Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave Manor

An awkwardness here ensued; my hands being engaged in supporting myself upon the saddle, the Lieutenant gripped my waist and abruptly pulled me to the ground. A furious blush overcame my features at being thus made so closely acquainted with his jacket front; but Tom Hearst was unabashed.

“Come, come, Miss Austen,” he said teasingly, his hands still about my waist, “a young lady of your experience and perspicacity cannot be entirely a stranger to a gentleman's embrace.”

“An unmarried lady of my station cannot admit to being anything but , Lieutenant,” I retorted firmly, and moved to thrust the offending hands from my person. To my mortification, he tightened his grip, and added to the embarrassment of his stance, the discomfiture of my own. I was forced to grasp his gloved hands in mine to win my freedom, and the image of how we must appear only increased my blushes.

The Lieutenant laughed heartily and released me, but I failed to see the humour in his affront.

“Is it Fanny Delahoussaye who has taught you such indelicacy, Lieutenant? Or is it thus you school her on your snowy walks?” I turned on my heel and would have left him in my anger, but he caught me up in a moment, the horses on the rein, and apologised most prettily.

“I must declare myself a complete reprobate, Miss Austen,” he avowed. “A life too long spent among the soldiers of the garrison has made my conduct rough and ungentlemanly. You, who have brothers in the Navy, must acknowledge we have few opportunities for the study of civility. In your company, perhaps, I shall learn better how to behave than in Miss Fanny's.”

“I do not think you shall have another chance at my company, Lieutenant,” I said, refusing to meet his eye and increasing my pace.

“Miss Austen!” he cried, halting the horses in the midst of the field, “what cruelty is this? Does my gentle offence truly merit such censure? And are you not in part responsible? I should not have been tempted, did the winter cold not heighten the beauty of your cheeks, bring sparkle to your eyes, and in general make of you such a picture!”

“I fear you give way all too often to temptation, Lieutenant,” I replied, thinking of Fanny Delahoussaye. Tom Hearst can have little constancy in his attachments if he plays as idly with her as he has done with me.

“I beg your forgiveness,” he said earnestly, dropping to his knees in the snow, “and your heart cannot be so hard as to withhold it. I meant no dishonour to your virtue — if anything, Miss Austen, I meant to honour your charms.” He made a pretty enough picture, his curling head raised in supplication, his uniform a darker splash against the horses’ chestnut. As I watched, Lady Bess exhaled a steamy breath, and nuzzled Tom Hearst's shoulder; he looked around and fondled the mare affectionately. “Lady Bess would have your forgiveness on my behalf,” he continued penitently. “And in return I will pledge to molest you no more.”

It is not in my nature to preserve a prudish distance; the Lieutenant's present earnestness called to mind my brother Frank, the darling of my concerns; and so I unbent my stiffened posture and walked to his side.

“Please rise, Lieutenant,” I said. “The snow cannot be good for your breeches.”

“Nor my knees,” he said, jumping to his feet. “My batman will have my head in the morning, when I'm too stiff to get out of bed. But I shouldn't mention such things to a lady. I forget myself. Will you walk back to the house with me, Miss Austen, and teach me the proprieties Miss Fanny cannot?”

“I will consent to accompany you, Lieutenant, on one condition.”

“Anything, dear lady.”

“That you will instruct me in the art of horsemanship while I remain at the Manor,” I said, by way of reward for his penitence. “Lady Bess is a mount to suit my tastes, and I believe I should profit from the exercise.”

“Capital!” Tom Hearst cried, slapping his thigh, “and I from your gentle schooling.”

“Let us talk no more of that.”

“Very well. Though of what else we may converse, I hardly know. All subjects are contraband. Did we talk of our intimates here at Scargrave, we should touch upon death; and I refuse to traffick in melancholy in the company of a lovely woman.”

“Lieutenant!”

“What, no compliments may I extend?” He stopped, as one amazed. “No praise of all that is before me? Miss Austen! Your cruelty is beyond belief! You provoke my enthusiasm, and then chide me for its expression!”

I may, I think, declare myself to be no fool. I have looked at my face and figure in the glass these six-and — no — seven -and-twenty years; and neither is of a nature to drive a young man wild. Either Tom Hearst is quite bored with life at Scargrave, and finds in me some amusement; or he hopes to turn my head with flattery for a purpose I have not yet divined.

At his next observation, I felt all the force of my latter conjecture.

“Have you known Sir William Reynolds long?” the Lieutenant enquired, as though to turn the conversation.

I hesitated before replying, wondering what possible interest he could have in the good Justice.

“Since before memory serves,” I replied, picking my way through the snow. I had discarded my pattens in order to ride, and my boots should assuredly be ruined. “Sir William has always been a fond intimate of my father's house. To me, he is as much like an uncle as a friend.”

“He avails himself of your presence to visit Scargrave with greater frequency than in the past.”

“It cannot be surprising,” I said, studying his face. Did Tom Hearst desire to learn of some other reason for the magistrate's attention? “And in winter, one discovers the closeness of one's friends. A call upon an acquaintance may prove more attractive in the tedium of the season, when simpler pursuits are denied us by weather.”

“Certainly Sir William finds it so,” the Lieutenant commented, “though any man might find attraction enough in your presence, summer or winter.”

I could not suppress a smile at his relentless gallantry, and thought it best to seek refuge in a different subject.

“An officer such as yourself must be wedded to his horse,” I said. “Have you been a rider since infancy, Lieutenant?”

“I have,” he replied, reaching up to stroke his hunter's nose. “My father placed me astride at the tender age of two, thereby predestining his second son for the cavalry. It was perhaps his last fatherly act before departing for the Continent, his mistress, and his death.”

“You are very much attached to your profession?”

“I would sooner be an officer in the Blues,” [25] The Royal Horse Guards, one of three cavalry regiments charged with guarding the Royal Household, were nicknamed the Blues due to the color of their uniforms. — Editor's note. he avowed cheerfully, “than a duke. There is all the style of a position at Court, and the elegance of such a set, aligned with the freedom and adventure of military service; the command of men, and the camaraderie of one's fellows — all things which I find delightful. I owe much to my uncle's goodness, Miss Austen, for it was he who purchased my commission.”

“Did he?” I enquired, though it was no more than I had suspected. “Then he served you better than your brother, Lieutenant. Had the Earl treated you both in a similar fashion, he should have made you a clerk, to be shut up indoors in every season — your inclination being so clearly in the opposite direction.”

“And so George has availed himself of your kindness, and poured out his grievances,” the Lieutenant observed, amused. “He is never done lamenting his thwarted hopes, though he knows my uncle thought better of his choice, and has left him a living. It seems to me that George suffers vastly in parting with regret — though he but exchanges it for his heart's desire. Perhaps he has grown fond of the attitudes of blighted youth.”