Magic and Manners (An Austen Chronicle Book 1)

by CE Murphy

  “Save the cost of entertaining, which is considerable,” Rosamund said with greater forthrightness than was her wont. “I for one am eager to spend a quiet winter.”

  This bordered so closely on falsehood that Elsabeth looked with admiration upon the eldest Dover girl, whose head was bent so assiduously over her needlework that she could not be imagined to have any thought in the world save for it. Dina’s eyebrows drew down in consternation, but before she spoke, Tildy, at her side, pled, “But we might have a few guests ourselves, might we not? Even if we do not go out a great deal, we might invite a select few to visit? Captain Hartnell, perhaps?”

  The prospect of having her saviour once more come to Oakden silenced all of Dina’s objections, and Matilda, who had no significant ulterior motives, preened beneath the general praise she received for her suggestion. Mrs Dover herself could not have been more pleased by the idea if she had put it forth herself, and it was shortly arranged that Mr Dover should invite the Captain for dinner that very Saturday.

  Mrs Penney, who lacked nothing in observational skills, drew Elsabeth apart some little time later and, in asking after this young captain, noted a blush of fondness colouring Elsabeth’s cheeks. In no time at all, Elsabeth related the whole of Hartnell’s tragic story, and Leopoldina’s foolishness—none of which she had dared commit to paper in the form of a letter—to her aunt, whose understanding of the situation betwixt Robert Webber and Rosamund Dover was much improved by the whole of the tale.

  “You know that we are somewhat acquainted with Streyfield, visiting, as we do, Mr Penney’s holdings in that area,” Mrs Penney put forth thoughtfully when Elsabeth’s tale was done. “Indeed, I am certain I met the old Mr Archer, though it would have been many years ago; we have not been to the country much these past five years, with Mr Penney’s business in Town demanding so much of his time. But I recall that he was known as a good landlord and a man concerned with his community. I am awe-struck that his son could become such a poor example of a gentleman.”

  “Even if we were to wholly dismiss Captain Hartnell’s plaint,” Elsabeth replied, “I believe it would be widely agreed upon here in Bodton that Mr Archer is lacking in social graces. He is proud, Aunt Felicity, and does not care to deny it. Perhaps the old Mr Archer was too fond of his son, and too gentle with him.”

  Mrs Penney cast a glance toward where Leopoldina sat nestled very near to Mrs Dover. “Such fondness has been known to lead a parent astray from time to time.” This gentle admonishment, directed at Elsabeth and not Mrs Dover, was as close to an opinion on the task of mothering as Elsa had ever heard her childless aunt proclaim. But she put even that mild sentiment aside to conclude, “I am a little sorry that I shall not meet Mr Archer. Instead, I will look forward to meeting your Captain Hartnell, and rendering an opinion thereof.”

  Elsabeth smiled. “He is not my Captain Hartnell, Aunt Felicity, but I am eager to learn your assessment of him. I believe you will find him as charming and amiable as any of us do.”

  (32)

  The day came to host Captain Hartnell and some few of his closest companions. It was with glad hearts that the Dovers found Hartnell to be much recovered from the incident at the bridge, of which he could not be beguiled into speaking. It was enough, he demurred, that no one had been injured; the doctors had been well able to tend to him, and, indeed, he now felt more robust than he had before the incident. No more would be said on the matter, and Mrs Penney allowed as how his modesty became him.

  It was on the occasion of his third visit inside the week that Captain Hartnell asked Miss Elsabeth if she might walk with him a while in the garden, an invitation that sent Mrs Dover’s heart into palpitations. Elsabeth herself was pleased to acquiesce, if not so breathless with potential as her mother, and Mrs Penney, observing these disparate reactions, made note to discuss the handsome young captain with Elsabeth as her earliest leisure.

  “Miss Elsabeth,” Captain Hartnell began no sooner than they were far enough from the house to speak privately, “there is something I should like to ask you, although I fear it may be a delicate subject.”

  With the advent of these words, Elsa did entertain the possibility that the Captain meant to ask for her hand; by the end of them, she was quite certain he did not, for although a proposal was certainly a subject for delicacy, Captain Hartnell did not seem to her the sort of man who would approach it in such a way. “You may ask,” she replied cautiously. “I cannot, of course, promise that I will tender the response you wish to hear.”

  “No man should ever expect that he will be given the answer he most wants.” Hartnell smiled gallantly, then took it upon himself to walk several steps before gathering himself to speak. “I have been loath to discuss it with an audience, but I should like to mention the matter at the bridge to you, Miss Elsabeth.”

  “Ah.” There were curved stone benches scattered throughout the garden; Elsabeth found and sank down upon one, disregarding its dampness and the damage it might cause her gown. “I believe there may be a great deal to discuss there, Captain Hartnell.”

  Hartnell, looking troubled, settled himself only a little distance from Elsabeth on the bench. “I wish that there was not. Or perhaps I am glad that there is! I find myself at a loss, Miss Elsabeth. I have never before encountered quite such a scenario. Please, before you speak: let me put forth what I have surmised, that you need not confess what might be unpalatable to you.

  “My first suspicion ought to have come when you were so vehemently relieved that my dreadful secret was merely a talent for magic. I did not then think anything of it save that you were an uncommonly kind-hearted lady, and that you had little use for Society’s strictures. And that was already no secret: you are known to be fond of exercise and unafraid to speak your opinions, Miss Elsabeth, neither of which is deemed entirely suitable by Society. No, do not protest; it is what sets you apart, and I would no more undo it than I might over-paint a Rembrandt.

  “But, in looking back, your acceptance of my gift is only a step along a path I now see clearly. The first step, indeed, may well be the day I met you, when Miss Dina had her unfortunate encounter with the river. It was a very still day,” Hartnell said more softly than he had been speaking before. “A very still day, and the river ran low, and yet between wind and water, it snatched poor Miss Dina up and nearly drowned her. Again, by itself, I thought nothing of the circumstance. But when it is drawn along with your response to my talent, and then drawn further to the incident with the bridge...Miss Elsabeth, please know that I am disinclined to listen to town gossip, as it is largely one and the same from one town to the next, but here in Bodton, there has lately been a different tale being told. Miss Leopoldina is a sorceress, is she not? And, if rumour is true, your father is a magician too.”

  A cry broke from Elsabeth’s lips. It was answer enough for Hartnell, who clasped her hands to offer comfort, and in no wise understood that Elsa’s surprise was born from his belief that only Leopoldina among them made use of magic.

  Nor did she have time to explain, as Hartnell went on without hesitation. “Please understand that I would never betray Miss Dina’s secret—or your father’s—as certain knowledge. I think you must know that, as I think you must know I had my suspicions at the bridge that day. Surely, if I could retain my wits enough then to protect your sister, I may do so now as well, when I am in full command of my faculties. I only wish you to know that, touched by magic as I am myself, I could never in any way condemn your family for its talent, nor could it in any wise alter my affections for—for your family.”

  Stricken, Elsabeth gazed at Captain Hartnell. She ought—she could barely abide not to!—tell him the whole truth, that of the Dovers, only Mrs Dover herself had no talent for magic. And yet, to do so would curse poor Rosamund, whose prospects had been so bright. Elsabeth had herself heard the rumours; she knew full well that she and Rosamund were largely excused from the poisonous assumption of magic. It bothered her not a whit whether she was or was n
ot known to be a sorceress, but to confirm that her darling Rosa carried the power as well seemed an untenable decision. It was then that she knew she held out some slender thread of hope for her sister’s reunion with Robert Webber, unlikely as it seemed. He was good-hearted and kind; he might easily overlook the Dover family affliction, if he did not know with certainty that Rosamund herself was affected by it.

  “I have shocked you. Perhaps even horrified you. I promise, Miss Elsabeth, that my purpose was entirely other. I hoped that by confessing my suspicions—my knowledge!—that you might find some comfort in being able to speak freely to at least one soul on this earth. I can see that I have failed; I will leave you, and you will perhaps inform me if you can forgive me such intimate family knowledge with the delivery of a note or, if your heart is generous enough to allow it, an invitation to return to Oakden. Oh, Lord, let that not sound as though I am blackmailing you for such a note or invitation; that is not my meaning at all. I am making this worse. Forgive me, Miss Elsabeth. I shall take my own leave, and I will wait for some sign from you that I have not fallen entirely from your good graces.” Upon this heart-felt delivery, Hartnell rose and departed, leaving Elsabeth Dover to sit, enveloped by a stunned silence, for quite some time.

  It was Mrs Penney’s observation that Elsabeth looked uncommonly pensive upon her return from the excursion with Captain Hartnell. While not given to Mrs Dover’s gossiping tendencies, she found she could not allow their time together to go unremarked, and, when the moment was convenient, undertook it to speak to Elsabeth about the handsome young captain. “He is, to be sure, charming and as pleasant a man to look upon as I have ever seen, but, Elsabeth, let me caution you about falling in love too deeply. Charm and pleasantry are excellent companions for a man with even a modest fortune, but Captain Hartnell has no prospects beyond the military, and, my dear, I do not think you would enjoy being a soldier’s wife.”

  “Were it not for Mr Archer,” Elsabeth replied sharply, “Captain Hartnell might have all the prospects any modest young woman might require in a husband, when charm and pleasantry are added to the mix.”

  Elsabeth, Mrs Penney reminded herself, was the stubborn one of her brother’s daughters, and the slightest wrong touch in guidance could all too well drive her into the arms of an entirely unsuitable paramour. It was therefore the most delicate hint of rue and curiosity, as if her own uncertainty was hardly worthy of note, that she said, “I can hardly doubt your stories of Mr Archer’s arrogance, when they are so fully supported by all of those who have met the gentleman. But neither can I wholly doubt myself, having known the old Mr Archer even a little! He may have gone wrong in the raising of his son, but it troubles me to think that the fault lay entirely with Mr Archer in the matter of Captain Hartnell’s dismissal from Streyfield.”

  “You,” Elsabeth said, her sharpness turning at once to wry amusement, “are much like Rosamund, my dear Aunt. She also cannot bear to think poorly of anyone, even Mr Archer. But I am sensible to your concerns, and because I love you, would like to reassure you that you need not fear, Aunt Felicity. I do not believe myself in love with Captain Hartnell. It is true I find him more appealing than any other man of my acquaintance, but I am insensible to romance; you must know that by now. Look what it has wrought in poor Rosa; I cannot desire that for myself. If you require assurances, know that the Captain and I had a pleasant walk with no talk of infatuation or fondness at all, save his general fondness for our family. Indeed, I should be surprised to learn that he has any romantic inclinations toward me; we are merely the closest of friends.”

  “He visits very often for a friend, Elsabeth.”

  Elsabeth laughed. “He visits so often because you are here, Auntie, and we are in the height of our social activity with your presence. We will return to our quieter ways when you are gone and have taken Rosamund with you. She is not well, Aunt Penney,” Elsa concluded in concern. “She behaves as though she is, but I see a fever-brightness in her eyes and fear the blush in her cheeks is from illness, not health. I think it would be better to take her to London sooner, even if it should mean cutting away at our own time with you. And I promise that I will not in the meantime become engaged to anyone at all without your previous approval.”

  Mrs Penney laughed as well and embraced her niece. “I would not ask you to make such rash promises, Elsabeth. Only step cautiously in matters of love; marriages cannot easily be undone.”

  (33)

  The news that Mrs Penney—and, by necessity, Mr Penney, who was less involved in the arrangements, if no less fond of his nieces than his wife was—would be departing immediately rather than staying on for some weeks was met by dismay by all parties save Rosamund, who bloomed again at the thought of Town.

  “Not,” she told Elsa privately, “that I have any hopes regarding Mr Webber; of course not. But it will be pleasant to meet as friends, and, to that end, I have written to his sister Julia, to tell her I will be in London.”

  “I would that you had written Mr Webber himself,” Elsabeth replied, shocking Rosa with the very idea. “Well, I do. I know you are surpassingly fond of Miss Webber, but you are fond of everyone, Rosa.”

  “Sophia Enton likes Miss Webber as well,” Rosamund said mischievously, and Elsa, happy to see her able to tease, allowed that this was true and that perhaps Miss Webber did, after all, have some hidden qualities of greatness.

  When it was learned that Rosamund would be accompanying the Penneys to London, Leopoldina put up a great fuss that was only quieted by Mr Dover proceeding sedately to her room, selecting the best dress Mrs Penney had brought for her and holding it threateningly near the burning hearth. “I should have no difficulty in destroying each and every gown you own,” he announced in his genial fashion. “I should be quite entertained, I am sure, by the pleasant talk of my wife and daughters as you sat through the winter, sewing new clothes that would be serviceable enough to allow you to be seen in public. They would not be fashionable, of course; with the expense of Rosamund in London, we will have no extra money for frivolities such as fashionable clothing.”

  “But Aunt Felicity will be absorbing those expenses!” Leopoldina cried, before being obliged to cover her mouth with both hands as her gown drifted ever nearer the flames. Tears welled in her dark eyes and she flung herself face-down onto her bed, but no more complaints about who would stay and who would go were to be heard. Mr Dover, satisfied, retreated to his library, where, later, Mrs Dover would be heard to demand if he had truly intended to burn Dina’s gown, and how could he show so little consideration for her nerves, and what did he think he would accomplish by presenting his daughters in rags, when there were still four of them to be wed?

  “Perhaps I could make arrangements for you after all,” Mrs Penney murmured to Elsabeth, who smiled and shook her head. “No; without me here, Papa might give in to Dina’s excesses, and it would be better for all of us to pass a quiet winter. I will miss Rosa terribly, but she will write to me often, as I hope you will.”

  “Of course,” promised Mrs Penney, and, within three days, they were off to the distant promise of Town.

  Only then did Elsabeth feel prepared to ask Mr Dover to issue another invitation to Captain Hartnell, whose delight upon returning to Oakden lifted the melancholy that had settled with Rosamund’s departure. “Oh, she will do well in London,” he said warmly. “She is both fashionably fair and so kind; she will have more suitors than she can imagine within a week or two.”

  “I wish I had more suitors than I knew what to do with,” Dina responded petulantly, but Hartnell only laughed.

  “Miss Dina, I cannot imagine how many suitors that would be. I should think you would have every man lucky enough to catch your eye running errands, reading novels and stitching your embroidery for you, and you would sit above them like a queen. It would be a magnificent sight.”

  “Then you may begin by reading for us,” Leopoldina declared, and, when Elsabeth closed her eyes in resignation, demanded, “What? Doe
s Captain Hartnell not read well? He does; he has read for us before, and since Ruth is gone, no one else cares to!”

  “I should be happy to read for you,” Hartnell replied, and so he did, not only that day but several others. His company was much welcomed by the Dovers, who were otherwise very quiet at home indeed; only Rosa’s letters from Town, and Sophia Enton’s visits, broke the tedium of the cold and short winter days.

  Julia Webber had not responded to Rosamund’s letter; perhaps, Rosa wrote to Elsa, it had been lost in the post. It did not matter, Rosamund wrote; it was easier, perhaps, to not see Miss Webber, and therefore not see Mr Webber, although she confessed that she would like to once, just to move past the unpleasant shock of it. Elsa privately believed there was little chance the letter had been lost, or that Miss Webber would make any effort to seek Rosamund out, but was gladdened to hear that Rosamund had been well received in the social circles Mrs Penney moved in, and had it from Mrs Penney herself that there were several young men most keenly interested in visiting the Penney household now that Rosamund was a part of it. Happy for her sister’s good fortune, Elsabeth put special effort into crafting a pretty shawl, and sent the delicate gift to Rosamund at Christmas. In return, she received not only a cunning hat but a long letter full of the delights of London at Christmas, and the exhausting duties of parties, afternoon visits and walks in the Park. Robert Webber was mentioned no more, and Elsabeth began to hope that Rosamund’s fondness for him had been no more than a passing fancy.

  At the Twelfth Night, Sophia Enton arrived upon the Dover doorstep with a heightened flush in her cheeks and an excitement she could barely contain. In this state of unlikely agitation, she hurried Elsabeth into boots and a warm coat and led her on a brisk walk through the fields, until no other soul save for a cow could possibly be thought to hear them. “Elsabeth, I have been invited to London!”