Thank you to everyone who stopped by to leave such lovely comments on my blog on Jane Austen's birthday!The competition is still open to win a signed copy of Willoughby's Return until 22nd December, so if you wish to leave a comment, please do so, and don't forget to visit the other participating websites - links below!
Jane’s first inclination was to say no, to spite him. She reminded herself that he was the son of a gentleman, Colonel Anthony Lefroy, and as such, had received a fine education and was now taking a step on the ladder of his chosen profession. He could not be ignorant about the ways of the world. Was it simply the case that Mr Thomas Lefroy had forgotten his manners until she had reminded him of them? She hesitated. Jane willed herself to refuse him.
“I have promised to dance with Mr Powlett next,” she said promptly, unable to completely dismiss his request yet avoiding those steel grey eyes she felt regarding her steadily.
Having decided that he would dance with Miss Jane Austen, Tom knew he would have to think carefully about another request to dance. If he was too eager, this prickly daughter of the Steventon rector would dismiss him with a barrage of banter such as he had seen delivered with speed and wit upon other young men this evening whose intelligence did not match Miss Austen's which flashed brilliantly like those beguiling hazel eyes. If he were too hesitant, she would flounce away without a backward glance. And despite telling himself that coming to Ashe to stay with his English relatives was a visit to be endured before being able to resume his law studies in London, and a trial to be tolerated, nevertheless, he found himself drawn to the girl who stood before him with an expression of defiance.
“But, Miss Austen, do you think it would be wise to dance with Mr Powlett for a second time this evening?”
Jane looked up. Mr Lefroy’s countenance bore such a serious expression that she couldn’t think what his thoughts must be. Surely he did not disapprove of dancing twice with the same gentleman, though she must admit to herself that dancing again with Charles Powlett was not an event to which she was looking forward. That young clergyman was the clumsiest partner she knew.
“I…do not think it imprudent to step up with a gentleman for two dances, Mr Lefroy. Perhaps in Ireland it is not the custom, but I assure you, that here in England it is quite good form.”
“And does good form and fashion allow for the abuse of one’s toes whilst dancing? I could not help but notice that yours were thoroughly and most cruelly mistreated the first time round.”
Jane could not help laughing especially when Tom’s eyes crinkled at the corners until his expression could not be maintained and he was laughing himself.
“Mr Lefroy, you are teasing me, I think, and I cannot agree with your wicked observations though I will allow that dancing has its hazards as well as its joys.”
“Then, on the grounds of safety, and the preservation of your good health, I implore you, Miss Austen, to forget your promise and to dance with me instead.”
Jane could not help but be amused by Mr Lefroy, and was almost prepared to forgive him anything, even his pride.
“I cannot break my promise to my dancing partner, Mr Lefroy, but I will dance with you directly afterwards.”
To Jane’s surprise Tom took her hand and raised it to his lips planting a kiss as he observed her expression with an intensity she found most disconcerting. These were not the manners of a shy boy; she could not make him out. And whilst in the middle of such thoughts, he seemed to vanish as quickly as he had appeared. Jane hurried away to retrieve her mother’s fan and though the temperature in the corridor must be somewhere approaching freezing, she felt warmth upon her cheeks as if she had been standing before an open log fire.
Entering the ballroom once more Jane was struck by the fact that she seemed to observed everything afresh. There appeared to be a heightened expectation in the very air of the place, a sense of excitement in the vibrations of the fiddles tuning up once more, and in the incessant chatter of the dancers and observers, as they frantically rushed for places on the dance floor. There were evergreens strung along the mantelpieces of the two great fires at either end of the room, and the looking glasses above them reflected green wreaths and scarlet berries winking like ruby jewels in amongst the towering plumes of the dancers and the twinkling lustres of the chandeliers glittering in candlelight.
Mr Powlett came to claim his dance and her hand. Jane felt a sea of faces turned in their direction as the country dance began. She noticed Mrs Terry who had travelled from Dummer turn to her neighbour and pass comment as she fixed her eyes upon the pair. Whilst Jane loved dancing, she would be the first to admit that the scrutiny of all the ladies eager to marry off every single young woman or gossip about their particular prospects with a partner was most disagreeable. And she knew every dance would be remarked upon and her partners numbered. All this she could endure, however, if she could just make sure that the one person she most minded observing her dance with Mr Powlett could keep his countenance. She would not seek him out, she would maintain eye contact with her partner and take little notice of those who sat or stood at the edges of the ballroom.
But, she might have known it would be impossible. Far from behaving as he had before, silently regarding the scene with an expression of hauteur, Mr Thomas Lefroy did not once remove his eyes from her countenance and every time she passed once more along the dance, he merely inclined his head toward her with such a saucy expression she was sure the whole room observed it! Far from keeping her head, she became flustered even to the point of moving the wrong way down the set to her utter mortification.
At last, the tortuous dance was over, and Charles led her back to her place. Jane waited for Tom to claim her. Looking up from her seat, he was nowhere to be seen, and as the seconds ticked by she perched up out of her seat looking eagerly from side to side. He simply wasn’t there. Oh, she was vexed! To think she had been looking forward to dancing with that proud puppy, and now, he was nowhere to be seen. Well, she was not going to be fooled like that again, she decided. Miss Jane Austen would not be toyed with by some upstart with a honeyed Irish lilt to his voice that was pleasure to her ears, and she would not be bewitched by such fairness of face or feature again. How dare he!
“Are you by chance looking for someone?” whispered a voice very close to her ear that had her jumping out of her seat.
Tom Lefroy was standing behind her, bending his handsome head down toward hers to tease her yet again. On seeing her expression he merely bowed, and holding out his hand said, “Miss Austen, I do hope you will do me the honour of dancing with me.”
Jane could not refuse him, however much she wished. There was something so very appealing about him even if he made her cross. And when he took her hand and led her out onto the floor, she knew this dance would be special. Thomas Lefroy was the perfect partner, and his conversation was thrilling and funny now that he had decided to speak. All his pride or shyness, whatever it was that had prevented him from speaking before was done away with, and he charmed her with his winning ways and dancing skills.
Jane remembered that first dance fondly. She recalled the subsequent dances that followed and the looks and whispers of the crowd.
“Miss Jane Austen of Steventon has found a new beau,” they said. “My, she is a lively one tonight. How many times has she stood up with that young man? She is certainly setting her cap at young Mr Lefroy, and well, she might!”
She and Tom had danced four times together during the course of the evening, and though Jane knew she should not, she could not help herself, not caring for the remarks of the gossips or the admonishment from her mother, she was only intent on enjoying herself. Was it really less than a week ago that they had held hands down the length of the ballroom? It seemed an age, and yet every detail of the recollection was etched on her mind as an engraving on a silver cup.
Would he come today? Would her birthday wish be fulfilled?
Soon everyone would be waking; the rectory and the farm would start to come alive with the shouts of the men working outside as best they could, moving livestock and horses into the barns for warmth, accompanied by the homely sounds and aromas of breakfast cooking inside, fragrant on the air. There would be toast, as always, and a slice of cake to be washed down with tea taken from the locked cupboard made in the best teapot or perhaps a pot of hot chocolate for a birthday treat, and Jane might be excused her breakfast duty on this special day.
All of a sudden, her thoughts were interrupted by the thud of something white and icy being hurled against the glass. It was a snowball! Looking out through the window once more, Jane could see nothing at first until the sight of a figure stepping out to look up caught her attention. Running downstairs with her hair flying about her and giving not a care for anything except opening the front door, she felt the same kind of excitement she’d been conscious of at the Basingstoke ball. Being cautious, she opened the door and looked out. The figure had gone, and although she had had only a glimpse of him she was sure she knew exactly who had thrown the snowball at her window. Jane looked all about, but Tom had truly disappeared. She was about to shut the door when she noticed a small package at her feet on the step.
Untying the scarlet ribbon that bound the small box, she discovered a sprig of mistletoe inside tied with the same ribbon, its milky pearls still glistening with snow. It was accompanied by a note.
To Miss Jane Austen - a poem, with apologies to Mr William Cowper from whom I have stolen said verse and rearranged for my own ends.
Think on me when you behold this token.
A Birthday Gift.
What Nature, alas! has deni'd
To the delicate growth of our isle,
Art has in a measure suppli'd,
And winter is deck'd with a smile.
See, Jane, what beauties I bring
From the shelter of an obliging tree,
Where the flowers have the charms of the spring,
Though abroad they are frozen and dead.
'Tis a bower of Arcadian sweets,
Where Flora is still in her prime;
A fortress to which she retreats,
From the cruel assaults of the clime.
While earth wears a mantle of snow,
This mistletoe is as fresh and as gay,
As the fairest and sweetest that blow
On the beautiful bosom of May.
Happy Birthday, dearest Jane,
Your friend,
T. L.
Jane picked up the mistletoe and beamed with happiness. Her wish had come true after all, and even if he had been too shy or too busy to stay, Tom had come to visit on her birthday. Holding the be-ribboned mistletoe to her cheek she delighted in his simple gift as if it had been a token of gold.
