by Syrie James
“Sir Brook!” commanded Lady Bridges. “You promised these children a tour of the gardens.”
“Forgive me, boys.” Sir Brook reluctantly put down his cue. “I trust you can find a way to play on without me.”
Edward Taylor bowed; as he glanced in my direction, I perceived a smile. Was it meant for me? As I turned to follow my group across the hall, the memory of that smile and those beautiful dark eyes made my heart beat like a drum, and I looked forward to the time, later that evening, when I knew I should see him again.
Chapter the Sixth
The park that you see before you used to be formal gardens, in that old, traditional style,” said Lady Bridges as we crossed the great lawn behind the house. “I insisted that Sir Brook tear it out as soon as we took possession.”
“It was a pretty thing,” said Sir Brook with a regretful sigh. “It put one in the mind of Versailles.”
“Precisely why we were obliged to do away with it! It was so out of fashion,” cried Lady Bridges. “I could not bear all those paths which crossed back and forth, or the tightly manicured flower-beds, with the trees and shrubs sculpted into unnatural shapes.”
“Our re-landscaped park is ever so much more stylish and picturesque,” agreed Elizabeth.
“I am sure it is a pleasant place to walk on a fine morning,” enthused I, appreciating the natural look of the landscape, which I favoured; yet I could not help but feel a pang for the poor, departed, formal gardens, which had no doubt required great effort and expense to design and install, and whose inhabitants, due to the whims of a changing taste, had met with such an untimely end.
As we followed a curving path to another part of the grounds, Lady Bridges described with pride every plant and shrub along the way. We passed through a wooden gate in an ivy-covered wall, and to my delight emerged into a large, enclosed garden, in which a verdant lawn was bordered by a riot of colourful flowers. Through a distant opening in the high brick walls I perceived the entrance to another garden, and beyond that, yet another; farther on stood the graceful stone tower of the church.
“This is the first of three walled gardens, each of which leads into the other,” explained Lady Bridges. “We have an excellent fruit orchard—quite the best fruit-trees in the country!—and our strawberry beds are superior to anybody’s in the kingdom, and celebrated for their variety and quality. The flower garden dates back to Elizabethan times, and the wisteria and roses are remarkable, for they are imported from the Far East.”
I wondered what made roses from the Far East particularly remarkable; did they emit a more potent fragrance than roses native to our country, or did they come in a different size or hue? I was saved from posing any such impertinent questions by Sir Brook’s experiencing a sudden coughing fit. Lady Bridges insisted that we retrace our steps in the direction of the house, where our hosts said they would rest before dinner. As they disappeared within, Marianne made a reappearance, and we ladies decided to take a turn in the park.
“We are so glad to have this interval to speak to you on our own,” remarked Sophia, as we crossed the expanse of lawn towards the woods, “for soon the house will be full of people.”
“We heard that your mother has a great many events planned,” said I.
“She does, indeed,” responded Marianne. “Monday is our annual strawberry-picking party, which will include an al-fresco luncheon and lawn games. All the Paylers will be here for that and everything else, as well as our neighbours the Fieldings, and Mr. Cage—Fanny’s intended—is due to arrive that morning with a friend.”
“After that,” added Elizabeth, “is our engagement ball. Edward is to wear his blue coat—he looks so handsome in it—and my new gown is so becoming, just wait until you see it!”
“There is to be a sketching and painting contest,” said Sophia, “a cricket match, horse-races, carriage rides, a dinner-party at a neighbour’s house, a concert—there is something else, I have forgotten what—and a Midsummer’s Eve bonfire.”
To have all these thrilling events before me, was a truly wonderful prospect. “It all sounds tremendous.”
“I only hope that in between, we can find a moment to ourselves,” said Sophia. “You must tell us what you particularly like to do.”
“Do you ride?” asked Elizabeth.
“We did when we were younger,” admitted I, “but Cassandra and I never became very adept.”
“What about drawing and painting?” asked Marianne.
“My previous attempts at art were dreadful,” responded I, “but that is Cassandra’s area of expertise. Her water-colour portraits are quite true to life.”
Cassandra blushed. “If you are such a proponent of my art, Jane, why do you never allow me to draw your portrait?”
“It is no mark against your skill, dearest; it is only that I cannot abide the thought of looking at myself hanging on a wall.”
“I hope you win the drawing and painting contest, Cassandra,” cried Sophia, smiling. “It will throw my mother’s plans into complete disarray.”
“Mamma considers all her children to be prodigies,” added Marianne. “It is why she is holding the contest, we are certain—because she feels one of us will take the prize. So please do your best work and shew her what you are made of.”
We all laughed congenially.
“What are your interests and occupations, Jane?” inquired Sophia as we walked on, enjoying the open expanse of the pleasure grounds.
I thought for a moment. I had many interests; it was hard to know where to begin. “Well,” answered I hesitantly, “although I know that some consider it to be the lowest and most coarse form of behaviour—I love to read—novels.”
Sophia gave a little gasp. “Marianne and I both love to read, and novels most especially!”
“Do you?” said I, delighted.
“My father has an excellent library, and we borrow what we cannot buy,” said Cassandra.
We began going over the titles of our favourite novels. After some minutes thus engaged, Elizabeth said:
“Forgive me, but I know nothing of books. I do not wish to take away from your conversation, so I will leave you and return to the house. Please enjoy the rest of your walk.”
We curtseyed, and Elizabeth departed.
“No one else in our family shares our enthusiasm for literature.” Sophia sighed. “It is delightful to be able to converse on this topic with you.”
As we continued our stroll, our shared admiration of the works of Henry Fielding (Tom Jones), Jonathan Swift (Gulliver’s Travels), Goethe (The Sorrows of Young Werther), and Fanny Burney was brought to light.
“Evelina is one of my favourites,” said Sophia, to which Cassandra and I offered our assent.
“I believe Cecilia is the best book I have ever read,” said I. “Fanny Burney is a genius. I am captivated by her depiction of characters like Mrs. Delville, who are not perfect, but neither are they wholly good nor evil—they possess both noble qualities and incurable defects—as such, they seem to me more true to life than any I have read in novels elsewhere.”
Sophia’s eyes widened. “What a fine assessment of Miss Burney’s literature. I never thought of that before.”
I wanted to add that it was my dearest hope to write something equally fine one day; but my own efforts were so unworthy, and the dream so unattainable, that I could not voice it aloud.
Marianne soon grew weary (I recalled Mrs. Knight describing her as being something of an invalid), so we returned to the house. As we approached the grand edifice, Cassandra asked, “Should we change our gowns for dinner to-night?”
“No; you are to be our only guests,” replied Sophia. “That is—you and Edward Taylor and his cousin Thomas.”
“Is it true that Edward Taylor is your cousin?” said I.
“He is. His father is a very distant cousin of our father’s,”
answered Sophia. “We are told the connection goes back a hundred and fifty years, to the time of King Charles I.”
“That is a very distant cousin indeed!” laughed Cassandra.
“How old is Mr. Taylor?” asked I.
“He is sixteen,” answered Marianne, “although he will turn seventeen later this month.”
I could not stop my smile. Edward Taylor was exactly eighteen months my senior—the perfect age, I thought, for me.
“We have not had much opportunity to get to know each other,” added Sophia. “We used to play together as children—he was the sweetest little boy—but when he and his brothers and sisters were very small, his family emigrated to the Continent. They have been gone ever since, other than one annum about two years past, when they returned to Bifrons to check on their property.”
“The Taylors have lived abroad all that time?” said I, astonished.
“Yes, and there the family still remains; it is only Edward who has come home for good.”
I wanted to ask why it was only Edward who had come home, but the opportunity was lost, for we had reached the house now, and as Sophia led the way up the main staircase, she went on:
“As far as we—and Papa—are concerned, Edward Taylor is a member of our family. Papa insisted that he and the Paylers, with whom he is residing, be included in all our festivities this month, and we are so glad.”
Boldly, I asked: “Does your mother share his enthusiasm for Mr. Taylor?”
Sophia hesitated; then, catching some understanding in my tone and expression, she replied in a lowered tone: “I think you have guessed that she does not.”
“Why not? He seems very amiable to me.”
“Oh! He is,” replied Marianne. “We love Edward Taylor. But Mamma disapproves of the way he was brought up, travelling all over the Continent as he has done since he was five years old. She considers him a little too wild, a great deal too foreign, and worst of all (and I do not agree), pompous and overly-educated.”
“Mamma’s favourite saying,” added Sophia with a sigh, “is: a little bit of learning goes a long way at Goodnestone. I think she fears that, with Edward’s wealth of knowledge, experience of the world, and many accomplishments, her own children will somehow appear to disadvantage—and of course we do not care a fig about that!”
We were now arrived upstairs, and all separated to our respective chambers to get ready for the evening—an event which I eagerly anticipated, as it meant I would have the opportunity to see more of Edward Taylor, who grew more fascinating with every moment.
Chapter the Seventh
From the moment of our arrival at Goodnestone, Charles and Brook Edward had become inseparable, and it did my heart good to see my brother so happily engaged. After seeing to it that my brother was comfortably settled in the room he shared with his new friend, Cassandra and I removed to our own chamber to unpack our trunks and prepare our toilette for dinner.
Lady Bridges offered to send one of her daughters’ maids to assist us, an indulgence we gracefully declined, preferring to spend a few moments alone together; and we got ready as we usually did.
“The Bridgeses seem to me a delightful family,” said Cassandra as she sat at the dressing-table while I helped re-arrange her hair.
“I prefer Sophia, Marianne, and Sir Bridges to anyone else in the household.”
“It is too early to pass such a judgement, Jane. We have only just arrived.”
“Three weeks more will make no difference in my impressions of them. It was plain to see who and what they all were upon our first introduction. Sophia and Marianne are bright and compassionate. Sir Bridges is a congenial, admirable man in failing health, who finds his wife extremely irritating. Lady Bridges is a proud woman who places too much emphasis on appearances and social standing—”
“Jane!”
“Fanny seems to be a self-centered snob. Elizabeth is only one step removed from such self-importance by her love of our brother—”
“Jane, enough! You are too harsh. All the Bridgeses have very interesting qualities.”
Having finished with my sister’s hair, we changed places, and she set to work tidying mine. “Interesting,” said I, “is a term I reserve to describe people or things so dull or ordinary, that I can find no more promising attribution.”
“I use it to describe things I like; and I like them all very much.”
“You like everybody, dearest; it is perhaps your finest quality, and one which I can never hope to emulate.” I sighed. “If only I could be as good as you, I would be truly content.”
“You are very good, Jane; a better person than you know, and I am proud to call you sister.”
Our gazes caught in the looking-glass. I repeated the sentiment, and we exchanged a smile of deep affection.
“I hope,” said Cassandra, “at dinner, you will be a bit more gracious to Lady Bridges, with no more ironic inquiries about bridges. I fear she does not possess our sense of humour.”
“I fear you are right,” replied I with a laugh. “Hereafter, I shall endeavour to follow Mamma’s advice, and think before I speak.”
The house was alive with the laughter of children as the family gathered for dinner. The moment we entered the drawing-room, my brother Edward moved to Elizabeth’s side, and the two fell into the quiet, affectionate tête-à-tête peculiar to lovers. Fanny and Sophia were apprehended by their mother, whose opinions she sought with regard to changes in the menu for the al-fresco party to be held a few days hence.
My heart leapt when Edward Taylor’s dark eyes caught mine, and beat even faster when, after exchanging a few words with his cousin, the two crossed the room to where Cassandra, Marianne, and I stood together.
“How have you fared since your arrival, ladies?”
“I hope you enjoyed a lovely afternoon?” added Mr. Payler, with a shy glance at Cassandra.
“We did, thank you,” answered she.
“My only regret is that I never had the opportunity to thank you both again for your assistance this morning,” replied I. “Had you not appeared so fortuitously and been so obliging, our unfortunate incident on the road might have had a more disastrous result.”
“I am truly sorry for the inconvenience and distress this morning’s events must have caused you,” replied Edward sincerely; continuing, with a twinkle in his eyes, “however, I must admit, for my part, I cannot consider it to be an unfortunate incident.”
“No?”
“No; for it provided me a chance to—” He paused, as if rethinking what he was about to say. “—a chance to do something very rare, which is essential to my happiness.”
“Pray tell, what is that, Mr. Taylor?”
“It allowed me the opportunity to prove useful.”
I smiled. “To prove useful is, indeed, something to which I daily aspire; but it so often eludes me.”
“Well then, you understand how I feel. The circumstance also provided another benefit, Miss Jane. It concluded with an invitation to dinner at Goodnestone, which is always a delightful prospect.”
Our conversation was interrupted by the announcement that dinner was served, and we all progressed into the very sizeable dining-room, which Sophia explained was the room they used for dancing, when the furniture was removed. I was astonished by how elegantly the long table was draped and set, and the quantity of plate on view, considering that it was only a family dinner. A great many footmen assisted us as the family took their seats by rote, leaving open seats only on the side of the table opposite Mr. Taylor, which (to my disappointment) prevented any meaningful continuation of a discussion I had only just begun to enjoy.
Sir Brook made a toast of welcome to his visitors, noting his delight that we had come all the way from Hampshire to celebrate his daughters’ engagements. To my brother Edward he added, “It is no secret how pleased Lady Bridges and I ar
e by our Elizabeth’s choice of husband; and as for Fanny’s intended, Mr. Lewis Cage—he, too, is a most amiable man, and we look forward to his joining us for what I believe will be a remarkable month.”
As the soup was served, I said to Sophia beside me, “What is Mr. Cage like? Do you know him well?”
“Not really,” answered she quietly. “Their betrothal was very sudden, and just a fortnight after Elizabeth and Edward announced their engagement. We have only met a few times. I know that he is very fond of books.”
Marianne added in a low voice, “I dare say Fanny has never read but one book in her entire life—and I cannot be certain she even finished it.”
“She and Mr. Cage must have found other interests in common,” said I, smiling, “other than reading.”
Sophia did not immediately reply, and Marianne said with gravity,
“Of course you are right, Jane.”
As the dinner continued, light conversation was heard from the top of the table, and congenial laughter from the children at the bottom. I made a point of complimenting all the dishes that I tried, which seemed to please Lady Bridges when she overheard it. At one point, I found Edward Taylor looking at me, and our glances converged in a brief but mutual smile.
After the desserts were consumed, we left the men and withdrew to the drawing-room, where Charles and Brook Edward engaged in a game of chess, the younger boys played on the floor, and Lady Bridges held court on a sofa, with Fanny and Sophia on either side, Elizabeth and Marianne seated beside them, and Louisa and Harriot at their feet, in a tableau which looked to be a family habit of long standing. Cassandra and I procured two unoccupied chairs close by, and I said to Lady Bridges:
“I believe you mentioned in your letter, ma’am, that both your daughters’ weddings will take place at the end of the year?”
“Yes.” Lady Bridges’s smile reflected her genuine enthusiasm with regard to the subject matter. “It was Mr. Knight’s wish at the first, that Edward and Elizabeth not be married immediately, as they are both so young, and Sir Brook and I could not agree more. We think to have a double wedding in December.”