Read Online A Jane Austen Encounter by Donna Fletcher Crow - Free Book Online
Authors: Donna Fletcher Crow
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to decide their direction towards the comparatively quiet and retired gravel walk, where the power of conversation would make the present hour a blessing indeed, and prepare it for all the immortality which the happiest recollections of their own future lives could bestow.’” She closed the book with a sigh and smiled up at the man beside her.
He took the book from her fingers and turned back a few pages, then read to her from Wentworth’s note to Anne after he overheard her passionate declaration of the steadfastness of a woman’s love. “‘You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago.
“‘I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. . . . You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in R. S.”
It took her a moment to realize what she had just heard. Not F. W. for Frederick Wentworth, but R. S. for Richard Spenser. “Oh, Richard.” She lifted her face to him to receive the very thorough kiss awaiting her. Never mind that she had objected to movie directors adding such things in their modern adaptations, “heedless of every group around them, seeing neither sauntering politicians, bustling housekeepers, flirting girls, nor nursery-maids and children,” she knew the rightness of the moment.
“Thank you for being the constant one,” she murmured at last, recalling her many refusals to his proposals so many years ago.
“And thank you for not keeping me waiting eight and a half years.”
Arm in arm, they moved on down the path, the gravel crunching under their feet. “It all goes so frighteningly fast. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss a single minute.”
They renewed their kiss as they reached the bottom of the walk. It was only a short distance on to Queen Square, not far from their own lodgings. Eyes sparkling, Richard grinned at her. “Um, we could just pop in for a minute.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Whatever would Muriel say to such dereliction of duty?”
“All right then, slave driver. We need to find number 13.”
They found it easily enough on a brass plaque marking a corner house. They stood before the dark blue door under the wide fanlight and Richard consulted his notes. “Jane stayed here with her mother and brother Edward when Edward came to take the waters in 1799. A couple of years later, Jane, house hunting with her mother in Bath, wrote to Cassandra back in Steventon that while Cassandra hoped for a house in Laura Place, their mother was hankering after Queen Square dreadfully, while Jane herself was hoping to be near Sydney Gardens. Apparently she had recovered from her initial shock on being told of the move, because she sounded as though being able to go into the labyrinth every day would delight her. Unless this was another example of Jane’s irony, of course.”
“Labyrinth?”
“Apparently there was an extensive maze in the Sydney Garden in Jane’s day. With a Merlin swing—” He held up his hand before Elizabeth could ask. “A health-giving device invented by a Mr. Merlin. It could be glimpsed above the shrubbery and served as an inducement for people to enter the labyrinth.”
“What a fount of knowledge you are.” Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. “No wonder Jane wanted to live near it. And it seems her opinion carried the day.”
“Yes. The Austens lived in Sydney Place between 1801 and 1804.” Richard consulted his map. “That’s a good trek—across the river and on up a bit. Shall we have lunch first?”
Elizabeth agreed readily, and they walked down Union Street and crossed into the bustling Abbey yard. They chose one of the little tea shops surrounding
He took the book from her fingers and turned back a few pages, then read to her from Wentworth’s note to Anne after he overheard her passionate declaration of the steadfastness of a woman’s love. “‘You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago.
“‘I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. . . . You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in R. S.”
It took her a moment to realize what she had just heard. Not F. W. for Frederick Wentworth, but R. S. for Richard Spenser. “Oh, Richard.” She lifted her face to him to receive the very thorough kiss awaiting her. Never mind that she had objected to movie directors adding such things in their modern adaptations, “heedless of every group around them, seeing neither sauntering politicians, bustling housekeepers, flirting girls, nor nursery-maids and children,” she knew the rightness of the moment.
“Thank you for being the constant one,” she murmured at last, recalling her many refusals to his proposals so many years ago.
“And thank you for not keeping me waiting eight and a half years.”
Arm in arm, they moved on down the path, the gravel crunching under their feet. “It all goes so frighteningly fast. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss a single minute.”
They renewed their kiss as they reached the bottom of the walk. It was only a short distance on to Queen Square, not far from their own lodgings. Eyes sparkling, Richard grinned at her. “Um, we could just pop in for a minute.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Whatever would Muriel say to such dereliction of duty?”
“All right then, slave driver. We need to find number 13.”
They found it easily enough on a brass plaque marking a corner house. They stood before the dark blue door under the wide fanlight and Richard consulted his notes. “Jane stayed here with her mother and brother Edward when Edward came to take the waters in 1799. A couple of years later, Jane, house hunting with her mother in Bath, wrote to Cassandra back in Steventon that while Cassandra hoped for a house in Laura Place, their mother was hankering after Queen Square dreadfully, while Jane herself was hoping to be near Sydney Gardens. Apparently she had recovered from her initial shock on being told of the move, because she sounded as though being able to go into the labyrinth every day would delight her. Unless this was another example of Jane’s irony, of course.”
“Labyrinth?”
“Apparently there was an extensive maze in the Sydney Garden in Jane’s day. With a Merlin swing—” He held up his hand before Elizabeth could ask. “A health-giving device invented by a Mr. Merlin. It could be glimpsed above the shrubbery and served as an inducement for people to enter the labyrinth.”
“What a fount of knowledge you are.” Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. “No wonder Jane wanted to live near it. And it seems her opinion carried the day.”
“Yes. The Austens lived in Sydney Place between 1801 and 1804.” Richard consulted his map. “That’s a good trek—across the river and on up a bit. Shall we have lunch first?”
Elizabeth agreed readily, and they walked down Union Street and crossed into the bustling Abbey yard. They chose one of the little tea shops surrounding
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