“Do you think you’d be able to find a period-appropriate one? I mean, I’m not expecting elephant bones. That’s abhorrent. But at least, visually close to period?” Bridget asks.
“Oh, uh. No.” I purse my lips and tap my pad again. My foot shakes under the hard oak table, sending residual ripples through my tea. “That’s why I haven’t attempted to give him one.”
“But the implications—” Bridget groans, picking at her gluten-free scone. “Captain Wentworth bought an umbrella just to talk to Anne. We’d be doing him and our dear Jane a serious disservice if we didn’t include it this year.”
Doyouwant to find a nineteenth-century British umbrella, then?
I chew on my lip, glancing at my ever-growing to-do list, and sigh. “I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.”
The cynical part of my brain laughs.Yeah, right. No promises. That’s a good joke.
The minute I agree to something, it’s only a matter of time before I bend myself backward to ensure I come through. I pencil in,find a period-appropriate umbrellaat the bottom of my two-page to-do list and shift in my seat as pain surges through my abdomen.
Yesterday, I’d nearly finished my run when it felt like my uterus and other organs went on a stabbing rampage inside. I only had a mile left, so I was determined to push through and keep going.
Jack, coming for a visit from his sister’s house, found me on my death stroll.
After I almost blacked out, he wrapped his hand around my waist to catch me, and I conceded defeat. We rode the rest of the road in his Escalade in silence.
I’m fairly certain our continued silence was due to the fact that he’s figuring a way out of the fair now that he knows what he volunteered for. He probably would have done it yesterday if my hasty exit didn’t cut our visit short. I rushed into the house and vomited before curling up on the bathroom floor.
I was too embarrassed to face Jack after my dramatics, so Emy met me in my bedroom with my heating pad and a cup of tea. God bless that woman.
This morning, I thought my pain had faded, but now it’s intensifying again.
I squirm on my stool as another stabbing sensation seizes my midsection—son of a dandy.
Bridget’s brows furrow as I fail to hide my distress. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. Just typical woman’s stuff.” I force a tight-lipped smile and let the air escape through a pinprick, attempting to steady my breaths.
“Ah.” Bridget nods. “I have Advil if you want some.”
“Actually,” I say on an exhale. “That would be great. Thank you.”
“Yeah, of course.” Bridget bends down and retrieves her purse. Pill bottles rustle inside as she searches. “Did you find someone to fill the Lydia and Wickham roles?”
“Yeah. I did.” I clear my throat. Part of the reason I let her umbrella diatribe go on for so long is because I was avoiding this subject. I’m not sure how Bridget’s going to react to the news. If I take the role of Lydia, that means there’s still an empty spot—Mary. True, Mary’s part is less significant, and we could get on without her—sorry, Mary, I love you—but Bridget is a stickler for accuracy, and the only solution I’ve come up with is thatsheplays Mary.
She’s maybe a little too much like the character for me to have total confidence that she’ll take up the role.
“So, I was wondering—how would you feel about playing a small role this year?”
Bridget quirks a brow, glancing up from her Mary Poppins-style purse. “How small?”
“Mary?” I wince.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Bridget a family-size bottle of Advil on the table. “Mary, I can do. I was worried you were going to askmeto be Lydia for a second. Can you imagine?”
A little giggle escapes me. Now,thatwould be something I’d pay to see. “No. I wouldn’t torture you like that. I volunteered as tribute.”
“A noble sacrifice.” Bridget nods, grasping her cup with both hands and inhaling the curls of steam. “And who, pray-tell, is the unsuspecting Wickham?”
The term “unsuspecting” is a little too on the nose.
“Uhm, Jack Parker—the hockey player? He’s my brother’s best friend and is up for that weekend.” I gulp down the pills along with the ball of anxiety that’s lodged itself firmly in my throat.
“The one you stayed with this summer?”
