Sally O'Rourke - The Man Who Loved Jane Austen

Looking into the mirror, she saw that Cassandra had quietly entered the bedroom and was standing behind her, looking very worried.

“Jane, what is the matter?” Cass inquired.

Jane turned and regarded her. “Why must we be forced to dine with that arrogant American?” she demanded to know.

Cass’s worried look changed to one of confusion. “But you said you looked forward to meeting him again,” she reminded Jane. “However, if you do not wish to see him I will send word that you are ill. Edward knows that you have not slept properly since—”

“No!” Jane interrupted, coming to a sudden decision. “We shall go to Edward’s,” she defiantly declared. “For I will not miss an opportunity to see Frank and all of our friends.” She turned back to the mirror and mischief sparkled in her eyes. “And I do genuinely wish to learn more of this Darcy.”

“Oh, sister,” whispered Cassandra, suddenly anxious to share her own thrilling speculations about the handsome stranger, “you do not think that Darcy has deceived us, do you? Perhaps he is a brigand,” she breathlessly suggested, “or an American spy, and not a gentleman at all.”

“Perhaps!” Jane said, reaching up to arrange her hair. “But if he is not a gentleman, then let the society of my brother’s drawing room be his undoing. For only a true gentleman will know how to dress and behave in company.”

Chawton Great House was ablaze with light. Several fine horses stood in the traces of the carriages waiting in the drive before the huge brick mansion. The drivers and footmen of the equipages sat or stood about on the lawn, enjoying the excellent supper of roast venison that had been sent out to them from Edward’s well-stocked kitchens.

While the drivers happily ate and quaffed ale outside, up in the manor’s large, oak-paneled dining room more than a dozen Austen relations and friends were being treated to a sumptuous repast of fresh trout and roasted game birds, enhanced by a dizzying selection of soups, meat, salads and fresh fruits.

The food was being served on a gorgeous, delicately patterned china service just arrived from the East Indies courtesy of Jane’s seagoing elder brother, Captain Francis Austen.

Dressed uncomfortably in a foppish suit of Edward’s best evening clothes, into which he had barely managed to squeeze his large frame, Darcy found himself seated near the head of the long, linen-draped table, directly across from Frank—a handsome, middle-aged officer of the line, who was dressed in the splendid blue-and-white uniform of His Majesty’s Royal Navy.

To Darcy’s absolute horror, Frank had been plying him with ever-more probing questions throughout the evening. And it had been to the visitor’s great relief when Edward had mercifully broken in, insisting that his brother repeat for all the company the story of how he had brought the priceless set of china through a violent storm at sea by cushioning the fragile crockery in the bags of gunpowder stored deep in the magazine of his warship.

“The gale was blowing ninety, with waves so high they were topping our mainmast,” Frank was now telling his enthralled listeners. “We were being knocked about so badly that every article in the ship was smashing itself to pieces against the bulkheads, when here comes the gunner, his eyes as round as cannonballs.”

Frank paused dramatically, his ice-blue eyes scanning the table to be sure he had everyone’s absolute attention. “‘Cap’n, Sir,’ says the gunner,” Frank continued his story, mimicking the high-pitched voice of the frightened man, “‘everything’s bashing about so terrible below I fear the powder may spark and blow us all to kingdom come.’”

Frank paused again and a sly smile creased his deeply tanned features. “‘Well man,’ said I, ‘thank God for all that good china down there among the powder. For if it’s to kingdom come we’re bound, at least when we arrive there we’ll be able to put on a decent British tea.’”

The guests laughed and clapped appreciatively. But no sooner had the applause died down than Frank returned his attention to Darcy. “Well, sir,” he said a bit too loudly, “Edward tells me you had a close call of your own the other day. Thrown from your mount, eh?”

Darcy nodded as all eyes turned to him. “Yes,” he replied, smiling. “But I was fortunate enough to be rescued and taken to the home of your lovely sisters who nursed me back to health.” He inclined his head in a bow toward Jane and Cassandra, who were seated together a little ways down the table.

Frank, who had been drinking copious amounts of wine, raised his glass to his sisters. “My own dear Jane and Cass, God bless ’em. Are they not angelic creatures?” he asked, his gruff voice filled with genuine affection.

The sea captain winked and leaned closer to Darcy. “Yet I declare the poor lasses have not a husband between them,” he said in a loud stage whisper, “though not for want of offers. But both of them have vowed they will marry for love alone, fortune being not a matter of consequence to either.”

Jane smiled tolerantly at her brother’s good-natured teasing, but Cassandra’s fair complexion flushed bright pink. “Frank!” she exclaimed, scandalized. “Mr. Darcy will think you are in earnest if you insist on baiting us so.”

“What you say is true, brother,” Jane playfully rejoined Frank. “But you know full well that we have only vowed never to take husbands until you have brought us a shipload of pirate treasure, so that we may have fortunes large enough to marry whomever we choose.”

Frank’s broad shoulders shook with laughter and wine sloshed over the rim of his glass. “Then, dear Jane, I shall scour the world over in search of pirates,” he declared. “For sisters as genial and accomplished as you and Cassandra deserve nothing but happiness.”

Without warning the tipsy captain turned back to Darcy. “And you, sir, what think you of the married life?”

Relaxing slightly, for his adversary seemed now to be merely having fun, Darcy glanced over at Jane and pretended to ponder the question. “They say that marriage is a wonderful institution,” he finally answered. “But who wants to live in an institution?”

There was a long moment of deathly silence in the room as everyone at the table pondered the threadbare joke that Darcy had last told as a freshman in college.

Jane was the first to laugh. Then the entire company broke into loud, appreciative howls.

“Quite right!” Edward chortled uncontrollably from his winged armchair at the head of the table. “An excellent jest, sir! Excellent.”

Darcy smiled at their reaction, wondering if it was possible that his audience might have just heard the joke for the very first time. In the same instant, though, he realized that he had committed yet another serious blunder.

Frank, his blue eyes rimmed in red from the effects of the wine, was glaring at him. For a moment Darcy couldn’t imagine what he had done, then it dawned on him that he was guilty of having gotten a bigger laugh than the Austen family’s heroic favorite son.

“And what think you of the politics in France these days, Mr. Darcy?” The humor had drained from the captain’s voice and he was eyeing his victim like a hungry gull making ready to swallow a sardine.

Another uneasy silence descended upon the candlelit dining room as Darcy smiled disarmingly. “I’m afraid I know more of horses than of politics, Captain,” he replied.

“Hmmm!” Frank grumbled, unappeased. “Would that all your countrymen felt so. Even now my ships patrol the American coast in an attempt to halt the godless Yankee slave trade and quell your shipments of munitions to England’s enemies.”