by Syrie James
I wished that I could talk to Cassandra about all this, to hear her opinions and vent my feelings; but I had been sworn to secrecy. Just then, to my relief, I heard a carriage drawing up in the sweep, signalling the arrival of the first guests; and the matter was, for the time being, swept from my mind.
In short order, the room was full of people. Those whom I had already met at the strawberry-picking party comprised but a modest proportion of the guests, and the sight of so many strangers filled me with a sense of disquiet. Where was Edward Taylor? The first circle were grave and formal, their manners matched by Sir Brook and Lady Bridges, as they accepted congratulations on behalf of the engaged couples, and discussed the advantages of the unions. Our hosts were too busy with their acquaintances to remember the presence of any guests who were unknown to the general company; but through the thoughtful perceptiveness of Sophia and Marianne, my sister and I were introduced to various persons who feigned an interest in us, and whose names I would not remember the next morning.
Mr. Deedes secured Sophia for the first two dances, and Marianne accepted an offer from one of the Paylers’ sons, a sixteen-year-old called Harry. To my dismay, I noticed Frederic Fielding gazing at me in a penetrating manner, which seemed to convey his desire for a similar connection; I quickly moved away so as not to encourage him. Observing my brother Edward and Elizabeth, who stood intimately conversing beside a nearby window, brought back to mind my recent success in repairing that relationship. How agreeable it was, I thought, that a love-letter I had written had made such a contribution to their happiness! If only I could prove of such use to another couple—how delightful that would be!
In my cursory glance around the crowded drawing-room, I saw Charlotte Payler standing silently with her brothers Christopher (a handsome lad of eighteen) and Thomas. She looked beautiful in an absolutely elegant gown, which I thought put my own to shame. Thomas Payler kept darting intermittent, longing glances at Cassandra. Clearly he wished to be with her—perhaps was considering asking her to dance at this very moment—but he seemed to lack the courage to bring it about. Cassandra liked him; I felt certain of it. Oh! Why did he not simply cross the room and ask her?
Impatience rose within me, and with it, a solution to this romantic dilemma. Here, I realised, was the very opportunity I had been hoping for! Deciding that simplicity was best, I strode up to him and his brother deliberately.
“Good evening, Mr. Payler, Mr. Payler.”
They both bowed and returned the greeting. Thomas Payler said, “I almost did not recognise you, Miss Jane, with your hair all done up.”
“Oh? Is that why you have not yet spoken to my sister? Perhaps you did not recognise her, either?”
“No; I saw her.” He coloured, his eyes finding Cassandra across the room.
“Well, I was not supposed to tell you this, but—” Confidentially, I added, “She is very much hoping that you will ask her to dance with you.”
“Is she?” He seemed astonished.
“She told me so herself.”
“Oh! I see—thank you.” He blushed even more violently.
Christopher Payler punched his older brother in the arm. “You have talked of nothing else for three days, Thomas! Go on, ask her! What are you waiting for?”
Still, Thomas Payler gave no indication of impending action.
“You had better hurry,” insisted I, “before somebody else engages her for the first dance. I will take you to her!”
I gestured for him to accompany me. Hesitantly he took a step, then two more, and soon was threading his way through the crowd with me, until we reached Cassandra’s side. She turned and seemed about to ask me something, when she noticed Mr. Payler and paused.
He stood before her, tongue-tied. Fearing that in another moment he might lose his nerve, I gave him a silent, vigorously encouraging look, filled with meaning.
He immediately blurted—the words issuing from his mouth as if shot from a cannon—
“Miss Austen, would you do me the honour of dancing the first set with me?”
Cassandra curtseyed. “I would be delighted, sir.”
To say that Mr. Payler was overjoyed by her response would be an understatement. With a curious look in my direction, my sister took Mr. Payler’s gloved hand, and they joined the procession which was just then removing into the entry hall, and from there into the ball-room beyond. I watched them go with absolute delight. It was only a set of dances to be sure, but it was a step in the right direction—and I had helped to bring it about! What might not be the end of it?
It was only when the drawing-room had partially emptied, that it began to dawn on me that I did not have a partner for the first dance myself; worse yet, the one person whom I most wished to see had not yet made his appearance. I waited with some anxiety, feeling entirely alone although in a room still filled with people. Was I truly to sit out the first two dances? How mortifying that would be! And where, oh where, was Edward Taylor?
Just then I saw him, walking confidently into the room, in the opposite direction of all those who were withdrawing. He looked very handsome in his green coat and embroidered waistcoat, which shewed his fine figure to great advantage. His shoes were adorned with gleaming buckles, his white neckcloth was perfectly tied, and his hair—his hair! With a cold shock I saw that he wore his hair as usual, the gleaming natural chestnut waves brushed back from his face.
Edward Taylor, alone of all the people in the house, had not even a hint of powder in his hair! I could not account for it. My first thought was: how very odd. Could it be that he had forgotten this was a formal ball? If so, he should be mortified! Indeed, several people looked at him askance as they walked by, and I observed two ladies exchanging remarks behind their fans. But Edward Taylor took no notice, greeting people and shaking hands with his customary self-assurance.
Soon he looked my way, and I saw his eyes widen—with what emotion, I could not determine—then he moved through the thinning crowd to meet me, and we bid each other good evening.
I could not help glancing at his hair; should I mention it? I did not wish to offend him. “Good evening, sir. What a pleasure to see you again.” With a sweeping gesture, I made a dramatic curtsey, which I deemed appropriate to the occasion and my style of dress.
“It is a great pleasure to see you, Miss Jane.” He bowed, and seemed to weigh his words as he added: “What a pretty gown. You look very—noble—to-night.”
“Noble?” There was something in his tone and expression when he pronounced the word, which—although delivered with good humour, a raised eyebrow, and a smile—indicated a hint of something like mild disgust. Greatly puzzled, I wished to pursue the subject further, but at that moment Mrs. Watkinson Payler rushed up behind him and cried:
“Edward! There you are!” Taking him by the arm, she continued, “I know you would not wish Charlotte to be without a partner for the first set. Now come! She is waiting for you, and Sir Brook is about to speak!”
With a bow to me, Edward Taylor declared: “Forgive me. I shall see you inside?”
“Yes,” faltered I; and with a heavy heart, I followed them into the ball-room.
The entire company squeezed into the former dining-room, which was emptied of furniture except for a row of chairs along one wall. When all had assembled within, Sir Brook issued a welcoming address in his deep, congenial voice, then announced the engagements of his daughters in a manner and verbiage similar to that which had been expressed at the strawberry-picking party. Applause followed.
The chamber, although sizeable, could accommodate no more than two dozen people at most for dancing; as such, many of the older set now progressed back to the library or the drawing-room to play cards, while others stood or sat along the perimeter. Fanny and Mr. Cage, given precedence, moved to the top of the room, as the other dancers began to take their places.
I waited in a fever of an
ticipation; although my hopes of having Edward Taylor as my partner had been dashed, yet I still wished to dance. Was it too late? What if no one asked me? Even Louisa Bridges, I noted, was taking to the floor with one of the younger Payler boys! It was painful to see Edward Taylor standing opposite his cousin Charlotte, him smiling so cheerfully, her looking all loveliness. I was embarrassed to think that my own gown had been made over, while hers was clearly new, expensive, and constructed especially for the occasion. We were so different; she behaved so perfectly and modestly, whereas I (at times) could not hold my tongue, and was anything but demure. To whom was Edward Taylor more attracted? What if he preferred Charlotte over me? The idea made me miserable.
No gentleman stepped in my direction or spoke to me. Mortified, I retreated to the side, not far from where my mother was situated in conversation with Mrs. Fielding, two elderly women, and several unattached ladies. My cheeks burned. It was my first ball, yet here I stood, ignored and slighted, with the older ladies and spinsters! To further my discomfort, my head began to itch slightly. I discreetly attempted to scratch behind my ear, where (having forgotten my elaborate coiffure) I came into contact with hair which felt stiff, heavy, and foreign to the touch. This effort went no further, for my mother hit me with her fan and whispered harshly,
“Jane! Stop that! You will ruin your new gloves!”
I lowered my hand, which came away dusted with powder. Suddenly, Frederic Fielding stood before me, blushing furiously as he uttered a nervous invitation to dance. Now, I had no wish to refuse; indeed, how grateful was I for the offer! His countenance lit up as I nodded, curtseyed, and followed him onto the floor.
The musicians played; the dancing began; and my thoughts were put into another channel. As Edward Taylor and Charlotte were in a different line and moving in a different direction, I lost sight of them as we worked our way down the row, and I gave all my attention to the endeavour. Everything that I had learned from dancing-masters at home and with the Bigg sisters at Manydown House, all the children’s balls which I had attended, and all the hours I had practised diligently on the lawn, now came to my aid. My partner was clumsy and silent, but his flawed moves were made up for by his visible eagerness to please; and I was in a mood to be pleased. The music filled me and surrounded me, lifting my spirits; the exercise was so vigorous that I forgot my discomforts and disappointments, and I danced with real enjoyment.
Upon completing our two dances, Mr. Fielding and I exchanged courtesies and expressed our mutual thanks. I began to search the crowd for Mr. Taylor, but before I knew it, to my surprise, I was engaged by Thomas Payler for the next two dances.
“Thank you, Miss Jane,” said he with a significant look, as we lined up in formation, before Elizabeth and my brother Edward led the second set. “Your sister is a very fine dancer.”
“I am pleased that you found her so.”
Mr. Payler proved to be a very fine dancer himself, although his conversation was minimal, and when he did speak, it was only to ask questions about my sister’s interests and pursuits. Did she like riding? What sort of books did she read? I was only too pleased to answer his inquiries, and to know that my little intervention had proved such a success!
As we moved down the line, I observed that Fanny was not dancing with her fiancé, but rather with Mr. Deedes, and Sophia, in very good looks, was dancing with Mr. Cage. An odd notion struck me: how well Sophia and Mr. Cage looked together! But I shook my head, knowing that could never be. I danced a set with my brother Charles, and after that with Brook Edward, who both proved to be charming partners.
Marianne, grown weary, retired for the evening. I sat down to supper in the drawing-room with Sophia and Cassandra. We were having a merry time going over all that each had experienced so far that evening, and comparing notes with regard to our partners, when I perceived Edward Taylor sitting across the room, supping at a small table with Charlotte and her brothers Thomas and Christopher. The sight of them laughing in such an amiable, confidential manner made my heart suddenly ache, so I turned my full attention to my own partners.
“Mr. Deedes is truly an elegant dancer,” observed Sophia, smiling.
“I thought you looked far more comfortable with Mr. Cage,” noted I, a remark which made Sophia blush.
“Jane, you are incorrigible!” protested she. “Mr. Cage is marrying my sister.”
I probed Cassandra for information about Mr. Payler, but she would only say that he had found his voice at last, and they had enjoyed a pleasant conversation during one of the intervals.
When the music began again in the ball-room, I was quickly engaged by my brother Edward.
I had not had the opportunity to dance with my brother Edward in many long years, and as he was very accomplished at the art, I took great pleasure in it. The ball-room was grown very hot now, and as we moved down the line I was all in a glow; the air was close as well, from the exertion of so many dancers. Even so, by the next set, I was so enjoying myself, that I believe I could have partnered with anybody and been content; and it was that moment that Edward Taylor materialised at my elbow with a smile, and said:
“May I have the honour of the next dance, Miss Jane?”
With his gleaming natural hair, he stood apart from everyone else in the room, an effect which was startling but not at all displeasing; indeed, I could not deny that he looked very handsome.
“You may, Mr. Taylor,” replied I, adding in my mind: I thought you would never ask.
Chapter the Fifteenth
I happily took Edward Taylor’s arm, we moved into line, the music started up, and the set began. From the very first moment—the graceful manner in which he danced and held his arms, and the commanding way his eyes held contact with mine through every step and rotation—it became clear that he was a far more skilful and experienced partner than anyone else with whom I had engaged that evening.
As the formations permitted, we engaged in the following conversation:
“I have been hoping to dance with you all evening, mademoiselle,” commented he.
“Oh?”
“Every time I looked, you were already engaged.”
“I did not avoid you by design.”
“I am glad to hear it. Do I understand correctly that this is your first ball?”
“Oui.”
“You surprise me. I would have thought you a veteran.”
“I have had a lesson or two, sir. As have you, I would wager?”
“One or two.”
“No doubt your father engaged dancing-masters for you since you were very small?”
“He did.”
“And I suppose you have spent many years dancing in the ball-rooms of Europe?”
“Guilty as charged.—But none were more pleasant than this one—and no partner was ever more skilled or becoming.”
“You are a great flatterer, sir.”
“I speak only the truth.”
“Indeed? You said something earlier which puzzled me.”
“Pray, what was that?”
“You remarked that I look very noble.”
“And indeed you do.”
“I cannot tell if that is a compliment or a criticism.”
“Cannot you?”
“No. Ordinarily, noble implies—”
I was unable to complete my statement, for the dance ended with the usual courtesies, and a second dance immediately followed, its movements involving a group of six people, and so complex as to prevent further conversation. When we had finished the set (which afforded me more pleasure than I could have imagined), the musicians took an interval, and Edward Taylor inquired as to whether I would like a glass of punch. Having acquired same from a table in the central hall, we were lingering in a corner to sip the beverage, when I returned to the question which I had put to him earlier.
“With regard to our previous discussio
n—I cannot decide if I like being called noble.”
“Why not? I should think it flattering to be compared to an aristocrat or patrician.”
“Had someone else uttered the remark, or had you made it in a different way, perhaps it might have been flattering; but not the way you said it.”
“Oh?” He looked at me directly, but did not reply; he seemed to be attempting to take a measure of my thoughts, before formulating his own response. I continued:
“Pray forgive me, for I do not mean to seem impertinent; I know you are acquainted with, perhaps good friends with, many people from the noble class, as well as from the royal families of Europe—”
He nodded silently, waiting to hear what I had to say.
I rushed on. “Although I have had less exposure to such persons myself, I have been taught all my life to have the greatest respect for them. And yet, certain things I have read and heard have led me to imagine that class to be filled with many self-important people, who believe themselves to be far above the rest of us, although in truth the only thing which sets them apart is the accident of their birth.”
My comment seemed to take Edward Taylor by surprise; he laughed. “You are a bold young lady, Miss Jane.”
“Am I? Why? Have I shocked you?”
“On the contrary; you have put into words my own thoughts exactly; feelings which certain of my brothers and I have shared for a great many years, but have never been allowed to express openly with anyone else, other than each other.”
“Then you do have an antipathy towards the noble class?”
“Not an antipathy, no; not at all.” Noting that my glass was empty, he inquired as to whether I wished more, and upon receiving a negative reply, he graciously relieved me of it, and returned both empty vessels to the table. “I have found many people of rank and title to be very amiable,” continued he, “but I have met enough of them, and known them well enough, to understand their weaknesses and see through their pretences. I cannot look up to them as a sort of divine presence, as some do. At heart I feel their equal, just as you do.”