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

partake of the amusements the evening had to offer.
    Meanwhile, I was far from neglected. The visiting Mr. Evans sought out an introduction and fawned over me so flagrantly that I felt sure someone had given him prior information of my monetary attractions, all twenty thousand of them. His overtures were so obvious as to be almost comical. The other present members of my band of suitors made every effort to please and charm me as well. No doubt they were keenly conscious that my imminent removal to Bath posed a considerable threat to their ambitions of securing my affection and fortune.
    To break away from these unwelcome attentions, I sought out Mrs. Evensong. So close had been the fellowship between our two families that she was something like a second mother to me, and I a daughter to her. “My dear Mrs. Evensong, are you quite well?” I asked when I saw her. “You look a little pale.”
    “You mustn’t always worry so much for me, my dear. I am very well today, very well indeed,” she answered in her mild way. “What a lovely evening this is, which comes as no surprise, of course; your mama is such an accomplished hostess. I sometimes envy her energy and efficiency in such matters.”
    “There are few who can equal her, I grant you. How is little John? I’m afraid I have lately been remiss in my visits. Did he enjoy the tale of Mr. Pondwaddle?”
    Mrs. Evensong broke into a lilting laugh at the reference to the story I had recently written as a present for her youngest son, a sweet but decidedly simple-minded boy of eleven. “He loves all your stories, Jo, but I think this one is his favorite. He insists I read it to him every night before bed and show him all the drawings as well.”
    “Oh dear. I am pleased he likes it so much, but I have created a lot of work for you, it seems.”
    “Nonsense. I think I enjoy it quite as much as John does. We shall both soon have it committed to memory at all events.”
    “Well, I have another story idea running round in my head – about a little pig and his brothers this time. I shall send it along from Bath as soon as it is finished.”
    Mrs. Bickford then pulled me to one side. “It is a shame about Miss Hunter, is it not?” she said conspiratorially.
    “Why? What has happened? Is she ill?”
    “No, my dear Miss Walker, it is something else entirely. She has broken off her engagement! Why, it is all over town. I thought sure you knew or I would never have presumed to mention it. I am no gossip, not like that horrid Mrs. Oddbody. In fact, she is the very person who told me about Miss Hunter. Personally, I tell no tales, so I will not say another word about it myself… except that it is a sad business when a girl from a good family behaves so irresponsibly.”
    “But, Mrs. Bickford, we cannot judge without all the facts. Perhaps Miss Hunter acted under severe provocation.”
    “Her reasons do not signify in the least, Miss Walker. Reputation is everything, and now Miss Hunter will always be known as a jilt. No respectable man will have anything to do with her. My own son had an interest in her at one time, but I will make very certain he steers well clear of her in future. He has political ambitions, as you may know, and can ill afford to be tainted by questionable associations.”
    Not wanting to listen to any more of Mrs. Bickford’s slander, I immediately excused myself and went to find Agnes. By my design, she and I were seated together at supper with Arthur, Tom, and Frederick gathered close about us as a cozy, protective shelter. Perhaps it was selfish of me, but I wanted one last evening with all of us together.
    Our conversation that night focused little on Bath and more on the destinations of the three young men. Frederick embarked upon a detailed description of Millwalk, to which he would soon lay claim. The extent of the property and the size of the house far exceeded anything he could hope to receive from his own father, so he rightly counted himself a