Jane Austen’s First Love Read Free Page B

imaginary partner, I curtseyed, then practised my dancing across the field, making several turns.
    Cassandra smiled. “You are an excellent dancer, Jane—so much more elegant and animated than I could ever be.”
    “You are too modest. I love nothing more than watching
you
dance, dearest; except, perhaps, dancing
myself
. Oh! We know of parents who allowed their daughters to come out at
fourteen
, when accompanied by their mother or an older sister. Why must I be denied the same pleasures? How I wish I could powder my hair and put on a new gown, white gloves, and satin slippers with shoe-roses, and make my debut at the ball at Basingstoke with you tomorrow!”
    “It is not all that agreeable to powder one’s hair, Jane; I only do it when I absolutely must, and because Mamma insists upon it. And with regard to your debut—you know Mamma will never bend on this matter. I wish you would not continue to let it vex you so.”
    “How can I do otherwise?” The breeze whipped the strings of my bonnet, and I pulled my cloak more closely about me as we walked along. “It is so unfair. I am tired of dance lessons with Catherine and Alethea, improving my skills for nothing more than children’s balls at Manydown, or snug dances in our own parlour with pushed-back furniture and our brothers and neighbours’ sons for partners. How I long to converse and dance and flirt openly with gentlemen I have never met!”
    With a little laugh, Cassandra said, “What appeals to you more? The flirting or the dancing?”
    “The flirting, absolutely!” We had reached the opposite side of the field now, and holding up the hems of our skirts, we made our way up the mud-encrusted lane, past the tiny village and the church of St. Nicholas, over which my father presided. “Oh, Cassandra! Every night I dream of meeting a worthy young man who incites all my passions—a gentlemanlike, pleasant young man who is intelligent, thoughtful, kind, and accomplished, who shares my enthusiasm for literature and music and nature, with whom I can converse on any topic at length with spirit and debate—if he be good-looking, all the better—”
    “Where are you to find this paragon of virtue?”
    “I have no idea—but I have conjured him in my imagination. He must exist.”
    “I fear you expect too much, Jane. No one man can be all these things to you.”
    “But he must be! For
he
is the only man I shall ever marry. Were I to meet him tomorrow, I should fall instantly and happily in love with him.” With a deep sigh, I added, “But
that
can never happen until I am out. Why cannot Mamma and Papa be more liberal-minded on this subject? Can they truly expect me to wait nearly two more years?”
    “You reflect a maturity well beyond your years, dearest. Perhaps Mamma will allow you to come out next year, at sixteen. In any case, the time will pass more quickly than you think—and there is much sense in waiting.”
    “Do you really think so? I cannot agree. I think a girl ought to be introduced into company in a more gradual manner, so as to slowly become accustomed to the alteration of manners required of her. Was not it difficult, Cassandra, for so many years, to be allowed only to smile and be demure, and say barely a word except to friends and relations, and then suddenly at seventeen to be introduced to society with no real preparation?”
    Cassandra coloured slightly; it was a moment before she replied. “I suppose it
was
unsettling.”
    Our discourse was at that moment curtailed by the sight of two friends, Martha and Mary Lloyd, who were just emerging from the Deane Gate Inn with their own daily mail.
    Martha and Mary, who resided at Deane parsonage with their widowed mother, had moved to the neighbourhood two years before. Although Mary, at nineteen, was closer in age to me than her sister, it was the kind, intelligent, and sympathetic Martha, ten years my senior, with whom I felt a deep connection, and who had become my own particular friend.