Hampshire, 1796

OVER THE NEXT two weeks, Jane was rarely seen at the rectory. Cassandra indulged her desire to be with Mr. Mansfield, for Jane had whispered a hint that they were involved in a literary project, and Cassandra was never one to interfere with her sister’s endeavors in this direction.

“Still, I feel almost as if you are away in Kent,” said Cassandra one evening as they sat together reading. “Perhaps you could send me a letter from Mr. Mansfield’s residence to inform me of all the goings-on there.”

“I assure you, sister, nothing goes on but reading and writing, and the occasional consumption of a bit of beef or bread to keep up our strength.”

It was nearly November, and the wind whistled through the barren branches of the trees when Jane presented herself at Mr. Mansfield’s door to find her friend looking unusually cheerful.

“Should you be out alone in such weather, Miss Austen?” he said as he ushered her into the warm sitting room.

“It is only my characters,” said Jane, thinking of Marianne Dashwood, “who are careless when walking in less than perfect weather, Mr. Mansfield. Now you must tell me what inspires this smile that does not leave your face.”

Mr. Mansfield presented Jane with a sheaf of papers. “It is finished,” he said.

“Allegorical Stories and a Cautionary Tale,” she read. “Not A Little Book?”

“With the addition, it won’t be so little.”

“You must have been up all night finishing this,” said Jane.

“I wanted you to be able to read it through without stumbling across my marks and corrections, our deletions and emendations.”

“I wonder if you would mind, Mr. Mansfield, if I did more than read it through. It occurs to me that, with this project of atonement completed and your new edition ready for the press, the new cautionary tale, as you call it, might serve as the germ of an altogether larger project—perhaps even a new novel.”

“What a capital idea,” said Mr. Mansfield. “I do not doubt that in your talented hands the story could be much more than what it is now. You must keep the manuscript for as long as you need.”

“You are indeed generous, Mr. Mansfield, and I confess that, with the work I envision, such a carefully written and unmarked copy will be of great benefit. But you must keep this for yourself a little longer, for I am eager to hear you read.”

“I had hoped, perhaps, that you would read to me, as I have, as you surmise, been awake much of the night.”

“Then I am afraid my dulcet voice would lull you straight to sleep,” said Jane. “No, on this occasion I should like to sit in comfort by your fire, close my eyes, and hear you read to me.”

“I would argue your point, if I did not already know the futility of doing battle with you,” said Mr. Mansfield with a chuckle. “If you will allow me to pour a mug of tea to bolster my aging voice, I shall indulge your wishes.”

Jane fell into a chair as Mr. Mansfield lifted the kettle from the fire, filled the teapot, and poured two mugs of tea. “Now,” he said, “I shall dispense with the revised versions of stories you have already heard and skip directly to the new material, which I know is of most interest to us both.” He shuffled through the manuscript until he had found the place he wished to begin, picked up a page, and read: “First Impressions.”

The shadows had deepened in the sitting room by the time Mr. Mansfield turned to the final page. He had been forced to light a lamp, but neither he nor Jane seemed willing to break off mid-story, and so he read on until he reached the final letter:

Pemberley, Thursday

My Dear Lydia,

It has always been evident to me that such an income as yours and Wickham’s, under the direction of two persons so extravagant in their wants, and heedless of the future, as yourselves, must be very insufficient to your support; however, you will not be surprised to learn that I had much ‘rather not’ speak to Mr. Darcy of securing any place at court for your husband. Such relief, however, as it is in my power to afford, by the practice of what might be called economy in my own private expenses, I shall happily send you. Though Darcy can, of course, never receive Wickham at Pemberley, I hope that you may be an occasional visitor. I have found in Georgiana a true sister, and I believe you may grow to love her as I do. Lady Catherine remains extremely indignant on the marriage of her nephew, and Darcy proclaims all intercourse with her at an end, yet I hope to persuade him to seek a reconciliation. As I consider my happiness with Darcy and how nearly it was lost, and as I ponder your life with Wickham, I cannot help but be reminded of the dangers that befall those who succumb to their first impressions.

Your Loving Sister,

Elizabeth Darcy

—

MR. MANSFIELD LAID THE final page in his lap and stared into the dying fire. “I admit to being rather proud,” he murmured.

“But would you call it an allegorical story?” said Jane.

“As you have pointed out yourself, I chose to present it as a cautionary tale,” said Mr. Mansfield. “And it certainly is that. Especially in the differing fates of the two sisters—one who has the wisdom and courage to discard her faulty first impression of a gentleman and the other who does not. It is a message that may do much good.”

“That must be our earnest hope, Mr. Mansfield. Now, for turning this cautionary tale into something more rich and substantial, I think of telling Eliza’s story as a narrative novel, much as you wish me to do with Elinor and Marianne.”

“You must do so,” said Mr. Mansfield. “And with all expediency, as I hope to live to see the results of your efforts.”

“While I expect you to be with me for many years to come, Mr. Mansfield, it is nonetheless my intention to begin the work as soon as possible, so as not to retain your manuscript any longer than necessary.”

“Now, Miss Austen, it has grown too dark for me to allow your return to Steventon alone. Allow me to send the gardener up to the house to fetch a gig for your transport. I do not think Lord Wintringham would begrudge his guest such a favor.”

Jane accepted this offer, as the shortening days and cloudy sky meant she would certainly have walked much of the way home in darkness. Her arrival at the rectory in a gig belonging to Lord Wintringham was cause for much speculation that evening, but once she had assured everyone from her father to little Anna that it was an indication only that she and an elderly clergyman had lost track of the time while discussing literature and not that she was courted by one of the sons of the estate, the matter was dropped in favor of a discussion of plans for the upcoming Christmas theatricals.