much given to staring earnestly at my niece with his smouldering dark eyes; but she was at pains never to be alone with him—from a kind of cowardice, I imagine, at what might have been said. Fanny has learnt caution, at an age when I should have wished her to study romance—and I cannot help but be sorry for it.
This evening, however, she seems determined to forget her troubles—and is even now under my eye, dancing the waltz with Mr. Finch-Hatton at the final Canterbury ball of the Autumn Season. They make a striking pair as they circle the floor, Fanny glowing in her cream-coloured silk, and Jupiter every inch the Bond Street Beau—his golden locks brushed in fashionable disorder, his silk knee-breeches fine enough for Almack’s. Fanny will never have Jupiter for a husband, I am sure—but he will serve to increase her consequence at such affairs, and silence the chatter of the Impertinent. I do not fear of
“You are looking very well tonight, Miss Austen,” observed Mr. Tylden, as he bowed and offered me a glass of lemonade. “I do admire that wine-coloured silk—as I must have told you on a previous occasion.”
I smiled my thanks at the clergyman. For a simple man, Mr. Tylden has performed his duty nobly—in having twice married the same couple without reproach, and having buried in rapid succession the lady’s first husband,
“You are to leave us, I apprehend?” Mr. Tylden enquired.
“I go to my brother Henry’s, in London, on the Monday,” I replied.
“Then we must hope to see you often again in Kent,” he said. “I wonder—may I have the honour of this dance?”
My gaze was on Edward—who was standing alone, supporting one wall of the Canterbury Assembly Rooms, that perpetual lost look upon his face; and my heart went out to him. So many distinguished ladies circling the floor, with an eye to his handsome countenance and distinguished bearing—so many glittering neighbours who wished him happy—and Edward remained enthralled to his enchanting ghost. Like Fanny, he did not love readily, or give up his heart without a fight. But as I studied my brother, he caught my eye, and his melancholy softened a little.
I turned to Mr. Tylden.
“You are very kind. But perhaps we may defer the pleasure until I am next in Kent? I am promised to my brother for this dance.”
I made my way through the breathless whirl of the ballroom and raised my glass to Edward’s. It was only lemonade, after all—but it would serve.
“To the future,” I said.
He studied my countenance. “After all you have seen in recent weeks, of the folly and bitterness of mankind, you still cherish hopes of
“I do.” I searched for Fanny’s face among the waltzing couples; she was more animated in Jupiter’s company this evening than I had observed her in days. “For what else do we live, Edward—but our hopes of joy to come?”
Acknowledgments
Since 1995, the Jane Austen Mystery series has been shaped and sustained by the genius of one person— Kate Burke Miciak, Editorial Director of Bantam Books. Kate was the first to recognize the possibilities of
Editors Caitlin Alexander and Randall Klein have patiently lent their expertise to this author through numerous books, with a control of temper that would have astounded our Jane.
Susan Corcoran—an enthusiastic Janeite if ever there was one—promoted the series in its early years, then handed the baton to Sharon Propson and Lisa Barnes, crack publicists who constantly found ingenious ways to win readers’ attention.
Borrowing Jane’s voice and idiom is a tricky business, particularly for an American born two centuries too late, and without Kelly Chian’s deft supervision of copyedits—and her staff’s ability to catch every one of my egregious errors—these books would not have withstood the rigorous test of the critics’ eye. Thank you for saving me from myself.
Finally, Bantam’s art department spearheaded the commission of some pretty glorious cover art. Knowing Jane’s delight in frivolous dress, I’m sure she approves.
Stephanie Barron
Denver, Colorado
May 2011
About The Author
Stephanie Barron is the author of the standalone historical suspense novels
Примечания
1
Bentigh was an avenue of limes and yews. It led toward the old Norman church of St. Lawrence, where the Knight family worshipped.
2
Mr. Moore proves prescient here. George Finch-Hatton (1791–1858), the Jupiter of this account, did indeed succeed his cousin as 10th Earl of Winchilsea in 1826. He has gone down in history for having fought a duel with the Duke of Wellington, who was then Prime Minister, over Catholic Emancipation in 1829. Jupiter opposed it. —
3
Members of Parliament and peers were permitted to affix their signatures or seals to letters, allowing them to be delivered free of charge—a practice known as “franking.” Otherwise, Cassandra would have paid the fee for Jane’s letter, according to its weight, upon receiving it from the post. —
