Amusing Miss Austen (Miss Austen #1)

Chapter 1

Steventon, Summer 1796

It stands to reason that if a young lady cavorts with a young man in a barn at midnight, her chemise will be full of hay.

A flurry of pale strands fell as I valiantly shook them out as best I could, kissed him goodbye, and hastened back to the house. Finger-combing still more hay out of my mussy hair, I replaited it before slipping in the side door—the small one we didn’t lock because the key was lost. Our maid, Mary, might notice the odd bit of hay lying about tomorrow. But she was discreet and would sweep it up without commenting to Papa.

Only when I was treading lightly across the floorboards in the upstairs hallway and safely back in my room did I breathe a sigh of relief. I swore to myself that this was the last time I’d see him. But I knew I did not mean it because I loved sneaking out at night to meet with Samuel Green—it was even more thrilling than the cavorting.

** *

‘You need to be more careful, Fliss,’ my sister, Harriet, said the next morning at breakfast. She looked down her shapely nose at me. ‘Aunt drinks two cups of chamomile tea before bed, which means usage of the chamber pot throughout the night and curtain twitching. It’s only a matter of time before she sees you creeping out or back in. She’ll tell Papa immediately, and then you’re done for.’

I paused in buttering my roll. Blast, I hadn’t considered that. Harriet—two years older and sensible, whereas I was impulsive—was correct as usual. Mrs Snelling lived right next door to our house. And the side door I used was in full view of her first-floor bedroom window. We called her ‘Aunt’, but she wasn’t related. She was a neighbour with a strong interest in our upbringing (and also our widowed father).

Nervously, I eyed the dining room door through which Papa could suddenly appear. Indeed, his footsteps sounded forthwith in the passageway, and I said in a low whisper, ‘Yes, all right. But can we not talk about it here?’

Harriet pursed her lips and said nothing further, taking a delicate sip of tea, while I busied myself with the jam. Charles Blackburn, looking spruce in one of his own grey suits, strode into the room. He was a tailor of some merit in the village and employed several apprentices.

‘Morning, Papa,’ we chorused.

‘Morning, girls,’ he replied, seating himself at the table. ‘Ah, good, you’ve started. I’m rather late this morning. Luckily, I don’t have my first customer until ten o’clock.’

‘Are you quite well, Papa?’ asked Harriet with concern. ‘You look tired.’

Indeed, Papa’s ruddy complexion had a distinct pallor.

He rubbed his face distractedly. ‘Yes, thank you, Harriet. Something disturbed me in the early hours of the morning, and I was unable to fall back to sleep.’

‘Perhaps it was a ghost roaming the hallway?’ she offered, and I kicked her ankle smartly under the table. Harriet flinched, drawing her leg underneath the chair, and flashed me an evil grin.

He sighed. ‘Yes, maybe it was, of a sort. Your mother has been on my mind lately. It’s her birthday next week.’

Our collective gaze fell upon the life-size portrait that was occupying pride of place on the wall. Adelaide Blackburn, the beautiful silent member of our family, who was always in attendance at breakfast but who could be trusted not to breathe a word of our conversations. Papa kept her memory alive by telling us stories of how she’d captured his heart with her exuberance, quick wit, and charm. There was no other for him, and he missed her dearly. She plagued his dreams and was often in his thoughts, but most especially for her birthday, their anniversary, and Christmas.

Harriet was pragmatic, fair-haired, and blue-eyed. But I’d inherited my mother’s exuberance, dark hair, and brown eyes; and at times, seeing me reminded Papa acutely of his loss. He’d told me under no circumstances should I feel to blame, but I still did. I had from the time when I was five, when I’d overheard a forthright female relation tell her friend that the time of my mother’s death and the time of my birth were one and the same. ‘Oh, how ghastly for the poor child—to have killed her own mother!’ exclaimed the friend with a gloved hand to her mouth. So from then on, I was haunted by her too—haunted by guilt.

The three of us continued with our respective breakfasts in silence until Mary appeared and bobbed, saying that we had a visitor.

‘We’re in the middle of breakfast, Mary,’ said Papa with a frown. ‘Who is it?’

‘Mrs Snelling, sir. She said she had important news to share.’

Harriet repaid me with a swift kick to my ankle, and I grimaced at her.

‘Of course it’s important,’ said Papa with a sigh. He tolerated Aunt’s penchant for gossip and was always polite to her (but it was perhaps why he hadn’t returned her subtle overtures towards him). ‘Well, you may as well show her in so we can hear her news. Please make a fresh pot of tea and bring another cup.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Mary took up the flowered china teapot and hurried out of the room. I groaned inwardly. This was it, my reckoning. She’d tinkled and seen me and was now going to tell on me to Papa .

We didn’t have long to wait. A light step was heard in the hallway, and in she came. For a woman in her early forties, Prudence Snelling, I had to admit, cut a distinctive figure. A widow of five years, her dress was elegant rather than fashionable; and her features, while not conventionally striking, were expressive. Her sharp eyes, made sharper by her grey-streaked brown hair pulled back tightly in a bun, missed nothing. After greeting Papa with a bow, she turned to Harriet and me and appeared to be in possession of some kind of restless excitement. Mary reappeared with the teapot, and I took it from her.

‘Would you care for some tea, Aunt? It’s freshly made,’ I said, remembering my manners.

‘Thank you, dear, just half a cup. I shan’t stay long,’ she replied. ‘But I’ve just come from the post shop, and I had to tell you immediately. Such news!’

‘Is it to do with the delivery of muslin from London?’ asked Papa, sounding bored already. ‘If so, we already know about that.’

But Aunt, undeterred, put down her cup after a cursory sip and leaned forward, her light-blue eyes sparkling. ‘No, something much more exciting than muslin. Ashbury Manor is let! To a young gentleman from London. He will be taking it up within a few days. I have it on good account that he is wealthy too, five thousand a year.’

‘Five thousand!’ breathed Harriet. ‘Why on earth does he want to live here?’

‘What’s wrong with here?’ I asked, feeling protective of our little patch. ‘Steventon may not be London, but we still have enjoyable diversions, and the air is much fresher.’

‘I just meant there is so much more in the way of entertainment and company ...’

Aunt sniffed. ‘I’m sure that when I visited my sister in London last month, I wished to be gone after a few days. The constant bustle is tiresome. He , no doubt, wishes to experience the peace and tranquillity of the English countryside. However, I believe his family originates from Wales.’

‘Wales! Then we shall have to call him Taffy,’ I quipped. ‘You know, after the rhyme “Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief, Taffy came to my house and stole a leg of beef”.’

Harriet snorted, and even Aunt looked amused.

Papa had remained silent throughout this exchange but now said thoughtfully, ‘I suppose I should pay a visit as soon as he arrives.’

‘For what purpose?’ I asked blithely.

Aunt clicked her tongue. ‘Really, Felicity, for an intelligent young woman, you can be oblivious at times. This is a remarkable opportunity. He would make a fine match for either you or Harriet.’

‘Have you seen him?’ I questioned her.

‘Well, no ... But I’m sure he’s amiable.’

‘For all we know, he may have all manner of ailments,’ I scoffed, folding my arms decisively. ‘I’m not marrying a Welshman with a limp or excessive nose hair!’

Harriet snickered. ‘Me neither!’

Aunt shook her head. ‘Fussy girls! Then, pray, wh o else will you marry? For I have racked my brain, and there is no one I can think of in the village who might be suitable.’

It was on the tip of my tongue to mention Samuel Green , who had reiterated his intention to marry me last night. But I knew Papa would not approve of a farmer’s son with hearty passions, but no money. It was why I was sneaking around at night.

So I said nothing. Perhaps this Welshman would be rich, handsome, and agreeable and fall in love with either me or my sister. Stranger things had happened. They didn’t usually occur in Steventon, but we could all hope for the best.

‘Visit him if you like, Papa. I, for one, should be glad to make his acquaintance,’ I said.

‘Oho, now you change your tune. Was it the five thousand a year that did it?’ teased Papa. I began to protest that it wasn’t about the money, but meeting new people, but he silenced me with his hand.

‘No, no, it’s settled. I’ll visit the day after he arrives. Thank you, Mrs Snelling, for letting us know.’

She inclined her head towards him and looked pleased with herself. A peacock preening its feathers came to mind.

‘I shall visit Jane this morning and see if she’s heard anything. One of her brothers may have met him,’ I ventured to Harriet.

‘Oh yes, do.’

Aunt’s expression tightened. ‘I’m not sure you should spend so much time with Miss Austen. Her father wishes her to concentrate on studying and abstain from frivolity, which tends to happen when you visit.’

I felt a bit affronted at that. ‘I’m not sure what he means. I am always perfectly well behaved.’

‘Hmm,’ said Aunt. ‘May I remind you of the tea-, pie-, and cake-buying incident? ’

Harriet giggled as my cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

A month ago, Jane had dared me to dress in her brother Henry’s clothes and don his hat. The urge to do something outrageous had overcome us, and we’d walked into town arm in arm, and she waited outside while I bought a packet of tea from an unsuspecting shopkeeper. The disguise had worked so well that, buoyed with confidence, I’d bounced into another shop and bought a couple of pork pies, then into another to purchase some cakes. Giggling like mad things, we’d run back to her house with my purchases to devour them in secret. But unfortunately, someone told Mr Austen that Jane had been gallivanting around the village with a young man unchaperoned. He’d questioned her, and the story came out. I’d had to swear on my life to never wear boy’s clothes again before he would allow me to visit her.

‘At least Jane knows how to have fun, unlike some people,’ I muttered under my breath.

***

The Austens lived in a rectory slightly out of town. As the sky threatened rain, I rode over there on our buggy horse, George, whom I’d named after the king. George was apt to get sidetracked and often paid no heed to my commands, so in truth, it took me a longer time than if I’d walked.

When I finally arrived at their flint-and-brick home, the first drops of rain were falling. I left George tied up under a side shelter, happily munching on some grass. Their maid, Amy, showed me in; and Mr Austen poked his head out of his library as I entered and told me Jane was upstairs. He was not unfriendly, but I gladly took my leave, not wanting to be caught up in a conversation that would lead to a sermon. As a respected clergyman and teacher, he did scare me a little; and from what Aunt had said to me at breakfast, I gathered he had been in discussion with her about applying a firmer hand. I had to indeed be more careful as Harriet had warned. Otherwise, I might find myself packed off to Lord knows where to be a governess. It was a sobering thought.

Climbing the stairs, I made my way along the hall to Jane’s ‘parlour’, which she shared with her elder sister, Cassandra. It was in fact an adjoining bedroom that had recently been converted so they had extra space to entertain. The latter was currently visiting their brother Edward and his family in Kent, so she wasn’t present.

I knocked gently and went in to find Jane sitting at the table with her writing slope. She was penning something, a letter I assumed .

She looked up, her bright hazel eyes large in her heart-shaped face, which was prettily framed with curls. ‘Flissy! How lovely to see you!’ she cried, dropping her quill and jumping up to hug me. She was taller than me, so I had to tiptoe. ‘Pooh, you smell of horse! Did you ride over on George?’

‘I did,’ I said, gladly removing my pelisse along with my gloves and bonnet, for the parlour let in the morning sun, and the room was warm. A spare chair became my clothes rack; and I looked around, taking in the brown carpet, painted shelves, and striped curtains. Though scantily furnished, it was a cosy space, and I wished Harriet and I had one like it. But to do so, we would have to share a bed, and I valued my privacy too much for that.

Jane bade me to sit on the sofa. ‘Are you writing to Cassie?’ I asked curiously, watching her blot and slide her paper into the desk. Her letters to her sister were always quite private, though she also wrote to me if the weather was inclement; and I found her epistles witty entertainment indeed, especially during winter, when it was so dull in the village.

‘Yes, I am, but I can finish it later. I was about to have luncheon. Shall I ring for some sandwiches?’ she said, successfully diverting my attention to my stomach.

‘Yes please. ’

After that was arranged, she focused her attention on my visit. ‘So what brings you to my parlour, my pretty?’ She put on a witchy voice and made as if to claw my face, and I laughed, batting her hands away.

‘I wanted to tell you some exciting news. Well, it’s exciting in the face of nothing else going on.’

‘Oooh, do tell.’

‘Ashbury Manor has apparently been let to a young gentleman from London.’

Jane’s expression immediately lost its air of expectation. ‘Oh, that. I knew about that last week.’

‘What? How?’

‘Well, Ashbury’s only a half mile from here. And the road has been busy with carriages and carts with an awful lot of furniture going up to the house, including a grandfather clock, an inlaid sideboard, and some jolly nice rugs ...’ My eyes must’ve glazed over at this point as she continued hastily. ‘Anyway, Father chatted with one of the carriage drivers who’d stopped outside our gate for a smoke, and he quite cheerfully imparted that a Mr Evan Pringle would be taking over the lease.’

My eyebrows rose at this. ‘We didn’t know his name, only that he may originally be from Wales.’

Jane nodded emphatically. ‘Yes, he is, and he has a—’

Our sandwiches and a pot of tea on a tray arrived just then, so there was some delay before she could continue.

‘You were saying?’ I prompted. ‘Please don’t tell me the missing word is “limp”.’

Jane snorted. ‘Limp! No, I was about to say he has a friend who is also to stay with him. By all accounts, wealthy and single too.’

‘Good Lord, two rich eligible gentlemen gracing us with their presence! Let us hope they’re amiable.’ I took a large bite of my ham, tomato, and mustard sandwich, enjoying the tasty flavours. The Austens kept their own sty and vegetable gardens, so the food was always excellent.

‘Of his amiability, I can’t comment,’ said Jane.

‘What is his friend’s name?’

‘I can’t comment on that either because I don’t have it.’

‘Oh, so we only have half a story. We’re going to have to make the rest up!’

‘Well, that’s easily done,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘For a start, I would imagine single men of good fortune must be wanting wives. And Lord knows there are enough unattached women in this village for them to take their pick.’

‘You sound like Aunt. She’s practically frothing at the mouth for Harriet or me to marry one of them.’

‘But I thought you were promised to a certain Mr Green?’ Jane said in a teasing tone.

‘You know that won’t be happening. It’s just frolics.’

‘Tell me the latest about your dalliance. I have space left in my letter, and I need to liven it up since it is so dull. Cassie can cut that bit out after she’s read it, and you know she won’t say anything.’

So I told her, as I always did, because she was interested and she was my trusted friend. Jane had a way of listening with her whole being, absorbed in every word; she was like a cat with catnip when it came to interactions between the sexes. And she always gave excellent advice. For all her sheltered life, she was much wiser in the ways of men than I, probably because she had six brothers.