Read Online Dancing With Mr. Darcy: Stories Inspired by Jane Austen and Chawton House Library by Sarah Waters - Free Book Online
Authors: Sarah Waters
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‘help’, would ‘swing by’ her classroom during breaks to ‘ask her advice’ about whatever project was in play. He even got Catherine to invite her over for dinner since they were both such ardent admirers of Jane Austen. The more he saw of her the more he loved her – but she never so much as held his gaze.
Until that evening in May, when she’d let him walk her home. You pierce my soul.
She left at the end of the school year. Not just the school, but the country. Everyone was shocked. She had only just arrived, she was such a wonderful teacher – why would she leave so soon?
Only Chris understood. If she’d stayed, something would have happened. They’d acknowledged their attraction with their eyes; that was all. But Chris felt it, heard it, like a hum in the air. Perhaps she did too. In any case, to his modern-day Jane, the territory was too dangerous.
There were other girls, of course – but none to compare. He always thought of her. Furtively he’d read the novels of Jane Austen over and over because they made him feel connected to Miss Jean Anderson. He could hear her voice when he read, could even catch her trademark lavender scent. Chris was a romantic who badly wanted to find his true love. But knew in his heart he’d already met her – his very own Anne Elliot – only he didn’t know how to find her again.
Chris and his mother were back in the front room – having revisited the garden, examined the donkey carriage, reread every letter. Always listening for the sound of new footsteps.
It was eight years since he’d last seen her, and one hour and eight minutes past the time. Miss Anderson wasn’t coming.
‘Are you ready to go, Mom?’ Chris said gently.
His mother hesitated. ‘I was so sure she would come – it’s very odd.’ She glanced once more at the clock. ‘Do you mind if I get some postcards, dear?’
She took a while choosing and the lady behind the counter glanced at her watch and kept glancing at the door as if wanting to lock up. After Chris paid for the postcards (he insisted), the woman said, ‘It’s closing soon, but you’ve just time to visit Chawton House too while you’re here.’ She paused. ‘It’s just down the road and the library is superb.’
Chris dropped his change on the floor.
‘Chawton House?’ he said. ‘I thought this was Chawton House?’
‘Oh no, dear, this is just the cottage belonging to the estate. This is Jane Austen’s house, yes, but Chawton House is the grand Elizabethan mansion where her brother—’
‘I told her the wrong place,’ he told his mother, already pulling her towards the door. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘It’s straight down that road,’ said the lady, in the doorway now. ‘On your left – you can’t miss it.’
Chris just about dragged his poor mother back to the car and they sped off towards the real Chawton House, turned into a classic long driveway with the mansion standing proud and imposing at the other end. It was 4.50 p.m. and it closed in ten minutes. Would she even be there?
A bright red mini came speeding along the driveway towards them. Chris caught a glimpse of the driver as she passed – and did a hand brake turn.
They found the mini in their old parking spot.
Thank you God, Chris thought as, once again, he led his mother – more urgently this time – back into Jane Austen’s house.
He found Miss Jean Anderson in the entry room. She turned as they came in – and her smile, after eight long years, re-booted his heart.
‘You read my posting,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘Yes – I’d give it an A for resourcefulness… but a D for research.’
He grinned. ‘I know – I got the house wrong. But look – we’re both here now, aren’t we?’
‘So you’re the young man with the message!’ exclaimed the lady. ‘I had a feeling it was you.’
‘So you suggested we go to Chawton House?’ Chris said. ‘Just in case?’
She winked. ‘Being here all the time, Jane’s genius
Until that evening in May, when she’d let him walk her home. You pierce my soul.
She left at the end of the school year. Not just the school, but the country. Everyone was shocked. She had only just arrived, she was such a wonderful teacher – why would she leave so soon?
Only Chris understood. If she’d stayed, something would have happened. They’d acknowledged their attraction with their eyes; that was all. But Chris felt it, heard it, like a hum in the air. Perhaps she did too. In any case, to his modern-day Jane, the territory was too dangerous.
There were other girls, of course – but none to compare. He always thought of her. Furtively he’d read the novels of Jane Austen over and over because they made him feel connected to Miss Jean Anderson. He could hear her voice when he read, could even catch her trademark lavender scent. Chris was a romantic who badly wanted to find his true love. But knew in his heart he’d already met her – his very own Anne Elliot – only he didn’t know how to find her again.
Chris and his mother were back in the front room – having revisited the garden, examined the donkey carriage, reread every letter. Always listening for the sound of new footsteps.
It was eight years since he’d last seen her, and one hour and eight minutes past the time. Miss Anderson wasn’t coming.
‘Are you ready to go, Mom?’ Chris said gently.
His mother hesitated. ‘I was so sure she would come – it’s very odd.’ She glanced once more at the clock. ‘Do you mind if I get some postcards, dear?’
She took a while choosing and the lady behind the counter glanced at her watch and kept glancing at the door as if wanting to lock up. After Chris paid for the postcards (he insisted), the woman said, ‘It’s closing soon, but you’ve just time to visit Chawton House too while you’re here.’ She paused. ‘It’s just down the road and the library is superb.’
Chris dropped his change on the floor.
‘Chawton House?’ he said. ‘I thought this was Chawton House?’
‘Oh no, dear, this is just the cottage belonging to the estate. This is Jane Austen’s house, yes, but Chawton House is the grand Elizabethan mansion where her brother—’
‘I told her the wrong place,’ he told his mother, already pulling her towards the door. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘It’s straight down that road,’ said the lady, in the doorway now. ‘On your left – you can’t miss it.’
Chris just about dragged his poor mother back to the car and they sped off towards the real Chawton House, turned into a classic long driveway with the mansion standing proud and imposing at the other end. It was 4.50 p.m. and it closed in ten minutes. Would she even be there?
A bright red mini came speeding along the driveway towards them. Chris caught a glimpse of the driver as she passed – and did a hand brake turn.
They found the mini in their old parking spot.
Thank you God, Chris thought as, once again, he led his mother – more urgently this time – back into Jane Austen’s house.
He found Miss Jean Anderson in the entry room. She turned as they came in – and her smile, after eight long years, re-booted his heart.
‘You read my posting,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘Yes – I’d give it an A for resourcefulness… but a D for research.’
He grinned. ‘I know – I got the house wrong. But look – we’re both here now, aren’t we?’
‘So you’re the young man with the message!’ exclaimed the lady. ‘I had a feeling it was you.’
‘So you suggested we go to Chawton House?’ Chris said. ‘Just in case?’
She winked. ‘Being here all the time, Jane’s genius
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