Grinning inwardly because she was almost certain she recognized some of the Regency-era costumes in the display from recent film versions of P&P and Emma, Eliza stepped closer to examine an elaborately embroidered and extremely low-cut gown of bright rust-colored velvet. A small metal stand beside the mannequin held a descriptive placard. Eliza read aloud from the card:


“A young woman of the Regency period would have felt both comfortable and fashionable wearing this exquisite gown to a grand winter ball.”


“Ha!” she snorted derisively. “Fashionable maybe… comfortable, no!” 

“Really! And why is that?” 

Startled, Eliza spun around to see a man in a well-cut dark suit regarding her with obvious curiosity. Narrowing her flashing dark eyes with the wariness of a born New Yorker, she quickly assessed the tall stranger. Athletic but not from working out at the gym. By the deeply tanned features she judged him to be an outdoor type, a cyclist maybe, or a mountain climber—and not bad-looking either, she thought. He was rather good-looking in fact. 

The stranger arched his eyebrows, still waiting for her reply to his question. 

“Well look at this ridiculous gown!” she said, covering her embarrassment at having been caught sizing him up by turning back to the hideous orangish dress. 

“In the first place, it’s extremely ugly,” she declared. “And, secondly, it’s cut so low that the poor woman would have risked pneumonia every time she wore it, at least if what I’ve heard about English winters is true.” 

Her handsome interrogator nodded agreeably. “It’s very true,” he said in a soft voice tinged with a slight Southern drawl. “And not only are English winters cold, there was no central heating in the early 1800s.” 

He wrinkled his brow thoughtfully and moved around for another perspective on the terrible dress. “On the other hand,” he observed, gazing pointedly at the revealing bodice, “twenty years earlier, aristocratic French women wore gowns that exposed their breasts almost entirely.” 

He grinned at her, then quickly added, “All in the name of dame fashion, of course.” 

Eliza found herself grinning back at him, and at the same time she noticed his eyes were sea green in color and sparkled when he smiled. 

“Well, the French!” she laughed. “What can I say?” 

Her laugh reminded him of crystal glasses ringing together in a toast. 

“However,” she continued, jerking an unladylike thumb at the offensive gown, “I can’t imagine Jane Austen having worn something like that.” 

Eliza paused thoughtfully, searching for an apt comparison with which to illustrate her opinion. “That dress reminds me of those see-through designer numbers that celebrities are always showing up in at the Oscars,” she explained after a moment of contemplation. “You know the kind I mean, supposedly the height of fashion, but completely impractical and just plain silly.” 

The stranger considered that and she saw in his eyes that he was conceding the point before he spoke. “I have to agree with you,” he finally admitted. “Jane was not a silly person. She’d never have worn a gown like that.” 

He then turned to indicate a male mannequin just across the aisle from where they stood. This one was dressed in a splendid uniform of dark blue spangled with gold braid, and had a gleaming silver saber belted to its side. 

“This naval officer’s uniform of the period is probably far more accurate in terms of clothing that someone who knew Jane might have worn,” he observed. “Her brother, Sir Francis Austen, became admiral of the British Fleet, you know.” 

Eliza stepped across the narrow aisle to look at the uniform. “I didn’t know that,” she admitted. “In fact, I’d always had the impression that her family was relatively poor.” 

“The Austens weren’t rich,” he explained, “but they were very well connected, with many wealthy and aristocratic friends. And, in time,” he continued, “the family did ultimately become rather prosperous. Another of Jane’s brothers was adopted by wealthy relatives and inherited a very large estate, and Henry, the youngest, became a prominent banker.” 

The stranger paused while Eliza absorbed all of that, then he pointed toward the end of the winding path. “If you want a glimpse of how the Austens really lived,” he offered, “come down and look into the next exhibit room.” 

Without waiting to see if she would follow, the tall man turned and walked off in the direction he had indicated. Eliza stood there for a moment, watching him go. She briefly considered remaining where she was, just so he wouldn’t think she was hanging on to him, then she shrugged and hurried to catch up. 

Stepping out of the clothing display she found him standing by an open doorway that had been roped off so visitors could look through but not enter. 

Eliza stepped up beside the stranger and looked into the dimly lit room beyond. “Oh,” she breathed, “it’s wonderful!” She was looking into a comfortable room in what she assumed was a Regency-period English country house. The furnishings and decorations were exquisitely inviting, right down to a richly colored needlepoint settee, a fine piano and a roaring fireplace. 

“This is a reproduction of Jane’s music room at the house in Hampshire, as described in a biography written by one of her brothers,” Eliza’s anonymous guide informed her. “She is said to have written the final drafts of several of her novels there,” he continued. 

Standing at the velvet rope, Eliza was only half-aware of the descriptive lecture she was receiving, her head tilted to one side as she gazed longingly into the cozy space. The tall man took a step back to allow her the privacy of the moment. He watched as her hair fell over her shoulder hiding her face, the flickering light of the artificial candles playing among the highlights of her dark hair. A raven-haired beauty; he blushed at the overly romantic thought and turned his eyes away. 

Dreamily she sighed, “I feel as though I belong in there.” Only half-jokingly she queried, “You don’t suppose they’d let me move in?” 

He chuckled and shook his head. “I seriously doubt that Dr. Klein would go along with that,” he replied. “I read somewhere that she borrowed most of these furnishings from the British Museum.” 

Eliza tore her eyes from the delights of the room long enough to glance over at him. “Dr. Klein?” she asked. 

He nodded. “Thelma Klein, head of the Rare Document section here at the city library. She’s the one who put this exhibit together. She’s also reputed to be a leading Austen authority,” he said somewhat sarcastically. 

This new bit of information definitely piqued Eliza’s interest. Turning away from the charming exhibit, she fixed the stranger in her gaze and asked, “Do you happen to know this Dr. Klein?” 

Strangely, she thought, the question seemed to make him uneasy. “No…not personally,” he confessed, abruptly raising his arm to consult a gold watch. 

“Well you seem to know an awful lot about Jane,” she persisted. “You wouldn’t happen to be an authority on her yourself?” she asked hopefully. 

“An authority?” The stranger frowned and glanced over Eliza’s shoulder into the music room, then he slowly shook his head. “No, just a confirmed fan,” he said. “But I have read several of Dr. Klein’s articles, so when I came into the City today I couldn’t resist dropping by to see her exhibit.” 

He smiled again and gestured toward the busy hall behind them. “I must admit it’s very well done, don’t you think?” 

Eliza smiled slyly. “Well,” she conceded, “except for the ball gown…” 

“Yes,” he laughed, “except for that.” 

He looked down at his watch again. “Well, I’m late for a meeting…” And without further ceremony he turned and walked away. 

“It was nice talking with you,” Eliza called out. 

Without looking back he raised a hand in farewell. “Yes. Enjoy the rest of the exhibit,” he said. 

Eliza stood and watched as his straight, athletic figure was swallowed up in the crowd at the far end of the exhibit hall. She hadn’t wanted him to leave. Why hadn’t she said something to stop him? Sighing deeply, she scoffed at herself; she’d waited for him to ask for her phone number or something and when he hadn’t she did…nothing. No risk in nothing. 

She shook her head, casting a final backward glance at Jane’s cozy little music room and set off in search of Thelma Klein.

Chapter 6

“I’d like to see Dr. Klein in Rare Documents.” Eliza stood at the circular information desk in the main lobby, addressing a long-haired, gum-chewing security guard who appeared to be hearing impaired. “Hello! I’m talking to you,” she called, though he was sitting not more than three feet away. “I said I want to see Dr. Thelma Klein.”

The guard finally glanced up from his Spawn comic book, clearly annoyed at the interruption. “I heard you,” he said. “But Dr. Klein doesn’t see anybody without an appointment.” He gave Eliza a taunting smirk. “You got one?”

“No, I don’t,” Eliza replied evenly. “So I’d like to make an appointment.”

“Klein never makes appointments,” the guard gleefully reported. Then, pointedly dismissing her, he returned his gaze to a full-page illustration of an implausible buglike creature attempting to ravish an equally implausible Amazon babe in a strategically tattered bikini.

Moments later he noticed that Eliza was still standing at the counter, scanning the lobby. “Anything else I can do?” he asked over the top of the magazine.