20% Off Coupon at GoneReading.com!

Some of you may recall my pitch for the non-profit organization Gone Reading (www.GoneReading.com) a few months ago (if not, you may read it here). I am please to announce that Brad Wirz has kindly provided a special coupon for my readers, good for the "Jane Austen for President" line of goods, a new collection of Austen inspired candles, and all the other items available, designed to entice the book lover. Just use this code, which expires May 12th, at checkout:

 FIRSTIMPRESSIONS20

Now let's discuss these Austen inspired candles, shall we?

One might wonder how a scented candle can evoke our favorite writer. The answer is by including a quote from one of her novels upon the packaging. However, I cannot endorse this particular product without dwelling on the appropriateness of the particular quote used here: "There is nothing like staying at Home for real comfort." It sounds very well, but the committed Janeite quickly detects something amiss. The quote is spoken by Mrs. Elton of Emma in the following context:

"Ah! there is nothing like staying at home for real comfort. Nobody can be more devoted to home than I am. I was quite a proverb for it at Maple Grove. Many a time has Selina said, when she has been going to Bristol, 'I really cannot get this girl to move from the house. I absolutely must go in by myself, though I hate being stuck up in the barouche-landau without a companion; but Augusta, I believe, with her own good-will, would never stir beyond the park paling.' Many a time has she said so; and yet I am no advocate for entire seclusion. I think, on the contrary, when people shut themselves up entirely from society, it is a very bad thing; and that it is much more advisable to mix in the world in a proper degree, without living in it either too much or too little. I perfectly understand your situation, however, Miss Woodhouse--(looking towards Mr. Woodhouse), Your father's state of health must be a great drawback. Why does not he try Bath?--Indeed he should. Let me recommend Bath to you. I assure you I have no doubt of its doing Mr. Woodhouse good."

This is a classic Austen maneuver - exposing the hypocrisy of a character by having her assert one thing and immediately contradict herself. So Mrs. Elton does not like to remain at home, does not find it comfortable, and quite pities Emma for being so confined herself. The message seems a bit in conflict with what the makers of these candles had probably intended. Unless, of course, we assume the quote was chosen ironically, in which case it is quite in keeping with Austen's sense of the absurd and an apt homage. Either way, I'm sure they smell lovely, and it is a very good cause, so please take advantage of this offer.

Mr. Darcy's Letter by Abigail Reynolds

A new Pemberley Variation from Abigail Reynolds is always the cause of great excitement. I had been anxious to read Mr. Darcy's Letter since it came out last year, but it was not until we traveled to Texas for the Easter holiday that I found an opportunity to indulge myself. My anticipation for this novel was particularly high as I had read a draft snippet of the story a few years ago on Ms. Reynolds' blog, and I have been waiting ever since to learn where she would take it. Compound this with the fact that her last book I read, Mr. Darcy's Obsession (you can read my review here) was, in my opinion, the very best she has yet written, and you can begin to understand my towering expectations. Under such circumstances disappointment was, perhaps, inevitable, but such rationale doesn't lessen the sensation. It was a quick read, and it kept my attention, but Mr. Darcy's Letter is just not as well crafted as Ms. Reynolds' previous offerings.

The premise for the story is a good one: Elizabeth never reads the letter Darcy writes to her after his failed proposal at Hunsford. With her usual ease, Ms. Reynolds grabs our attention in the first few pages, twisting Austen's plot on its head:

He knew the instant that she saw him, for she became still, as if rooted to the ground. She began to retreat, as if hoping her presence had not been noticed, but he could not allow her to escape, not now. "Miss Bennet!" he called.

She stopped at the sound of his voice, but did not look up. She could have been a doe, poised on the brink of flight, held in check only by the gossamer bonds of good manners. Now was his moment. He forced his feet to move, first one step, then another, till he stood so close to her that her lavender scent wafted over him. She stood, her gaze averted.

She could still take his breath away. Even knowing she hated him, he longed to taste her soft lips under his - or perhaps to shake her until she saw sense. Instead, he held out the letter he had spent the entire night writing. Striving to keep his voice even, he said, "I have been walking the grove for some time in hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading this letter?"

Elizabeth reached out to take it, but froze with her fingers only inches away from it.  Her hand slowly closed onto itself and withdrew. "I cannot accept it." Her voice sounded strangled.

"I do not ask this of you lightly. There are matters in it of utmost importance," he said icily.

She folded her hands behind her back. "Mr. Darcy, you know as well as I that a single lady cannot receive correspondence from a gentleman. Your opinion of my family's manners may be low, but I assure you I understand that much of proper behavior."

He flushed. "This is not the time for foolishness. No one will know of it, and I must insist that you read it."

Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "You presume too much, Mr. Darcy. I wish you good day." She turned and hurried away, almost at a run.

Darcy does manage to get the letter into Elizabeth's hands, but she stubbornly burns it. When the two meet again at Pemberley, her opinion of both him and Wickham remains unchanged, leaving Mr. Darcy an uphill battle to win Elizabeth's affections. Fortunately, he is very capable, but when Elizabeth leaves Lambton before informing him of Lydia's elopement, things indeed look bleak for their future. We follow Elizabeth and Darcy through what has become the standard series of anxious moments and misunderstandings in "What If?' reimaginings. I see nothing wrong with sticking to a formula that works, but it certain helps when the outcomes are probable. This story relies on too many surprise devices [SPOILER ALERT], like an older Wickham brother, for believability. There are also some inconsistencies and non sequiturs in the book that further strain an already convoluted series of events. Perhaps this is the result of Ms. Reynolds having self-publishing this book and not having the benefits of Sourcebooks' excellent editors (a plight with which I can ready sympathize). Regardless, I would have enjoyed the novel far more if it were tidied up a bit. I could also wish Ms. Reynolds had not reverted back to her usual formula of anticipating the wedding vows, but I recognize that my preferences regarding such issues do not conform to the vast majority's. As it is an issue I've already dwelt on at length, I will endeavor to let it go on this occasion.

Adieu to disappointment and spleen! Despite my snippy complaints, I really must recommend this novel, and for several good reasons. First and foremost, this is Abigail Reynolds we are speaking of, to quote myself, "the Godmother of the 'What If?' genre", and all her books are great fun. Secondly, as this is a self-published offering, it behooves fans to support talented writers. And third I offer up the book itself, providing an entirely new and uncharted destiny for our favorite couple, even if the going gets a bit awkward. After all, one can never have enough Darcy and Elizabeth, can one?

Sense and Sensibility Janeicillin: Part Six (Conclusion)

Read Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, and Part Five.

Marianne first became aware of her affliction on her next visit to Delaford. Business had taken Colonel Brandon to London.

"He may return at anytime," Eleanor assured her, "and Edward and I will do our best to make sure you are well entertained."

"I have no doubt of having a very pleasant stay, Eleanor. The Colonel's absence shall not be a detriment, I assure you, unless we mourn the loss of invitations to the manor house. His chef is very fine."

"I was not concerned about your palate, my dear. Only you have become quite good friend with Colonel Brandon, have you not? I thought his presence was one of the attractions for you here."

"You underestimate yourself, dear Eleanor! There is no one whose company I find more felicitous than yours," but even as she said the words, Marianne could not help but feel that they were not quite true.

Her visit to the parsonage at an end and still no Colonel Brandon to be found, Marianne was happy to accept her sister's invitation to return no more than a month hence. The Master of Delaford being at home when she arrived, an invitation to dinner was quickly given and accepted, but this would be the only night in which Marianne would have the opportunity to converse with the Colonel, for unexpected business took him away again the very next day. When Marianne learned that he was unlikely to return before she was due to leave, her disappointment was acute enough to attract Eleanor's attention.

"It is not like you to mope, Marianne."

"I am not moping, Eleanor," she replied, determinedly turning the page of her book. "I am reading."

"Yes. I've noticed what progress you have made. Come now, and tell me what it is that troubles you. Since when were you one to guard your feelings?"

Marianne blushed, "Since I learned how badly they can be hurt," choking on the words. Eleanor put aside her work and went to her sister, sincerely repentant.

"I did not think, my dear Marianne, of how those words would sound to you. I am so very sorry!"

"Oh, I know you did not! I cannot say why I am in such dreadful humor," she took herself in line. "I certainly have no reason to be out of sorts, especially not with you."

"With whom would you prefer to be?" Eleanor questioned cautiously.

She chortled, "I have a few choice words to say to dear Colonel Brandon, should he ever make himself available to hear them."

"What ever has he done to invoke your ire? You seemed to be on fine terms last evening."

She ignored the question, beginning to pace up and down the room. "Do you think he could be intentionally avoiding me?"

"Where in heaven's name did you get such a notion?"

Marianne stopped to gaze out the window in the direction of Delaford House. "He always has business that takes him away just when I arrive."

"Shear coincidence!"

"Can you be certain?" she asked quietly.

"Only reasonably. Why are you being so suspicious, Marianne? Did I not know better, I would think you had deeper feelings for him than friendship."

Turning to face her sister, revealing eyes full of tears, she replied, "I am not certain, but I begin to suspect that I do."

Eleanor beamed at her sister. "Oh, my dear Marianne! Nothing could make me happier!"

Marianne gasped. "Do not say that, Eleanor! There is absolutely no reason to suppose that anything resembling happiness would result from such a catastrophe!"

"A catastrophe? How can you say so? Colonel Brandon is a wonderful man who has long loved you. If you could return his affections, it would be a marvelous thing for you both."

"You do not know his feelings," Marianne said accusingly.

"I am tolerably certain of them," was Eleanor's smug reply.

"But it is impossible! Do you not see that? After the entanglement with Willoughby, to say nothing of his assistance during my illness, how can I, the lady who scorned the notion of second attachments, propose to transfer my affections to the man once dismissed as infirm? Who would believe me? I do not accept it myself."

“My dear sister, there is no need to convince anyone of your sincerity, as all who have observed you these past months already know of your feelings. Do not glare at me so! Just because some of us know not to speak of such things doesn’t mean that our thoughts do not resemble Mrs. Jennings and Sir John’s on certain points. Mama, for one. She will be delighted.”


“Eleanor!” Marianne gasped. “Mama does not think of the Colonel in such a way! She has no notion of my falling in love with anyone.”


“I assure you it has been her most ardent wish this past year."

Marianne sat down, stunned. "I know not what to say! I cannot believe she never said anything!"

"My mother would not manipulate a daughter's feelings so! She could not speak on such an issue."

"I suppose not," she replied quietly. A long silence ensued, broken only when Marianne declared her intention of taking a long walk. Eleanor did not offer to accompany her. It was not necessary. 

When Marianne departed for Barton Cottage, Eleanor again invited her to return soon, but Marianne would not commit to a precise date. Not wishing to impose her presence where it was not wanted, she reasoned the Colonel could come to her at any time should he wish to seek her company. He was not expected at the Park, and Marianne told herself that it was silly to look out for his arrival, but, nevertheless, each passing day found her watching the road between the Barton and the cottage expectantly. When one day, about two weeks after her return home, a figure that in height and stature could be Colonel Brandon was seen approaching. 

Margaret looked out the window from Marianne's side. "Why it's the Colonel!" she declared gaily.

"You do not know that. He is too far away to tell," scolded her sister.

"Of course it is he, Marianne. Whom else should it be?"

Marianne could not answer that question, and so returned her gaze the gentleman, who certainly did appear more and more to indeed be Colonel Brandon.

"I shall go out to greet him," declared Margaret, rushing off to fetch her cape.

Marianne watched as her sister ran out to welcome the visitor, who bent down as he warmly greeted her. She wondered if he was just paying a courtesy call on the family, or if his presence was on her account. The tumult of emotions overwhelming her as he entered the cottage and was announced kept her mind from being able to focus clearly. All was feeling, and the wait for him to enter interminable.

Finally the pleasantries were over, but Marianne was unsure if she had acquitted herself well or not. She sat down, hoping her greeting had been cordial. Unable to attend to the inquiries her mother made, she tried to focus on her work, but her mind would not cooperate. She could not say how much time had passed before the Colonel suggested the ladies join him in a walk, as the day was particularly fine. Mrs. Dashwood demurred, pleading household duties, but encouraged her daughters to go. Before long they were on the downs, and as Margaret raced ahead of her elders, Colonel Brandon and Marianne were left to converse by themselves.

"I am sorry I had to depart from Delaford so unexpectedly when you were last visiting the Ferrars."

"Think nothing of it."

"Luck has certainly run against me. Every time you are in the neighborhood, I seem to be called away."

"Please, Colonel, do not trouble yourself over it."

"I would hate for you to suppose I planned to be away while you were in residence."

"Why should I conceive of such an absurd notion?" she defensively retorted.

"Your sister, Mrs. Ferrars, indicated that you felt slighted after my sudden departure," he admitted.

"Did she?" Marianne asked, incensed. "She had certainly no business, or reason, to make such conjectures. I assure you, Colonel Brandon, that while the pleasure of your company is a benefit to my time at Delaford, it is not essential."

"I would not suppose it was," he replied cautiously, "but I would also hate for you to think that I do not relish the time I spend with you, which has become essential to me."

She looked at him cautiously, and his nervous smile told her all she needed to know. His heart was hers still, and she now had a mind to appreciate it. A blush overspread her cheeks as she smiled back, taking a step as she did so, and in the heat of the moment, not looking at the ground beneath her feet, she slipped on a stone, twisted her ankle, and found herself falling into the safety of the Colonel's arms.

"Marianne!" Margaret cried, rushing over to her sister.

"Are you alright?" the Colonel inquired. "It is the same ankle you injured before, is it not?"

"Yes," said Marianne, tears springing to her eyes. "How foolish of me!"

"Nonsense,' was his determined reply. "The joint is weakened from the previous injury, and might very well give you trouble for years to come. We must get you home so you can rest it," and placing his free arm behind her legs, he swept her into his embrace and walked towards the cottage, Margaret running ahead. 

"Mama! Come quick! Marianne has injured her ankle again!" she cried as she entered the cottage.

Mrs. Dashwood arrived just in time to see Colonel Brandon carrying Marianne over the threshold. She could only be vividly reminded of the time another gentleman carried her daughter in precisely the same way and took solace in her knowledge that now it was the right gentleman performing that service. She sent Margaret off to gather supplies, saw Marianne seated on the sofa, and excused herself to see to Margaret.

"I cannot believe my clumsiness," lamented Marianne. "Thank you, sir, for your much needed assistance."

"While I cannot agree that you are clumsy, I do wish you had better timing. I was most interested in pursuing our conversation."

She looked away and said quietly, "As was I."

"Forgive me if I am opportunistic, but I cannot allow this moment to slip by. I do not know when you might again hurt your ankle."

"Pardon me?" Marianne blinked in perplexity.

"Forgive me, Miss Dashwood, my dear Marianne, but I have noticed your heart is susceptible when you sustain such injuries. Would you not allow me to always be the one to assist you when in need?"

"I know not whether to laugh or be offended! Are you asking..." her voice trailed off, afraid of her presumption.

"Yes, Marianne. Will you be my wife?"

Tears completely unrelated to her injury spilled down her face as she enthusiastically responded, "Yes, Colonel Brandon. There is nothing I desire more."

When Mrs. Dashwood returned, the new couple was so obsorbed in their own happiness that they did not even hear the door open. Thinking that Marianne had more important matters to attend to than her ankle, she quietly closed the door and tiptoed away.

A wedding announcement will always be received in a vast variety of ways. Most who read it will not think of it at all, only glean that no one in whom they are interested is mentioned and move on, but those few who are intimate with the particulars will each have their own response, suited to their personality and reflective of their values. Mrs. Ferrars, for example, whose son-in-law had been promoting the notion of Colonel Brandon marrying one or another of his sisters since she first made his acquaintance, and who could find it in her heart to begrudge the Dashwood ladies any good fortune, enjoyed listening to Lucy Ferrars badmouth the bride. Indeed, it was this lady's intimate knowledge of so much to Marianne's disfavor that greatly bridged the divide between mother and daughter-in-law, gradually wiping away the sins of the past and rendering Lucy a valued companion. Interesting that she nevertheless wrote a fawning missive to the future Mrs. Brandon, reminding her of the good times they had shared at Barton Park, and offering her warmest congratulations.

John Dashwood, on the other hand, received all the pleasure one could possibly expect from a wedding announcement. Not only was he pleased to see his sister contract so suitable a marriage, but he also had the additional satisfaction derived from believing that he had done much to promote the match. Surely this was precisely the kind of assistance his father had asked him to provide to his sisters. He would be happy to look about, in a few more years, for someone appropriate for Margaret. 

More sincere were the sentiments of Sir John and Mrs. Jennings, who used the occasion to toast the happy couple through a great deal of brandy, predicting competing heights of felicity for the marriage all the while. Lady Middleton thought it would be appropriate to host an engagement party, the perfect occasion to utilize her new plate, only just arrived.

But to Eleanor and Mrs. Dashwood, seeing Marianne happily engaged to a thoroughly good man, who would care not only care for her during his own life, but would also see to securing her future and that of their children, was nothing less than their dearest dream come true. This union brought peace and stability to their lives, two sensations that had been absent for far too long. Words are inadequate to express their delight.

Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She was born to discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract, by her conduct, her most favorite maxims. She was born to overcome an affection formed so late in life as at seventeen, and with no sentiment superior to strong esteem and loving friendship, voluntarily to give her hand to another! - and that other, a man who had suffered no less than herself under the event of a former attachment, whom, two years before, she had considered too old to be married, - and who still sought the constitutional safeguard of a flannel waistcoat!

But so it was. Instead of falling a sacrifice to an irresistible passion, as once she had fondly flattered herself with expecting, she found herself at nineteen, submitting to new attachments, entering on new duties, planning a wedding, enjoying a courtship, and acclimating herself to the notion of being patroness of a village. The transition came easily to her, and on the day that saw her leave the name Dashwood behind, as she walked down the aisle aglow with happiness, no one watching could doubt that she would flourish in her new role. As Edward recited the marriage ceremony, she felt as if all that had tarnished her life thus far was falling away, revealing a pristine future ahead. Bumps and blemishes might leave their mark, but for them she was ready. She had her husband to help her and a most cherished sister, who would always be nearby. Would the day come when she might wish Eleanor not living almost within sight? Certainly. But among the merits and the happiness of Elinor and Marianne, let it not be ranked as the least considerable, that they nevertheless lived without disagreement between themselves, or producing coolness between their husbands.  

The End

The Deception at Lyme by Carrie Bebris

One should never make promises one cannot keep. In March of 2010, in a post titled "The Mr. and Mrs. Darcy Mysteries by Carrie Bebris", I asserted firmly that "I will most certainly be reviewing [The Deception at Lyme] here as soon as it becomes available." Well, the book came out last September, and  have been so absorbed with my little one that I did not get the opportunity to sit down and read it until this weekend. If there is anyone out there who has been anxiously waiting for me to make good on my word, I apologize for this terribly tardy review.

As stated in the post quoted above, Ms. Bebris' books have gotten better as this series progressed. The last book, The Intrigue at Highbury (reviewed here), is by far the best she has composed thus far, and she is a smart enough author to have replicated, as much as possible, the elements that were so successful in that novel. In The Deception at Lyme, she again immerses us in the society of Austen's characters, this time the cast of Persuasion. Unfortunately, we spend much of that time with the many undesirable characters to populate that book (would have enjoyed more Anne and Wentworth). The action begins when the Darcys arrive at Lyme for the duel purpose of enjoying the sea air and meeting with a naval officer who has transported home their cousin's trunk, he having died in battle a few years earlier. Almost immediately they find the body of a pregnant woman who has fallen from the Cobb. She still lives and is quickly transported to the small home of the Harville's, recommended for their previous experience with such matters. When the woman proves to be Mrs. Clay, the Darcys find themselves suddenly immersed in the affairs of the Elliot clan.

I do not want to reveal too much of the intricate plot that unfolds, but I promise you will have great difficulty putting it down. So as not to spoil the fun, I will only make mention of a few highlights. Ms. Bebris does an excellent job of developing Mrs. Smith's story, firmly rooting her tale in Austen's account. I always appreciate when Austenesque authors demonstrative careful attention to their source material.  I was actually a bit concerned when the Darcy's old friend, Dr. Randolph., makes an appearance, for his presence is associated with all the voodoo and mysticism that prevailed in the first few books in this series and, I believed, hindered their success, but his cameo provides important plot development without bogging the story down in the unexplainable. Nicely done indeed, though I did keep expecting him to have some further role int the story. And just one little spoiler, for I must share with you my favorite moment of the book - the entrance of Captain Wentworth, when he joins Darcy in a chase towards a two-year-old tottering on the harbor's edge:

The sound of Darcy's footfalls striking the hard pavement did command the attention of the gentlemen near the warehouses on the quay. One of them, identifying the danger and realizing Darcy's purpose, himself broke into a run. From opposite ends of the Cobb they neared the toddler, their swift advanced at last penetrating Ben's awareness. The sudden sight of two men descending upon him startled the child. As the gap between them closed, the boy jerked involuntarily, upsetting his equilibrium. 


Ben teetered over the water at an angle impossible for the child to correct on his own. Darcy reached for him, but his grasp was two strides shy. The other gentleman, however, was close enough to extend his arm and push the boy toward Darcy, sacrificing his own balance - and tumbling into the water himself.

What a wonderful moment to bring two of Austen's greatest heroes together, rushing to the rescue in tandem! Moments like this are what makes these books so much fun. I wonder if there will be any more Mr. and Mrs. Darcy Mysteries - we now have one book for each of Austen's major novels, but the Darcys' story feels like it is only beginning. It would be lovely if we could mingle with those characters from other novels that have becoming friends with the Darcys once more. I will remain on the lookout for further books, though I make no promises regarding the promptness of my reviews.

Lady of Quality by Georgette Heyer (vs. Black Sheep)

I'm surprised I did not previously review this book, especially becomes it pays such obvious homage to Emma. I thought I had, and intended this post to be more of a comparison of Lady of Quality to Black Sheep (which I did previously review here), rather than a review of either, but it now seems necessary. I will share my thoughts on Lady of Quality, the last book Heyer wrote, and then we may indulge ourselves in a quick comparison of the two books, for they are remarkably similar.

Miss Annis Wychwood, despite being beautiful and rich, has resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood at 29, attempting to content herself with a sociable life in Bath. While this arrangement is preferable to living with her brother and his wife - who Annis likes very well, particularly the latter, but prefers her independence - it does have its drawbacks. Particularly, Annis is bored, so when she comes across a broken down carriage that had carried a runaway girl and the boy she does not want to marry (the feeling is mutual), she is almost eager to embroil herself in the affair. This is how she meets Mr. Oliver Carleton, the girl's guardian, "the rudest man in London", and our hero:

"But am I not right in believing that your custom is to refer every request Lucilla has addressed to you to Mrs Amber's judgment?"


"Yes, of course you are," he replied impatiently. "What the devil do I know about the upbringing of schoolgirls?"


"What a miserable sop to offer your conscience!" she said.


"My conscience doesn't need a sop, ma'am!" he said harshly. "I may be Lucilla's legal guardian, but it was never expected of me that I should be concerned in the niceties of her upbringing! Had it been suggested to me I should have had no hesitation in refusing such a charge. I've no turn for the infantry!"


"Not even your brother's only child?" she asked. "Don't you feel any affection for her?"


"No, none," he replied. "How should I? I scarcely know her. It's useless to expect me to become sentimental because she's my brother's child: I knew almost as little about him as I know about Lucilla, and what I did know I didn't much like. I don't mean to say that there was any harm in him: no doubt there was a great deal of good, but he had less than commonsense, and too much sensibility for my tastes. I found him a dead bore."


"Well, I find my brother a dead bore too," she said candidly, "but however much we rub against each other there is a bond of affection between us. I had thought that that must always exist between brothers and sisters."


"Possibly you know him better than I ever knew my brother. There were only three years between us, but although that's a mere nothing between adults, it constitutes a wide gulf between schoolboys. At Harrow, he formed a close, and, to my mind, a pretty mawkish friendship with young Elmore. They were both army-mad, and joined the same regiment when they left Harrow. From then on I only saw him by scraps. He married a pretty little widgeon, too: she wasn't as foolish as her sister, but she had more hair than wit, and a mouth full of the sort of pap I can't stomach. I knew, of course, when he bought Chartley Manor that the bosom-bow friendship between him and Elmore was as strong as ever, and I suppose I should have guessed that such a pair of air-dreamers would have hatched a scheme to achieve a closer relationship by marrying Elmore's heir to Charles's daughter. Though why Elmore - or Iverly, as by that time he was - should have persisted in this precious scheme after Charles's death is a matter beyond my comprehension! Unless he thinks that Lucilla's property is just the thing to round off his own estate?"


"Well, that is what I suspect," nodded Miss Wychwood, "but it is only right that I should tell you that Ninian says it is no such thing. He says his father has never had a mercenary thought in his head."


"On the whole," said Mr. Carleton, with considerable acerbity, "I should think the better of him if his motive had been mercenary! This mawkish reason for trying to marry Lucilla to his son merely because he and my brother were as thick as inkle-weavers fairly turns my stomach! I never liked the fellow, you know."


Her eyes were alive with laughter. She said perfectly gravely, however: "For some reason or other I had suspected as much! Is there anyone whom you do like, Mr Carleton?"


"Yes, you!" he answered bluntly.


"M-me?" she gasped, wholly taken aback.


He nodded. "Yes - but much against my will!" he said.


That made her burst out laughing. Still gurgling, she said: "You are quite outrageous, you know! What in the world have I said or done to make you like me? Of all the farradiddles I ever heard that bears off the palm!"


"Oh, no! I never flummery people. I do like you, but I'm damned if I know why! It isn't your beauty, though that is remarkable; and it certainly isn't anything you have said or done. I think it must be your quality - that certain sort of something about you!"


"It's my belief," said Miss Wychwood, with conviction, "that you are all about in your head!"


He laughed. "On the contrary! But don't delude yourself into thinking that my liking you makes me think you are a fit person to have charge of my niece."

Yes, she does call him "abominable" before the end of this conversation, confirming in true Heyer fashion that this is a case of love at first sight.

There are some incredibly priceless moments in this book, many of them attributable to Annis' rather dim witted companion, an impecunious cousin named Maria Farlow (very Miss Bates-like). The tension that builds around her ceaseless chatter and the annoyance it causes to Mr. Carleton, particularly, punctuates the climax of the novel in an absolutely hilarious fashion. Between herself, an overly rigid suitor, and the antics of Lucilla Carleton and Ninian Elmore, the book remains in a constant state of silliness, our hero and heroine providing the sarcastic perspective through which the mayhem unfolds. It is a perfectly satisfying Heyer; one which improves on a second read.

So what if Georgette Heyer's novels are remarkably formulaic? They're hysterical. No matter if readers encounter the same plot reworked with slight variations - the humor remains fresh. Black Sheep and Lady of Quality both focus on an older heroine, established in Bath, who meets her match in a most inappropriate, though socially equal, gentleman. The catalyst for bringing hero and heroine together is a young lady, of feisty and impetuous nature, on the verge of her come out. Both heroines are left to contemplate the proposals of their respective heroes, puzzling over the social dilemmas of marrying these difficult gentlemen, and fall ill in the process. I like to think of this plotin the light of an Austenesque reimagining - what if Emma Woodhouse did not fall in love with the convenient Mr. Knightley and achieved her intention of remaining single? She would often have a niece (or some other convenient young lady of interest) with her.

Black Sheep was published in 1966 and Lady of Quality in 1972, just a few years before Heyer's death. My biggest problem with Black Sheep, which is really one of my favorites, is the terribly abrupt ending. Perhaps Heyer was addressing this issue when she revisited the scenario. The end of Lady of Quality is much tidier, but the characters in Black Sheep are far more dynamic. Furthermore, the language in Lady of Quality is more repetitive than one usually sees in Heyer. Both hero and heroine have favorite exclamations that help to define their characters, making up for a lack of development (particularly in the case of Mr. Carleton). I have not previously looked into the chronology of Heyer's novels, but I think I now must consider the order in which her books were published. I am curious to see if Heyer repeatedly reworked earlier plots, and, if so, whether she was fixing problems with her earlier novels, or if she was just running out of fresh ideas. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, fellow Heyer fans. Perhaps someone has already done a study on this? Stay tuned for more, though I do not have the slightest idea when I will find the time to address the subject.

Sense and Sensibility Janeicillin: Part Five

Read part one, two, three, and four.

Marianne experienced a jolt of panic when she spotted the Colonel walking up the path to the cottage the nest day, but rather than making herself scarce, as she might once have done, she steeled herself for what she fervently prayed would not be too painful of an interview.

She had risen earlier than usual and strolled the downs at daybreak, trying to make sense out of the confusion of her thoughts. She had come to regard the Colonel in the light of a dear friend, with whom she need not feel the least reserve, and if she still retained some lingering suspicion that there was more than friendship on his part, she had not dwelt upon it. The rumors of the previous evening, speculating on a match between herself and the Colonel, forced her to confront what she had been happy to ignore.

Marianne Dashwood was not one to easily forgo her convictions. While Elinor might be able to lightly, and even rightly, dismiss her stance on second attachments as the romanticism of youth, it was no small feat for her sister to set aside a favorite maxim. Such a change in philosophy as would be required by Marianne to allow herself to love once more could not happen overnight, and while she would admit that she felt great affection for the Colonel, her sensations towards him were so starkly dissimilar from what she had experienced with Willoughby that she truly did not recognize in them a foundation for romance, depriving her of the needed motivation to reevaluate her stance.

As she walked, she pondered the nature of her affections, and while she knew it would be painful, she resolved that she must reject the Colonel if he ever were to propose. She wished most fervently he never would, so as to avoid the pain and discomfort such a scene would necessarily entail. As she pondered the circumstance, she realized how very gratifying a marriage to Colonel Brandon would be to all her friends, particularly her mother and sisters, though she knew they would never urge her to marry where she could not love. He would be far better off finding a different woman to marry. He deserved far better than what she, heartbroken, could ever provide. By the time she returned to the cottage, Marianne had even determined to keep half an eye out for an appropriate lady, though she had absoluely no intention of engaging in anything akin to matchmaking.

Fortunate for Marianne, and her future happiness, that the Colonel knew to an inch the lay of the land.

Mrs. Dashwood greeted the visitor with a glance at her daughter, letting Colonel Brandon know that Marianne was not herself. He nodded his acceptance of that fact, and when she offered an excuse to leave the room for a moment, he stopped her, insisting they all sit down and talk comfortably. This put Marianne much at ease, until Margaret, as much in on the "secret" as everyone, said candidly, "I was to follow Mama, you know, just a moment after she left the room, so you and Marianne could speak privately. I suspect she thought you wanted to discuss what everyone was saying last evening about the two of you."

"Margaret!" mother and daughter admonished together, but the Colonel only laughed. Glancing smilingly at a blushing Marianne, he declared, "My dear friends mean well, but they really should stop making matches. I am a bachelor - a decrepit one, no doubt, but single nonetheless - and as such my friendship with your family must always be misconstrued. If I were not madly in love with Miss Dashwood, it would surely be the beautiful widow who had stolen my heart." Mrs. Dashwood laughed. "And perhaps you too, Miss Margaret, will someday know the privileged of being the next lady to whom Mrs. Jennings would have me play beau."

The words were spoken lightheartedly, enough so to allow Marianne to regain her composure, but the look with which they were spoken told her so much more. He loved her without question - of this she was certain. He had openly declared it, and though said in jest, Marianne knew he spoke sincerely. The recognition of this fact made her blush anew, but she also knew he would never press her on the subject, or do anything to ruin their ease together. He had neatly provided her with an escape from an uncomfortable predicament, and her overwhelming sensation was of gratitude for his friendship. As he continued to quiz Margaret, who was highly amused by the notion of having the Colonel as her suitor, her feelings saddened, and she hoped he would find a more worthy object for his affections. And though neither knew so yet, it was at this moment when Marianne Dashwood began to fall in love with Colonel Brandon. 

Sense and Sensibility Janeicillin: Part Four

Read part one, part two, and part three.

Upon reaching Norland, Fanny Dashwood received a letter from Mrs. Ferrars detailing a recent meeting with Robert. Her son was penitent, and though the mere mention of his wife remained intolerable, she was inclined to be forgiving of his trespasses. Let it be noted in the grand lady's favor that, while her temper might be swift and formidable, time inevitably proved her willing to relent. There could be little doubt in the main participants' minds that even the unmentionable Lucy would, someday, be admitted into her sacred presence, and let it also be noted that few could be depended upon to so properly display their gratitude for such an honor as Mrs. Robert Ferrars.

Upon hearing this news, John Dashwood was quick to urge his wife to pick up her pen and pass the tidings along to Delaford Parsonage, where he felt certain they must be received with as much interest as he felt upon the occasion. He was wrong. If Mr. Dashwood could have observed the relative indifference with which Edward read his sister's letter, it would have truly caused him chagrin. But Edward was not one to be bogged down in the mire of his mother's fluctuating affections. Snug in his parsonage with a beloved wife, the eventual fate of the Ferrars fortune held little interest for him. Such contentment was a totally foreign notion to John Dashwood.

Though the onslaught of visitors had been wearing on the newlyweds, that had much to do with the quality of their guests. When Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret arrived on the heels of John and Fanny's departure, using the need to collect Marianne as an excuse to linger for an additional week, they were sincerely welcomed with open arms. So it was that Mrs. Dashwood was on hand to learn of Robert Ferrars's ongoing adventures.  Though she had never met the man, nothing she knew of him inspired her to think on him with favor, and if Edward showed little enthusiasm for his future interests, Mrs. Dashwood was more than ready to begrudge the favor bestowed upon an undeserving man instead of her dear Edward. She took the issue up with Colonel Brandon, when they dined that night at Delaford.


"Do you think it reasonable, my dear Colonel, that Mrs. Ferrars show such distinct favor towards her younger son? I hope I never betrayed such prejudices amongst my children."


"Do you admit to having them, Mama?" questioned Marianne teasingly.


"That is not what I meant and you know it, my dear," her mother gently rebuked. "Perhaps I cannot easily express myself on this issue, as I find it so bewildering as to make my mind spin. To hold such grudges, but not for the most grievous offenses. Mrs. Ferrars is determined to punish virtue while rewarding disloyalty. There can be no reasonable explanation for her whims."

"Just a rather different notion of virtue than you possess, dear Mama," Elinor smiled.

"Elinor is right," said Edward. "You must account for the fact that Robert was always much more to her taste than I am. I, alas, am more like my father in disposition than the rest of my family, Robert and Fanny both resembling my mother."

"Then she should love you above all others," said Margaret seriously.

"That assumes she loved her husband," Marianne retorted cynically.


Edward smiled ruefully, "Let us just say that I serve as a painful reminder of him. I truly prefer not to trouble myself with the question."


"If it were you, Colonel, would you not take a more active interest in your own welfare? I do not think I can be called mercenary, but to be deprived of one's birthright? It should not be borne."

"Indeed not!" supplied Marianne.

"I do not know that I am the most appropriate person to apply to on the matter," Colonel Brandon responded to Mrs. Dashwood. "My experience is all with tyrannical fathers. I know little of their matronly counterparts."


"But you would defend yourself. Would you not, Colonel?" Marianne demanded.


"When the law ties one's hands, there is little to be done," he replied with a meaningful look. "Regardless, there is no law against a fickle temperament."

"Indeed, there is not," said Elinor. "We are pleased that Edward and his mother are back on amiable terms, and if they are not so perfectly restored as to keep our time together at a minimum, I am one to take my blessings where I find them."

"Should I take umbrage at that? For I don't. It was very well said, my dear," Edward declared, lifting his glass in solute.  


"You must be more than ready to see us off tomorrow," said Mrs. Dashwood in ready sympathy. "You have had so little time alone."


"You are always welcome, Mama, as you well know, and we will miss you when you are gone."


"That does not preclude being ready to say goodbye," quipped Edward.


"For shame, Edward!" scolded Elinor playfully. "And when I have just invited Marianne back in a month too. You shall make her feel unwelcome!"

"In a months time my sister knows I shall be delighted to see her once more. Marianne is more likely to scold me for pretending I am ready to continue sharing my wife with all the world than speaking truthfully."


"Quite right, Edward. There is no need for pretense with such friends. Just as I have no hesitation in saying that I look forward with great zeal to again intruding upon your privacy. I will miss all the residents of Delaford."

"You shan't be quite rid of all of us," inserted the Colonel. "I am expected at Barton Park next week."

"Excellent!" Marianne exclaimed. "We shall have an opportunity to discuss the book you lent me."

Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor shared conspiratorial smiles across the table. 



Sir John Middleton had not known much tragedy. His parents had died, and that was a blow, but it was too much to be expected and in the way of things to touch him deeply. He had always gone about merrily, gathering friends and family around him, and relishing the hunting season. Marianne herself might scoff at his pain, but to Sir John it was a heavy blow to watch a beautiful young lady - a relation, no less - fall into decline following an ill-fated romance conducted largely under his own roof. He displayed his interest by frequently raising the topic with his mother-in-law, who was as deeply interested in the question of what would happen to Miss Dashwood as he. She must recover, indeed, had already regained much of her former bloom, and only a young man even more dashing than Willoughby was needed to make all right again. Sir John would put even more energy than usual into gathering all the young people he knew together that winter. Surely, if they could only be gay enough, the right gentleman would come their way.

Though both Sir John and Mrs. Jennings had been the initial proponents of a match between Marianne Dashwood and Colonel Brandon, it is curious that neither now targeted him as a candidate. The Colonel would surely join in some of their festivities, as he was often with them, but Sir John was convinced that the lucky gentleman would have to be fashioned after Willoughby's character, our young lady having already demonstrated clearly where her tastes lay, and Mrs. Jennings had so often prognosticated the end of the Colonel's bachelorhood to no avail that she had actually learned to be cautious in that regard. In her own thoughts, she continued to acknowledge what an excellent match it would be, for he was rich, and she was handsome, but the seemingly avuncular, or even brotherly interest Colonel Brandon took in Marianne when she was ill did not appear at all romantic. If it were another man, perhaps, but the Colonel took such excellent care of everyone that it did not strike her as exceptional. Yet when she noticed that the two often stood up together when there was a dance, she could not help but mention it.

"There, Sir John! You see this it the second time the Colonel has asked for Miss Dashwoods' hand."

"Yes, indeed. Sad thing too! I'll speak to Brandon about not monopolizing her."

"You'll do no such thing, Sir John, if you will mind me. Perhaps there might be something there after all."

It took Sir John a moment to think on this before responding, "I did once think that was where the tide flew. Yet I was sure that Miss Dashwood was setting her cap at Mr. Carey."

"Mr. Carey, indeed! What is a young scrub like him next to the Colonel?"
  
"He's a bruising rider. That must be to his advantage."

"Do not deny that it is just the match to make us all most comfortable. Why, she would be located next to a favorite sister, near her family, and mistress of a very pretty estate!"

"True, but I would hate for Brandon to get his hopes up."

"By all means say nothing about it to anyone. I told myself I would make no more matches for the Colonel, as it never has worked out with him. Do nothing to interfere, and we'll see which way the wind blows." She winked conspiratorially, and Sir John put a finger to his mouth as an indication of silence. Needless to say, before the evening was out, they had sworn everyone else present to secrecy on the same subject, and in tones loud enough for the objects of their conjecture to hear. When the Colonel said good bye to the Dashwoods that night, Marianne, though polite, would not meet his eye. The damage was done. She was no longer easy with him. It was not the first time he had cause to lament the well-meaning but flawed intentions of his friends.