Jane in Love

all seeming to think the same thing. Why did she visit now?
Lady Johnstone threw her coat at Margaret as she strode inside. Mrs. Austen curtsied to their neighbor. “Lady Johnstone,” she said. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”
“Can I not take tea with my closest neighbors without suspicion?” Lady Johnstone replied in an outraged tone. The widow of a solicitor from Putney elevated to the knighthood, Lady Johnstone had never deigned to take tea with the Austens since the day they first arrived at Sydney House. She had selected quite the moment to condescend to them now.
“But of course, madam,” said Mrs. Austen. “However, we are expected in town this morning, and don’t want your meeting rushed. This is my son Henry and his wife, Eliza. Henry owns a bank in London.”
Henry bowed and Eliza curtseyed.
Lady Johnstone nodded toward them with eyes closed. “I’ve heard of your small operation,” she said. “Perhaps you knew my late husband, Sir Johnstone of Putney.”
“I knew of him, my lady,” Henry replied.
“Perhaps, my lady, you could return this afternoon when we shall all be at your leisure?” Mrs. Austen said.
“Nonsense,” Lady Johnstone said. “I am a quick drinker of tea and will consume but a slice of cake. I shan’t be ten minutes.” Lady Johnstone proceeded up the hallway as she spoke. Jane’s father peered at the grandfather clock in the hall and scratched his head. “I delighted in making an acquaintance with Mr. Withers of Kent,” Lady Johnstone said, showing herself into the sitting room.
“Indeed. He is a fine young man,” Mrs. Austen replied as they all followed her into the room.
“Do sit down,” Jane’s father said, though Lady Johnstone had already taken his chair. He joined Jane and Mrs. Austen on the settee, while Henry and Eliza squashed themselves onto the couch. Everyone looked quite foolish, sitting inside with their coats and boots on. Jane was barely listening when Lady Johnstone spoke next.
“I shall be delighted in congratulating Mr. Withers on his engagement,” said Lady Johnstone.
A moment of silence passed as everyone in the room seemed to digest the words. Finally, Mrs. Austen spoke, jumping from her chair and pointing at Jane with joy, seeming to figure it out. “Jane,” Mrs. Austen exclaimed, half-accusing, “you have said nothing!” The rest of the room all gasped and smiled, as though finally they joined Mrs. Austen’s thinking.
Jane shook her head. “Nothing was communicated to me,” she insisted. Her heart thumped inside her chest.
“A terrible frost occurred in Bristol yesterday. It detained much post and ruined many travel plans,” Lady Johnstone explained. “This would be why you have not heard yet.”
“We did not know this, my lady,” said Mrs. Austen. “Thank you, madam. You have done us a great service.” Reverend Austen grabbed Jane’s hand. His fingers felt warm and soft.
“On what score?” said Lady Johnstone.
“You have broken the news to us of our daughter’s engagement,” said Mrs. Austen with a laugh.
“Beg pardon,” said Lady Johnstone, laughing also. “I am excited to congratulate Mr. Withers on his engagement to Miss Clementine Woodger of Taunton. They struck the deal yesterday, in Bristol.” The solicitor’s widow assembled her face into a sneer of glee.
Jane and her mother and the other Austens all took a moment to react to the news. Jane could not see inside her mother’s head, but she imagined that Mama conducted some important discussion with herself, for she smoothed down the folds of her best skirt, folding and refolding each piece of blue muslin. Jane said nothing either, though she did stare at the floor and breathe as her heart fell away.
Her mother thankfully broke the excruciating silence a moment later. “We shall congratulate him also,” she replied finally, in a bright tone. Jane rose to stoke the fire with a poker and met eyes with no one. Mrs. Austen offered more conversation quickly. “Miss Woodger is of large fortune?”
“Her father, Sir Woodger, is a solicitor,” said Lady Johnstone. “His speciality is conveyancing. He has an office in Putney.”
“Putney?”
“Yes. Putney. Clementine, his bride, is not twenty-one years of age.”
“So young,” Mrs. Austen noted.
“It is not young at all. For marrying, one is past their prime at twenty-two.”
Jane stoked the fire more.
“Anyway. Much engaged today,” Lady Johnstone continued, rising as Margaret entered with the tea tray. “Do not bother with him now,” she added, pointing at the teapot. She smirked and took her leave.
JANE SAT STILL for a time.
At first, hope existed that Lady Johnstone had made a cruel joke. But then Margaret returned from the market with word from the washerwoman of the house at which Mr. Withers was staying. Mr. Withers had become engaged yesterday in Bristol.
Mrs. Austen expressed disbelief and confusion, claiming dark forces were at work. “Someone or something got to him,” she declared. Jane nodded, but secretly suspected that far more banal powers had influenced the day. Common sense—and likely, his father—had prevailed upon Mr. Withers. Laughing around the fire on a Tuesday evening for the rest of their lives held less value to him than lying as the wealthiest man in Gravesend Cemetery, and in the end, Mr. Withers had likely performed an act no more evil than taking the path his fortune and breeding demanded.
“I am so sorry, Jane,” Henry said. Jane’s father did not speak. A feeling of horror and nausea gripped her; her stomach felt curdled with embarrassment. The nerves and joy of last night and the morning evaporated. Mrs. Austen wiped a tear.
“You should return to the Dawsons, Henry,” Jane said in a cool voice.
“No, Jane. Of course we will stay here with you.”
“Nonsense. I insist you go back to them. A stupid waste of your holiday to stay here.” She stood. “I’ll check with your driver to see if he can’t take you back now.” She turned for the door.
Henry stood up. “Stop that, Jane. I will go.” He walked past her and into the parlor.
“I’m sorry for ruining your holiday, Eliza,” she said.
“Don’t be sorry, ma chérie,” Eliza said