Murder Most Austen by Tracy Kiely

After a quick glance around, she reentered the ballroom, putting her phone back into her reticule as she did so, and then headed toward the bar.
    Next, I looked over to where Aunt Winnie stood talking to Cora. They were just out of earshot. However, from the annoyed set of Aunt Winnie’s mouth, I gathered she was still trying to calm Cora down. From the way Cora kept angrily gesticulating, I also gathered it was a losing battle. Although I had a twinge of guilt at leaving Aunt Winnie to deal with Cora alone, I remained where I was. I simply was not up for another rehashing of the evil that was Richard Baines. I quite preferred the solitary role of philosopher.
    “Um, this is probably bad timing,” said an apologetic voice behind me. “I just came over to say hello.”
    Then again, I got a C in philosophy, I thought, as I turned with a welcoming smile. It was Byron, looking very handsome in his blue coat and cream britches. “Hello, Byron. Why would it be bad timing?”
    He shot an uneasy glance in Cora’s direction. “I’m probably considered part of the enemy’s camp, aren’t I?”
    Before I could answer, Cora saw him and rounded on him. Stepping away from Aunt Winnie, she said, “Byron, how could you let him do this? You always seemed such a nice, sensible young man. How did you ever get mixed up with the likes of Richard Baines?”
    Byron gave a half shrug. “You’d be surprised the jobs one considers when faced with mounting grad-school debts.” Then, with a guilty glance over his shoulder, he quickly amended his traitorous words. “But Professor Baines really does have some interesting theories, and they are not without merit. He takes his subject very seriously.”
    “He takes himself very seriously, you mean,” Cora shot back. “All of these so-called theories of his are nothing more than thinly disguised vehicles to call attention to himself.”
    “I’m sorry you’re so upset,” Byron said. He seemed earnest, but then again he was working for the man, so who knew what he really thought.
    “I take it he really is going to announce his belief that Jane Austen died of syphilis, then?” asked Aunt Winnie.
    Byron nodded, his expression sympathetic. “I’m afraid so. I must admit, that’s one of his theories that I’m not convinced of, but he is quite determined to publish it.”
    The small orchestra took up their instruments and began a piece by Mozart. Music swelled through the room, drowning out Cora’s next words. From the expression on her face, I suspected it was just as well that we couldn’t hear them. Downing the rest of her wine, she stomped off to refill her glass, the curls of her wig bouncing in irritation with each step. I had just turned back to Byron when I heard another voice behind me. This one was less welcome.
    “Well, Elizabeth! There you are!” said John. “Are you ready for our dance?”
    A feeling of dread overcame me, and I had more sympathy than ever for Elizabeth Bennet when she had to dance with the odious Mr. Collins. As I was still facing Byron, he must have seen my expression of dismay. I was just turning around to politely accept my fate, when Byron stepped forward. “Oh, I am sorry, John. I just made Elizabeth promise to dance this one with me.”
    John muttered something about it being a shabby trick as Byron grabbed my hand and led me out onto the crowded dance floor. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said as he took his place in the long line across from me. “But your face looked so miserable, I couldn’t in good conscience hand you over to him. My mother would never have forgiven me if she learned I’d left a lady in distress.”
    I laughed. “Your mother would be proud. But I’m going to have to dance with him at some point. He practically made me promise earlier.”
    “Have you danced a country-dance before?” he asked as we queued up.
    I nodded. “My aunt Winnie and I took a lesson before we left.” I moved forward when it was my turn,