Page 7 of Visiting Miss Austen (Miss Austen #2)

I desperately wanted to talk to Jane and tell her what had occurred between Mr Hart and myself while she and the others had been in the tea room. But we went straight to bed as she was exhausted and wished to blow out the candle without chatting, so I did not have the heart to insist she prop her eyelids open and listen to me.

But I could not sleep.

My conversation with that gentleman circled around in my head, and I dwelt on the moment he kissed my hand again and again until I had convinced myself I had broken my marriage vows to Max, which distressed me no end.

Eventually, I told myself I was being silly—that one dance with a handsome stranger did not constitute unfaithfulness. And I was sure that Jane would agree (once I told her) that I was overreacting. Indeed, all it showed in truth was that I loved my husband and was missing him.

Feeling much better at having sorted it out in my mind, I slept deeply without dreaming and rose refreshed and ready for the day’s activities.

However, when Jane and I descended for breakfast, we discovered Elizabeth out of sorts because she had a bad headache and Lucinda looking distinctly glum.

Only Edward was in the mood for conversing, and Jane and I were subjected to an in-depth explanation about the electricity treatment he would be receiving for his gout that morning. Apparently, his physician, a certain Dr Fellowes, had not made any objection to it when Edward had suggested that, as well as taking the waters, he undergo this type of treatment .

Having live sparks directed to one’s swollen big toe sounded a little barbaric (and possibly dangerous) to my mind, but I did not like to say anything when Edward was clearly putting a lot of faith in the treatment to ease his painful inflammation .

Jane, on the other hand, was not shy about stating her opinion. ‘I hope it helps, Edward, but perhaps you should not expect too much from it. A restorative diet and abstaining from port will probably do you more good.’

With that being said, Edward was the only one who was making plans to leave the house after breakfast. And as Elizabeth was not well enough to accompany him, he said he would take a sedan chair to the treatment room. He suggested that Jane come along. But she declined, hastily saying she had letters to write, and went upstairs .

Elizabeth retired to her room to lie down with a cool cloth on her forehead, and that left Lucinda and me. My reply to Max’s letter was pressing, and I wanted to write it forthwith. But I needed to convey a light, cheerful tone, and I could not achieve that from sitting inside and looking at Lucinda’s morose expression. No, I needed to walk around outside and get my thoughts in order so I could compose it properly.

The possibility of rousing Lucinda from her slump seemed slim, but I thought I should offer all the same.

‘I might go for a stroll in Queen Square and get some fresh air,’ I said to her. ‘Would you care to join me? It might improve your spirits.’

But the girl looked as though she was more inclined to burst into tears and turned away, biting her lip.

Oh dear, that was evidently the wrong thing to say!

‘Never mind,’ I said hastily. ‘I will be perfectly content walking alone. Perhaps you might like to read in your room instead?’

She let out a sigh (either of frustration or boredom, I could not tell), and off she went upstairs, dragging her feet.

At this point, I could have cheerfully strangled Mr Hart for the emotional upheaval he was causing. Why, Lucinda had been happy enough before she had made his acquaintance! Perhaps all she needed was a day of rest, quiet, and reading; and she would be back to her old self again .

It was with no small measure of relief that I escaped from the house of misery just before ten o’clock and crossed the road wearing my best bonnet and a light shawl (in case I had misjudged the temperature).

But I had not—the day was delightfully warm with nary a breeze and a deep blue sky harbouring high wispy clouds. Queen Square was the right sort of size too for stretching one’s legs, and with its wide gravel pathways, one need not bump elbows with fellow strollers who were also taking the air.

I did several turns around the outside of the park, all the while composing a humorous epistle to Max. I decided I would only briefly mention that we’d had an encounter with an ‘appalling scoundrel’. But I would be quick to reassure him that we had survived the ordeal, thanks to being forewarned, and that Lucinda’s virtue was safe. Hopefully, it would show him that I was taking my chaperone duties seriously as well as make him laugh. Smiling to myself, I hurried back to the house to put quill to paper.

The grandfather clock in the hall was chiming eleven when I re-entered. As I had been wandering around outside for nearly an hour, I wasn’t surprised to see Edward had now returned and was reclining on the sofa in the drawing room with his newly bandaged foot propped on a pillow. Elizabeth must be resting still, and the other two are upstairs , I thought.

‘Hello,’ I said, removing my bonnet and flopping down on the other sofa. ‘How was the treatment?’

Edward grimaced. ‘Not pleasant, I have to say. But I think it has helped as the pain has eased some.’

‘That’s good!’

‘Yes, and thankfully, I do not have to go again for another week.’

I thought I would leave him in peace and see if Jane had finished with the table upstairs so I could write my letter. But our room was empty, and so was Lucinda’s.

That was most odd. Where were they?

Perplexed, I ran back down to Edward, who was reading his library book. ‘Forgive me for disturbing you. But have Jane and Lucinda gone out? They are not upstairs.’

He lowered his book. ‘Are they not? How strange. Elizabeth is not in her room either. I assumed she felt well enough to venture to Milsom Street. Perhaps they are all looking at hats as we speak?’

‘But Elizabeth bought a hat only yesterday.’ And I did not think Jane would be lured out by the milliner’s alone. They must have gone to the library again. But why did they not stop by the park and collect me?

‘Mrs Bromley may know where they are,’ said Edward, returning to his book. ‘I’m sure they haven’t gone far.’

I went off in search of the housekeeper down the narrow hallway, which led through to the kitchen. The cook was whisking something lumpy on the Aga, and when I enquired, she indicated the door with a frown and said Mrs Bromley was in the garden.

Indeed, the housekeeper was arranging a couple of dripping cream-coloured chemises on a washing line that had been strung up between two trees.

‘Mrs Bromley? Sorry to disturb you ...’ I said from the doorway.

She turned and saw me watching her. Her cheeks coloured a little, and I guessed it was her personal undergarments on display, not those of Elizabeth. ‘I was just taking the chance to get these washed while the weather’s fine,’ she said, sounding defensive. ‘I will get to the other laundry presently.’

‘I did not come about the laundry,’ I said.

‘Oh ... Well, how can I help you, Mrs Fitzroy?’

‘Do you know where everyone is? There is only Edward in the house, and no plans were made to go out during breakfast.’

Mrs Bromley’s shoulders relaxed.

‘Why, yes, a gentleman came calling. I let him in myself. I am not sure of the exact conversation that took place in the drawing room. But afterwards, Mrs Austen came out to see me and said they were going out, so they would not need luncheon. And then there was a mad rush for the ladies to don their gloves, pelisses, and such. Then they piled into the gentleman’s carriage and took off at a great rate of knots. That’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid.’

I blinked. What on earth?

‘This young gentleman, what did he look like?’ I enquired breathlessly.

Mrs Bromley sniffed and continued pegging her chemises.

‘I am not in the business of describing gentlemen. But if you want to know, he was taller than most and had dark-brown hair.’

‘And a mole under his left eye?’

She considered. ‘I cannot say for sure, perhaps. But mole or no mole, he caused a disturbance. Cook had started preparing luncheon and is most put out.’

I thanked Mrs Bromley and, leaving her to her washing, went back inside, feeling as disgruntled as the cook. There was no other conclusion but that it was Mr Hart who had called. But what had possessed Elizabeth (who had been nursing a headache!) and Jane (who was good sense itself!) to go off with him in his carriage?

It was a mystery that could not be solved until they returned. So I had to be patient, a trait that was not my strong point. Fortunately, I had my letter to Max to keep me occupied; and then Edward and I ate a luncheon of ham, cheese, and bread. Mrs Bromley was most apologetic as to the meagre fare but said that what had been planned for luncheon was now going to be supper due to the ‘exceptional circumstances’ of that morning. Edward remained as puzzled as I as to these ‘exceptional circumstances’ and where everyone was.

After luncheon had been cleared away, Edward went off to have a nap, and I was left to pace about in the drawing room and look out the window. At long last, a shiny black carriage drew up outside the house, and three ladies popped out. The carriage then raced off and did not linger.

Finally, they were back!

The front door opened, and the sound of excited chatter reached my ears as they removed their bonnets. Still feeling mightily put out that I had been excluded from this impromptu outing, I continued looking out the window but was unseeing of anything.

When they all came into the drawing room with smiles on their faces, I turned and said frostily, ‘Hello. Have you all had a nice time?’

Jane knew me well enough to detect when I was annoyed and immediately came over .

She rubbed my poker-stiff shoulders briskly and said, ‘Let us sit down, and we will explain everything.’

Reluctantly, I let her lead me to the sofa, and they all settled themselves next to me. Elizabeth looked well again, and Lucinda’s cheeks were high in colour. Her gloominess from this morning had definitely dissipated.

‘What happened to make you all go off like that? I came back from my walk, and no one was here but Edward,’ I said peevishly.

Jane glanced at Elizabeth. ‘I told you we should have done a loop around the park and picked her up.’

Elizabeth patted my arm briefly. ‘We are so sorry, Felicity, but it all happened in such a rush. Mr Hart called on us!’

‘I learned that from interrogating Mrs Bromley,’ I said dryly. ‘Go on.’

‘Well, of course, no one was expecting him to call. I was indisposed, so Lucinda and Jane received him in here.’

‘He said he was on his way to Sally Lunn’s to meet his friend Mr Smith-Withers for luncheon and asked if we wished to join them,’ piped up Lucinda .

‘Lucy instantly said yes before I could stop her,’ said Jane with a laugh. ‘She ran into the hallway and was putting on her pelisse and bonnet before I knew it.’

‘Lucy!’ I said, shocked at her wilfulness .

‘I am sorry, Aunty Fliss. I was just so happy that he had called. It was an impulsive, but kind gesture as he was passing by and thought we might like the outing.’

She gave me a downcast look, but her countenance did not seem that contrite .

‘Of course, I could not let her go alone with him,’ murmured Jane. ‘Especially as he was meeting his friend. So I roused Elizabeth and explained the situation of there being two unmarried gentlemen—’

‘Suffice to say, I had to play chaperone despite still having my headache,’ interrupted Elizabeth. ‘It was most inconvenient. But surprisingly, the outing has done me the world of good. After a cup of tea and a bun and an interesting conversation, I feel much better.’

‘I am glad to hear it,’ I said flatly, wondering what this ‘interesting conversation’ entailed. ‘So why was there not time to wait for me?’

‘He was in a hurry to meet his friend,’ explained Elizabeth. ‘And we did not know exactly where you were. We did look over at the park, but we couldn’t see you walking back. And Mr Hart kept taking out his watch and glancing at it, so ...’

Humph , I thought. But I could imagine them all peering out the window worriedly to see where I was and, I supposed, mentioning me to Mr Hart. So I was not really forgotten .

‘We missed you, of course,’ Lucinda confirmed. ‘And Mr Har t sends you his regards.’ She thrust a box at me. ‘He said he was sorry you had not been there when he called and bought you a bun.’

He bought me a bun? I opened the box to see an innocuous-looking brown bun sitting there.

‘Well,’ I said, slightly mollified by the explanation and the bun gift.

‘He was going to buy Edward one too, but Aunt Elizabeth said he wasn’t allowed sugar,’ said Lucinda.

The bun had been cut in half, and each side was slathered in melted cinnamon butter. When I took a bite, it was still warm and tasted delicious.

‘So you all had tea and buns with Mr Hart and Mr Smith-Withers and then came home?’ I asked, taking another bite of my bun and leaning back on the sofa, now feeling more inclined to hear the rest of the story.

‘Yes, he dropped us off but could not come in as he had another appointment,’ relayed Jane.

The fact that they were all very well disposed to Mr Hart had not escaped my notice. It was as if he had waved a magic wand over them, and now they could not think highly enough of him. It couldn’t have been the Sally Lunn buns that had sweetened them up, surely ?

‘And did you learn any new information about the gentleman?’ I asked Jane and Elizabeth. ‘Last night, we were all convinced he was a rake and shouldn’t be let within two feet of Lucinda. Now here you both are, singing his praises!’

‘Yes. Well, some things came to light when we were at the tea room,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I do not usually go back on my first opinion of people, having extremely good instincts, you understand. But in this case, I was so very wrong ...’

I looked enquiringly at Jane since Elizabeth seemed disinclined to say more.

‘It appears our Mr Hart is not a rake but has been wrongly accused of being one by Mrs Spencer,’ she said. ‘Cecilia and Mr Hart were in fact very much in love ... and were cruelly separated.’ Jane gave a sorrowful sigh.

‘ In love ?’ I said, startled. ‘Are you sure? Did Mr Hart tell you this?’

‘Yes,’ replied Lucinda, joining in the conversation. ‘And before you say anything, it was a subject that was not prompted by us. Indeed, it was his friend Mr Smith-Withers who commented that Mr Hart was looking much jollier today.

‘I asked him, “Why should he not be jolly?” And he told us that his friend had had his heart broken some months back. Cecilia the girl’s name was, and he had been about to propose but had been thwarted.’

‘Of course, we all wanted to know what had happened,’ said Jane, taking up the story. ‘But Mr Hart did not reply. He just sat there, eating his bun and sipping his tea. He left it up to his friend to convey the sorry tale.’

She went on to say that Mr Smith-Withers, with sympathetic glances at his friend, had told them Mr Hart had called on Cecilia for Sunday luncheon. Mrs Spencer had left them alone for a minute to speak to the cook about the gravy. ‘And when she came back, she had caught them kissing.’ Jane lowered her voice dramatically. ‘He was thrown out of the house and barred from seeing Cecilia ever again.’

‘This must be the conduct that Mrs Spencer had deemed “very bad”,’ I mused. ‘Did his friend say anything else?’

‘Only that Mr Hart had been in despair and kept writing to her, but to no avail. He never received any reply. Her parents must have been confiscating his letters.’

‘Gracious!’ I said, feeling sorry for the man. ‘What is a quick kiss if two people are in love? Mrs Spencer must be a very religious mama.’

Lucy nodded. ‘Yes, Mr Smith-Withers said both parents are evangelical Anglicans and are bringing their daughters up to conform to the doctrine. I did not know exactly what that entails. But Mr Smith-Withers said it meant that they are deeply pious, so probably even holding hands would have had the same reaction.’

‘It sounds like he would have had no hope in making a match with her then,’ I remarked, thinking of how Mr Hart had taken liberties with my own hand. It had been a bit shocking even for me, and I was only slightly religious.

‘No, her parents would never have agreed to it,’ said Elizabeth, shaking her head sadly. ‘It all makes so much more sense now. Poor Mr Hart has been hard done by. The way that woman was gripping my arm and talking so to me.’ She shuddered. ‘I should have known it was nothing but religious fervour. I am sorry, Lucy, that your dear Mr Hart has been through such heartache in the pursuit of true love.’

I raised my eyebrows. Now it was dear Mr Hart! Having not been privy to their conversation and even though the bun he had purchased for me was very tasty, I was able to maintain some semblance of objectivity on the matter. But how could I remain steadfast in thinking he was a rake when everyone else was now convinced he was not? Surely, it was safe for me to change my opinion of him too?

‘And as the trouble happened last Season, he is now well over it, after having written many angsty love poems,’ continued Jane eagerly.

‘Oh, so he is a poet?’

‘Apparently.’

I knew how much she liked romantic poetry, so this was another feather in his cap.

‘Perhaps you can ask if he is willing to share them to see if they are of merit? He may be a budding John Donne.’

‘I did ask, but he said they were awful and actually no longer exist as he flung them into the fire on New Year’s Eve.’

‘How cathartic,’ I said deadpan, and Jane gave a huff of laughter.

Lucinda pursed her lips. ‘We should not make fun of his pain.’

‘Yes. Sorry, dearest. I should not have been flippant. So I suppose he is casting about for a new muse now that his heart has quite healed?’

Lucinda fidgeted with the charms on her bracelet. ‘Perhaps. He did say he was feeling quite inspired after our meeting at the ball and had gone home and jotted down some lines.’

My lips twitched at the thought of this, but I could not make jokes—it would be tantamount to teasing a sweet child. And I could not blame her for being enthusiastic about a potential suitor. I remembered all too well how my encounters with Max had fired me up. But luckily for me, that had led to love and marriage—would it do so in the case of Mr Hart? Only time would tell.

As we were finishing our conversation, there was a knock on the door, and Mrs Bromley poked her head in. ‘Oh, you are all back. Good. And having buns, I see.’ She glanced at the box on my lap.

‘I’m off to the post. Are there any more to go?’ She held up the letter that Jane had written to Cassie this morning and the one I had written to Max. The story of last night was all in there. I had told Max in brief (but light-hearted) detail about how we had survived our meeting with an ‘appalling scoundrel’ and that we would take care to avoid him in future.

Should I rip it up? Because we had not avoided him—he had turned up again and was apparently not a scoundrel after all.

But I did not say anything, for I did not want to arouse curiosity about what I had written. Perhaps Mr Hart’s bun outing was a subject best left for my next letter .