Most Ardently

by Sheena Austin et al.

  No, there was something about this Peter Alabaster that had caught her interest and she was not sure that was a horrible thing in spite of their age difference. Her heart betrayed her interest, her chest rising and falling faster when she knew his eyes were upon her. She felt foolish. She felt like a silly schoolgirl with a crush on the butcher’s boy. She felt wonderful and she wasn’t sure how she really felt about that. She’d just met him and under very suspicious circumstances.

  He would bear watching, she decided. Perhaps she was wrong, reading more into it than what was really there. Perhaps. But she didn’t think so. As a writer she was an observer of humanity, and the relationships between men and women were always a little bit of fun for her, she could usually pinpoint the ones who might end up together.

  They all would bear watching. James was no tutor. He carried no books, and Sarah was certainly not a tutor or governess, not in her condition. She would be turned away from any household being pregnant as far along as she was. No one wanted to take on an extra mouth to feed these days, especially not from someone who worked for them so recently. Maybe that was why they’d left their last employment.

  Definitely there was a reason for them to be here, traveling this road, on their way to Edward’s. Or perhaps they were on their way beyond here and Edward’s was just a stopping point for the holidays, but the letter implied an invitation. And a very casual one at that. It was clear Edward knew her at least, but how? That was not explained in the missive. And why bring them all this way at the holidays? Surely there was a motive here she wasn’t party to, but what could it be? Edward was not mysterious at all. He was the most responsible of her brothers, even Henry who was her favorite, couldn’t equal Edward for sensibility. She needed more information before she could determine what was going on.

  Jane sighed. All this thinking was getting her nowhere. She was a practical person, and she realized she liked these people who’d invaded her peace and quiet and she hoped their answers would be enough to dispel the disquiet she felt at their purpose for being here. She decided it was time to just ask them. And she would do so first thing in the morning.

  Of course, if she didn’t like the answers what was she to do with them? She couldn’t turn a pregnant woman out into the cold. She couldn’t send them on to Edward’s right now anyway, not with all the illness at his house – that would be dangerous for the baby and woman taken to her bed for childbirth. But she certainly couldn’t let them stay if their reasons for being here were less than honorable.

  “Should I ask, or shouldn’t I ask?” she said. Looking down into her teacup she frowned. Her reflection stared back at her without answer.

  “Ask what?” said a voice behind her startling Jane into nearly dropping her cooled cup of tea.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Peter said moving swiftly to her side. He patted the small tea that had splattered on her hand with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Jane tried not to flinch from his touch, alarmed once again at the tingling of her nerves wherever he touched her. This is ridiculous, she thought. I’m old enough to be his mother!

  She pulled her hand away. Setting her cup on the table next to her she rose. Walking to the tea kettle she offered him a cup which he gratefully accepted. Seated across from her his cup steaming with fresh tea, and hers refreshed as well, he watched her. She could feel his eyes on her as she put two biscuits on a small dish in front of him.

  “So, you are related to Sarah? How did you happen to be traveling this way?”

  Though her tone was casual, Jane was intent on his answer.

  “Oh, yes. Sarah and I are brother and sister. I agreed to meet them on the road to your brother’s as I had business in this area.” He answered. He avoided her eyes as he gestured to the last biscuit on the plate. He took it when Jane nodded her approval, spending an inordinate amount of time nibbling on it.

  “How did you know?”

  “Just a guess.” Jane waved a hand casually in his direction. “You have similar eyes.”

  Peter laughed. “Yes, our mother’s eyes. She was very blonde. From Norway, actually.”

  “So, you have business in this area?” Jane pressed.

  Peter took a sip of tea before answering. “Yes, I have a meeting with your brother that I hope will be mutually beneficial. And meeting you is a bonus, I might add, that I was not expecting.”

  Jane considered Peter’s answer. While it sounded truthful, she was still not convinced that the traveling companions were not keeping secrets. But why?

  That was what confused her. What did either Edward or herself have to offer these people that they might try subterfuge to get in their good graces? And they certainly could not have counted on the storm delaying their travel and bringing them to her door. Perhaps they intended to meet her at Edward’s at the holidays, but that was not certain, what if she missed the dinner? She felt a small headache coming on with all this thinking. Whatever was their intention, it must be an important one, she concluded.

  Why else travel with a pregnant woman in the dead of winter? She could surely deliver her child any day now. With only a few weeks to Christmas the weather must surely have been considered in their travel plans.

  Despite her tiredness, Jane considered all the possibilities as she watched the man in front of her blithely eating the biscuit and drinking his tea. He in turn studied her, and ever-ready smile bursting forth whenever she met his gaze full on.

  Jane found herself relaxing in his presence, whether due to the soothing effects of the tea, or the warmth from the fire, she found herself enjoying his company.

  “We’re from Philadelphia, originally,” he offered this bit of news in an off-hand way as if expecting a response from her.

  She nodded, not really sure why he was telling her this, but wanting him to keep talking. His voice was softer, almost feminine now, and he was very charming.

  “Our family moved to Boston when I was nine and Sarah was seven. Our father is a lawyer there. From Boston we moved to London. We’ve been here ever since. I love England. Your cities are so much more... well, more my style.”

  “And what style is that, sir?” Jane said, amused by his depiction of England as having a special kind of style that was more appealing than that of America.

  “Oh, there is so much more history here, than in the States,” Jane noted he said the word “States” as if he wasn’t from that country.

  “I see,” Jane’s voice was dry, her amusement deepening.

  An hour later she learned he was educated at a prestigious private school in America then attended school in London. His field of study was up in question, so he decided to travel and learn about his adopted country.

  He told her that was how he’d come to join up with his sister and her husband. “When Sarah and James mentioned they were traveling this way to a part of England I had yet to see, and were coming to see the infamous Edward Knight for the holidays I decided to join them.” He smiled at Jane, his eyes catching hers in a very loving gaze, “and happily I ended up here, with you, right at this moment. The authoress Jane Austen. Writer of characters so real they float off the page like dragonflies to flit around our consciousness like memories of those we know, but don’t really know until you enlighten us.”

  Jane shook her head, amusement giving way to a stiff reserve the British were well known for. “If you think that is flattery young man, you are sadly mistaken. I am old enough to be your mother, not some silly, flighty creature enamored and caught like a butterfly by your laughter or blue eyes.”

  “No,” he said. He clasped his chest in feigned distress, “but every word is true. I do find you delightful. I’m sorry if my affection for you has caused distress, that is the last thing I want to do.”

  “You hardly know me.” Jane protested. His flattery, she chastised herself mentally, was lowering her carefully constructed defenses easier than Gabriel blowing his horn. This nonsense needed to stop, the
practical side of her brain was telling her, but the flutter in her heart at his beguiling gaze was telling her otherwise.

  Who would know if you had time with him? Who would care? A little voice in the back of her mind said. The part of her brain she knew was hopeful, the part of her brain that remembered the feel of the child kicking in the womb of her guest. Who would know indeed? Only anyone who looked at her.

  The hope of a child and home, the traditional wish of all women of her time was beyond her ability anymore. She was old. Her womb a dried and rusty thing, unused, discarded. She knew this, but for just a moment, a beautiful iridescent moment, her heart fluttered like it had when Harris Bigg-Wither had asked for her hand in marriage and she’d accepted only to break it off the next day for reasons that many thought were her cold feet at being wed, but were instead because she was not in love with him. He could have offered her and her family many advantages, but she refused to wed just for the sake of being wed and taking a husband, even one of such great means. She had long given up on finding that life, and left those thoughts behind without regret. Her writing gave her the small pleasure she could look forward to in life, and she was content with that for the most part.

  Her life was not to be bound by love, even though she wrote of the fickle emotion often enough. Her life was not like that of her guest upstairs slumbering beside her husband, her womb serving the purpose for which the Creator had made it.

  Jane shook her head of regrets; the cobwebs receding. She saw clearly that her guest, handsome and virile, had awakened in her the passion she’d spent her whole life missing. And she realized that passion was best served in the words of her books, not in her life.

  “You are flirting with me, sir,” Jane said. Her voice was tired. She stifled a yawn behind her hand.

  “I am. I wish...” he reached across the table and took her hand gently in his, “I wish to make this plain, Jane Austen. I find you delightful to look upon and even more delightful to talk to.”

  “We’ve barely spoken,” Jane said. She looked at him with amusement.

  Looking down at her hand in his, the tanned strong fingers of his larger hand folded over her smaller, pale hand she marveled at the way God created man and woman – so different and yet so perfectly right for each other. She didn’t pull away, liking the way his rough hand rubbed against her soft skin prickling and raising tingles in places she had written about, but barely remembered experiencing herself in recent years. She focused on her breathing, keeping her hand from traveling to her heart to physically stop it from racing and give away her feelings.

  “Perhaps, here and now, but in your books I have heard your desires loud and clear.”

  Jane realized he was serious. And he was a fan of hers. Perhaps that was what drew him to her. He wouldn’t be the first to seek her out now that the secret of her authoring was revealed. Perhaps he thought her a woman of means thanks to her writing, but if that were so he would be sadly disappointed to learn the true nature of her finances.

  Immediately suspicious and alarmed Jane stood so quick she sent her chair to bang against the wall behind her.

  “Sir, you forget yourself.”

  Peter rose immediately as well. “I am sorry if I have offended you.”

  “You have not offended me, sir. I hardly know you. I certainly have no interest in you in a romantic way.” She softened her words, aware her sudden rising was as alarming as it was unexpected.

  He bit his lip and looked stricken with regret and despair. “Please,” he said reaching out to hold Jane’s arm. “Don’t think ill of me. I only meant to compliment you by mentioning your works. I have enjoyed your stories. They helped me understand England so much better. I... well, I had to meet you. To let you know. I am so clumsy,” he said. Slumping back into the chair he lowered his head into his hands.

  Jane was stricken with her own guilt. Perhaps she’d been too harsh.

  He was merely trying to let her know how much he enjoyed her stories, and she’d misunderstood and immediately thought he was trying to engage in a romance with her. Now she was the one to feel silly, or like one of her characters whose misunderstandings always led to more misunderstandings which always led to a disaster before a happy ending could be reached.

  Hopefully there were no disasters in their future.

  Looking at the young man seated in front of her with such adoration she relented and returned to her seat reaching for the teapot.

  “So, tell me,” she said, “what about my books have been so much help to you in understanding England? More tea?”

  “Yes, please,” he said. His face had regained its former joy as he held out his cup of cooling tea for more.

  An hour later, just as dawn was pinking the horizon through the haze of still falling snow, Jane had her answer. Her books were a combination of passion, romance, illusion, danger, drama, loves lost and won, and silliness that in Peter’s eyes was the perfect description of everyone he knew.

  His professors were like Darcy, his mother like Emma, and all the people in his life almost were a perfect match to one of her characters. “I feel like I know you... or, really, that you know me, you captured so wonderfully everyone I know.”

  Jane shook her head. “I only write what I see around me. Perhaps a bit idealized in the case of some characters, but I try to make them realistic. Else, why would anyone want to read them?”

  “Miss?” said a voice in surprise from the doorway.

  Jane turned to see Millicent, yawning and shivering in the coolness of the winter morning, looking at her with some confusion.

  “Oh, good morning, Millicent. Mr. Alabaster and I have spent the night in conversation. Perhaps, we might trouble you for some breakfast? Then I am going to take myself off for a nap.”

  Millicent, wise for her fourteen years kept her opinion to herself regarding her mistress spending the night with a handsome man in conversation. She knew this would not be a topic for gossip. Instead she put together the requested breakfast. Both the young man and her mistress ate it with a healthy appetite before Jane rose and excused herself.

  “I am off to take a nap. Please make sure the puddings get their coating this morning, Millicent? I will take care of the afternoon and evening duty.”

  Millicent nodded. Collecting the tea things she watched her mistress leave. The young man watched her go, not smiling. His expression, she noted for future reference, was very sad.

  Now why would that man be sad? What had gone on here?

  After coating the puddings with some help from the young man whom it appeared was quite a hand with the brandy, Millicent returned to the kitchen to find the pregnant woman just seating herself at the kitchen table. Her husband was beside her, his hand holding hers.

  Why did everyone think her kitchen was the place to sit for a meal?

  She bustled about setting out tea and a small plate of biscuits while she fixed a proper English breakfast for the couple. Within minutes she found herself caught up in their obvious love for each other.

  Their conversation was low. When Peter entered the room a short while into the meal the three heads were bent closely together. Whenever she entered the room they straightened and sipped their tea as if nothing was untoward which immediately set Millicent’s nerves jangling.

  After several hours she gathered a tray of tea and biscuits to bring to Jane’s room. Jane stirred, rising slowly from the bed grateful to have the tea she smiled her thanks to the young girl.

  “How are the guests doing?” She set her tea down beside the bed on the nearby table.

  “They are... fine, miss.” Millicent said with a small shake of her head.

  Jane, attuned to those around her gave Millicent a hard stare. The girl cleared her throat and spoke with careful words.

  “I’m not sure it’s anything to worry about, miss, but they do whisper a lot.”

  Jane nodded. Getting out of bed she had Millicent help her dress and followed the girl downstairs. Setting the tray on th
e counter by the stove, Millicent took warmed water and rinsed the tea things. She gathered the items from the guests and also washed them while Jane took a chair next to the girl who was rubbing her belly and wincing a bit as if in pain.

  Jane’s expression softened. “Are you okay?”

  Sarah grinned ruefully and said, “I can never get comfortable these days. I’ll be fine, miss.”

  “Jane. You can all call me Jane. I think after spending so much time together the customary formalities can be excused.”

  All three heads nodded.

  “Now,” said Jane. “We need to decide what to do with all of you.”

  James straightened his shoulders and said, “We can leave if we are an imposition.”

  It was obvious his male pride was wounded by her declaration and he was one to make first impressions in the negative sense when none was intended.

  “Nonsense,” said Jane with a wave of her hand. “Where will you go in this storm? You certainly cannot walk far with Sarah in this condition and I have no conveyance for you to borrow. Edward’s house is rampant with illness, so therefore, that is no place for a woman about to give birth. No, we need to possibly have you stay here for a bit longer, perhaps until Christmas if that will not ruin your plans?”

  “Plans? We have no plans made.” Peter said. He looked guiltily at the other two before glancing away and lowering his eyes alerting Jane immediately to the fact that he was a lousy liar. He was blushing, another sure sign of his inability to tell an untruth.

  “Do not, sir, play me for a fool.” Jane said. Her voice was cold and stiff. All pretense of her feelings for him was gone from her expression as if they’d never been there. Peter met her gaze squarely. His jaw twitched, but his eyes were hard to read.

  “I meant no offense,” Peter bowed from his seat. “But I can see that our secrecy has done just that. Perhaps it is time to lay our cards on the table?” Peter glanced over at his sister and James who both nodded.