Just Jane by Nancy Moser Read Free Book Online Page A

Father.
    Father answers with an understated “Indeed,” although I do notice a slight catch in his voice. Will he ever feel such pride in me?
    I dispel the self-pity. Such feelings are not allowed on this day.
    Perhaps tomorrow.
    *****
    Despite my best intentions to remain aloof, I stand in awe of the Roman friezes, the intricate carvings at ceiling and fireplace, and the elegance of the Yellow and Chintz rooms. I hear that when Edward travels to his other house at Chawton, the governess and nineteen servants accompany him. He has much responsibility to manage his large estate and to see to it that the people who live and work here live well and work hard. I would not want such responsibility. Just a small house with Tom, one or two children, and a quiet garden will suffice.
    My favourite room at Godmersham is not surprising. It’s the library. As I find myself there, alone, I’m in awe that I stand in a room that possesses five tables, eight and twenty chairs, and two fires. I sit in a red velvet-upholstered chair with a book and decide that my largest goal during my visit will be to chuse a different chair each day until all are conquered.
    I should not be in here alone. Elizabeth invited some of her friends to call and they—along with Mother and Cassandra—are in the parlour having tea. I shall pay for my absence by receiving a tongue-lashing from Mother, a soft chide from Cassandra, and a cold shoulder from Elizabeth. And yet, am I not doing her a favour? She has made it quite clear that I disappoint in such gatherings because I don’t fawn and smile and chatter idle nothings for no reason. I know very well that both Elizabeth and her friends see us as the poor relations, and if Mother and Cassandra are willing to accept that role, I would rather be known as the eccentric Jane, off in her own little world. I don’t wish to be a part of this elite who come. And sit. Then go. I know I annoy Elizabeth in my refusal to defer. So it is. My world is more desirable than theirs. At least that is my opinion—albeit unsolicited.
    This is not the first time I have placed myself in this position. When we visit Mother’s brother in Bath, Uncle Perrot, and take the medicinal waters, we come in contact with the upper crust who run in my uncle and aunt’s circle. I find that enough of them is too much. Although their ways have been useful. I used some of their haughty solicitudes for Darcy’s sisters in First Impressions . If only people realized that everything they do, everything they say, is fodder for my stories. And for every slight, every double entendre, every bit of keen wit (or lack of it), my pen extends its thanks. I may not be one of them, but I see all of them. And write them. I dare not use any acquaintance through and through, but I do shop from their actions and character as if at the most extensive store in the land. If I ever do have one of my stories published, and if one of these acquaintances does happen to recognize a certain quality . . . Actually, knowing the unique workings of the human mind, they will probably be more apt to find themselves in places they have not been put. People are odd beings, seeing meaning where there is nothing to be seen and being blind to the obvious.
    My sister-in-law Elizabeth sees herself as lady of the manor. Although admittedly she does hold that title, I find it of interest that those with power and money do not always possess equal portions of intellect and good sense. Elizabeth is a very lovely woman, educated, though not, I imagine, the possessor of much natural talent. Her tastes are domestic, her affections strong, though exclusive. But she does not think to any great advantage. In the evenings, when grand discussions can be had, Elizabeth allows us to read to her—without comment—and Edward goes to sleep. If it were not for Father, I would die of inane conversation.
    And yet, there is also the opposite occurrence . . . to find a person pleasing when one