Jane Austen’s First Love (16 page)

Edward Taylor looked at me, softening. “Forgive me; living in Europe, I have perhaps been more privy to this information than have you, and thus more aware of the dire possibilities. How did we get off on this disagreeable subject, in any case?”

“I believe you brought it up in some connection with powdered hair.”

“Ah! So I did. I only meant to say that, in the current political climate, considering that Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette powder their hair as a mark of rank and privilege—I should think no one else in his right mind would want any part of it—no matter how popular the custom.”

“You make an excellent point. But that is not why
you
refuse to follow the fashion. You thought it foolish long before that.”

“Foolish and old-fashioned.” He stood and suggested we return to the house. As we slowly made our way thither, I said,

“You have given me a lot to think about, Mr. Taylor. I am intrigued by your notions; but I admit, I still think it very brave of you to shew up here to-night with natural hair. Is not it rather awkward, being the only person present who looks different from the rest?”

“A bit. But were I to follow a fashion merely to copy others, I should be no better than the sheep out on that lawn, who will follow their flock blindly wherever they are led—if it came to it, off a cliff to their death. But pray, allow me to better explain my way of thinking, by way of a small illustration. Will you indulge me?”

“How?”

“I shall pose three questions for you to answer—three questions which
appear
deceptively easy, yet not one in a hundred people answer them all correctly. At the end, I will reveal the answers.”

Mystified, and ever ready to meet an intellectual challenge, I replied, “I will.”

“Question one. True or false: Queen Elizabeth ascended to the throne on 17 November 1558.”

I hesitated. It did indeed seem to be a simple question; every educated child in England was obliged to memorise that date. Yet he had said the questions would
appear
easy. Perhaps, I thought, I had got the date wrong? The
year
I was certain of; but as to the month, or the day of the month—could it be that I remembered (or had been taught) it incorrectly? Not wishing to be foolish or deceived, I said boldly: “False.”

“Question two. True or false: King Henry VIII had six wives.”

Again, I paused. Everyone knew that Henry VIII had six wives! How could ninety-nine out of a hundred people get that answer wrong? I considered the possibilities. I remembered that his marriage to his fourth wife, Anne of Cleves, had never been consummated, and was very quickly annulled. Perhaps this annulment meant that the marriage was not legitimate, and therefore in actuality, Henry VIII had only had five wives? “False,” said I.

“Question three. True or false: Shakespeare was baptised with the first name William.”

I sighed in frustration. Did the Bard have a different Christian name at birth? It was entirely possible. Was this another trick question? For some reason, however, I could not bring myself to say false this time; so very reluctantly I said, “True?”

“Very good on the last question. It is indeed true.”

“And the others?”

“To all three questions, the answer is true.”

“All three are true!” cried I, aghast. “You said they were deceptively easy—but that nearly everyone gets them wrong!”

“And so they do.” He struggled to hold back a smile. “Do not hate me, Miss Jane: it was not your
knowledge
which was being tested, but your
conviction
—your ability to remain
true
to what you believe is true.”

“Oh!” I gasped, blushed, and could not help but laugh as I playfully nudged his arm. “How diabolical you are! A child could have answered those questions. How easily I talked myself out of the proper responses!”

“Now you understand, I hope, what I was trying to say.”

I paused and considered. “I think I do. You believe that one should not,
must
not, be swayed by popular opinion or the ideas of others, to think or act against his or her own convictions.”

He nodded. “It is not always easy, particularly at our age, when we are still subject to the dictates of our parents; but if possible, we must be true to ourselves, for I believe the only route to happiness is to follow our own hearts.”

W
hat a difference an hour or two of conversation can make, with an intelligent, deep-thinking person! I had entered the ball-room that night with one set of ideas, and after my dialogue with Edward Taylor, returned to it with quite another. How strange did the dancers, their every head either encumbered by a wig or doused in powder, all now appear to me! A practice to which I had long aspired, and had considered to be the height of fashion, I now observed in a very different light. I was mortified to think that I had been happy—nay, anxious—to indulge in such behaviour.

Edward Taylor and I had no sooner entered the ball-room, than he said, “Would you care to dance again, Miss Jane?”

I shook my head, presuming him to be teasing. “We cannot, Mr. Taylor. We already completed one set. We are not supposed to dance another.”

“Ah yes, I had forgotten—that
is
the custom in this country—but I do not see the sense in it. If we enjoy each other’s company and wish to dance together again, who could it hurt? Would you
like
to dance with me again?”

“I would, sir. But—I fear Lady Bridges would not approve. And what would my mother think? It would not be proper!”

“We have already erred against propriety, I believe, in talking outside together unescorted for a considerable period. Why should you worry now about such an insubstantial thing as dancing together in a room full of people?”

“Oh!” I had not considered that what we did before was wrong. “But sir, having offended against decorum once is no reason to do so a second time.”

“On the contrary, it is the perfect excuse, since you cannot possibly offend for the first time again.”

I laughed. “Your arguments divert me; but I repeat, to dance again would be scandalous.”

“Let us be scandalous, then!” He offered me his arm, a laughing challenge in his eyes.

I tried to resist, but could no more do so than I could stop breathing. Again, he led me to the floor and we danced another set—and following that, yet another! He made such a pleasing partner, that for this delightful interval, I took no notice of anyone or anything else around me, other than that which related to the exercise itself.

When this last dance was finished, and I was so winded as to require a brief respite, I felt a sharp tug on my arm as my mother drew me forcibly away from Mr. Taylor, marched me out of the room to a quiet spot in the central hall, and whirled on me with wrath.

“Jane! How dare you! Have I taught you nothing? Did not you see the other young ladies standing around the room, waiting and hoping for a partner, while
you
danced half the evening away with that young rogue! One set only per partner,
that
is the rule!”

“I am sorry, Mamma. He asked me, and I felt it would be rude to refuse—”

“Sorry! A lot of good
that
does now, with the ball nearly over! And where did you disappear to for an hour or more? I looked all over the house for you but you were nowhere to be seen.”

I blushed. “I was only sitting outside and talking with Edward Taylor. We did nothing improper, I assure you.”

“Nothing improper! Nothing improper! Sitting outside together! Unchaperoned! I am shocked, shocked, I tell you, by your behaviour, and by the behaviour of modern young men! A great alteration has taken place in them since
my
time, when a sense of decorum and modesty marked their characters! All that is gone now, entirely gone. Sitting down and talking together for hours on end! The very idea! You both have set a very bad example. I said you could dance with him, but not
six
dances in the same evening! What will Lady Bridges and Sir Brook say? Do not think that
they
have not noticed!”

“I thought you did not care what Lady Bridges thinks.”

“What? Such impertinence, I never witnessed before in such a girl!” (lowering her voice to a fierce whisper) “No; I do not care to have her
approval
, for she is a vain and snobbish woman—but neither do I wish to be turned out of this house as a result of your impudence! And I
do
care what Sir Brook thinks, for he is a fine and honest man and very honourable!” (resuming her previous tone) “Oh! All I wished for was to breed you up virtuously; I hoped to see you respectable, modest, and good. But I might have spared myself the trouble! Jane, if everyone acted as you did, everything would go to sixes and sevens, and all order would soon be at an end throughout the kingdom!”

“Upon my honour, Mamma,” said I, “I have done nothing this evening that can contribute to the overthrow of the kingdom.”

“You are mistaken, child, for the welfare of every nation depends upon the virtue of its individuals, and anyone who offends in so gross a manner against decorum and propriety as
you
have done is certainly hastening its ruin. You will not dance with Mr. Taylor again to-night; and I forbid you from being alone with him at any time during the remainder of our stay at Goodnestone. Is that clear?”

Tears started in my eyes. “Yes, Mamma.”

Prodding me with her fan, my mother angrily escorted me back to the ball-room, where upon entering she cried in a low voice: “Here comes Mr. Knight. He has been asking after you all night, and you must dance with him. And do not do anything else to shame me!”

Across the way, I glimpsed Edward Taylor regarding me with a concerned expression, but I was immediately engaged by the kindly Mr. Knight, and returned to the dance floor. He made an attentive and congenial partner, as did Sir Brook, who asked me to dance directly afterwards. So distracted was I, however, by thoughts of my mother’s stern disapproval, and her promised punitive measures with regard to Edward Taylor, that I could hardly enjoy the activity, and no longer had any appetite for the ball itself.

I was glad when at half-past two in the morning the ball-room began to clear out, as the weary but happy crowd said their good-byes. I moved with the assemblage, looking for my sister. I had not yet found her when Edward Taylor appeared at my side, and said,

“Miss Jane. I saw your mother speaking with you earlier. Was she angry because of me?”

“She was.”

“I am very sorry.”

“I am the sorrier, for she has forbade me from having any contact with you in future which is not strictly chaperoned.”

“Well: that is not so very dire a punishment. There will be so many people at all the events Lady Bridges has planned over the coming fortnight, I believe we will be chaperoned everywhere we go, whether or not we like it.”

His attitude so charmed me out of my mental anguish that I laughed. “You may be right.”

He glanced at the dispersing crowd around us. “I wanted to tell you something, but I must speak quickly, lest we incur your mother’s further wrath by inadvertently ending up
sans
chaperon
at this very moment.”

I laughed again, all attention. “Yes?”

Bracing one hand on the wall beside me, he leaned in closely, and said: “Do you remember after we met on Saturday, I gave you several reasons why I could not be sorry your carriage had met with an unhappy fate that day?”

“I do. You said you were glad because it provided you with an opportunity to be useful, and concluded with an invitation to dinner at Goodnestone.”

“All of which was true; but I was not entirely honest. I neglected to include the most important reason of all.”

“Which was?”

“It afforded me the opportunity,” said he softly, “to meet
you
some days earlier than might have occurred otherwise.”

I could not reply; nay, I could hardly breathe.

“I shall see you Friday,” added he with a smile in his eyes as he walked away.

I believe I stood at the door a full five minutes after he left, my limbs trembling, unable to remember when Friday was, or what might be happening that day. Cassandra at length rescued me, insisting that it was time to go to bed. So filled with energy, awe, and wonder was I, however, that I doubted if I should be able to close my eyes.

My sister, aware that my mother had already reproved me for my indiscretion at the ball, only mentioned it in passing with a heavy sigh. Although she professed herself to be too exhausted to take down her hair, I was determined to return mine to its natural state as soon as we reached our chamber. Immediately, I spread a cloth upon the floor, unpinned my hair, and vigorously brushed it until the last remnants of the starchy substance had been removed.

As Cassandra slept, I lay in bed thinking about
him
for a long, long while—about all the new ideas and feelings which had been simmering within me ever since our discussion that evening, about the six dances we had shared, and most particularly about what he had said at the last.

It all implied that he liked me! It did not discount the possibility that he also liked someone else; I sensed in my bones that he
did
have affection for Charlotte Payler; but it now seemed incontrovertible that he liked
me
as well—perhaps liked me as much as I liked him!

But oh! If I was honest with myself, my feelings had long since gone past that particular emotion, to something deeper and far more potent.

“Cassandra,” whispered I.

“Mmmmmmm?” returned she drowsily, before drifting back to sleep.

“I
love
him,” murmured I, hugging my pillow, aware that my words were audible to no one but myself. “I
love
Edward Taylor.”

The household slept in late the next morning. My sister and I entered the dining-room at noon to find the furniture all back in its rightful place, the previous night’s ball nothing but a memory or a topic of languid conversation. The chamber was only half-full; the sleepy-eyed diners therein assembled still had their hair styled as it had been the night before, a little the worse for having been slept on; the younger boys and I were the only creatures present with natural hair.

“I apologised to Lady Bridges and Sir Brook last night for your behaviour at the ball, Jane,” remarked my mother sternly when I sat down. “I expect you to apologise to them yourself this morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I was too happy to let her reprobation or her directive bother me. I would apologise; I did not care. I would not have traded that conversation with Edward Taylor, nor those six dances, for anything in the world.

“What happened to your hair, Jane? You were so anxious to powder it, I expected that you should be begging me to keep it in that style for a week at least; yet here you are with your own brown curls again already.”

“I have changed my mind about the style, Mamma,” replied I as I sipped my tea. “I do not find it to be quite so fashionable as I thought.”

My mother shook her head and raised her eyes heavenward. “I declare, you are a very strange girl, Jane. I shall never understand you.”

Fanny and Mr. Cage were seated at opposite ends of the table; both were silent and seemed to be in a foul mood. Mr. Cage, after consuming very little, left the house to go riding.

“Thank goodness, I thought he should never leave,” said Fanny, throwing down her napkin.

“Is there something wrong, Miss Bridges?” inquired Mr. Deedes.

“There is, Mr. Deedes, but I do not wish to speak of it.”

“You are only tired, I fear,” said Mr. Deedes soothingly, “after being up so late last night. You will feel differently when you are more rested.”

Fanny met his friendly gaze, and was charmed; her features softened. “Perhaps you are right, sir. I shall go upstairs and take a nap. But if you see Mr. Cage, pray tell him that I am not speaking to him unless
he
apologises.”

No sooner had Fanny exited, than Lady Bridges entered.

Marianne said in some distress, “Have Fanny and Mr. Cage quarrelled?”

“They have,” responded Lady Bridges with a shrug, “but over
what
Fanny will not tell me.”

“I am so sorry,” said Cassandra. “I do hope they make up soon.”

“Do not worry, they shall,” answered her ladyship, as she took a seat. “When people are young and in love, these little quarrels are always to be expected. It will sort itself out.”

I was not as confident of that outcome as she, for I could not forget what Fanny had told me the night before with regard to her
true
feelings for Mr. Cage, and her purpose in marrying him. However, as the admission had been made in confidence, I could not share it; and so I remained silent.