Cassandra's Sister (7 page)

All three girls laughed. “By the time Harris achieves eligible status,” said Martha, “I shall be even more of an old maid than I am already, and Jenny will be a famous author. No, there is nothing for it but to wait by the wall for whatever comes our way.”

“Or rely on Madam Lefroy,” suggested Alethea. “She never gives up trying to match-make me and my sisters with her nephews. I daresay she would do the same for you if you prevailed upon her.”

“I do not want a Lefroy nephew,” said Jenny, mock-peevishly. “I want a dashing stranger, with a fortune and a magnificent seat in the most beautiful county in England.”

The other two smiled indulgently. “You are asking a great deal, Jenny,” said Martha. “Your disadvantage is that most of the single men in the vicinity happen to be your brothers!”

They laughed again. Jenny started to enjoy herself. It was very pleasing to stand among such warm-hearted friends, criticizing or admiring familiar back-views, feeling perfectly at ease. Her “disadvantage”, as Martha had called it, was not so great.

“Jenny!” Cass emerged from the crowd. “I have had an offer for the first dance from Madam Lefroy's brother-in-law,” she announced breathlessly. “Apparently, he arrived at Ashe this evening unexpectedly, and when Reverend Lefroy told him Madam and Ben were gone to the Rooms, he decided to join them. Are you not impressed at my conquest? Although he has asked Mary, too.”

“Is this not marvellous?” asked Martha dryly. “If you had been there, Jenny, he might have asked you as well.”

“But, Martha, he is by no means an unacceptable partner,” protested Cass solemnly. “He may be over fifty and as grey-haired as Papa, but he is charming.”

“He would be even more charming if he had a son, perhaps?” suggested Alethea.

“Oh no, a Lefroy nephew!” groaned Martha.

“He does have a son, actually,” said Cass, “though he is not here this evening. The family lives in Ireland, I understand. This Mr Lefroy came over to London for a friend's wedding, and decided to call on his brother, Reverend Lefroy, quite at the last minute. Madam Lefroy has only met him once before, at her own wedding.”

“So the son remains a mere rumour,” concluded Martha. “Still, the father is better than nothing, if, as you say, Cass, he has the charm of the Irish.”

The first dance began. Jenny saw Cass with a thin, upright man in an old-fashioned, frogged tailcoat. Elizabeth Bigg had indeed failed to avoid dancing with John Lyford. Watching him lead Elizabeth's fashionably dressed figure down the dance, Jenny wondered why he came repeatedly to balls, parties and dinners without succeeding in attaching anyone. John Lyford was destined to follow his father into the medical profession and was therefore an eligible prospect as a husband, and he was by no means the plainest man she had ever seen. What was it about him that so repelled people – even Martha, that most generous of souls?

“Do you not consider Mr Lyford's eyes to be too close together?” asked Catherine Bigg, who had joined Jenny at the side of the room.

“Yes,” agreed Jenny. “But a man can have worse faults.”

“Why, Jenny!” exclaimed Catherine. “Are you prepared to dance with him?”

“If he asks me. I never did learn how to refuse.”

“Have a care. He is famously boring, you know.”

“Have you ever spoken to him?”

“No, but Alethea has, and Mama says—”

Jenny did not hear Catherine's mama's pronoucement upon Mr Lyford. Her hand, and her attention, were seized by Madam Lefroy.

“Are you not dancing, Miss Jenny? And you, Miss Catherine? I can soon remedy that.”

Two gentlemen stood behind Madam Lefroy. Jenny recognized one as John Portal, the son of a local landowner, who sometimes went hunting with Henry. The other, the younger, was a stranger.

“This is Mr William Heathcote,” beamed Madam Lefroy. “Mr Heathcote, let me present Miss Jane Austen and Miss Catherine Bigg.”

Mr Heathcote was the most beautiful man Jenny had ever seen. Acutely aware that Catherine must be equally impressed by his handsome face, she curtseyed as elegantly as she could, and lower than usual. “We are honoured, sir,” she said before Catherine could speak.

“And Mr Portal you know, of course.”

John Portal, blessed by good looks and an easy manner himself, bowed neatly to the girls. “Delighted, ladies.”

Madam Lefroy was beside herself. “Is this not a wonderful surprise? First of all my brother-in-law arrives at Ashe and insists upon joining us here, then our dear friend Mr Portal appears with Mr Heathcote, from … where did you say your home is, Mr Heathcote?”

“Near Winchester,” replied Mr Heathcote. He nodded amiably towards Jenny. “I have met your brothers, Mr Henry and Mr Edward Austen. They joined John and me on a hunting party last season.”

Jenny's imagination straight away put Mr Heathcote in a red coat, urging his horse to a gallop, the reins in one hand and his crop in the other. It would be an arresting sight, to be sure. “Oh, yes!” she recalled. “When Edward was visiting from Kent. Henry is now in the militia.”

“Indeed,” said Mr Heathcote, with a small dip of his head.

“William intends to enter the clergy,” offered John. “He expects to be ordained within the year.”

And is therefore seeking a wife
, said Jenny to herself. “Is this your first visit to the Basingstoke Assembly Rooms, Mr Heathcote?” she asked aloud.

“It is, but I am persuaded it will not be my last. My friend John told me of the superior beauty of the girls I would find here, and I must admit he was correct.” As he said this his eye caught Catherine's, and she giggled.

“William would willingly dance with all the ladies in the room, if he could,” put in John.

But which one will he choose first
? wondered Jenny. She took note of William Heathcote's gallantry, and his unembarrassed, unhurried manner. His attentive eyes returned her gaze calmly. His hair was brushed neatly, with no display of fashion, and his clothes were well pressed and simple, like her own. There was a languor, though not an unattractive languor, about him, which Jenny warmed to.

“William must be forever on the move,” John Portal informed the ladies good-naturedly. “I simply cannot imagine him composing sermons.”

“It is not unusual to enjoy a ball,” observed Mr Heathcote. Then he turned purposefully to Jenny. “Are you engaged for the next dance, Miss Austen?”

“No, sir, I am not.” Jenny could feel herself blushing. How she hated herself for the sensibility she could not control, especially when a gentleman requested a dance! The ridiculousness of it struck her even as she accepted his invitation. At a ball, what else did she expect gentlemen to do?

“Indeed, who does not enjoy a ball?” agreed Madam Lefroy, looking purposefully between Catherine and John Portal. “Come, shall we circulate?”

Mr Heathcote bowed as they departed, and, while the opportunity presented itself, asked for another dance. “Perhaps the last, Miss Austen? The cotillion, if it pleases you?”

“With pleasure, Mr Heathcote,” she replied. “But are you not neglecting the many other young ladies present, who would no doubt like to dance with you?”

His interested expression indicated that she had said something unintentionally coquettish. Her cheeks continued to blaze. Perhaps if he were not quite so handsome, she would be not quite so confused. “That is,” she added quickly, “who would like to dance with someone they have not met before. And as you hinted yourself, you would be pleased to make the acquaintance of as many partners as possible.”

“I see.” He adjusted the white stock at his throat. Not uneasily, Jenny thought. More in the manner of one who feels himself challenged. Why did conversations with young men never follow the scheme her imagination laid down for them? She should have accepted with good grace his apparent desire to attach himself to her. Now, he had been left with no alternative but to indulge in awkward gallantry.

“You must not think my words presumptuous,” she began. “I only meant—”

“You meant to be polite,” he interrupted. His eyes glittered with something that might have been amusement, or anticipation, or some masculine emotion which Jenny was unqualified to detect. “Until the next dance, then?”

He bowed, and was gone so quickly that Jenny had not time to complete her curtsey. She stood alone for a moment, swallowing her agitation. Then she set off to find the two voices of reason.

Cassandra listened, frowning a small frown. “A Mr Heathcote? From Winchester? Oh, from Hursley Park.” Her frown cleared. “I have an idea his father is a baronet. They are very wealthy, Henry says, and Henry always knows how much money people have.”

“And this Mr Heathcote has engaged you for
two
dances?” said Martha.

“And
I
received an offer for only one,” said Cassandra, pretending envy.

“Is that the gentleman in question?” Martha closed her fan and used it to indicate, as discreetly as possible, William Heathcote being curtseyed to by Mary and Alethea.

“Yes,” confirmed Jenny. “How do you like his looks?”

“He is extremely handsome,” replied Martha “Let us hope his dancing is as well executed as his features, for your toes' sake, Jenny.”

The lines were forming for the dance. Jenny found herself sought out and handed to the set without delay. Mr Heathcote's expression was inscrutable, but as they turned to take their place he remarked, “Madam Lefroy is dancing with her son. Do you not think they look well together? How charming a ball like this is, when friends and relatives can mingle without formality.”

Jenny could not immediately reply. The opening bars of the music sounded and she and Mr Heathcote took their first steps. When they had completed the measure she asked him if he often went to balls.

“Not often, perhaps,” he replied, pleasantly but without smiling. “But during the London season I do attend some public balls in town, and am occasionally invited to a private one. I must observe that you would not see the range of age and rank evident here at a London ball.”

Jenny shrank from making further comment. They danced in silence for some minutes. Unease crept over her. When they had first been introduced she had taken him for a country-dwelling, country-loving man with a background and interests not unlike her own. But now she saw that he was worldlier than that. Like Eliza, he had a house in London and enjoyed the far greater choice of society he could find there.

They had reached the end of the set, and faced each other. “Are you by any chance acquainted with the Comtesse de Feuillide?” she asked.

“I have had the honour of being introduced to her. I believe she is your first cousin?”

“That is correct,” said Jenny, taking his hand for the cross-over.

“Are
you
often in town, Miss Austen?” he asked.

“Never,” replied Jenny. “London life does not beckon me.”

He did not speak. They began the next measure. Jenny's heart was oppressed. She felt herself exposed by her partner's superiority of years, and greater social experience. She must seem to him a simpering youngster, with no claim other than the chance one of blood on Eliza de Feuillide's glittering circle.

The music slowed; they took their positions for the final reverence. “It is a great pity you do not go often to London,” he said as he led her back to where Mrs Bigg and Cassandra sat. “It would be a great pleasure to meet you at the Comtesse's house, or indeed at any other place.”

“Thank you, Mr Heathcote, for the dance,” she said.

“We are engaged for the cotillion.”

“I have not forgotten. Oh!” Jenny remembered. “You have not been introduced to Mrs Bigg. And this is my sister, Miss Cassandra Austen.”

Mr Heathcote bowed to both ladies. “I hope your sister will report my performance happily, Miss Austen,” he said, bestowing a smile on Cassandra. Then he bowed to Jenny, and walked off.

The evening wore on. Jenny danced with John Portal, who pleased her greatly with his swiftness of foot and lightness of conversation. Then she was asked by Samuel Blackall, a young clergyman attached to the Lefroy party, whom Jenny had met many times, and who achieved neither of these things. But, determined to be pleasant, Jenny found herself accepting another dance from him.

“I can assure you, Miss Austen,” he told her in his grave way, “that my asking you for two dances should not be seen as an indication of designs on you beyond that of amicability. I do not wish to align myself unfairly to any young lady at present because, as you have doubtless noted, I am in considerable demand.”

“Then I thank you for the favour you bestow upon me, Mr Blackall,” said Jenny.

Elizabeth Bigg had not sat down all evening. Mr John Harwood, originator of Elizabeth's confusion at Steventon the previous day, arrived late, but not too late to engage her for most of the remaining dances. Jenny took great pleasure in seeing them together. She had always approved of John Harwood, a thoughtful man who always took immaculate care of any woman whose welfare he was charged with. His admiration of Elizabeth was evident in every movement of his face, and it was wonderful to see Elizabeth's fair head dipping and turning as they spoke, and his hand gripping hers as they went down the dance. Meanwhile, William Heathcote acquitted himself very elegantly in a Scotch air with an unknown girl in a blue dress, and Jenny danced twice with the energetic Ben Lefroy.

Supper was done, and all but a few scavengers determined to get their full ticket's worth of refreshment had quitted the supper room. The would-be dancers had returned to the ballroom in threes and fours, and the predicted air of relaxation had descended upon the assembly, when Elizabeth Bigg appeared, flushed and bright-eyed, at Jenny's side.

“
He
is here!” she announced in a loud whisper, though the noise was so great that nobody would have heard her had she shouted. “Oh, Jenny, I have waited all my life for him, but at last he has arrived, just when I had given up hope!”