Page 19 of Searching for Mr Tilney

‘Cassandra will be very pleased to start the ball with you, Lucius,’ I hear my mother say, and I’m brought out of my reverie as if doused in cold water. I try and smile, and do what is expected, though it is exceedingly hard. I glance over at Mr Fowle, and I see him regarding us, looking from Lucius to me, and back again. How I want to run over to the other side of the ballroom and tell him that nothing is as it appears, but instead I smile wanly, which probably does nothing to assure him either. All I can hope is that our mother will see our Kintbury friends and wish to greet them.

Then, just as I’m about to give up all hope, my mother takes charge and we cross the room to meet them, my heart in my mouth. Mr Fowle and I are standing opposite one another, and I hardly hear what my mother is saying to the Reverend and Mrs Fowle, though I hear her offer some words of congratulation on her son’s new curacy. When the adults carry on chatting, Mr Fowle does not say much at first. But, he’s smiling, his eyes crinkling into laughter lines, as he holds my gaze.

‘My goodness, Miss Cassandra, I hardly recognised you.’

‘Have I changed so much since last April?’ I ask, praying that he likes what he sees.

‘Forgive me, I do not wish to appear ungallant, but you look so different this evening. I still have a memory of the little girl who sat next to me in school lessons with short, unruly curls, and a most serious expression. I find the child I once knew has completely disappeared.’

‘I sincerely hope you’ll find I have changed for the better, Mr Fowle. I recognised you immediately, and though the passing years have altered you in some respects, in others, you remain much the same. Being so much older than myself, and no doubt, a good deal wiser, I recall you were always fond of giving me your thoughts and forthright opinions.’

I catch my tongue. Goodness, what am I saying? I sound as flirtatious as my wicked cousin Eliza who does not care whom she pursues or what she says to them.

Mr Fowle can hardly suppress his laughter. ‘And you think I’m still as outspoken as ever, and clearly advancing into my dotage. I suppose my four and twenty years must seem a vast difference to your tender age, though I assure you, I am not a very old man. I’ve not yet taken to wearing flannel vests.’

I feel my cheeks burning, and note Mr Fowle’s bemused expression.

‘I am not yet too old for dancing either, Miss Cassandra, though I daresay your card will be filled up by the young beaux of Bath to allow such attentions from an ancient clergyman from Kintbury.’

‘I … that is, my card is by no means full, Mr Fowle.’

‘Then I hope you will permit me to ask you to dance.’

‘Thank you, I would like that,’ I answer, and find I can no longer look at him. ‘The first two are taken …’

‘By the young man standing with your party,’ says Mr Fowle, and he stares at Lucius, a grave shadow passing over his handsome countenance. ‘Who is he? He has a look of the Austens … a distant cousin, perhaps?’

‘Yes, he’s Great-Uncle Francis’s grandson.’

Mr Fowle’s face clouds for a moment, and his brows draw together over the dark eyes that search Lucius out across the room. ‘A young puppy, but a wealthy one … and handsome too … he’d be a good match for you.’

I cannot speak. I don’t know how to answer him; everything that comes to mind seems completely the wrong thing to say. Thankfully, he requests the two dances after Lucius, and I struggle with my composure. I am so happy I could burst.

Yet, my euphoria does not last long. The musicians are tuning up, and my mother is hurrying me away, pulling me through the crush of people to the ballroom. It’s impossible to see for the tiers of benches and the large crowds who are surging onto the floor.

‘Oh, goodness me, they’re about to start and where is your partner? Can you see him, Cassandra?’

I’ve seen him, but there’s a small part of me that’s wants to pretend I haven’t. And then it’s too late to run away or back out, and Lucius is standing opposite me in the set and the music starts. It’s a very sedate minuet, and I’m aware that all eyes in the ballroom are watching every dancer and their partner. Much is made of first dances, and the old chaperones swap stories in very loud voices and have us all married off. I can just imagine what they’re saying about two distant cousins, very suitably paired, and a wealthy family doing the right thing by their poorer relations. And yet, as much as I feel Lucius enjoys dancing with me by the expression on his face, his manners are much the same I’ve seen from other young gentlemen of his station. I’m sure he thinks my affections might be easily cultivated if that is his desire, and he’ll oblige his family, though I’m certain it’s more likely he’ll become engaged to an heiress who will bring considerably more to a marriage than good looks and a respectable lineage. But, for the moment he wishes to please his grandfather who is very old, and will certainly leave him a healthy inheritance. And, Great-Uncle Frank who has engineered such an alliance feels he has done his job. He will not leave us his money, but thinks he has done the best he can for us.

Lucius doesn’t attempt to speak to me, but makes much of the moments when we come together. He gazes into my eyes with such intent that I instantly look elsewhere, and I feel the pressure of his fingers, and a sharper sting, like a pin or a fingernail pierce my palm. His fingers squeeze tighter, and his lips curl into a smile when he sees my discomfort, but I feel I must be imagining the pain and the pleasure in his eyes.

‘You remind me of a dove I once possessed,’ he says, as he takes my hand once more. His voice is so low I can hardly catch what he is saying, and must incline my head towards him in an effort to hear. ‘When it was dying, its small plump breast rose and fell so rapidly its heart was visible beneath the pale surface. Ivory skin, blue veins and the swell above a heart pulsating with life … you are a very pretty bird, Miss Austen.’

I can hardly believe the words I am hearing. I feel discomforted and somewhat frightened, but surely I must be mistaken … he could not be so bold or so vulgar. The dance stops, and Lucius bows. The torment is to start all over again for a second dance, but I cannot help hearing his words going round in my head, though he is as composed as ever.

‘You are an excellent dancer, Miss Austen. It is a pleasure to know you and your family better. Our introduction last year, I was sure, would be a prelude to many more. My grandfather always speaks so highly of your father … I am glad to know him better.’

Suddenly, I feel more at ease, and anyone who speaks so well of Papa deserves an answer. ‘My father would be very gratified to hear that, he is indebted to your grandfather for many things, not least, his start in life. I know my father is very pleased to be in touch with his Kentish relations. Indeed, we are all pleased to have made your acquaintance.’

I feel better now an attempt at a conversation has succeeded to some extent. I still cannot entirely forget his earlier words, but I’ve convinced myself I misheard a portion of it. The second dance is easier, but I am relieved now it is over. As Lucius escorts me from the floor my mother is smiling. It is easy to see how pleased she is by the connection, and pausing in her conversation with Lucius’s mother, she compliments us on our dancing. The whole ordeal has been so exhausting that I’m almost surprised when I see Mr Fowle standing before me. He bows and holds out his hand. Time slows down, and I feel happiness course through my veins.

However, it is not long before all my hopes are dashed. The ease I felt before has gone; there is no intimacy between us, and Mr Fowle seems withdrawn from me. Then, just as our first dance finishes, he speaks.

‘I daresay your family will be keen to secure an engagement with Mr Austen. I have often heard Jemmy talk of his relations in Kent … an alliance would help secure the fortunes of you all.’

‘There is no arrangement, I assure you. Besides, I am barely out, Mr Fowle. Even my mother, who does not believe in long engagements or in delaying such matters, would not press me to anything I am not ready for.’

‘You are young, Miss Austen, though I’ve always thought you wise for your years. You are considered to be an ideal age for matrimony by many, and if both families wish it, what is there to stand in your way? And long engagements, a union secured by the bonds of familial association are most traditional.’