“The entire company might have played the truant, Cassandra, for all my notice — as I think you very well know. I am no friend to Kotzebue.”

Cassandra was silent at this, her eyes fixed on her cap and her needle flying. “Lord Harold is a very — a very imposing gentleman.”

“Imposing? I suppose he is, upon first acquaintance. But his manners grow more easy with time.”

“And are they pleasing, Jane?” My sister fixed me with a look, part entreaty and part frustration. “Are they such as might be capable of winning your affection?”

“My affection! Indeed, Cassandra, I cannot think that my affection should be necessary to Lord Harold’s happiness. He is sufficient unto himself—”

“Then why do you accept his invitations? Why seek out his society? It cannot be profitable to either your heart or your reputation, Jane. He is a man of whom every ill thing might be said — and has been said — by the world in general. He is accused of the most atrocious part in all manner of affairs — adultery, betrayal, and no doubt treason!”

“Hardly treason, Cassandra,” I observed mildly, “or he should never be employed by the Crown, on affairs too delicate to be breathed. Of the rest, however, I can say nothing. It is true he is regarded as a formidable opponent, in affairs of honour; and such duels are rarely fought without cause.”

“How can you speak so lightly, Jane! I begin to believe I do not know my own sister!”

I sighed, at that moment, for Eliza’s more liberal humour. Cassandra’s goodness may be said to verge, with advancing age, upon prudery; and however respectable my sister’s motives in the present case, her methods recalled the schoolroom.

“And you know that he is far above our station,” she persisted. “So great a man cannot make Miss Austen his object from any other motive than dalliance. You are too wise to play the fool, my dear — though his consequence may be gratifying, and his attention a boon to vanity. You know how you will expose yourself — to the derision of the world for disappointed hopes, or worse.”

“Cassandra! These are serious words indeed! Where can you have heard ill of Lord Harold?”

“From yourself, Jane. But two years ago.”

This brutal truth must give me pause.

“There was a time, I recall, when you did not scruple to name him as the very worst man in the kingdom,” Cassandra continued. “Are you so blinded by elegance and means? Are you so fearful of ending an old maid, Jane, that you would sacrifice the respect of the people you love, merely to go about on the arm of such a man?”

“My dear—” I laid aside the waistcoat. “In the first instance, I very much doubt that Lord Harold intends to make me the object of dalliance. He merely seeks my society on behalf of his niece — who cannot claim a large acquaintance in Bath, and who is sadly grieved by her brother’s present misfortunes. I may assure you that I feel for Lord Harold no more tender sentiment than friendship. I have grown to esteem him with the passage of time, for reasons I am not at liberty to relate; and if the world continues in benighted ignorance of his honourable character, then fie upon the world!”

“But from such ignorance, Jane, the world will include you in its contempt. The warmth of your nature — its impulsive regard — has misled you in the past, to your regret. Are the delights, now, of an overcrowded rout, or of an indifferent play in the splendour of the Wilborough box, worth the risk of such censure?”

She was not to be persuaded; in Lord Harold’s very name she read an evil; and so I threw up my hands.

“We must persist, Cassandra, in dividing our opinions upon the subject. As long as my father and mother decline to censure Lord Harold’s society, I shall continue to accept it with gratitude; and hope that a greater acquaintance with the gentleman, will increase your regard and esteem.”

“That must be impossible, Jane — for I intend no greater acquaintance with Lord Harold.” And at this, she snapped her thread with a vengeance, thrust aside the cap, and quitted the room.

I PUZZLED OVER MY SISTER’S BEHAVIOUR LATER THIS MORNING, as I walked towards Pulteney Bridge. The weak light of a fitful sun turned the limestone face of Bath to faintest yellow. A weak, a dysenteric face, as though the town had languished too long in an unhealthy clime — but I am no ardent admirer of Bath, it must be said, and can never see its beauties in the proper light. I set my heart against the place from the first moment of settling here, and I have endured its customs and frivolities nearly four years, as others might submit to exile. It is in the country that I am happiest; the habits of a simple life most suit my retiring nature; but while my father lives, in Bath we shall remain. In this city was he wed to my mother, and here they suffered their first days as man and wife — so that in the last ebb of fading strength, George Austen has sought comfort in Bath, as another man’s wits might return to childhood.

I achieved the bridge, and spared not a moment for its shops; looked back over my shoulder at the hills and winding crescents of the town; then turned my face to Laura Place, and the Dowager Duchess’s abode. Cassandra should shudder to see me here, I knew — but from whence arose her decided disapproval? From commendable anxiety for my standing in the world — or from envy and fear of desertion? We had grown up together in the greatest love and friendship — my mother had once observed of us as children, that if Cassandra were to have her head cut off, I should beg to have mine taken, too — and any hint of discord in our opinions and thoughts was unsettling in the extreme. But perhaps the spectre of Lord Harold — of his consequence quite dazzling my senses — had caused Cassandra’s nose to turn?

I had dressed with care for this journey to Laura Place, in a rosy muslin and spencer that were not unbecoming. I thought it only right, that the great civility of Lady Desdemona’s attention last evening — and indeed, the condescension of the entire Trowbridge family — should be met with some equal exertion on my part, in paying a morning call in Laura Place as soon as decency would allow. I must confess as well to some suspense regarding the inquest, and an anxiety for the earliest particulars of Lord Kinsfell’s fate. It being now hard on one o’clock, I felt fairly certain of finding Lady Desdemona at home, and well-disposed towards visitors. And so, with an indrawn breath, I pulled the bell.

Daylight revealed the Dowager’s abode as a magnificent establishment constructed of Cotswold stone, undoubtedly designed by Baldwin, and maintained in all the elegance that easy circumstances will allow.[51] The interior, however, was much as I remembered it from Tuesday’s fateful rout — albeit greatly improved by a dearth of heat and company.

I handed the footman my card, and enquired whether the lady was within; he departed to learn the answer; and returned as quickly, followed by Lady Desdemona herself. She was arrayed as though for a ball — in tamboured white muslin, pink slippers, and long silk gloves. A spray of diamonds glittered in her hair. If she had so much as thought of her brother’s inquest this morning, I should be very much surprised.

“Miss Austen! And quite recovered from your injuries of last evening!” she cried with animation. “But how divine! You are just in time to observe Mr. Lawrence!”

“Mr. Lawrence?”

“The painter! He is above, in the drawing-room, about the business of my portrait.”

I blushed in confusion. “I had not an idea that my visit should so incommode the household, Lady Desdemona. Pray, do not tarry below for my sake! Stay only to accept my heartfelt gratitude — for last evening’s amusement, and the pleasure of your company. I shall look for your society another day, at a more favourable hour.”