Page 2 of Visiting Miss Austen (Miss Austen #2)

Two weeks later, I was in a carriage barrelling down the road towards Steventon. Outside, the day was bright and sunny, and we were making good time. Inside the carriage, everything was not quite as cheery. There had been a slight hitch in the Bath plan—Lucinda was with me. The girl had been apologising nonstop and had ceased only when we paused at Leicester for luncheon. But she started up as soon as we set off again.

‘I am so sorry, Aunty Fliss. Mama is awfully persuasive when she wants something, and only Papa can stand up to her, and sometimes not even him.’

‘It is perfectly fine,’ I said for the umpteenth time, trying to keep my patience in the swaying carriage—travelling so fast always made me feel nauseous, but our footman wished to make haste while the roads were dry and the weather clear .

‘But I hate to be a burden,’ replied Lucinda tearfully.

‘Do not fret,’ I said, closing my eyes and tightening my grip on the door handle as we rounded a sharp bend. ‘It is done. You are here, and we will make the best of it. ’

‘We will make the best of it’ was actually borrowed from Jane’s most recent letter. She’d written a hasty reply when I’d informed her that Lucinda was coming too as her mother had emotionally blackmailed me.

To give her credit, Seraphina had argued her point eloquently and with heartfelt emotion. ‘There is’, she had said, having cornered me in the parlour the week before I left, ‘simply no one suitable in York for Lucy to marry. I have exhausted all the available options—there is a Mr Fothergill, whom she quite likes. But he is approaching thirty and has the most terrible buck teeth. I do not want my grandchildren inheriting that particular feature.’ She shuddered. ‘Lucy needs to widen her circle and make new acquaintances. London would be best, but I cannot be spared with four other children at home needing their mother, so you must take her to Bath while the Season is still in session.’

I was surprised that she’d assumed Lucinda could join us that easily. ‘But the accommodation has been booked by Jane’s brother. I cannot very well turn up with Lucy in tow for that length of time as I myself am a tagalong. Besides, it is an extra expense that they would have to incur— ’

‘Well, then you must quickly write to Jane and tell her that your niece is accompanying you and that her relations need not worry as they will be paid handsomely for her stay.’

I gulped. That sounded remarkably forward.

‘I do not think I can.’

Seraphina shook her head at me and tsked .

‘Come now, Felicity. Think of Lucy. Would you have her marry someone unsuitable? Someone with buck teeth ?’

‘Well, if she likes him—’

‘No, I have decided. She must go to Bath. It is teeming with eligible young men.’

I raised an eyebrow at that, wondering from where or whom she had obtained her information. Bath was indeed a lively city, but I was not sure that the young men who visited it had marriage on their minds.

‘What if there is not enough room?’

Seraphina waved a hand airily. ‘Oh, there is no need to cause any fuss. Lucy is small and slim and can make do with a child’s cot or a roomy cupboard if there is no cot.’

I had almost laughed out loud at that! Poor Lucinda, being forced to sleep on a cot or shoved into a cupboard!

When I’d told Max about Seraphina’s interference, I was confident he’d side with me. But he’d said it was a good idea as I would have company on the journey down and added that Lucy was a good girl and wouldn’t be any bother. She’d probably have her nose in a book for most of the time.

Fortunately, Jane’s reply about the business had been reassuring. She had told me not to worry and that friends often turned up unexpectedly when these sorts of trips were arranged, so Edward tended to book accommodation with more rooms than were strictly necessary. She’d also informed me that Elizabeth was known for saying ‘the more the merrier!’ whenever someone was to join their party. So they would not mind if Lucinda came with me. She’d ended her note with ‘We will make the best of it!’, which I had been saying to myself as a sort of mantra. Somehow, thanks to Seraphina, my carefree escape had morphed into chaperoning my niece and finding her a husband .

And I’d severely underestimated quite how much I would miss my own. My heart had begun to ache quite palpably at the thought of not seeing Max tonight or the next night or the night after that, and I’d only kissed him goodbye this morning !

We had several days of travel before we reached Steventon, where we would spend a few days at Papa’s to break up the journey. Lucinda and I would then continue on to Bath via stagecoach, which would take another day, depending on the weather. It had been dry as a bone up until now, so I had high hopes of reaching Bath speedily .

Jane had already left home with her relations and was no doubt settling into the apartment in Queen Square plus scoping out the social scene. I wondered what juicy gossip she would have to impart when we arrived.

** *

We reached Steventon late in the afternoon on the fourth day. Our footman had deposited us in Oxford, and we had caught a stagecoach from there. When we arrived at my house after a short walk from town with our carpet bags, the sun was dipping in the sky, and the shadows were lengthening in the lanes .

As soon as I unlatched the front gate, Papa immediately flung open the door (he had been watching for me) and strode outside. He was dressed smartly in a fawn suit with a matching waistcoat and white linen shirt .

‘Welcome home, my dear.’ Papa’s smiling countenance was familiar, but also not, and I stared in shock—he had grown a dapper moustache! But it looked well on him, and so overcome was I at seeing him after all this time that I couldn’t help bursting into tears .

Papa enveloped me into a firm hug as he teased, ‘What’s all these tears for ... hmm? Is it that terrible to see me?’ Then he kindly lent me his handkerchief, and I mopped my cheeks .

‘Who’s this you’ve brought with you?’ he asked, and I turned to see Lucinda by the gate, quietly waiting to be introduced. I had forgotten all about her !

‘Papa, this is Lucinda Fitzroy, my niece who is accompanying me to Bath. Lucinda, my father, Mr Blackburn.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Blackburn,’ said Lucinda, giving him a little curtsy .

‘Pleased to meet you too, Lucinda,’ he said, nodding and smiling at her.

‘Oh, do call me Lucy. Everyone at home does,’ she replied, a faint blush colouring her porcelain cheeks.

She really is a lovely young woman , I thought. And patient too, having had to listen to me complaining nonstop about my aching bones yesterday.

‘Very well. And you must call me Uncle Charles or Uncle, if you prefer. Mr Blackburn is much too formal since we are all family now.’

Lucinda smiled and bobbed again.

‘Come in, come in. Both of you must be tired and hungry,’ said Papa, taking up our bags .

‘Exhausted!’ I replied. ‘We stayed in a sketchy coaching inn last night with awful damp sheets. I was sure I felt bugs crawling over my legs during the night. I didn’t sleep a wink.’

Papa laughed. ‘Well, you’ll find no bugs here. Mary has spring-cleaned your room ready for you.’

‘Dear Mary! And Sue, is she still here?’

‘Yes, she is preparing a special welcome-home supper for you. ’

My mouth started watering at the thought of our cook’s tasty treats, and my stomach gurgled loudly, making Lucinda giggle.

Yes, it was definitely time for supper!

***

It was strange seeing my old room sparsely furnished with only the bed, dresser, and a rug. My clothes, books, and other personal effects had been sent to Derbyshire after the wedding. Being in here brought back a flood of nostalgia, memories of when Harriet and I were single and dreaming about finding handsome husbands of good fortune—little did we know our dreams would come true! I had a sudden pang of nostalgia remembering our night-time chats. Wonderful, now I was missing my sister as well as Max! I would endeavour to find time to write them both when I was in Bath .

Supper was served as soon as we had changed into fresh dresses, washed our hands and faces, and tidied our hair. Our travelling trunks were stored at the stagecoach office in town, so we had only what we needed in the way of clothing and accessories for a two-day stay .

‘I trust Harriet’s room is to your liking, Lucy?’ asked Papa when we were seated and starting on the soup course.

‘It is very comfortable. Thank you, Uncle.’ I smiled at hearing her call him so.

Papa and Lucinda chatted away politely about various things, but I was hungry and concentrated my attention on the corned beef and vegetable broth, which was saltily delicious.

I had just finished my last mouthful when there was a bustle at the door, and Aunt Snelling appeared, beaming. ‘Felicity, welcome home!’

‘Aunt! How are you?’

I rose to greet her with a kiss and a hug, and she sank down next to me in a flurry of purple silk and patchouli. Aunt’s timing was impeccable—she always arrived after the soup, but before the main course, which Papa would urge her to partake in.

‘I’m very well. Thank you, my dear.’ Her sharp eyes landed on my empty soup plate and then upon Lucinda, who was still eating hers with dainty mouthfuls .

‘This is my niece, Lucinda, or Lucy, as she prefers,’ I said, nodding across to her. ‘She is accompanying me to Bath. It was a last-minute arrangement,’ I added when Aunt raised her eyebrows.

‘Nice to meet you Mrs ... uh ...’ said Lucinda, not knowing who she was.

‘Mrs Snelling. I live next door, but you can call me Aunt, if you like, as the girls do.’

She glanced at Papa, and a look passed between them that I could not fathom. Apart from nodding to her when she had come into the room, he had not spoken .

It was then that I noticed Mama’s portrait was not in its usual spot on the wall. First Papa growing a moustache, now Mama’s portrait being moved ... What was going on?

‘Where’s Mama?’ I asked, feeling a bit shocked.

Papa lowered his soup spoon. ‘She’s in the parlour,’ he said, not meeting my eyes .

‘Is she poorly?’ enquired Lucinda. ‘Is that why she does not join us for supper? ’

There was an awkward silence. I didn’t speak about Mama around Max’s family, and as they had not attended our hastily arranged wedding, Lucinda was clueless about her.

‘My mother is ... not with us anymore,’ I said. ‘I was referring to her portrait, which has always hung in the dining room for as long as I can remember.’ I gave Papa an accusing look.

‘It wasn’t your father’s idea. It was mine,’ said Aunt. ‘So you can blame me. I suggested she might be more comfortable there, just for a change.’

‘Prudence,’ said Papa, shaking his head at her.

Another shock wave passed through me. He had never, in all the time I had known Aunt, called her by her first name .

‘I see,’ I said, wondering if Harriet knew about all these goings-on. If she did, she had not written to me about them. Then again, she was busy with Evie, who was starting to crawl.

Mary came to serve us our main course. So I was distracted by slices of glazed ham, asparagus swimming in lemon butter, and minted new potatoes and did not comment further.

Aunt seemed to detect I was thinking about Harriet in that intuitive way of hers, and she changed the subject neatly. ‘Felicity, did you know that Harriet and Evan are staying at Ashbury Manor next month?’

‘Yes, she did mention it, but I had not heard that things were confirmed. So they are definitely coming?’

Aunt nodded. ‘Yes, you could visit them when you return from Bath perhaps? You haven’t seen much of Evie, have you?’

It was true, but I wasn’t good with babies—even ones that were related. ‘I could, I suppose, though I do not want to be in the way.’ Or have to change nappies or babysi t ...

‘Oh, they have a nanny now,’ said Aunt approvingly. ‘So you wouldn’t be.’

I ate the rest of my ham silently, trying not to feel irritated. Not only had I been coerced into chaperoning one niece, but now it was being suggested I spend time with another who was barely out of her cradle and did not care who I was.

Why did I have to? I supposed it was because I was a woman, and women were meant to have maternal instincts. But I did not, and that made me selfish and strange in society’s eyes.

I was still mulling over these thoughts when we turned in for the night. Mary had placed a bed warmer between my sheets some hours ago, and I stuck my cold feet on it to thaw them out. Max was my usual source of heat, but in his absence, I would have to make do with a copper pan .

It had been lovely to dine with Papa and Aunt, like old times. But when we retired to the parlour and I spied Mama’s portrait hanging in its new position above the pianoforte, I could not help but feel disconcerted that there were changes happening beyond my control. If I had been living here, would Papa have grown a moustache and consented to Mama’s portrait being moved? I think not!

Another thing I was pondering was Aunt’s parting remark in the hallway when I saw her out. ‘Enjoy your time in Bath, Felicity,’ she had said, pulling on her gloves. ‘But stay vigilant where Lucinda is concerned.’

‘What do you mean? ’

‘I mean, as her chaperone, you will need to make sure she is not led astray. She is too young and impressionable to be going to such a place. ’

I felt like saying, ‘It’s only Bath, not Sodom and Gomorrah.’ But I held my tongue.

‘I will do my best, Aunt,’ I said dutifully.

She shook her head. ‘Pray, what is her mother thinking, sending her there?’

‘She wants her to find a husband.’

‘Yes, but what kind of husband will she find?’

‘A fun one?’

Aunt had tutted, but I didn’t think I should be too concerned about Lucinda attracting the wrong kind of man. As Max had said, she was a good girl—a quiet bookworm with too much good sense to be ‘led astray’.