by Jane Odiwe
I couldn’t take it all in and trying to imagine not worrying about money was impossible. But, I trusted Josh implicitly and knew that every word he’d spoken was true. That he believed in me was the most wonderful tribute. I now knew how Jane must have felt to be supported by a family who believed in her work too.
‘I still don’t understand the Jane Austen connection,’ I said, as a sharp image of her came into my mind. ‘There must be one. I’ve never felt so strongly that we were meant to find one another and that somehow she had a hand in it. Does that make any kind of sense?’
‘Yes, without a doubt there is a link. I found a box of Charles Austen’s possessions in the museum containing amongst other treasures, his white gloves, a key to the Austen’s house and a letter saying that the gloves were donated by a far-flung family connection of mine, which made me instantly curious. I’m afraid I can’t possibly explain how, why, or even if the gloves work as we think they do. Who knows what really happened to us? But, you might also be very distantly connected to the same family, I think.
From the day I found out about the Elliots I think I’ve known that our lives would be linked as our families were in the past.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you said yourself that you saw some of the parallels between your family history and the Elliots in Persuasion. I think Jane was writing about events she witnessed or at least in part.
Charles, we know, was in the Navy. He was certainly in Bath in the summer of 1802 when he visited his family. Perhaps he did fall in love with the girl next door. Don’t you think that Charles could have inspired the character of Frederick Wentworth? People always assume that Jane was writing about herself in Persuasion and that’s obviously partly true, but she was also writing about her brother’s love story that didn’t work out. Mr Elliot must have refused Charles permission to marry his daughter because he had no money, just as Wentworth was refused permission in Persuasion. Jane wanted a happy ending; she hoped some day that the love story would be a real event between the families. She was looking forward to a time when a woman could live her life, as she wished and be free to marry whomever she wanted. Her own happiness had been denied and so too had her brother’s. And besides all that, I’m now certain Jane knew that the families would be united someday.’
‘But, that doesn’t make sense, unless Jane Austen was a fortune teller or a time traveller too.’
‘Oh Sophie, I was going to wait until I knew for sure that you were strong enough and ready to take in everything I have to tell you. I’ve had enough difficulty trying to believe it all myself.’
‘What is it, Josh? What are you trying to tell me?’
‘The thing that you ought to know, Sophie, is that I’ve only just realized that Jane has been as much a sister to me as Louisa.’
He paused and looked deeply into my eyes with an expression I could hardly fathom. I wondered what on earth he was going to say.
‘You’ve met my sister, haven’t you?’
But, even as he said the words I read the truth in his eyes and besides, I knew I’d seen her hazel eyes before.
On the day that I married Josh Strafford, the day was heavenly. A bright, autumnal sun shone out of a larkspur sky over the Somersetshire countryside as I entered the cool, dark church on my father’s arm. Reunited with him once more, he’d taken the news extraordinarily well considering that it had come out of the blue as it did, but he and Josh hit it off straight away. The interior gloom of the ancient building was bathed in candlelight, scented by the profusion of white roses, stephanotis, and greenery, garlanded in swags or arranged on the altar in tall silver vases. Ahead, at the altar I could see Josh waiting for me, a smile on his lips and his beautiful eyes on mine.
I’d chosen a simple silk dress reminiscent of the muslin gowns I’d worn in the past. It felt beautiful on my skin, the cream silk rippling behind me in a train that slipped over the ancient steps leading to Josh’s side. A lace veil found in one of the attic trunks at Monkford was pinned in place on the top of my head with a tiara of diamonds and moonstones, given to me by Josh’s mother, who was as sweet as I’d imagined she’d be. The sense of the occasion was so unreal that for a moment I wondered if I’d slipped into some other dimension, until Josh took my hand, and we voiced our vows together. Louisa got up to speak during the service; saying how thrilled she was for our happiness. As I listened, I remembered Jane’s words on that fateful day when I had fallen from the Cobb.
‘But, for those who love, Time does not exist.’ I now knew the truth of that motto and recognized the twinkle in her eyes as she read from Persuasion. I felt she was looking particularly at me when she said, ‘Anne was tenderness itself, and she had the full worth of it in Captain Wentworth’s affection.’ Taking her place in the congregation once more, it was with enormous pleasure that I watched the young, fair-haired man, at her side, take her hand in his own, squeezing it with undisguised affection.
Great Aunt Elizabeth was there to share our happiness. Dressed in blue to match her forget-me-knot eyes, she told me how she’d known that I would find the answer to my dreams in Bath. I took her into the house as we left our guests drinking champagne in the marquee on the lawn. I wanted to show her the sitting room that we’d made as cosy as we could with furniture that my aunt said we might borrow from Sydney Place for the time being until we could furnish it ourselves. The old, silvered looking glass looked very much at home above the mantelpiece as did the Sèvres clock whose pretty chimes struck the hours. My favourite winged chair sat on one side of the fireplace and, in the alcove, the painting of Sophia sitting on the sands looking as radiant as I felt today was hanging on the wall, luminous with sunbeams which danced over the surface of the glass, making the memory so sharp that I could smell the sea. The wonderful watercolour had given up one more secret when I’d gone to collect it from the picture framers in Walcot Street. The shopkeeper had found a letter tucked behind the painting, a letter I realized now that was written in Josh’s handwriting expressing his heartfelt love for me. A love letter to cherish forever, I’d asked for it to be replaced and sealed within the frame. Whatever the real truth was about Sophia and Charles, the only relationship that mattered was the one I shared with Josh. I would never forget the time spent in the past and knowing that Sophia would always be a part of me, all I wanted now was to look ahead to a bright future with the man I loved.
My aunt looked up at the painting as I did. There was one question I needed to ask more than any other. ‘Great Aunt Elizabeth, do you know what happened to our ancestor, Sophia Elliot?’ I asked. ‘I’ve been wondering about her. She must have married, but who was he?’
‘She did, indeed,’ answered my aunt with a reassuring smile.
‘Sophia married the local doctor in Lyme. Not the match her family wished for I don’t think, but she went on to have a fine family of seven children, I believe.’
Suddenly, I had that feeling again, as if someone was whispering in my ear telling me it was so. It seemed too much to hope that Sophia might have found love with a gentleman I’d known, if all too briefly. ‘Was his name Rockingham, by any chance?’
‘Why, yes, I believe that’s right. Apparently, they met when she was travelling with her family. I remember my granny telling me a tale that she and the doctor were thrown together after an incident where Sophia had some sort of accident. She was ill for some time and they fell in love when he nursed her back to health. There was a story that she had fallen for him on the rebound, that the young gentleman she had first been in love with had been rejected when her father disapproved of the match, but I know little about the details. All I know is that she would not be persuaded against refusing her second chance at happiness, and her resolution carried the day!’
That seemed to make complete sense to me and I had an idea exactly what had happened. I couldn’t imagine how heartbroken she must have felt when it all ended with Charles, but I was absolutely thrilled to realize that Sophia had escaped m
arriage to Mr Glanville and found happiness in the end. Their story could not have been more fitting or more romantic. I couldn’t imagine that her father had consented to the match easily, if he had at all, but it was wonderful to know that their love had won the day. My eyes met Sophia’s, and as she smiled back at me, I knew she had known true happiness.
I had something I wanted to give back to my aunt. When I handed her the rosewood box she seemed to understand. ‘You know, your mother had possession of the box for a while,’ she said.
‘And when she met your father, she gave it back to me.’ I remembered the diary entry that my mother had written all those years ago. I still didn’t quite understand what had happened to her, but perhaps she had experienced something similar to me. It didn’t matter; none of it mattered. I didn’t need the box any more or its contents. I could let Charles and the past go now that I knew I hadn’t really been in love with him, even if he would always have a part of my heart. I hoped he’d been happy and from what I’d discovered in these last few days about him, it seemed very likely, even if he had never quite had the luck of a certain hero in Persuasion.
‘And I think you are probably ready to write that book at last, Sophie,’ said my aunt.
I smiled, and looked to the French windows where Josh was walking over the smooth green lawn towards us. He waved and blew a kiss.
‘I shall write it very soon, I promise, but just for now, Great Aunt Elizabeth, I am simply going to enjoy my happiness with the man I love most in the world, my very own Captain Wentworth!’
The End
ABOUT JANE ODIWE
Jane Odiwe is a lifelong Jane Austen enthusiast. She is the author of Effusions of Fancy, Lydia Bennet’s Story, Willoughby’s Return and Mr Darcy’s Secret. Born in Sutton Coldfield, England, she holds an arts degree and spent many years teaching History and Art in Birmingham and London.
Jane is lucky enough to live with her very own Captain Wentworth, their children and two cats, dividing her time between North London and Fairyland, Bath.
www.austeneffusions.com
www.janeaustensequels.blogspot.com
www.twitter.com/janeodiwe
ALSO BY JANE ODIWE
Lydia Bennet’s Story
“Odiwe pays nice homage to Austen’s stylings and endears the reader to the formerly secondary character, spoiled and impulsive Lydia Bennet ... devotees will enjoy.” - Publisher’s Weekly
Willoughby’s Return
“Odiwe’s elegantly stylish writing is seasoned with just the right dash of tart humor, and her latest literary endeavor is certain to delight both Austen devotees and Regency romance readers.” - Booklist
Mr Darcy’s Secret
“Jane Odiwe writes with skill and charm, and her latest novel will delight the thousands of readers for whom just one book about the Bennet sisters is not enough.” - Jane Austen’s Regency World Magazine
