For Myself Alone: A Jane Austen Inspired Novel by Shannon Winslow

umbrella from my grasp, he was there in three strides to retrieve it. He placed it back into my hand without a word, leaving me flustered by being brought so unexpectedly face to face with such a fine-looking stranger.
    “Thank you, sir,” I managed to say despite my not inconsiderable degree of perturbation.
    “I am honored to be of service, madam,” he answered, fixing my gaze for a moment with his formidable dark eyes. Then he dropped me an elegant bow and departed as quickly as he had arrived.
    The brief encounter left me surprisingly shaken. Never before had I found any man capable of so thoroughly discomposing me by his aspect and proximity. Miss Graham gave me a quizzical look, evidently expecting some kind of coherent remark but finding me dumbstruck instead.
    “What an impressive gentleman – so fine a figure and so gallant,” prompted Susan.
    Still in a bit of a daze, I mused, “How extraordinary that he should have been brought to us just as we were… just as I was…”
    “…wishing to meet him?” Susan volunteered. “Yes, what an amazing coincidence. One might be tempted to think you lost hold of your umbrella for precisely that purpose,” she teased.
    This roused me from my earnest reflections, and I laughed. “I will forgive your impertinence this time, Miss Graham. We are not yet well-enough acquainted for you to know that such a scheme would never occur to me. Since it did to you, however, I shall remember where to go for that sort of assistance in future.”
    “Yes, I possess an untapped wealth of scathingly brilliant ideas. I shall put them completely at your disposal. Yet you may not need a one of them, for I think you have already made your first conquest in Bath without my help.”
    “Do not be ridiculous! My dear Susan, you make far too much of this. The gentleman was merely being polite. I’m sure he would have done the same for my mother or any other woman.”
    “Perhaps, but I daresay he would not have been so eager nor enjoyed it half so much. I saw the way he looked at you, the way you looked at each other. I wonder who he is… and if he has a friend for me.”
    We laughed, and I continued to make light of the incident. Yet the memory of it held me tightly in its grip for the rest of the afternoon. I could not stop thinking about the stranger, nor could I resist hoping that he would not remain unknown to me much longer.

 
     
     
    8
    The Lower Rooms
     
    Upon returning to the house, my parents and I found that the post had come in our absence bringing a letter from Agnes at Wallerton and another from Tom at Oxford. On a single sheet, Tom reported that he had already settled back into the hospitable embrace of his college, and he pledged – as indeed he did every term – to apply himself to his studies with renewed vigor and devotion. The brief, perfunctory note hardly seemed to merit the tender reverence with which Mama handled it. Apparently, she alone could discern the fonder sentiments and more noble aspirations concealed beneath and between the words so carelessly scrawled upon the page.
    My letter from Agnes was not intended for general consumption and held no fascination for anyone but myself. Accordingly, I carried it off to my room for a private perusal. The thick folds of paper promised well for its being a more generous and edifying correspondence than the other. However, even though Agnes was very liberal with her words and far more candid expressing her sensibilities, she ultimately related little information. That very lack of news figured prominently in the theme of her discourse.
    “I declare that nothing interesting ever happens in Wallerton,” she wrote, “and I am convinced that I shall never enjoy so much as one ounce of excitement as long as I remain here. My dearest friend, I depend on your letters so. Let me hear from you very often, so that I may sample vicariously that which I hope will soon be mine to savor in person. The prospect of joining you in