“I am a grumpy schoolmistress. You are an insolent student. I make allowances for your memory loss, but I cannot tolerate poor spelling.”
Fred chose some letters and placed them on the board.
Jane observed the letters—d-e-s-c-a-n-t—and offered a begrudging nod. “Correct. Next word: ‘stone.’”
The accompanying word was terrific.
Fred took out the letters and placed them on the board.
“No. ‘Terrific’ has two r’s.”
“You should pick easier words,” Fred said. “I couldn’t spell ‘terrific’ before the accident.” He grinned again, to show Jane he was joking. A teacher of literature could obviously spell these words.
Jane was outraged. Why was he grinning, when she was dying inside? She ignored the remark. “Next word: ‘bauble.’”
The word paired with it on her list was masterpiece.
“Could I have a glass of water? My throat is dry.”
“Spell the correct word and the water shall be fetched for you. Like magic.”
“I was burned to a crisp. Cooked from the inside! Please, I beg you. Get me some water.”
Fred placed a magnetic m on the whiteboard, by way of encouragement.
Jane fetched the water, returning with a pitcher to look over his shoulder. Fred placed the next letters on the board. Jane grimaced. “No. That’s incorrect,” she said. “You’ve put an r there.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You vex me for sport.”
Fred added more letters to the board with glee.
“You’ve put an r there; it should be an s,” she said. “It’s m-a-s, not m-a-r.”
But Fred ignored her and added a second r. Jane stared at the words as they formed on the board. Fred’s hands shook as he placed the child’s letters down. Jane held her breath, watching his trembling hands. Another m, then an e, formed the second word: “me.”
m a r r y m e j a n e
Jane swallowed. She turned her head, but Fred had vanished from his chair. She swung around and found him kneeling on the floor before her.
“Could you reach into my pocket?” he asked.
Jane did as she was told.
“The other one.”
Jane obliged and removed a box from his trouser pocket.
“Open it,” he said.
She snapped open the lid. A ring lay inside, one she had seen before. She stepped back in shock. A blue stone of creamy turquoise shone from a band forged from warm gold. It gripped her with the same sensation she had felt when she beheld it in the painting, only now the feeling was a thousandfold.
“It was my mother’s,” Fred said. Jane nodded. “Do you like it?”
“It is beautiful.” It was all she could manage to say. For a reason she could not place, Jane thought of her own mother. Astonishment gripped her, surprise at the about-face, but as she looked at his face, she saw he had been thinking about this, planning and preparing all morning. Her mind raced at the speed of the declaration; her heart thumped in her chest.
“This is all so sudden,” she said to him. Although she had wanted it, the shock of it and the haste forced her to protest. “We’ve only been acquainted with each other a short time. I hardly know you. You hardly know me,” she said.
“What more do you want to know?” he asked.
She remained silent. The effort of kneeling down had made him break out in a sweat and his hair lay across his forehead in clumps. Jane brushed it to the side. “Do you only give me this ring to prevent me from leaving? I can stay and look after you as long as you need. I will care for you, help you recover. You don’t need to give me a ring to stay for that reason.”
“I don’t need you to stay and help me. I’m not giving you a ring for that. I want you to stay. Not as my helper, but as my wife. I love you.”
Jane breathed. “I love you too,” she said.
He smiled. Then the smile left his face; he seemed to wait for her to say more.
Jane felt the back of her neck prickle. Water filled her eyes. “Are you sure?” she asked him.
His knee trembled. “I feel like I’ve known you my whole life,” he said. “You pierce my soul. Yes, I am sure. Will you marry me?”
The words were so beautiful and honest, she could give only one reply. “I will,” Jane said. Fred beamed at her, and she embraced him and helped him up from the floor.
Part Three
Chapter Forty-Nine
The day of Maggie’s christening had arrived. Fred was to be godfather. Jane and Sofia got to St. Swithin’s early, carrying flowers for the service. Jane wore a yellow dress that Sofia had bought her as an engagement present. Fred told her she looked beautiful and kissed her on the cheek.
“I must show you something,” Jane said to Sofia as they placed the flowers on the altar. She led Sofia over to the transept. “I almost forgot it was here. You will enjoy this.”
They rounded the corner and Jane pointed at the white-and-gray marble wall.
Sofia stared at the marble and squinted. “Not sure what I’m supposed to be looking at,” she said. “Good masonry? Jane?”
Jane stared at the wall in horrified silence.
“Can I go now, love?” Sofia said. “We’re staring at a blank wall.”
“A plaque stood here before,” Jane said.
“There are loads of plaques,” Sofia replied. She pointed around to the brass and bronze plates that littered the rest of the wall. “Catching dust everywhere.”
“No. A plaque stood right here,” Jane said. She pointed to a clear space of marble.
Sofia, listening now, turned to Jane. “What did it say?”
“It said, ‘Here worshipped Jane Austen.’”
SOFIA AND JANE departed the church just as the other guests were arriving. Sofia made an excuse about wanting to change to a bigger hat, which Fred mercifully believed, even though her present head covering was roughly the size of a wagon wheel. They made their way home, promising to return before the service started.
“Perhaps I imagined the plaque,” Jane offered in a futile voice as they
