All he needed to do was to let loose his true nature.
“Windmill position!” Julia calls. “Keep those hands entwined and spin!”
How do you spin while holding hands behind your backs?
We do our best.
The music stops a few minutes later and we disengage our hands. Jonas bows. I curtsy.
“Great job, everyone!” Julia says, beaming. “You’re a gifted bunch and quick studies. Tomorrow we’ll rinse and repeat, and I’ll teach you how to handle an amateur partner who bungles the steps.” She turns to Sandra. “They’ll be perfect by the opening night.”
As we give ourselves a round of applause, someone peeks into the hall through the open door and waves to Jonas. It’s a pretty, well-dressed young blonde. He rushes to her, and they retreat hastily.
Was that his sister? A friend? A girlfriend? Why didn’t he introduce her to us? Maybe she’s his married mistress or a fuck buddy.
Yeah, that must be it. That’s what I’d expect from Count Jonas d’Alenq.
CHAPTER 6
JONAS
I guide Gigi… ahem, Princess Eugénie, downstairs to the soundproof room. Until a month ago, there had been no such room in this house. But then Princess Felicia—our oracle and Gigi’s mom—had a vision about me. A couple of days later, two MacGyver-type agents from the Mount Evor Secret Service hauled supplies and tools into my basement and created this room.
Gigi’s bodyguard follows us a few steps behind. When I open the door to the “conference room,” he goes in first and inspects it before nodding to Gigi that it’s safe for her to go in.
“Thank you,” she says to him. “Please wait outside.”
He frowns.
She sighs. “Oh, come on! You just inspected the room.”
His face a picture of resigned stoicism, he exits.
Gigi steps inside. I switch on the light and tug on the handle behind me. The door closes with a quiet click. Silence descends. The sounds of the house filled with thirty or so people and the sounds of the street that’s just a dozen feet away on the other side of the fence disappear. The MESS MacGyvers know their shit.
The room is windowless. Its only source of light is the fixture in the ceiling. The bare walls and the ceiling have been painted pristine white, making it look eerily sterile. There’s a stale scent in the air that comes from the closed-in atmosphere, spiced up with hints of fresh paint and glue.
I bow. “Your Royal Highness.”
“Count d’Alenq.” She inclines her head demurely before winking at me. “Let’s switch to Gigi and Jonas, shall we? I doubt the head of Royal Protocol can hear us now.”
“Indeed, he can’t.”
She takes in the bare walls, hardwood floors, and lack of furniture. “Cute dungeon!”
“Thank you,” I deadpan. “It’s where I spank my detractors.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Detractors or willing girlfriends?”
“Impossible!”
“Which part? You having a willing girlfriend or you spanking her?”
