Page 49 of Searching for Mr Tilney

‘Yes, indeed, there are a good many factors to be considered. Money is something, of course, but a good alliance formed between ancient families of noble breeding is as desirable as any financial settlement. I am pleased to consider the fact that my daughters are descended from the aristocracy through connections in my own family, a fact I am certain makes their marriage prospects exceedingly attractive.’

‘We will be bound by my father-in-law’s wishes, I know, though just lately he has made it clear that he entirely comprehends my husband’s current point of view, that he would not look favourably on any young woman who could not guarantee a considerable dowry, or make certain Lucius’s right to further his fortune.’

Nothing could be more blatant or shocking, even if under the guise of polite discourse. Though my mother stands behind me and does not answer immediately, I can picture her expression.

‘Of course I understand that some families might share a preference for such considerations as the acquisition of wealth and fortune over what others might judge to be the superior advantages of good breeding and lineage. I completely understand you and can only wish you well in your endeavour. Cassandra,’ I hear her say, ‘I think I see your Uncle Leigh-Perrot just arrived. Please excuse us, cousin, I must see how my brother and sister do this evening.’

She leads me away, but does not say a word on the matter, yet I know she is agitated, and when she complains of poor nerves and a headache to my uncle, I know it has been brought on by her recent conversation.

‘May I present Mr Barlow,’ interrupts Aunt Leigh-Perrot, suddenly appearing with a very tall, long-faced gentleman, who peers at me over the top of his spectacles. He’s probably twenty years older than me, his hair already receding, and I know Jane would liken him to a rook with his hooked nose and thin black-breeched legs.

‘Miss Austen would be delighted to dance with you, is that not so, Cassandra?’ my aunt says, and I rise, to smile and curtsey, accepting my fate without a whimper of protest, even though I should like to run from the room.

‘Your aunt tells me you’re an excellent dancer,’ he begins falteringly, and I thank him for his kindness. Just for an instant, I cannot help feeling sorry for us both. I am sure he would, like me, rather be anywhere else in the world.

The music is starting and I take his arm. He is hesitant in his movements, though more than once he stops and bows, before we’ve even reached the dance floor. For once, I am glad Jane is not with me. I know she would be doing her best to make faces, inducing me to laugh at the ridiculous situation, and I put her out of my mind.

The dance begins well, and we move down the set, but when we meet once again, Mr Barlow has the air of a lost man, and in his confusion he steps completely the wrong way, thrusting out his arm, and kicking up his leg. It is at a particularly swift moving section of the dance, and he manages to collide with a pair of dancers coming in the other direction, dislodging his spectacles and knocking them to the floor. I manage to rescue the spectacles from being stepped on and broken, and find our place again, but before the dance is over Mr Barlow mis-steps again, and this time I cannot hide my blushes. As we dance to the top of the set I try to keep my eyes fixed ahead, determined not to focus on the people staring and pointing, some brazenly laughing behind their hands. Immediately in front, I see the very person I have dreaded seeing all evening. It is only for a second, but Mr Fowle is looking on in astonishment. I know what he must be thinking, and imagine he’s pleased that he’s not having to dance with the girl who is making such an exhibition of herself.

At last it is over, but far from moving away to ask someone else to dance Mr Barlow remains by my side.

‘I was very disappointed to hear that you have so little time left in Bath, Miss Austen.’

‘We are to leave at the end of the week, but I think I shall be pleased to be home again, I must admit.’

‘Do you not like Bath, Miss Austen?’

‘I like it well enough, but I particularly enjoy being at home.’

‘That is excellent news … so many young ladies are such gadabouts these days. It is pleasant to know there are still domestic creatures left in the world. I daresay you’ll enjoy having a home of your own in the not too distant future.’

I can see where the conversation is leading and I feel anxious to steer him from its course.

‘Mr Barlow, may I ask you to fetch me some refreshment. I find I am feeling thirsty after our dancing.’

I watch him run off eagerly, and try hard not to sigh so visibly that my mother might see. She takes his place in a moment, her voice low and conspiratorial, as if she might be overheard.

‘All he needs are a few dancing lessons … his family are very well connected, I am told, and though he has yet to make his mark in the world, my brother tells me that he is to inherit a good-sized house and five thousand a year, at least.’

I am glazing over as she speaks of his relations in the North Country, and the list of lords to whom he is related. I watch Mr Fowle walking on to the dance floor with Miss Brooke on his arm. Time is suspended; even the music seems to slow down. All candles seem to light their way and illuminate their perfect dancing. He moves so well, his feet keeping perfect time to the music, and I envy her as I watch him lead her through the dance. I try not to look, but it’s like scratching at a wound, I cannot help myself. He gazes at her in the same way I imagine that he used to look at me, and I recall the touch of his hand in mine.

I know I have only seconds left to declare my headache and find an excuse for sitting out the next dance. It is not my wish to attract attention or have anyone feel sorry for me, but I find my usual stoicism deserting me, and the thought of having to spend the evening with Mr Barlow is not giving any comfort. Besides, the pounding in my temples feels very real. Fortunately, my dear papa seems to notice I am not quite myself.

‘Cassy, are you not well?’

‘I am not feeling my best, Papa, I will admit. It is just a headache, but …’

‘It is hardly surprising; the heat is insufferable. Let us not stay here a minute longer or endure any more dancing. I will escort you home, and we’ll find you a powder.’

‘But, Papa, I do not wish to spoil your evening,’ I say, knowing how much he enjoys playing cards with my uncles.

He takes my arm and whispers in my ear. ‘I shall be very happy to see you home safely, for I cannot guarantee you won’t be bruised in several places if you stay. Forgive me, for not stepping in sooner. Make haste, my dear … we’ll find your cloak.’

My father takes charge, ignoring the cries of protest from my mother at leaving, and before much longer we are out in the cool of the night air. My mother is grumbling, as she slowly trails behind us, and I know she is vexed with me.

‘I am sorry, Papa, to put you to so much trouble,’ I say, as we wander, arm in arm down the hill towards Milsom Street.

‘Not at all, Cassy,’ he whispers, patting my hand. ‘I could not bear to see you having to put up with that gentleman a moment longer. Do you suppose his legs were tied together when no one was looking? I’ve never seen such an exhibition, and how I managed to keep my countenance I cannot say, except out of feeling for you, my poor child.’