Free Rude Awakenings of a Jane Austen Addict by Laurie Viera Rigler Page B

ever really love me.
    Marriage, the service declares, was “ordained for the procreation of children.” I knew not whether I had the courage to bear children, for I knew of too many women who had died in childbed, a fate as common as being with child. And being with child was the natural result of lying with a man. I feared the yearly confinements that were the lot of so many married ladies. My aunt Mansfield had nineteen children; the last took her life. My mother’s brother had twelve. His wife lived. Even my mother, with her small family of three children, had had two more, their brief infant lives marked with gravestones in the churchyard.
    But I loved Edgeworth, of that I was sure. With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship. Any children that came of our union would be blessed by our love. I would risk everything for that love. And yes—I smiled inwardly—I would have Barnes be my emissary with Cook and her wise woman in the village who could make teas and potions that were indispensable to a lady, or so believed Barnes and Cook, whose conversation I overheard. I would avail myself of those potions and keep my family from an unreasonable increase.
    And so, my answer ready, I mounted Belle and off we went. I imagined the surprise on Edgeworth’s face when I appeared without any notice of my arrival. I pictured a smile of delight overspread ing his countenance, like Darcy’s, when I told him I was there to accept his offer. I imagined the feel of his arms around me when I kissed him to seal the bargain.
    But it was I who was surprised, not he. I who found him with the copper-haired servant. I who rode back and wandered the lanes, ranting and crying out my grief so that I could return home to my mother and father with some semblance of composure in my bearing. I who lost all hope of happiness.
    No, I will not dwell upon these memories.
     
     
     
    W hen Paula’s car stops in the street before my apartment, the ladies insist on seeing me upstairs and making sure I have everything I need. Anna urges me to lie down and rest.
    “So what are your plans for the rest of the day?” says Paula, flopping on the bed next to me.
    “I thought I might read.”
    Paula rises from her prone position and eyes the array of novels by Jane Austen on the table beside the bed. “There are other authors in the world, you realize.”
    Anna takes the chair next to the bed. “Don’t start on her, Paula.”
    “I take it you are not fond of the lady?”
    “Apparently,” Paula says, perching on the arm of Anna’s chair, “you don’t remember me telling you how my high school English teacher shoved Mansfield Park down my throat and how I vowed never to read Jane Austen again.”
    “And you?” I say to Anna.
    “I read Northanger Abbey, but I don’t have time to read the other books. I barely have time to read what I’m supposed to read.”
    “Nevertheless,” says Paula, “we both enjoyed Colin Firth when you forced us into a Pride and Prejudice marathon.”
    Anna giggles. “Yeah, and Matthew Macfadyen’s pretty hot, too.”
    “In case you don’t remember,” Paula says, “your best friends are Philistines who prefer to have their great literature served up on the screen.”
    Anna smiles wryly. “Unless my boss is thinking of adapting it. I guess we’re true loyalists to our calling.”
    “Yes,” Paula adds, “our various employers should be proud.”
    Various employers. “Might I venture to ask how you are employed? Forgive me, but I do not remember.”
    “But of course you may, madam,” Paula says, and Anna smacks her. “Ow.”
    “I’m a creative executive,” Anna says, “and Paula’s a set decorator.”
    “Ah.” Thankfully, it sounds as if they have nothing to do with the Cyprian class.
    “Which means,” Paula says, “because from your blank expression I can tell you have no idea what we’re talking about—which on the one hand I find alarming, and on the other hand makes you a refreshing