Catherine and Henry Tilney’s “Comfortable Coze”

I know that “a comfortable coze” (this month’s theme here at the blog) comes from Mansfield Park and refers to a confab between Fanny Price and Mary Crawford. (Read more about that in Diana Birchall’s post.) But I admit that the phrase conjured up something a little different in my mind.

First, you should know that I write “clean” novels. In my case, at least, that means no serious hanky panky going on between anybody except married couples, and even that is all innuendo (nod, nod, wink, wink, and say no more). Absolutely nothing graphic… which is why I was completely mystified when, years ago now, one Amazon reviewer complained about the “sex scenes” in my first Pride and Prejudice sequel: The Darcys of Pemberley.

“What sex scenes?” I said. “Where?” Had I missed something? Had my naughty subconscious accidentally slipped something in when my conscious mind wasn’t looking?

Then I decided the complaint was really a compliment. Obviously, I’d succeeded in conveying the passion within Darcy and Elizabeth’s marriage without expressly describing it.  (Example: Darcy and Elizabeth: Their Wedding Night – Leaving More or Less to the Imagination)

I actually enjoy the challenge of writing something without writing it, if you know what I mean. Being obvious isn’t difficult; subtlety requires more finesse. Plus, when the audience is invited to read between the lines, I think they become more active participants in the story.

So today, I thought I’d share a “cozy” scene along those lines from the first chapter of Murder at Northanger Abbey, my sequel to Jane Austen’s spoof on the Gothic novel. Hope you have fun reading the lines written on the page as well as what’s tucked between them!

…It must all be true, however, Catherine reasoned when she blinked awake this particular morning, experiencing the same feelings of dawning pleasure as many other mornings before and since. Sun flooded in at the windows, filtered through the sheer draperies hanging there, and giving her a clear view of her surroundings. This ceiling over her head was certainly not the water-stained ceiling of the crowded bedchamber she had shared with her sisters in Fullerton. This bed was more comfortable too, and the bedclothes finer and sweeter smelling than those merely serviceable examples which had enfolded her throughout childhood (and which she had had the duty of laundering herself).

No, the dream was become reality, and this was Woodston parsonage! For the most conclusive evidence of that fact, she slowly turned her pretty face to the left, blushing becomingly in anticipation as she did so. Just as she had hoped and suspected, it was not any mere sister’s visage that then greeted her eyes but a medium skinned, rather handsome, and decidedly masculine face instead.

“Good morning, Mrs. Tilney,” he murmured low.

“Good morning, Mr. Tilney,” Catherine returned, smiling as if she possessed a delicious secret too good to tell.

“I trust you slept well.” The lift of his eyebrows as he said it and his slight smirk afterward hinted at his particular reason for thinking she had spent a pleasant night with him.

Taking his meaning and a moment to remember, even more rosy color flooded Catherine’s cheeks. “Yes, I did, thank you,” she said, and a girlish laugh escaped her lips in spite of herself.

It still seemed to her somewhat of a miracle that Henry Tilney was there in her bed, and that he was truly her husband – a miracle that needed constant confirmation. The sight of him, albeit exceedingly agreeable, was not enough. Hearing his familiar voice, still rough with the effects of sleep, was yet insufficient for her. She must consult her other senses as well.

Henry had quickly learnt this about his young bride – her need for continual reassurance – and he was always happy to oblige her with every positive proof of his presence and his love that she required. Toward that end, he now pulled her close and proceeded to bestow kisses here and there upon her person – affectionate to passionate according to what was wanted – and to furnish whatever other personal attentions seemed advisable.

Catherine, sighing contentedly and abandoning herself to his capable ministrations, wondered if there could possibly be any felicity in the world to equal it.

~~*~~

 Mr. and Mrs. Tilney quit their bed sometime later – much later, in truth, for neither of them really had any pressing reason for rising promptly that day. Catherine did not even bother to summon the servant to help her dress, accepting her husband’s offer of assistance instead. She knew from recent experience that it would take twice as long that way, probably even longer than if she had tried to manage the whole affair herself. Henry’s large hands were not particularly adept at lacing stays and doing up tiny buttons. And then there were the predictable stoppages and digressions along the way…

Ah, well. None of that mattered when there was no hurry at all.

What do you think? Does this qualify as “a comfortable coze” in your book? Are there certain phrases you particularly enjoyed, perhaps ones that communicated more than their face value? I hope you’ll read the rest of Henry and Catherine’s story too. I guess you could call it a cozy murder mystery!