The Persuasion of Miss Jane Austen – Part 3: Falling in Love

In last week’s episode, Jane met the dashing and mysterious Captain Devereaux at her brother Henry’s wedding. Although she doesn’t expect to see him ever again, she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him. Will fate take a hand?

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~ Chapter 4 ~

I dearly loved my home and family, but I had never been more unwilling to return to them than I was that next day after the wedding. I lingered on the street as long as possible in hopes of a last-minute reprieve. Then I looked both up and down one final time before entering the carriage. I saw no one – least of all a handsome naval officer – hurrying to stop my departure, or even to bid me a fond farewell. It seemed only Henry and Eliza, already in the carriage, cared if I were to stay or go, so I reluctantly joined them.

We rode in silence for some time – I with my eyes constantly at the window, continuing the watch even as all hope faded away. Once beyond the environs of London, I ceased to be interested in the scenery altogether. I could not even take pleasure from the knowledge that I would soon be back in my beloved sister’s company. All that impressed me was the fact that every mile we travelled toward Steventon carried me farther away from the chance of ever seeing Captain Devereaux again.

I repented, over and over, of being so addlebrained as to believe myself in love with a man I had met only once. I had heard of such cases, of course, but I had always deemed them pure nonsense. Only a weak-minded sort of individual would allow herself to be run away with by such fanciful feelings… or so I had supposed. Now I was that weak-minded person, for I could not stop thinking of the captain.

Even had I been strong enough to put the gentleman from my head, it would have made no difference, for my companions seemed determined that I should not forget him. Eliza embarked on that line of conversation no more than an hour down the road.

“Jane, dear, you have not yet told me what you think of my friend Captain Devereaux,” she said teasingly.

I travelled homeward in the same manner as I had gone to London – courtesy of the bride and groom. Prior to the wedding, which naturally took place in Eliza’s home parish, I served as an attendant and chaperone of sorts. Now we all returned for a celebration of that event to be held in the parish of the groom.

“Yes, Jane,” added Henry. “Do tell us. Did you find his manners engaging?”

“I hardly know,” said I, hoping nothing in my look or my voice betrayed me. “I only spent a few minutes with him, after all.”

“It was not too short a time to form a first impression, though, was it?” Henry continued. “And I know you are a champion of the importance of First Impressions,” he added with a wink.

I pretended to be amused by his small joke, but then I had to correct him. “On the contrary, my dear brother. If you recall, Elizabeth Bennet learns to repent of her reliance on judgments formed in haste.”

“Very true, very true,” conceded Henry.

“Nevertheless, Jane, I will not allow you to evade my question so easily,” said Eliza. “You must have formed some opinion of my friend. It only takes a trice to assess a person’s looks, for example. Do not you agree that Captain Devereaux is uncommonly handsome?”

“I really did not notice,” I lied.

“Did you not?” Eliza asked with a devilish grin. “Strange. I felt quite certain that you had, that you had very particularly noticed that much if nothing else about the man. Allow me to remind you of some of his other assorted attractions. He is well born, well read, and he knows how to speak his mind and heart. And what of his air of continental sophistication? These things must have garnered your attention, for I daresay you do not meet with this sort of quality gentleman every day, especially not in your usual society.”

Silently, I agreed with Eliza on every point, but I offered her only a shrug in response.

“Upon my honour, I am surprised at you, Jane,” she continued. “I thought writers were required to be careful observers of the human condition. I am afraid this lapse on your part does not bode well for your career… or for the captain’s chances with you either.”

“You mustn’t tease my poor sister so, my love,” said Henry mildly.

“Yes, I must indeed!” insisted Eliza. “My introducing her to the captain was by way of a little experiment, and the scientist must know the outcome of his work.”

This was too much. “An experiment?” I cried. “But the captain said it was at his insistence that you introduced us.”

“Yes, that is true enough. But, my dear Jane, who do you suppose made him so curious about you that he insisted, hmm? All lovers need a little help.”

“Your imagination has run wild if you see lovers wherever you look,” I rejoined, although I could feel the colour rising into my cheeks.

“Aha! See how she blushes, Mr. Austen. I think it is not only my imagination that has run wild. There was something to my idea of putting the two of them together after all.”

I took a moment to compose myself before answering this new attack. “Regardless of how it began, Eliza, you will have to give up the notion of reaching any significant conclusions from your so-called experiment. The contrasting elements you put together are now rent asunder again and forever, without issue.”

“Perhaps so, and perhaps not. I can do nothing further, it is true. But there is always the possibility that fate will take a hand. More surprising things have occurred than that two people’s paths, seemingly travelling in opposite directions, should cross again. We shall just have to wait to see if anything develops.” Eliza smiled serenely and then returned her attentions to her husband.

I cannot recall ever being held captive to a more uncomfortable carriage ride in my life. The road was not to blame. No, I had the continual billing and cooing of the newlyweds – so obviously in love – to witness, whilst all the while knowing myself to be permanently divided from the only man with whom I could picture being similarly occupied. The torture was acute, and my only escape came in disguise – feigning sleep or a singular interest in the verdant countryside – that I might withdraw my eyes from what soon became too painfully irksome to observe.

~~*~~

Momentary weakness might be forgivable, but a lengthy wallow in self-pity I refused to tolerate. I therefore determined to talk myself into being sensible again by the time we reached Steventon. Nothing truly tragic had occurred, I reasoned. I had simply made an error – not the first nor the last time that would happen, surely. I had mistakenly wished for a romantic attachment that could never be. The object of that supposed attachment was now gone, and there was an end to it.

Exertion was necessary, and so resolutely did I struggle against the oppression of my feelings that my better self eventually won out. It was with a tolerable semblance of my customary cheerfulness that I greeted my family upon our arrival home. Although nobody paid much attention to me; they were all full of the bride and groom, which was just as it should be.

It was only that night, when Cassandra and I finally retired to the bedchamber we shared, that my self-control faltered. Too weary to maintain the pretense any longer, I let down my guard. And Cassandra, who I sometimes believe understands me better than I do myself, immediately queried me.

“What is it, Jane?”

I knew I had been found out. That did not stop me from feigning ignorance, however. “I have not the pleasure of understanding you.”

“Yes, you have. Something is amiss. I suspected as much earlier, but now I am certain. Tell me.”

“It is nothing, only a touch of melancholy.”

“Not because of Henry and Eliza, I trust. Anybody can see how happy they are.”

“No, of course not. I am delighted for them both.”

“What, then? You know all my sorrows, Jane. It is only right that you should allow me to share yours as well.”

A violent pang of conscience struck me. Poor Cassandra. Less than eight months before she had learnt that Tom Fowle – the love of her life – was gone forever, taken a victim of a tropical fever at San Domingo. She had known him far longer than I had my captain, and between them there had existed something far more substantial: a positive engagement. And yet she bravely carried on. What were my sorrows next to hers?

“My distress is owing to a similar cause, but it does not bear comparing to your affliction, dear Cass. It is just that I met someone at the wedding that I believe I could have cared for, and now I shall never see him again.”

“Ahhh,” she said with a knowing look. “So it is love.”

“Certainly not! How could it be? I only saw him once, and I shall soon be over it.”

“The same as you were soon over your infatuation with Tom Lefroy?”

“Yes!” I declared boldly. “No,” I corrected. I could lie to myself, if I chose, but I would not lie to my sister any longer. She deserved better. “No, this is different,” I added with a sigh.

“I see. Not calf-love this time. No mere flirtation.”

“I wish it were, since it stands no chance of continuing, but I am afraid it is not.”

With gentle coaxing, Cassandra drew the story from me, bit by bit, until I had related to her the whole of it – how I met the captain, a full description of his person and manners, and every detail of our one conversation.

“He is just the sort of man I could admire,” I concluded, “and what I had almost given up hope of finding.”

“Now you sound like Marianne Dashwood,” teased my sister. “What is it she says near the beginning of the book? Something about never finding a man whom she could truly love.”

I had recently revisited the manuscript in question, so the passage to which Cassandra referred was still fairly fresh in my mind. “It goes something like this,” I said. I closed my eyes, rested the back of my hand against my forehead, and threw myself into the role, as if acting in our old family theatricals. “The more I know of the world, the more I am convinced that I shall never meet with a man whom I can really love, for I require so much. He must have Edward’s virtues, and his person and manners must ornament his goodness with every possible charm.”

Cassandra laughed at my melodramatic performance. “Ah, yes, an opinion drawn from the vast wisdom and experience of one who was but seventeen. Can anybody measure up to Marianne’s impossible standard, Jane? Does your captain?”

I gazed at the ceiling and considered the question wistfully. “Difficult to say. A longer acquaintance would surely be required to verify his goodness with certainty.” Then I grinned. “And, unfortunately, I had no proper opportunity to test the limits of his virtue. But I can vouchsafe the rest. I found Captain Devereaux highly ornamental and everything charming.”

We laughed again and I embraced Cassandra, silently blessing her for lightening both my burden and my mood. Then, before dropping off to sleep that night, I told myself once more that this affair was utterly at an end. There was no use continuing to think of the captain, because I was never to see him again.

I believed it at the time, and I have wondered nearly every day since how things might have turned out differently had it been true.

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~ Chapter 5 ~

The fact is that, instead of never seeing Captain Devereaux again, I saw him the very next day.

The party at Steventon, given in celebration of Henry and Eliza’s marriage, was well underway, and all our friends were gathered to make merry with us. Papa acted the consummate host. Mama fussed and fretted for fear of running out of the fricandeau, or that the table arrangements might be judged insufficiently grand for the occasion. The bride and groom, arrayed in their finest dress, displayed their happiness and good fortune for all the world to see.

It was a splendid affair, by Steventon standards, and I should have been in my element – taking every opportunity of enjoying myself. Yet, despite my resolution to the contrary, I had once more been daydreaming about Captain Devereaux.

“Do not they look well together, Jane?” remarked dear Madam Lefroy, coming up beside me and resting a hand on my shoulder.

Thus forced into cutting short my reverie, I followed her gaze to where the newlyweds stood talking with my brother James and his little daughter Anna. “Yes,” I agreed, “very well indeed.”

“One would never think that there was any awkwardness in their ages. Such trifles hardly signify when more important factors mark two people out for a good match. Their temperaments seem entirely suited, and the comfortable bit of wealth Eliza brings to the union will surely make up for everything else. Your brother is a lucky man.”

“He is lucky, yes, but because he has been able to marry the woman he loves.”

“Jane, do not look at me so reproachfully. Only think what it was that enabled Henry to marry where his heart chose. Why, was it not a sufficient supply of funds?”

I had to admit she was right. “I suppose that is true enough, my friend. I still maintain that a good income is not the only ingredient necessary to happiness. However, I am willing to concede that it is one thing which is very difficult to do without.”

“Exactly so,” she said calmly, giving my hand an affectionate squeeze. “I knew we must come to an understanding, my dear. You and I can never remain at odds for long.”

I returned her warm smile, thinking how our own enduring relationship reflected the sentiment this gracious lady had expressed a moment before; a disparity in age did not signify when compared with more important factors, such as mutual respect and common interests. With Anna Lefroy I shared a passion for literature of all kinds. She encouraged me in my writing, and she was always ready to join me in an informed discussion of plays or poetry. The fact that she was closer to my mother’s age than to mine merely made her a more reliable counselor. A decade of acquaintance had taught me to trust her opinions, which were always founded on sound judgment and the wisdom of experience.

As usual, my conversation with Madam Lefroy had done me good, talking me back into a more rational frame of mind. Still, it little prepared me for what followed. One moment sense and order reigned; the next, they were completely overthrown again with Captain Devereaux’s sudden appearance at Steventon.

Henry, who had spotted him first, was in the midst of greeting his friend. Yet his friend could not attend. Indeed, whilst Henry was still speaking, the captain began to walk away. As if drawn by the strength of my own wishes, he slowly and inexorably moved in my direction, cutting through the crowd with no more notice of them than if he were passing through a field of tall barley.

At first, I did not believe my eyes, and then came the fleeting impression that the glorious image before me must have somehow been conjured from my own mind. Yet this was no apparition, I soon perceived, but rather a man of flesh and blood, alive, breathing, and now no more than two feet from me.

“Miss Austen,” he murmured.

Blinking back my disbelief, I said, “Captain Devereaux, what do you do here? I… I had not expected to see you again.”

“Perfectly understandable, since I left you with no assurance that you should. Still, I found that in the end… In the end, I could not stay away.”

He paused and I held my breath until I should hear what he would say next.

“I could not stay away because… That is to say, I came because I knew you would be here.”

It was no doubt very forward of him to say such a thing to me on so short an acquaintance, but I swiftly decided to make allowances. He was French, after all – a very passionate race, by all accounts – and it was not to be expected that four years abroad would have transformed his native temperament and manners entirely. In any case, his words, added to the earnest way he looked at me, confirmed everything in a moment. That was all that signified. I had not imagined the regard I had seen before in his eyes. I was not alone in thinking something special had passed between us in our brief time together two days earlier. He had felt it too, and on the strength of that conviction alone, he had followed me all the way from London. My spirit trilled for joy; my heart was given wings.

“Do you mind,” he asked, “that I have come, I mean?”

Before answering, I told myself that I had not the same excuse as he did for speaking so openly. “Not at all,” I said with proper English restraint. “I enjoyed our conversation before, and I wondered if we might meet again one day. I had not imagined it could be so soon, however.”

“We live in uncertain days, Miss Austen, and I could at any moment receive orders to sail. This is no time for hesitation, no time to hope circumstances alone might happen to forward our acquaintance. I had to take matters in hand myself or risk losing this one chance. You must see that.”

“Sir, I hardly know what to say to such a statement,” I equivocated, “except that I am extremely flattered that you prize our new friendship so much as this.”

“I do, and I believed – that is, I hoped – it might develop into something more, given the opportunity. Forgive me if I presume too much, but I thought perhaps you did return some portion my regard. Was I wrong, Miss Austen?”

What could I say to him that would be both proper and true? My heart longed to shout for joy, but my head again called for restraint. We were not alone, for one thing, and I was worried that our conversation might already be attracting undue attention. “I do like you, Captain,” I said in low tones, “very much, in fact. But more than that I cannot say. Decorum prevents me.”

He looked pleased. “If your feelings for me are stronger than you are at liberty to openly declare, then I am well satisfied. This is a good beginning. Yes, a very good beginning!”

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We spent every possible moment together after that. Henry and Eliza’s presence gave excuse for all manner of parties and gatherings at both Steventon and Ashe, and for Captain Devereaux’s inclusion in them. Since we had been enjoying especially fine weather for January, we all took to walking out together as well – the young people of the neighborhood. These outings on foot were our favourite above any other form of entertainment, for they offered the captain and myself opportunity to become more intimately acquainted away from any officious scrutiny.

What can I say about those days of exceptional happiness? Just as with Anne and Captain Wentworth’s initial courtship, I am compelled, even now, to keep to myself many details of what actually transpired between the two of us. Such private moments and tender feelings defy words and explanations in any case. This much may be known, however; overwhelming forces had already been set into motion, sealing our fates. What ensued was as irresistible as gravity. Establishing the pattern for the hero and heroine of my novel, Captain Philippe Devereaux and I fell rapidly and deeply in love.

We both understood what was happening and rejoiced. Suddenly, all the world was right and beautiful in Philippe’s estimation, with his highest praise reserved for me. I felt the same boundless bliss, rightly sighting my captain – in whom all the manifold virtues of male perfection were happy to reside – as the source of my sublime contentment. Past injuries and disappointments were soon forgot, and nothing but the most glorious future lay before us.

Since no positive engagement yet existed between us, we talked about these things only in theoretical terms. He would ask me general but leading questions. What sort of house did I imagine myself living in one day? Did I suppose that the sea air would agree with me, should I, for some unnamed reason, find myself residing in a port town for example? It became a delicious game to us, a delectable way of heightening anticipation – seeing how much we could say to one another without committing ourselves, without crossing the tempting line too soon.

In these roundabout discussions, Captain Devereaux admitted to only one minor reservation for our outlook, and that was his current lack of fortune. He had been forthright about this from the beginning. Although once he had been rich, he had been obliged to start again almost from nothing when he arrived in England. He had his officer’s pay, of course, but little beyond at the moment. A minor inconvenience, it seemed in those first heady days of infatuation, for in our exuberance, we believed ourselves more than equal to overcoming every obstacle. Nothing must stand in our way.

Had anybody else perceived the seriousness of the attachment so swiftly forming in front of their eyes, we might have encountered early opposition to spoil our joy. But I had been more circumspect this time – it was part of the game – and only Cassandra could have supposed this was anything to rival my flagrant flirtation with Tom Lefroy two years before. The others seemed to accept the given explanation for the captain’s frequent presence in our house – that he was a close friend to Henry and Eliza, come to celebrate their marriage along with the rest of us.

The celebrations could not continue indefinitely, however, and neither could our delightful courtship games. After two weeks all together, Henry and Eliza were due to leave us. And Philippe himself was obliged to go into London on business in a matter of days. He expected it would be a brief absence. All the same, there was always a chance he would find orders awaiting him there and not return. In that case, would I ever see him again?

Then Philippe rode over that fateful morning from his temporary lodgings to propose one more walk to Ashe before the breakup of the party.

“An excellent notion,” said Henry, in response to the Captain’s suggestion. “Do not you agree, my dear Eliza? It will serve as our take-leave visit.”

“Yes, to be sure, although it pains me to think that we must go away tomorrow. Jane, you will walk with us.”

Looking up from the book I pretended to read, I saw her wink at me. “Certainly, if you wish it,” said I, as if it were all one to me.

“I would not lose your company for one hour,” continued Eliza, “even to gain that of the Lefroys.”

With no one else available to join in, we four set off for Ashe parsonage, walking at a brisk rate to match the bracing chill in the air. Once out of sight of the house, the Captain and I slackened our pace, steadily dropping behind the others, as we had so often done before. Words were not necessary to orchestrate this alteration, or the fact that our parallel paths soon drifted a little closer, to the point where the sleeve of his coat might happen to brush mine occasionally. I could then at least imagine I felt his warmth bridging the gap between us, though we never touched.

“I believe I owe you an apology, Miss Austen,” he began at length as we went along.

I looked sideways up at him. “Truly? Whatever for? And please, do call me by my Christian name whenever we are alone.” I longed to hear myself addressed so. And, coming from his lips, I expected that one syllable would sound as sweet as the most elegant sonnet.

He paused and looked at me. “Very well, Jane.”

A wave of pleasure washed over me at his caressing tone, and time seemed suspended for a moment while the exquisite sound hung in the air.

Then he remembered himself, resumed our walk, and continued with his thought. “I owe you an apology, or at least an explanation, for my behaviour to you in London. You must have wondered why I ended our conversation so abruptly, especially when we had been doing so well together.”

“You did give me an explanation,” said I, determined now to make light of the circumstance that had hitherto given me so much anxiety. “You said you feared detaining me from my friends overly long. Still, I thought I must have said or done something to displease you.”

“Not at all. Quite the opposite, I assure you. Perhaps you did not suspect it, but I knew within minutes of our first meeting that I could care for you, that an attachment was indeed already beginning, on my side at least. The longer we were together, the more difficult it would be to break away. And, not being in a strong position to make any commitments, I believed I owed it to us both to part before any real harm was done.”

“Yet you followed me to Hampshire anyway.”

I stopped and turned to my companion, and he did likewise.

“Yes,” he said almost breathlessly. “I suppose I changed my mind.”

Perhaps it would have been more correct to demure, but I simply said, “I am so glad you did, Philippe.”

This seemed to decide him. Rewarding me with a gratified smile, he took both my gloved hands in his and hurried on. “The world would tell us that it is imprudent to contemplate marrying on so little. I have some money saved, otherwise there will be barely anything above my pay to live on. But I love you too passionately for delay, Jane, and I am asking you to believe in me. I am resourceful, hard working, determined, and, despite my history, I count myself a lucky sort of person. With you by my side, I cannot fail of achieving great things, both in my career and as regards to fortune. There is plenty of prize money to be made in the war, and I still hope to recover at least a portion of my family’s property as well. Dearest Jane…” Here he dropped to one knee. “…will you trust me? I may have no right to ask, but will you marry me now, while I am undeserving? If you agree, you will never regret it, I promise.”

Dear God! How long ago that scene played out! And still, I have yet to forget one detail of it – the stray lock of dark hair forming a flawless curl on the captain’s forehead; the small puffs of fog created when his warm breath merged with the frigid air as he spoke; the call of a distant rook punctuating the brief silence after he finished. These and other precious remembrances compose a sharply drawn picture in my mind, undiminished and unmarred by the passage of time. The words spoken on that wooded pathway remain so perfectly preserved that I have no difficulty recalling them even now, more than seventeen years later, recalling them and ascribing the substance of my captain’s sentiments over to his fictional counterpart. I take my pen and write:

Captain Wentworth had no fortune… But he was confident that he should soon be rich; full of life and ardour, he knew that he should soon have a ship, and soon be on a station that would lead to every thing he wanted. He had always been lucky; he knew he should be so still. Such confidence, powerful in its own warmth, and bewitching in the wit which often expressed it, must have been enough for Anne.

 

Likewise, it had been enough for me as well. I agreed to marry Captain Devereaux that day, and it would be impossible to say which of us was the happiest – I, in receiving his declaration of love, or he in having his proposal accepted. We laughed and kissed by turns, forgetting to make much progress towards our destination. I smiled so much that by the time we finally did reach Ashe, my cheeks ached for it. If only that initial happiness, that boundless, unlimited joy, had been stout enough to withstand the storm to come.

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Oh, dear! Doesn’t sound like love’s course will run smoothly for Jane and Captain Devereaux. (But you knew that already from Anne and Captain Wentworth’s story, written as a reflection of it.) Doubts and opposition will creep in to spoil the couple’s brief period of ‘exquisite felicity.’ What will Jane do?

This is the end of your free sample. I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you will continue reading on your own! The Persuasion of Miss Jane Austen is now available in paperback, e-book, and audio.