For Myself Alone: A Jane Austen Inspired Novel Read Online Free Page A

three of us bound for Bath, Tom and Frederick would be leaving as well – Frederick to take possession of his uncle’s properties, and Tom to Oxford to begin Michaelmas term. So, it amounted to a mass desertion of the manor house, which was to last some weeks.
    As with any event of similar magnitude, my sociable mother instinctively felt the need to mark the occasion in some appropriate style. Accordingly, at the breakfast table one day she ventured, “Did you know, Mr. Walker, that we are not the only ones about to quit Wallerton? The Brownings will soon set off on a tour of the continent, and several of the young men are due to return to university. With all this leave-taking about to commence, it struck me that it really would be a kind convenience if everybody could be gathered at the same time and in the same place to say their good-byes. Would not you agree?”
    “So you think we ought to host a party of some sort, no doubt.”
    “Precisely.”
    “But why should we expect people to come and celebrate our pilgrimage to Bath for the cure? It is tantamount to asking our friends to attend an official observance in honor of my gout,” he complained.
    “Stuff and nonsense! Really, Mr. Walker, where did you get such a notion? No one in their right mind will think anything of the kind. We always give a little soiree in the fall. Everybody knows that. This year we have just had to move up the date a little, that is all.”
    I believe husbands and wives generally understand when opposition will be in vain. Papa’s objections soon gave way, and the plan went forward for a supper and card party at Fairfield to be held a few days before our departure.
    My mother was in her full glory as the preparations began. Resembling a general marshalling the troops for an important military campaign, she assessed the task before her, organized the servants, and set everyone to work toward the goal of perfect readiness. Serving as her assistant and understudy, I could not help but catch her excitement as we counted the days until the event.
    The night at last arrived and so did our guests. Except for a Mr. Evans – a cousin of the Bickfords visiting from Surrey – everybody knew one another, so no formal ceremony and few introductions were necessary. Agnes soon gravitated to my side, favoring me with an embrace and a kiss as was the custom between us. She looked especially well. The plaits and curls of her golden hair adorned her head in an elaborate arrangement, and the sapphire muslin she wore mirrored and, in turn, enhanced the color of her eyes. Her fair face struggled to express an intense blend of emotions, lending her the additional appeal of a sympathetic heroine, a damsel in distress.
    “Why, Agnes, whatever is the matter?” I asked her.
    “Oh, my dearest friend, I am half agony, half delight! I hardly know how to behave. I so looked forward to tonight, and yet, now that it is here, all I can think of is that when it is over you will be leaving. How can I possibly enjoy myself with the knowledge of what will follow tomorrow?”
    “Dear Agnes, you are such a sensitive lamb.” I found my friend’s inclination for seeing high drama in every circumstance both amusing and endearing. Indeed, I often thought it a great shame Agnes was so respectably situated, for she seemed to have been born for the stage.
    “How I should love to have a season in Bath or London,” she continued. “I only wish you could take me with you. It will be so dreadfully dull here when you, your brothers, and Arthur are all gone away. How shall I bear the solitude?”
    “Perhaps you could come and visit us in Bath once Papa is on the mend,” I suggested. “And in the meantime, I promise to write you about all my adventures.”
    “Yes, I simply must hear from you very often, yet it will be exquisitely painful all the same to discover what I am missing.”
    Despite her predictions of gloom, Agnes put her distress aside remarkably well in order to