Miss Austen - Gill Hornby Page 0,33

… bumptious with it.”

Jane laughed. “You see? My theory put there in a nutshell: Even happiness in a bride is irksome to witness. And yet the happy single lady spreads universal delight!”

“Jane!” Cassy protested, while privately resolving never to behave so herself. “You know you do not mean that.”

“Oh, very well.” Jane reached across, and the sisters held hands. “I know that you, my dear, will be the perfect combination of marital joy and nobility of spirit; you shall serve as a model to the rest of this poor world.” She returned to her pages. “And I promise you: if things improve—should Mary ever recover from the thrills of her dazzling promotion—I will change it. Until then, please indulge me in this private joke with myself.” She turned back to her pages, and the glances of Darcy.

Cassy sat in her blue armchair, soothed, bathing in her own pure contentment and ludicrous good fortune: The afternoon sun fell through the window, warming her hair; her betrothed was sailing home on his ship. Soon she would be married, and to one of the best, the kindest, the sweetest men there was in existence.

Yes, of course, she would own that she was still more than a bit nervous. And yes, she did worry about Jane. All their brothers had moved out now and onto their own no doubt glorious paths. Once she left, Jane would be all alone with their parents: the last one to be picked in the party game. It was an ignominious position, and there would be long moments of loneliness …

She pulled herself together, shifted her dark thoughts back toward the light. Jane’s destiny would make itself known, surely; Cassy was confident that her own marriage would be the best that marriage could possibly be: all would be well. And on top of all that to which they looked forward, the two sisters had for the past few months luxuriated in this period of perfect happiness. She could not, right then, understand how conjugal felicity could be any better than that which they enjoyed here in their dressing room. But it had to be done. And at least they had known bliss: ludicrous good fortune, indeed.

This new story of Jane’s was quite captivating. What a privilege it was to be the first audience. She already looked forward to hearing it again this evening, with the added delight of her family’s reaction. She loved knowing what was coming, anticipating their glee.

“… and even Lydia was too much fatigued to utter more than the occasional exclamation of ‘Lord, how tired I am!’ accompanied by a violent yawn…”

But at that moment there came a sharp knock on the door.

“No!” Cassy moaned. “I knew that would happen. Who is this come to ruin our fun? Dispatch them immediately. Say we are most terribly busy!”

Jane, laughing, jumped up and opened it.

Mary Austen was there on the threshold, four-square and determined. Behind her—wearing the gray, grave countenance of a reluctant executioner—lurked James.

8

Kintbury, March 1840

CASSANDRA FELT A LITTLE UNWELL the next morning—her limbs were heavy; she was shivery with cold—but she knew well enough to disregard it. She went down to breakfast and found she was alone: Isabella, too, she was told, was under the weather. Long experience taught her that—physically—each of them was perfectly well. There was no doubt of it. They were merely suffering the symptoms of a deeper malaise that was sadly incurable: Mary Austen would be here for the day.

With a sigh, Cassandra settled herself at table, with ham, eggs, and only Dinah for company. Sipping her tea, she thought of all the things she must do and had not yet even tried to accomplish. There should be at least a few hours of freedom due to her before the visitors arrived.

“Thank you, Dinah.” She watched as the maid poured some more for her. “I was thinking that I might call on Mrs. Dexter after breakfast.”

“You’re going there?” Dinah thumped down the teapot. “Well, if it pleases you.” She turned back to the sideboard, muttering audibly: “Each to her own.”

“I am troubled, Dinah, by this issue of where Miss Isabella might now live. It surely makes sense that she should be with her sister. But there seems to be some sort of stalemate?”

“Is that what you call it? It may not be my business to say so—”

It was not, though Cassandra had early on established that Dinah’s position in the household with just the one mistress was now something beyond that of