Mrs. Austen asked, “How long are you staying?”
“My London uncle wants me to stay for another fortnight,” he said.
“Are your wishes of no account?” Jane asked sweetly.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, apparently surprised that Jane had said something unexpected.
“I wondered whether a stay at Ashe Rectory was your preference as well, or whether you were simply accommodating your uncle.”
Perhaps her impertinence inspired his gentlemanly instincts. He inclined his head to Madame and said, “No one could find visiting my aunt to be a burden. I must admit, however, that the neighborhood does seem rather quiet. If I weren’t able to hunt, I’d be terribly bored.”
“There’s a frost in the air today. So long as it doesn’t snow, the hunting may continue,” Mrs. Austen said.
“But my uncle fears snow is coming,” Mr. Lefroy said. “If so, even the consolation of hunting will be lost to me.”
“So you see, Jane, you’ve come home just in time! If you had delayed a few days, my nephew might have expired from the tedium of spending all his time with his relations.” There was a mischievous sparkle in Madame’s fine eyes.
“I say, Aunt, that’s not fair,” he said, without rancor.
“Ireland!” Jane said without thinking. Madame and her nephew stared. “I beg your pardon, but I was trying to place your accent. Irish, is it not?”
“Yes.” Mr. Lefroy was content once more with a monosyllabic answer.
“Tom’s father is retired from the army and lives in Limerick, Ireland.” Madame hurried to fill the silence. “Tom went to school in Dublin.”
“London is a change of scene, to be sure,” Jane said. “Do you enjoy your studies?”
“I had better, hadn’t I?” he asked, rudely enough to startle her. “It’s to be my profession.”
Jane stared at him thoughtfully. Amongst the young men of her acquaintance, she found that the younger sons rarely enjoyed the professions decreed for them by wealthier relations. Her brothers had been fortunate that their father had believed that each of them should follow their inclination. She wondered what Tom Lefroy really wanted to do.
The object of her speculation stood up and began pacing about the room. He stopped to examine a drawing on the wall, one of Cassandra’s portraits of her sister. He glanced from the drawing to the subject, but did not comment.
Madame’s gaze met Jane’s, as much as to say, “Did I not tell you?”
Jane answered with an amused smile. She couldn’t help it; Mr. Lefroy’s manners were unintentionally very humorous. Bedeviling this young man might prove enjoyable.
“Jane, will you be going to the ball tomorrow?” Madame asked.
“There’s a ball?” Jane asked.
“A ball? Aunt, you have been withholding vital intelligence,” Mr. Lefroy said.
“Nothing too grand,” Madame Lefroy said. “The local families pay a subscription and the balls are held in the Basingstoke Assembly Rooms.”
“A public ball,” he said, not bothering to hide his disappointment. “Anyone might come.”
“Even yourself,” Jane said sweetly. “But do not be afraid. The local inhabitants hardly ever bite strangers.”
Hurrying to counteract Jane’s impudence, Mrs. Austen said, “The Assembly Balls are always great fun, and one needn’t fuss too much about one’s wardrobe. In the excitement of your arrival, Jane, I forgot to mention it.”
“Of course we will go,” Jane said. “Eliza is not too proud to enjoy a country dance, and neither am I.” She tossed the words at Mr. Lefroy like a gauntlet. Would he accept the challenge?
Madame said, “Well, Tom, shall we make a party of it? Or are you too superior for such mean entertainment?” He had the grace to look abashed and muttered something to the effect that he knew very few people.
“You have been introduced to us,” Jane pointed out. “Have you met my brother James Austen yet?”
“Was he the clergyman from Overton, Aunt?” he said over his shoulder.
“Yes, Tom. We did have the honor of seeing Mr. Austen at the shoot this morning.”
“You went too, Madame Lefroy?” Mrs. Austen asked. “I couldn’t bear the noise myself.”
“When one has a guest, one makes every effort,” Madame answered. “Of course, Lucy wanted to come, too. I think she is quite enamored of her cousin.” Her tone indicated clearly she thought her daughter’s feelings were foolish.
“She’s only fifteen,” Jane replied, playing up to her friend. “She’s far too young to be a sophisticated judge of character. Stranded here in the deadly tedium of the country, she has little opportunity to appreciate a true gentleman.”
Tom Lefroy turned to stare at Jane, as if he were truly seeing her for the first time. His eyes were an unusual light green. She had to own he was a handsome young man, with a pale complexion and a fine head of blond hair. His mouth was too small, but his intelligent countenance made up for that . . . or it would if he weren’t so disagreeable.
“Miss Austen,” he said, continuing to stroll slowly about the room, “you seem determined to pique my interest.”
Jane felt herself coloring. He wandered behind the settee where Jane and Madame sat. She deliberately did not look at him. He went on in a condescending drawl, “My aunt said your stories were charming and that I must prevail upon you to read one to me.”
“Your aunt is much too kind,” Jane said. “I wouldn’t dream of inflicting my little scribbles upon you.”
“Too bad; I’m sure I could have helped you improve them,” he said. “My education has surely been superior to that of any young lady’s, no matter how accomplished.”
Mrs. Austen said loyally, “Jane’s stories are quite good.”
“I agree,” Madame Lefroy said warmly. “I look forward to seeing them in print.”
“Perish the thought,” Mrs. Austen said. “No daughter of mine would ever do such a thing. It wouldn’t be seemly.”
“Is this one of your stories?” Mr. Lefroy asked. Jane twisted her neck to see him holding her latest story up to the light. “You have an uncommonly neat hand,” he said, admiring her penmanship.
“Tom!” Madame was furious. To Jane she mouthed the words, “I am sorry.”
Trembling with indignation, Jane forced her voice to remain even. “Those papers are mine. I’ll thank you not to disturb them.” Something in her face must have persuaded him that on this matter she was not to be trifled with, because he quickly replaced them on the desk. Jane leapt to her feet and locked the precious papers away in a drawer. Mr. Lefroy’s face didn’t express any guilt or shame, but rather sly pleasure.
This Tom Lefroy was not like most young men she knew. Her brothers and their friends might be vulgar, but their manners were always gentlemanly. Even though Jane knew he meant to provoke her, to her great irritation she found she desired his admiration. To impress such a gentleman, against his will as it were, would be a triumph. And it would be a favor to Madame Lefroy besides.
Jane went to the window and turned her back to Mr. Lefroy while she considered how best to manage him.
The drawing room looked out on the garden. Normally a pleasing prospect, most found the view in wintertime bleak without snow to cover the muddy ground. The gardens were brown and dead, and the weather vane in the center of the yard creaked in the wind. A hill full of evergreens rose behind the house.
As Jane stared out of the window, a movement on the hill attracted her eye. Expecting it to be a deer or possibly one of her father’s parishioners, she watched carefully. After a moment, she saw the motion again.
Then she caught a glimpse of a scarlet scarf.
CHAPTER 8
He who, she had been persuaded, would avoid her
as his greatest enemy, seemed, on this accidental
meeting, most eager to preserve the acquaintance.
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
Disregarding her mother’s protests, Jane wrapped her warmest
shawl about her shoulders and hurried out the door. The large garden sloped up to a steep hill studded with fir trees. She took the shortest way to the path, climbing and slipping on the icy ground as she did with barely a moment’s thought of her petticoats. Once, she stumbled and fell, breaking her fall with her hands. She clambered to her feet, wiping the dirt from her palms.
She arrived at the spot where she thought the flash of scarlet had originated. She looked down to the parsonage below—yes, this was the spot. But her gentleman-bandit, if bandit he was, had disappeared. She studied the ground but saw neither a footprint nor a conveniently dropped clue to guide her.
Vexed with disappointment, she tightened her woolen wrap about her and turned to retrace her steps back to the house.
“Mademoiselle Austen.”
Jane turned slowly to see him standing behind a clump of fir trees. He no longer wore his distinctive hat, but his nose and mouth were covered by his scarf. She could only make out his tawny eyes, staring at her intently.
Jane blushed to realize that he had been watching her. “I do not believe we have been introduced,” she said, finding her voice.
“Alas, formal introductions must wait,” he said with a quick bow. “I am relieved to see that you reached your destination safely.”
“Except for the incident when you shot a gun at my carriage, the journey was uneventful,” she said.
“I apologized for that,” he protested.
“Did you follow us here?” she asked.
“That is not important,” he said. “I must see the Comtesse.” From the yearning in his voice, Jane could sense that he longed to see Eliza above all. Jane was in no danger from him.
“Tell me where you are to be found and we shall call on you this afternoon,” Jane suggested.
“That is not possible,” he said hurriedly. “It is dangerous for me even to be here, hidden among your trees.”
“Monsieur, this is ridiculous. Just come to the parsonage and speak with Eliza!”
“Je ne peux pas,” he cried, as though his mental state could not be described in English. “I truly cannot. But I hoped to attract your attention so that you could help me. Will you give her something for me, s’il vous plaît?” He drew back his cloak.
Jane tensed, for a wild moment fearing that she had completely misjudged him and he would draw his pistol. But instead he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a note.
“Step out into the light and I shall consider your request,” she countered.
“Mademoiselle, I swear on my honor as a gentleman, I will not harm you or the Comtesse, but you must not see my face.”
“Is that because you and I have met before?”
He was silent for a long moment before he said, “Please give this to her immediately.”
“Am I to know what it says?” she asked.
“C’est privé,” he said.
“Private? How do you know I won’t read it?” Jane asked.
“I trust that you will not read a communication meant for someone else. However, I also know the curiosity of an intelligent young woman, and I have no wish for you to compromise your principles. I shall tell you this much: In my note I ask the Comtesse to meet me at the Assembly Ball. It is a public place; she will be perfectly safe.”
Jane felt her eyes widen; the stranger was remarkably well informed.
He pressed the note into her hand. Entreating her with his gold-flecked eyes, he said, “S’il vous plaît, mademoiselle?”
Jane eyed the note, observing that the wax seal had no crest pressed into it. An anonymous communication from a stranger—what could be more intriguing? She had to remind herself this was not the time to be imagining possible scenes in a story. After all, what harm could come of giving Eliza a note? Jane was perfectly capable of keeping a watchful eye on her cousin.
“I shall do it,” she said.
“Merci! A thousand times, thank you,” he said, making that odd gesture of touching his forehead and then his lips that she remembered from their first meeting. Suddenly his gaze traveled beyond their clearing to the parsonage. He tensed. “You have a visitor.”
Jane glanced down. A horse was galloping up the lane leading to the house. The rider was cloaked and wore a regimental hat. Not until he dismounted and swept off his hat did Jane recognize her brother. “Henry!” she called.
Henry’s head jerked, and his eyes searched the gardens. She called again. Finally he spied her. “Jane, come down!” he called.
She turned to say farewell, but the mysterious gentleman had disappeared amongst the firs. She tucked his note into the pocket she wore under her skirt. Then she half ran, half fell down the hill to Henry. He caught her when she stumbled at the bottom.
“Jane! What are you doing out in this weather?” He glanced toward the ridge where she had been standing.
“I was communing with my muse,” she confided with a smile. Henry was the brother who most admired her writing.
“Your stories aren’t worth freezing for,” Henry said, laughing.
“What are you doing here?” she asked as she hugged him tightly.
“Your hands are freezing! Let’s get you inside,” he said.
At six feet and fair with brilliant hazel eyes, Henry was the handsomest of the Austen sons. He was also Jane’s favorite of all her brothers; he was the most amusing and the one who understood her best. Beneath his dark cloak she could see his bright red officer’s coat. Henry had tried being a clergyman, but found the busy social life in the military more to his taste. He was stationed in Southampton and Jane had not seen him in several months.
“Aren’t you needed with your regiment?” she asked.
“I have a few days’ leave and I heard you were home,” he said. “And Eliza, too. How could I stay away? If only Cassandra had come, my happiness would be complete.”
Jane stepped back, eyeing her brother. Since her decision to come home had been made only a day or so ago, she wondered exactly how he had heard the news. No sooner had she posed the question to herself than her own reasoning gave her the answer. “Edward sent you!” she cried.
Henry took a half step back. He opened his mouth, ready with a glib denial, but then his laughing eyes met hers. “I never could deceive you. Yes, Edward suggested I come. And somehow our dear brother has the ear of my commanding officer.”
“You’re here to spy on Eliza for the War Office!” she accused, jabbing her finger in his chest.
All injured innocence, he rubbed where she had poked him. “Not to spy. I’m here to protect her from being bothered.” He grinned. “And it’s no hardship, I assure you. This is the perfect opportunity to press my suit with her.”
“You always did admire her,” Jane said, shaking her head. “But, Henry, she is out of your reach.”
Henry’s face took on an offended air. “Why? I have good prospects, don’t I?”
Jane shrugged.
“Am I not considered handsome?”
“Of course!” She laughed.
“Well, then! Eliza is unencumbered by a husband, and I’m willing to volunteer to make up the lack.”
“Her husband has been dead for only a year—and she’s ten years your elder!” Jane pointed out.
“She is fourteen years older than you, yet you are close friends,” Henry retorted.
“Have you forgotten she has a son?” Jane continued.
“Hastings likes me. I adore Eliza. She has a fortune, which is very welcome. And she’s part of the family. It’s perfect.”
“I still don’t think much of your chances,” Jane said. “A wealthy widow can do better than one of her poor Austen cousins, no matter how charming.”
Henry was not offended. Like Eliza, he rarely took anything seriously. Jane reconsidered; the two might indeed make a good match.
“Besides, you might have competition if Mother has anything to say about it,” Jane added mischievously.
Henry’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
> “Mother sees James as Eliza’s perfect husband and she his second wife. He could settle her flighty ways, Mother thinks. Can’t you see Eliza as a clergyman’s wife?”
Henry burst out laughing. “Your teasing will be the death of me. As if Eliza could prefer stick-in-the-mud James to me!” He took her arm. “Come in the house before you freeze. Whatever were you doing outside?”
Before she could answer, they were in the parlor. Madame Lefroy was delighted to see Henry, and Mrs. Austen even found enough energy to stand to greet her son. Mr. Tom Lefroy professed himself pleased to make Henry’s acquaintance. Eliza, downstairs at last, greeted Henry warmly. To Jane’s watchful gaze, Eliza seemed to find Henry entirely satisfactory. Henry, in his turn, was ardent in his admiration of Eliza’s new hairstyle.
Stepping away from the hubbub, Jane thought about the note in her pocket. She wished she wasn’t too honorable to read it. She knew that if Henry or Edward had charge of the note that they would convince themselves it was in Eliza’s best interest for them to do so. Which was why Jane had undertaken to protect Eliza herself.
As Henry paid his compliments to his mother and Madame Lefroy, Jane felt a prickling on the back of her neck. She turned her head slightly to see Tom Lefroy watching her. He stood in the corner alone, a book in his hand. Once he caught her eye, his gaze went deliberately to the window and up the hill outside, then back to Jane.
She deliberately made her face blank; it was none of Mr. Lefroy’s business what she had been doing on the hill. Without thinking, she checked that her hair had not been loosened by her exertions outside.
Mr. Lefroy bowed mockingly.
Mortified that he thought she was preening for him, she moved to take a seat next to Eliza.
“Good morning, Jane,” Eliza said. “Or gracious, I suppose I should say good afternoon.”
“I hope you slept well,” Jane said.
“Of course. When I am at Steventon, I am at home,” Eliza said simply. “But what have you been doing? Your mother has been beside herself.” Her eyes lit on the mud still falling in lumps from Jane’s skirts. “From the state of your petticoats, I suspect you went outside despite the chill.”
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