Jane Austen's Estate of Affairs

Jane Austen's Estate of Affairs Chapter 3

Chapter 3.

Standing up from the dressing table, Christiana pushed aside that most shaming of memories and paced quickly to the window, drawing comfort from the way in which the tree branches thrashed powerfully against the thick glass as the wind howled around the house. The wild weather suited her unsettled mood, which veered from unassuaged guilt at having hurt her friend, to a helpless mortification that she now shared a roof with a man who, in all probability, was privy to her most cutting and thoughtless comments concerning his character.

Forcing herself from the window, Christiana climbed at last into bed, blowing out her candle, and gladly pulling the blankets over her to block out the icy drafts that blew through the old room as the wind gusts outside grew louder still. Yet sleep proved elusive as her poor mind dwelled on the events following that horrible moment at the Assembly.

Entirely unable to look either sibling in the face, Christiana had managed only stilted responses to Sir Richard’s conversational attempts and had instead fled at the first opportunity to her cousin Fanny’s side, then pleaded a headache that took herself and the rest of their party home before ten. Once in the comfort and security of her room, Christiana’s guilt and mortification had burned unabated half the night. Taking writing paper from a drawer, she had begun one letter after another to Louisa, but nothing she could write expressed the remorse she felt in her heart, and seemed to Christiana only to beg, most cravenly, forgiveness for herself.

Too ashamed to confide in her uncle or cousin, Christiana had considered for a moment writing to her mamma for advice, but had soon rejected the notion. The imprudence of her behavior, coupled with the quite separate issue of the possible marital prize she had so resoundingly rejected, could only give that lady pain she did not deserve – for without having met the gentleman herself, how could she be convinced that such a match had been impossible to consider from the very start?

Christiana had instead addressed her letter to “My Dearest Aunt Jane”… and had then poured out her entire heart, expressing the agony she felt at having so wounded a friend, and her frustration at the gentleman for having so egregiously fixed his attentions where they were not desired.

Miss Jane Austen’s reply had come nearly by return of post, containing valuable advisories upon which Christiana had seized. The most important thing, her aunt had written, was to follow her heart, “for logic is a poor substitute for feelings.” She had continued “Perhaps you were imprudent in conveying your feelings – though how were you to know to whom you spoke? Yet in truth, one cannot be blamed for finding even the worthiest of brothers not to one’s liking.”

Plucked from the very depths of despondency by her aunt’s advice, Christiana had at last summoned her courage, cudgeled the writing skills that had previously deserted her, and composed a short letter to Louisa, begging her forgiveness with no justification of her actions included (for what could she have said that would not worsen affairs?) Yet the letter had returned unopened that same afternoon, accompanied by the news that the recipient had lately left town and was not expected back.

Still lying wide awake over an hour later, Christiana sighed aloud in frustration as she caught herself reliving the whole matter again for perhaps the tenth time. With her thoughts in such a state, it was no wonder she could not sleep.

But perhaps she might set her mind to something useful instead: might she not begin her search for Aunt Jane’s manuscript this very night? To be sure it was dark, and the natural starting point for her search – the bedchamber given to Aunt Jane whenever she spent the night in this house – was at the other end of a large property in which everyone must be abed at this late hour. Yet, Christiana reasoned, her candle was hardly burned down, and the storm’s continued violence would surely cover any noise she might make. The more she considered the idea, the more the prospect of such an adventure appealed as the only salve to her troubled mind.