Jane Austen’s First Love

by Syrie James

  I gazed in all directions, and finally spied a distant female figure quite a long ways from the house, on the edge of the wilderness. As I approached, I discerned that it was indeed Fanny. She still wore her costume from the play, her countenance was flushed, and her eyes were red. Upon observing me, she frowned and quickly wiped away a tear. No words were exchanged for a few moments as I walked beside her. After a while, she said quietly:

  “I suppose everyone knows about me and Mr. Cage by now?”

  I nodded with an apologetic glance.

  “How is my mother? Is she very angry?”

  “Not angry; only sad and bewildered.”

  “Well; if you have come to try to make me change my mind, do not bother.”

  “I have come with no such purpose.”

  “No? Why have you come?”

  I hardly knew how to reply, so I blurted the first thing that came to mind, the statement which seemed obligatory under the circumstances: “I have come to say how very sorry I am that you have broken off your engagement.” As I uttered the words, a glance at Fanny’s anguished face brought a renewal of that pang of guilt which had assailed me upon hearing the news—a feeling I was determined to get rid of with dispatch. “But,” I rushed on, “my father always says that change is difficult but necessary; that often, people must endure through difficult times in order to discover their true destiny, and a higher good.”

  “I do not see how any good can come from this change.”

  “But it will! I understand that it must have been very sad to end your alliance with Mr. Cage, but it was the right thing to do, if you find that you prefer Mr. Deedes.”

  Fanny looked at me in astonishment. “Mr. Deedes? Me prefer Mr. Deedes? Good heaven! Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Why—why—you did! Just the other night, you said you had made your choice of husband too quickly, and you made all sorts of complimentary remarks about Mr. Deedes!”

  “Oh! You must not listen to anything I say!”

  “For the past fortnight, you have been flirting openly with him!”

  Fanny coloured. “Why on earth have you been paying so much attention to my doings, Jane? I should have thought you would have had more important things to occupy your mind.”

  “Well—” I could not go on.

  “I admit, I did flirt with Mr. Deedes a little, and I enjoyed his attentions in return; I suppose that was very wrong of me.” She sighed. “But Mr. Deedes is not a man I should ever think of for myself. Even were he not the friend of my fiancé—my former fiancé—” (her voice breaking) “—I do not regard Mr. Deedes in any capacity other than friendship, and never could.”

  Upon hearing this, I was overpowered by such a succession of unpleasant sensations, as to be incapable of speech. All my scheming, it seemed, had been to no good purpose. How grievously had I misunderstood Fanny’s behaviour! “But—I do not understand. If you do not like Mr. Deedes, why did you flirt with him?”

  Fanny glanced at me, as if trying to decide whether or not to share a confidence. Around us, the air was filled with the sounds of bleating sheep and the twittering of the birds in the nearby trees. At last she said, “Jane: has anyone—my mother or sister, perhaps—told you about Lord Rampling?”

  “Lord Rampling?” This remark was most unexpected. I shook my head. “They have not.”

  “It is no great secret. You might as well know.” Fanny sighed again before continuing. “When I was sixteen, after I came out, we spent the season in London. I attended too many balls and soirees to count, and I danced with dozens and dozens of young men. My sisters were all green with envy, for of course they were too young to go. Halfway through the season, I was introduced to an extraordinary young man. He was handsome, he was charming, and he was the eldest son of an earl. I could hardly believe it, but over the ensuing weeks of dances and parties, Lord Rampling always sought me out. I had never met anyone like him before, and he seemed equally charmed by me. I—we—fell madly in love!”

  “Oh!” cried I, both surprised and distressed by this narration, for I began to suspect where it must lead.

  “Mamma was beside herself with joy at the idea of me marrying a future earl, and I thought I should die of happiness. But then one night, he deliberately avoided me, he was absent from the next few parties, and I heard nothing of him until a fortnight later, when I saw him at a ball in the company of a pretty young lady—the daughter of a duke. Jane: he never spoke a word to me again. I later heard that they had married. Perhaps his father forced the break—I never could find out—or perhaps he simply recognised his mistake in paying attention to someone so low as the daughter of a baronet.”

  Hearing this story aroused in me a kind of sympathy for Fanny, which I had never before felt. “I am so sorry, Fanny. How painful that must have been!”

  “I went home with a broken heart. Mamma insisted that I attend the assemblies in Canterbury. She said that Lord Rampling was not the only fish in the sea, and that I should fall in love again, and soon. But I did not. Many young men courted me. I compared them all to Lord Rampling, and the frenzy of emotion we had shared, and I found them wanting. I could feel nothing for anybody else, nothing at all. Marriage, I now realised, was for most people a matter of business or social promotion; personal feelings could never enter into it.”

  “Never is a strong word, Fanny. Elizabeth and my brother appear to be very much in love.”

  “Theirs is a rare case, I think.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I knew that I must marry, so I came to a decision: I should not expect to find love. I should simply look for a decent man with as much money and property as possible, and in this I would find my happiness. I turned down several offers, while waiting for something better—and then Elizabeth announced her engagement. I could not let my younger sister get married before me! It was out of the question! So I accepted Mr. Cage. He was not the handsome youth I had imagined for myself, but he was rich, and he loved me. As time wore on I began to feel a bit trapped, and wondered if I had been too hasty. There were certain aspects of being single—and of the courtship process—which I enjoyed. Was I truly to give all that up, to be Mr. Cage’s wife? I felt so secure of his love that, when the theatrical rehearsals began, I told myself it was perfectly fine to indulge in a little, harmless flirtation before resigning myself forever to wearing a cap and performing all the duties of a married woman.”

  “Oh!” gasped I again, dismayed.

  “You are right to look troubled; my conduct was appalling, I know it now. Looking back, I think I flirted with Mr. Deedes for yet another reason: to make Mr. Cage jealous, so that he would want me all the more. This seemed to have the reverse effect, however; for Mr. Cage, perhaps in retaliation, started flirting with Sophia—and what began as flirtation for him, soon turned into something more.” Tears started again in Fanny’s eyes. “You had it the wrong way around, Jane. It is not me who prefers someone else; it is Mr. Cage. He may have loved me once, but now he is in love with my sister Sophia—and she is in love with him.”

  A tremor of guilt shot through me, for that very outcome had been my object. “Are you certain?”

  “I am. It does not take a genius to read the signs. He has been so attentive to her. Perhaps, I told myself at first, he is just being kind because she is my sister. But they sat for hours discussing a book in a way that I never could. Sophia is so much smarter than I am; it is not wonderful that he should prefer her. At Tuesday’s rehearsal, the truth dawned on me; in today’s performance, I could no longer avoid it. Did not you hear with what passion Mr. Cage addressed Sophia, as he remarked on her beauty? Did not you see the expression on his countenance, as he begged her to kiss him? Mr. Cage has never spoken to me in such a manner; nor has Sophia ever reacted with such obvious affection to any gentleman before.”

  I was now very uncomfortable. I had seen and heard those same things, and had, with wishful thi
nking, hoped they signified exactly what she suspected; but considering how badly I had misread Fanny’s conduct and intentions, perhaps I had been in error. “Fanny: we have all been performers in a play. You made love to Lysander on the stage in a very credible manner; is not it conceivable that Mr. Cage and Sophia, too, were merely acting? He was simply Demetrius, and she Helena.”

  “I have tried to convince myself of that; but my sister is generally quiet and reserved, and Mr. Cage has never acted in his life before. No; what I saw was no performance; it was an expression of their real feelings! It is so wrong, so unfair, that my own sister should steal away my fiancé—how I hate her! I shall never speak to her again!”

  Alarmed, I said: “Fanny: did Sophia admit that she loves Mr. Cage? Did Mr. Cage tell you that his affections are placed elsewhere?”

  “I would not lower myself to ask. They would both just deny it. After the performance, when Mr. Cage found me, I said a great many hateful things to him which I now regret. I told him it was over, that he was free, and I hoped he would be happy. He was too angry to speak! Jane! I am so wretched! What have I done? I have just cast off the only man I ever loved!”

  I stared at her in confusion. “Fanny: you said very emphatically, and on occasions too numerous to count, that you do not love Mr. Cage.”

  “Oh! I was such a fool, Jane. I think I have always loved Mr. Cage, from the moment of our first acquaintance. He has so many commendable qualities.”

  “But—”

  “Our age difference is nothing. He is very good-looking. He is kind and generous and bright. Yet I looked only to find fault. I am so ashamed of the way I behaved!”

  “And—you truly love him?”

  Miserable, she nodded. “I do love him, with all my heart! But now it is too late. Oh! How sorry I am that we were both persuaded to be in that stupid, stupid play. How I wish that you had never thought of it!”

  Fanny burst into fresh tears, and, signalling in a despairing manner that she did not wish to be followed, ran away into the woods.

  I stood at the edge of the grove for many long minutes after Fanny had gone, my mind all in a tumult.

  I had been so certain that Fanny did not love Mr. Cage. It had been the very basis of my theorem, the guiding light of my belief that they were ill suited to each other, and should be better off parted. To discover now that she truly loved him after all! There was no room for doubt: Fanny had, just now, been so fully aware of Mr. Cage’s genuinely good qualities, so filled with remorse for her past behaviour, and so sincere in her assertions of affection, that I felt certain she truly did love him—perhaps, as she maintained, had loved him from the first moment of their acquaintance. To see and hear how miserable she was—to know that I had (however secretly) deliberately attempted to master-mind the very proceedings which had led to this dissolution—brought pain and humiliation. It had been my full intention to try to part Fanny and Mr. Cage—and I had succeeded only too well.

  How misguided had I been! How right Fanny was! Had I not proposed the play, then she and Mr. Cage would still be engaged—they would have married as planned—in time, she would no doubt have discovered her true feelings for him, and they would have been happy.

  This breach, which I took to be entirely my fault, was not the only thing for which I felt remorse; for in my scheming, I had tried to manipulate Mr. Deedes into falling in love with Fanny (and I sensed I had succeeded there, as well). As for Mr. Cage and Sophia—if they truly were in love, as Fanny guessed—should they ever profess their feelings for each other and marry, things being what they were, what a cost should be incurred! It would cause a breach between the sisters such as might never be repaired.

  I made my way back to the house, miserable, wherein I encountered my brother Edward, Edward Taylor, and Cassandra rushing down the stone steps to the parterre, with worried expressions on their countenances.

  “There she is!” cried Cassandra.

  “Did you speak to Mr. Cage?” exclaimed I, hurrying to meet them.

  “We did,” returned my brother, frowning, “but barely for a moment. He is confused, hurt, and angry.”

  “Did you find Fanny?” asked Edward Taylor. “Did you learn anything?”

  “I did. She is equally as miserable. She loves Mr. Cage, but ended their engagement because she believes that he and Sophia are in love.”

  “Mr. Cage in love with Sophia?” My brother looked dumbfounded. “That is ridiculous!”

  “Is it?” said I.

  “It is preposterous! Only yesterday evening, the poor fellow was pouring out his heart to me about how much he loves Fanny. He is entirely devoted to her, and always has been.”

  “Oh!” cried I.

  “He has no idea why Fanny broke off with him,” said Edward Taylor. “I declare, I have never in all my life seen a man more heart-broken.”

  “What ever made Fanny think that Mr. Cage and her sister are in love?” asked Cassandra.

  A heat rose to my face. “It—it seems that their performance in the play was too authentic.”

  “They were only acting!” cried my brother.

  “She read it very differently.”

  “Acting can be a very dangerous game.” Edward Taylor shook his head.

  “Mr. Cage was very sweet to Sophia, apart from the play,” insisted I, “and she seemed to respond to his attentions.”

  “Why should they not be sweet to each other?” replied Cassandra. “They were to be brother and sister. I assure you, Sophia has no feelings whatsoever for Mr. Cage. She never has.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I have just spoken with her. She is overcome with grief. Although Mr. Cage’s recent overtures were offered and received only in friendship, she believes his attentions inflamed her sister’s jealousy. Her affections have long been placed in another quarter. In truth, she is in love with Mr. Deedes.”

  “With Mr. Deedes!” I was astonished.

  “Sophia admitted that she has felt an attachment to Mr. Deedes since they first met many months ago. She has secretly cherished a hope that he might return her feelings, and declare himself this very fortnight, while at Goodnestone.”

  “Mr. Deedes does return her feelings,” said my brother. “He told me so himself. He was on the point of speaking, when the play was proposed—and events took such a turn from there, that the opportunity never again arose.”

  “Dear God!” cried I.

  “This is a wretched business,” said Cassandra.

  “We must go to Mr. Cage and Mr. Deedes directly,” exclaimed I, “and tell them how Fanny and Sophia really feel.”

  “It is a bit late for that, I am afraid,” said Edward Taylor, “for the two gentlemen left for Canterbury an hour ago.”

  Chapter the Twenty-ninth

  I paced back and forth before the window of my chamber, entirely distraught. Below, the early stages of the migration had begun, from the house to that section of the park where the bonfire had been set up. Although the news of Fanny’s break with Mr. Cage, and the sudden departure of that gentleman and his friend, was very distressing indeed, Lady Bridges had decreed that the Midsummer’s Eve festivities should go ahead as planned.

  “It would be a shame,” said she, “to allow the disappointments of a few to become the disappointments of the many; for the bonfire is an event which our family and friends look forward to all year, and it is particularly meaningful to the servants.” The Midsummer’s Eve bonfire, she explained, was one of the few affairs at Goodnestone other than the Christmas party in which the staff was also included.

  I had looked forward to this evening’s merriment these many weeks; but now, I was in no mood to celebrate. Fanny refused to speak to Sophia or anyone else. Both had shut themselves in their rooms and refused to answer their doors. Cassandra, perceiving my distressed state of mind, had informed the others that I needed to res
t before the bonfire, and she had stayed to listen to me in my despair.

  I had just admitted everything to her with regard to my machinations for the four lovers, from the moment the idea was conceived, to Fanny’s tearful admission that evening. Cassandra, shocked and distressed, was shaking her head.

  “I suspected that you were up to something, Jane, but in my wildest imaginings, it was never this.”

  “How could I have been so blind and stupid?” cried I. “I took up an idea and made myself believe in it implicitly; yet it was all founded on the shakiest of premises. To know, now, that Fanny is in love with Mr. Cage after all, and that his affections for her have never wavered! To understand that Mr. Deedes is just as in love with Sophia as she is with him—and I had no inkling! To learn that he was about to speak, when I intervened and kept throwing him at Fanny! Last week, I saw him admiring the pictures which had won the contest, and thought his praise was all for Fanny; now I see that he was not admiring her work that day, but rather Sophia’s! It was not Mr. Cage’s appearance that had caused Sophia to blush, the evening when both gentlemen first arrived; it was Mr. Deedes’s. It had always been Mr. Deedes! During the Snapdragon game, Mr. Deedes and Sophia were the most eager players—both inspired, I surmise, by the tradition that the winner would marry their true love within a year. Oh! Had I not suggested the play, Fanny and Mr. Cage would still be betrothed, and Mr. Deedes and Sophia might have been engaged by now!”

  “That is entirely possible.” Cassandra sighed. “Sadly, Mr. Deedes cannot discover her true feelings for a long while yet, if ever; for he has gone to Canterbury, and next week leaves for Scotland with the Knights—and the day after tomorrow, when we depart, the Bridges family all go to Bath.”