Miss Austen - Gill Hornby Page 0,68

Mr. Hobday. He is nothing of the sort. Indeed”—she moved to the side of the bed and knelt down—“I had rather thought”—she hid her face in her hands—“he might do for you.”

Jane climbed straight into bed and talked over Cassy’s prayers. “I assure you, he is very much your Mr. Hobday. That was apparent from the way he looked at you this morning. Do not tell me you could not feel the warmth of his admiration.” She plumped up her pillow. “So, on reflection, I should not have been quite so hostile. It can only have come from sheer force of habit.”

Cassy pulled back the cover and got in beside her.

“I condemn my own behavior.” Jane turned, put an arm around her sister, and planted a kiss on her cheek. “It was quite unforgivable, and I confidently expect you to forgive it at once. Anyway, I doubt that it affected your Mr. Hobday one way or t’other. What matters a bad sister off in the background? He did not strike me as a lover who could be deterred by—”

“‘Lover’!” Cassy pulled back in horror. “What on earth can you mean, lover? Jane, you have it all wrong. He has all but ignored me at every opportunity. His lovemaking, if that is what you call it, is directed at everyone but myself—first Anna, then Papa, and today, I rather thought, you.”

“Precisely! There is my evidence—that, and the unmistakable ardor. I am quite sure I saw sparks flying off him. I think one caught my bonnet. Because of you and your charms, I might have gone up in smoke. Oh, Cass, you can be so slow. Why do you suppose he has fetched up in Dawlish at all?”

“Well, I cannot say I know enough of the Hobdays to arrive at an answer, but I can only presume it must be no more than coincidence. There are not so many watering places on the South Coast—”

“And not many gentlemen of Mr. Hobday’s caliber in this one.” Jane blew out the candle and settled down. “He is here in pursuit of the enchanting Miss Austen. You have him quite in your powers.”

Cassy laughed. “How can you be so foolish? I have no powers to speak of.”

“Oh, but you do, my dear. And that you are unaware of them only makes you more powerful still. Our poor Mr. Hobday has fallen.”

“Then I am sorry for it,” Cassy replied firmly. “You of all people must know me to have lost the only one I could ever marry. I have no possible interest in him, or any other gentleman now.”

“Is that so?” Jane turned on her side and nestled her chin into her sister’s shoulder. “Poor, beautiful Miss Austen, condemned to eke out a sad life with nothing to do but care for others and control the temperament of her difficult sister.” She pulled up her knees, preparing to sleep, yawned, and then muttered: “Let us just wait and see.”

17

Dawlish, July 1802

CASSY HAD HOPES FOR A RETURN of her mother’s poor health so that she could stay home and nurse her in blessed obscurity. But the next morning, to her profound disappointment, Mrs. Austen arrived down in the parlor and pronounced herself well.

“What an excellent day it is out there! And I am pleased to report that I passed a good night and awoke feeling unusually robust. Now, Cassy, while your father and Jane are out, I think we should take a walk together, do you not agree?”

Cassy knew her agreement to be no more than a formality, and collected their bonnets.

“Oh, splendid,” said her mother, setting off from the threshold. “The tide is still low, and we can take to the strand. It is a pity that Dawlish does not yet have a more permanent promenade.” She squeezed Cassy’s arm. “We shall have to make sure that we seize every opportunity for walking and talking, eh? Let us not miss our chance.”

It was a dazzling day, all brilliant sun, clear air, and variegated blues. Cassy drank it in and prayed it be peaceful.

“Perfect conditions for bathing. Perhaps a good dipping will improve your sister’s spirits. We can but hope, we can but hope. That girl is all sharp edges at the moment, and it worries me greatly. Your father reported back to me on her conduct with our charming Mr. Hobday, and I do not mind telling you that I was most displeased. Of course your papa thought it amusing, which irked me yet further. His