The Promise of Change - By Rebecca Heflin Page 0,20
who win them in the end.
Sean spoke in his lyrical Irish burr, “Austen’s men are not flat, depthless characters.”
Sean Daly looked like the last person you’d expect to see in a class on Jane Austen’s heroines. The twenty-something pub-owner looked as if he would be more comfortable behind his bar building pints of Guinness than in a class at Christ Church discussing Regency novels.
But underneath his tattooed and pierced exterior, he harbored a great love for literature. His pub, Brophy’s, was on the Dublin Literary Pub Crawl.
His brows puckered in concentration, drawing his eyebrow ring down, as he continued. “Austen’s men have the maturity to recognize the profundity of the women they come to love. Edward and Edmund couldn’t appreciate Elinor and Fanny, respectively, if they lacked the same discerning character themselves.”
Everyone’s brows shot up in response to his use of the word ‘profundity.’ It was a little like watching a biker discussing Wharton.
“That’s right. It takes a good man to recognize a good woman.” Mitch, wearing a silly grin on his face, put his arm around Darla and tugged her closer to him.
Darla and Mitch, an American couple, who when asked what brought them to Christ Church, explained that about four years ago they promised each other to take an active interest in the favored passions of the other.
Last year, Darla spent a week with Mitch at an NFL football camp. According to her, she’d ended the week bruised, battered, and sore, but having loved every minute of it.
This year, Mitch joined her for a week at Oxford. He had never read much of anything, much less Jane Austen. It was going to be interesting to see if he ended the week with the same enthusiasm with which Darla ended the NFL camp.
“Or, another good man,” Guy interjected with a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. Openly gay, Guy was the kind of guy that could be a girl’s best friend. He’d never had any interest in Jane Austen, or literature for that matter, until he saw Colin Firth in Pride & Prejudice and, in his words, “fell arse over tip in love.” This confession had broken the first-day ice, and had everyone laughing.
“I don’t think it’s fair to lump Edward and Edmund in with the likes of Willoughby and Henry Crawford,” Guy continued. “Those two are as shallow and feckless as they come. I wouldn’t give either of them the time of day, and I can’t understand why Marianne and Maria did either.”
“Sarah, you’re awfully quiet. What are your thoughts on Austen’s male characters?” Mr. Byrne had a way of pulling everyone into the discussion.
Sarah gave her response some thought, before responding. “Although Edward and Willoughby are guilty of the same sin—courting a woman when they are already attached—in the end, Edward redeems himself, albeit because his vapid little fiancée runs off with his brother.”
“But once he is free of his prior obligation, he is still willing to live on a small annual sum in order to marry Elinor, his true love. Willoughby, on the other hand, chooses wealth over the woman he professes so adamantly to love.”
“Well, ladies and gentleman, on that note, it is time for lunch.” Mr. Byrne gathered his books and notes as he spoke. “Before I forget, we leave Thursday at eight-thirty a.m. sharp. The coach will be waiting at the Tom’s Gate, so please be on time.”
Thursday was the class excursion to Chawton House and Winchester. The ladies in the class considered it their pilgrimage to Austen. The men in the class considered it an opportunity to visit the pubs in Winchester.
“Oh, Sarah, may I delay your lunch a moment?” Lady Clara Fraser, Dowager Countess of Rutherford, rounded out the class. According to Mr. Byrne, Lady Clara was considered the matriarch of Oxford.
She’d taken classes every week of Oxford’s five-week program for the last three years. Her effervescent personality and genuine warmth won the immediate affection of everyone in the class, but for some reason, she’d singled Sarah out as her ‘particular friend.’ This pleased Sarah greatly, since she felt an instant connection to her.
Sarah smiled into the sparkling eyes of a woman who reminded her a little of Queen Elizabeth II, matronly, but regal, sure of who she was and her place in the world.
“Do you have plans tomorrow afternoon?”
“No. Some of the others are taking a tour of the Oxford breweries at the request of the men, but I wasn’t planning to join them.”