just want to direct the novel-consuming readers out there to the attention of a new Jane Austen inspired novel that may be of interest: Syrie James’ latest book,
Little is known about Austen's love-interest, Edward Taylor, who may have inspired some of her admired male protagonists, however James has unearthed some new information about him in the process of writing her book. From the publishers:
It is June 1791, and Jane Austen is at Goodnestone Park in Kent visiting
the Bridges family. Jane, age fifteen, is not yet “out,” but her mother has
allowed her to attend her first ball that evening to celebrate her brother’s
engagement to Elizabeth Bridges. Jane is all dressed in her best gown and
filled with excitement, her only regret that her mother will not allow her to
powder her hair, as her older sister Cassandra and the preponderance of the
company is expected to do.
As I emerged into the passage, Louisa and Harriot
appeared, attired in their new gowns, their hair elegantly styled with
supplementary hair pieces, and fully powdered in bluish gray—the very image of
all the fashionable ladies of the age whom I had so long admired.
I had never seen girls so young attired in such a
manner except in old paintings, and the picture they presented was very
striking. The young girls skipped up to me.
“Do not we look magnificent?” cried Harriot, beaming,
as she paused to twirl in all her finery.
“You both look fit to be presented to the queen,”
replied I sincerely, to which the girls broke out into giggles and ran off.
I stood still for half a minute, steeped in misery,
listening to the laughter from behind the closed doors along the passage,
wherein the other young ladies were dressing. Lining the corridor were various
ancestral pictures of regal men and ladies, all of them wearing wigs or with powdered
hair. I yearned with all my heart to look just like them. My melancholy and
despair grew to such a height, that I could no longer bear it. Tears started in
my eyes; and, sobbing, I ran down the hall to the bedroom which I knew to be
newly occupied by my mother. I rapped urgently on the door, identifying myself;
she bid me to come in.
“What is the matter, Jane?” exclaimed my mother from
the chair where she was reading. She was fully dressed in her best russet gown
and white fichu, her curly hair already powdered beneath her white cap. “What
do these tears signify?”
“Oh! Mamma! You cannot mean to humiliate me like
this!” I flew to her side and knelt before her, taking one of her hands in
mine, as my tears flowed.
She set down her book. “How have I humiliated you?”
In between sobs, I told her about Louisa and Harriot.
My mother looked surprised.
“I have wanted this for such a long time, Mamma. It is
my only opportunity to feel what it is to be truly grown-up. Will not you
consider and relent? Otherwise, I am to be the only person at the ball to-night
with natural hair! I will be laughed at!”
My mother was silent for a moment; then she patted my
back distractedly. “Well, well, we cannot have that,
can we? We are not at Steventon now. If those are the rules of this house—if little Harriot Bridges, at age ten, is to have
powdered hair—well!”
I glanced up at her, hope rising. “Do you mean—”
“I have been here but a few hours, Jane, but already I
have sized up Lady Bridges. That woman has her nose so high up in the air, it
is a wonder she can take a step without falling on her face! We cannot have her looking down on us! Why, her daughters are all so
beautiful and accomplished, nobody else’s daughters can hope to hold a candle
to them! Even her strawberries are the best in the
land, or so she claims, and her precious roses won a
prize at some fair or other; well! My own roses are equally as fine, I assure
you, for all that they have not been judged and won ribbons! You are a young
lady now, Jane! Even if you are not yet out, we cannot
have Lady Bridges or any of her ilk looking at you like a child!”
“Oh! Thank you, Mamma!” I threw my arms around her, so
filled with relief and happiness that I thought I might burst.
“There, there, Jane,” said my mother, “you will ruin
my ensemble. Now dry your tears, and go get your hair
powdered. Mind you, this indulgence will apply this one night only.”
“I understand.”
“One thing further: remember what I said, you are not
to dance to-night with any strange men, only your brothers or your cousins.”
“Only brothers and cousins?” cried I, distressed once
again. “But Mamma, there are but a handful of young men who meet that
description! I have been here some days already. I have become good friends
with some of the Bridgeses’s friends, and in particular with their cousin,
Edward Taylor. He is a remarkable young man, Mamma. I would give anything to
dance with him.”
“Edward Taylor?” She pursed her lips. “Is he the young
man just come back from abroad, who is heir to that big house down the road,
what is it called?”
“Bifrons. Yes. That is he.”
“Well, Lady Bridges has her cap in a twist about that young gentleman; she seems to perceive anyone who is
musical, well-educated, or well-travelled as a threat to her own precious
progeny. Let us give her something else to fret about, Jane! He is, in any
case, soon to be our cousin through marriage, is not he? You have my
permission, my dear; you may dance with him—and I suppose with anyone else you
call a friend. But I still say: no strangers.”
“Thank you!” cried I again, kissing her cheek with
relief; and I flew from the chamber.
I returned to my own room, where the scent of lavender
hung heavy in the air, and I found that my sister had been transformed into a
regal beauty.
“You look stunning,” cried I, and without pausing
added, “and you will never guess what has happened! Mamma has just given her
consent for me to powder my hair! And to dance with any friends I like!”
“Has she?” replied Cassandra. “I am happy for you,
Jane.”
“Well done, miss,” said Sally, beaming.
I resumed my seat at the dressing-table, my heart
drumming with anticipation, as Sally covered my shoulders and upper body with a
protective drape; she then applied pomatum to my hair, and liberally added the
fragrant, bluish gray starch with a puff. Very quickly, powder filled the air
and got up my nose and into my mouth, causing me to choke and sneeze. When she
had finished and removed the drape, I was so enveloped by the flowery aroma, I
felt slightly ill.
Cassandra, who had been watching from a chair by the
hearth, said:
“There, you have achieved your goal. Are you content?”
“I am not sure.” Coughing and brushing off the excess
powder from my gown, I added, “I did not realise it was such a messy business.”
“I tried to tell you.” She smiled. “You look very
elegant, Jane.”
“Do I?” Turning and glancing in the mirror again, I
viewed my reflection with a start. “I hope so. For in truth, I do not recognise
myself.”
