Jane Austen Sequels Weblog

Jane Austen Made Me Do It – New Website!

janeaustensequels — Mon, 05 Sep 2011 08:54:30 +0000

I think I may have mentioned how proud I am to be a part of this fantastic collection of short stories, but if that wasn’t enough, now I am thrilled to tell you about a new website which is up and running to celebrate all things about this new book.

Laurel Ann Nattress, the wonderful editor of the book writes about the chance to win a book:

Jane Austen Made Me Do It officially releases on Tuesday, October 11, 2011 – which is over a month away. I hope that you are as anxious to read it as I am to hear your reactions. If you want to be one of the first to peruse the pages of this new anthology, you could be one of the lucky Janeites to own a copy before publication. In celebration of the website’s official reveal, we are offering you the chance to win one of four advance reading copies. Just check out the details to qualify for a chance. Good luck, and thanks for sharing with me in my excitement of the publication of my new book.

Do have a look on the website for news about how you can win a book, read all about the authors and their stories, and who won the competition to have their short story included in the book!

I can’t wait to see my story amongst all those written by fabulous authors.

“Waiting: A story inspired by Jane Austen’s Persuasion,” by Jane Odiwe

Captain Wentworth and his beloved Anne Elliot have waited almost nine years to be together. At last all misunderstandings are swept aside. They have declared their love for one another, and all that remains is for their union to be blessed by Anne’s father, the irascible Sir Walter Elliot, and for the family members to be told. As Anne and Frederick ponder their futures each is reminded of the past, and all that has happened…

Dressing the Stars in Bath at the Fashion Museum

janeaustensequels — Thu, 25 Aug 2011 08:03:00 +0000

There’s a few days left to catch a fantastic exhibition at the Fashion Museum in Bath. It’s called ‘Dressing the Stars’ and features the talents of costume designers who work in film. This has to be one of my favourite museums, not least because it is housed in the Assembly Rooms which feature in Jane Austen’s novels, so it’s always a treat to visit.

Over forty costumes are on display in total in the exhibition, worn by stars including Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Carribean, Colin Firth and Helena Bonham Carter in The King’s Speech, and Keira Knightley in The Duchess, some of which was shot at the Assembly Rooms in Bath. Other costumes include those worn by Cate Blanchett in Elizabeth, Gwyneth Paltrow in Shakespeare in Love, and Meryl Streep in The French Lieutenant’s Woman.

My favourite, and the ones I couldn’t wait to see in detail were the costumes worn by Kate Winslet and Alan Rickman for the wedding at the end of Sense and Sensibility. The wedding scene is over so quickly, and Kate’s dress only flashes onto the screen for a few moments, but I’ve always thought it was beautiful. Designed by Jenny Beavan and John Bright, the costumes lived up to my expectations, and Kate’s dress, in particular, is divine. I’m always amazed at the detail that goes into these costumes even when they’re seen from a distance. One of Emma Thompson’s dresses is also featured – the other striking feature I noted was that these film stars are all so tiny!

You can also see an exhibition of over 30 of the Fashion Museum’s most exquisite cream, ivory and white wedding dresses at the ‘What will she wear? The enduring romance of the wedding dress’ exhibition. Many of the exhibits are over 100 years old, delicate silks with gossamer fine lace and embroidery, all carefully hand-picked for the new display.

’WHAT WILL SHE WEAR?’ includes wedding dresses made of silks brocaded with metal thread, lustrous silk satins, even crisp white nylons; some of the dresses are decorated with ribbons and bows, some with antique lace.

White has been the colour most associated with wedding dress in western cultures for well over 200 years and ‘What will she wear?’ includes historical examples from the early 19th century. The most up to date wedding dress in the exhibition is a white lace dress, with an asymmetric hem by designer Alexander McQueen worn in Summer 2010, and especially lent to the Fashion Museum for the display.

Finally, there are some beautiful examples of Regency muslin dresses and accessories in the main gallery, which provide wonderful inspiration!

Jane Odiwe

Austenesque Extravaganza – A Short Story in Celebration!

janeaustensequels — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 00:26:00 +0000

In celebration of Meredith Esparza’s Austenesque Extravaganza, I decided to write a short story, which I hope you will enjoy.

I am dedicating it to a very special lady.

Adalgisa, this story is for you with much love.

An Invitation to Pemberley:

A short story inspired by Mr. Darcy’s Secret.

Miss Kitty Bennet of Longbourn House in the county of Hertfordshire considered she must be the most fortunate girl in the world. Such excitement at the end of October was most unexpected, but as the fading sun burnished the leaves to gild them with gold, an invitation to visit her sister Elizabeth at Pemberley arrived. It was enough to send her into a spin of excitement, and although her mother’s ecstatic effusions on the subject of Mr. Lloyd’s being behind the urgency of the matter gave her a moment of pleasure, she quickly dismissed such an unlikely event. Mr. Lloyd was the rector of the parish at Pemberley, and Kitty had been introduced to him during the previous Christmas season.

“But Mama, I only danced with him once,” said Kitty, trying very hard to sound calm. She did not want to betray the very real warmth of her feelings towards her favourite clergyman whom she considered was not only a good-looking young man, but also a perfect dancer.

“My dear girl, in my day, one dance meant you were practically engaged!” said Mrs. Bennet sucking in her cheeks, and pursing her lips as if she need say no more on the subject. But Kitty knew she would not be silent for long. “Now remember, Catherine, do not hold back this time or Eleanor Bradshaw will win the day as she did once before. I do not wish to scold you like other mothers do, and I wouldn’t dream of telling you the best way to catch husbands as some people who call themselves my friends are apt to instruct. However, I will say this. Young men will not dally unless they are encouraged.”

“Mama, how can you say such a thing?” Kitty was incensed by her mother’s advice.

“Oh, poof and nonsense! If you idle by, and take your eye off the prize, you will be disappointed. Eleanor Bradshaw will be ensconced in Pemberley Rectory before Mr. Lloyd has written his Christmas sermon, mark my words! How do you think your sisters got their husbands? Not by studying their feet, and the chalk lines on the floor, I can tell you.”

Kitty could hear the droning of her mother’s voice, but had long practised the art of not listening to the actual words she was saying. She kept her silence as she looked out of the window, and only knew that despite the tirade, she was looking forward to leaving for Derbyshire the very next day.

Autumn had arrived at Pemberley heralding clear, cool skies, and apple boughs drooping under the weight of crisp, red fruit to tumble into the mellow, decaying leaves, which lay in drifts of lemon, amber, and nut brown at the foot of the trees scattered in the orchard. Kitty gazed out of the carriage window at the parkland, and found she was craning her neck to watch for any signs of life as they neared the rectory next to the church on the side of the estate. The imposing house looked quiet, and she’d quite given up hope when rolling past the limestone garden walls she saw him. Dressed as he was for the outdoors she almost didn’t recognise him. A glimpse of Mr. Lloyd between the flowerbeds revealed a young man toiling beside his gardener as if this was his usual habit. To her great astonishment Kitty saw him straighten, and before she could prepare herself he was returning her gaze with a smile and a wave. Caught like a moment in a painting, the image stayed with her as they bowled along. Dark brown hair swept back by the breeze from his smiling face, white shirt sleeves rolled up to display strong arms, and black breeches tucked into boots soiled from his labours were combined in a picture to making Kitty grin with pleasure, at least, before she scolded herself.

Kitty had been bent on a course of self-improvement ever since her last visit to Pemberley. Determined to shake off her reputation as silly and flighty, more than anything she was hoping to astound the inhabitants at the great house with what she considered were her improved new manners, and her sensible demeanour. Above everything else, she hoped to make a good impression on Mr. Lloyd who had made an enormous impression on her.

This gentleman was soon forgotten, however, on seeing her sister Elizabeth and the new baby who’d arrived the month before. Swathed in ivory linen, his sweet face rosy with contentment, Kitty was soon begging to hold young Fitzwilliam in her arms when Mr. Darcy came into the room to greet her warmly.

“Kitty, what a pleasure to see you again. How do you like your young nephew?”

“He is utterly adorable,” she replied, kissing the top of his head as the baby gripped her finger tightly.

“And he looks as if he’s thinking quite the same about you,” said Mr. Darcy. “It’s clearly love at first sight. But, we know all about such matters at Pemberley; love is in the very structure of the building.”

Kitty watched her brother-in-law as he gazed into the eyes of his wife with the expression of love she’d witnessed many times before. He turned towards her again. “And now with my sister Georgiana happily engaged to Mr. Butler, we have much to celebrate. The very air is redolent with romance.”

The smirk that played around his mouth convinced Kitty that he was teasing her, and she wondered what on earth he meant by it or what he might say next. She was surprised for Mr. Darcy was inclined to be serious, and she also knew that he had not at first been entirely happy with Georgiana’s choice of partner.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Dare we ask what has brought on such effusions, Kitty? Mr. Darcy has never spoken so eloquently on the subject of amour in his life before.”

Kitty giggled then, her resolve not to do so temporarily forgotten. It was very hard trying not to laugh out loud when she’d never before heard Mr. Darcy being so amusing, and was sure he had no idea that he was actually being very funny. However, when he next spoke, she was soon brought back down to earth.

“I hope you do not mind, Kitty,” he continued, “but besides ourselves, Georgiana, and Mr. Butler, I have invited another guest to dine with us this evening. He is a young man you have met before; I believe you danced together at the Christmas ball. He has told me as such on more than one occasion. Indeed, I think he’s mentioned the fact every time I see him.”

Kitty held her breath, and felt her face flush, which she knew had not escaped the attention of her sister and brother-in-law as they exchanged glances. Before Mr. Darcy or her sister could speak again, the door opened. In flew Georgiana, her eyes bright, and her arms outstretched. Kitty thought what a contrast she now made compared to the shy girl she had been in the past. Finding Mr. Butler, and falling in love with him had clearly had a wonderful effect on her character and constitution. Kitty also knew what a difference it had made for Georgiana being back at Pemberley with her brother, and with Elizabeth who had done much to bring her out of herself, and improve her confidence.

“I’ve been longing for you to return once more, Miss Bennet,” Georgiana cried. “Has Fitzwilliam told you about our guest this evening?”

“Mr. Darcy was just telling me that someone was coming for dinner,” said Kitty, who couldn’t decide how she felt about the prospect of Mr. Lloyd arriving, and being seated near him at the dinner table. That the invitation had been issued to anyone else, she did not even consider.

“We are all looking forward to seeing him again,” said Georgiana, sitting down upon an upholstered, velvet sofa. “Do you remember Mr. Bradshaw, Kitty?”

Eleanor Bradshaw’s brother, thought Kitty. She did recall dancing with him. A pleasant gentleman with handsome, good looks was all she could remember. There had been no spark, no animation between them. Kitty did her best to arrange her face so as not to look disappointed. Had she given the impression that she liked William Bradshaw, she wondered.

“He is not our only guest,” said Mr. Darcy, “his sister is also accompanying him.”

Kitty’s heart had leapt with anticipation at the idea that the other guest might possibly be the one she hoped, but realised that Eleanor was bound to have been coming with him.

And then Elizabeth spoke. “You’ve forgotten Mr. Lloyd.”

Kitty turned to regard her sister who in turn was looking at her husband in dismay.

“At least, I hope you haven’t forgotten him, Fitzwilliam. Miss Bradshaw will be most distressed if you have.”

Mr. Darcy smiled. “No, I’ve not forgotten having recalled the ball so well at the assembly rooms in Lambton last month. Mr. Lloyd and Miss Bradshaw both seemed very taken with one another. You think I do not observe such things, Elizabeth, but I did notice how particular he was in securing a dance or two. It would be a good match for her, I know. And her brother William is to inherit a sizeable estate of his own, Kitty. Do you remember Miss Bradshaw? She is a similar age to yourself, and a lively girl who loves to dance as you do. I’m certain you shall be firm friends.”

As Kitty smiled and nodded in the hope of convincing her brother-in-law that she was sincere, she was aware of the ache in her heart. So that was how things were settled. Miss Bradshaw and Mr. Lloyd were virtually engaged, and William Bradshaw was being drafted in to soften the blow. Not that anyone knew her true feelings for Mr. Lloyd, though Kitty did wonder if Elizabeth had suspected her partiality for the rector. But, that couldn’t be the case. After all, they had only danced together once, and exchanged glances across the church, and even then Kitty was now certain she’d read far too much into the way Mr. Lloyd had held her hand, and looked into her eyes. She put on her bravest smile.

“I’m sure I shall be great friends with the Bradshaws. How thoughtful to arrange such a lovely surprise on my arrival.”

Mr. Darcy looked particularly pleased before he left saying he had to attend to some estate business, but was looking forward to seeing them all again in the evening. Elizabeth ordered tea, and the baby was taken for its afternoon nap. Kitty did her best to join in the conversation answering all her sister’s enquiries about the family, punctuated with news from Longbourn, trying not to feel a stab of envy as Georgiana chatted about plans for her wedding at Christmas. Soon the little party broke up with Elizabeth hurrying away to see Mrs. Reynolds about the dinner, and Georgiana seeing to the matter of sending a carriage to Lambton to pick up Thomas Butler later on.

There were two whole hours before she needed to dress for dinner. Feeling a desperate need to get out into fresh air and sunshine, Kitty donned her sturdiest boots, and her warm pelisse before heading off. Crossing the formal garden, the wild landscape beyond seemed to call her to the woods and rocks high on the horizon, and the summit of Darcy’s Hall, the folly Elizabeth had commissioned Mr. Butler to design for her husband on their marriage. She’d only been up there once before, but remembered the spectacular walk, and the rewarding view from the top of the building. Following the ancient wall jewelled with lichen, along the slope like a pointing finger, she could see the larch wood in the distance, and the patchwork of fields sloping down to the chasms of the valley and the river below. Who could feel miserable in such surroundings? The exercise she loved, and all her despondent thoughts seemed to magically disappear as she marched across the landscape and jumped over stiles. The tower of the stone folly stood like a fortress guarding Pemberley itself, and as she pushed open the heavy wooden door at the entrance, Kitty’s heart began to race. Suddenly, she felt very alone as she mounted the spiral steps in darkness. After what felt like an age she reached the top, and sat down upon the bench placed specifically to take in the view across the blue hills ahead on the horizon.

Such beauty had to be drunk in slowly. Kitty watched the shadows made by the clouds sweep over silver grasses waving in the breeze, and admired the circle of beech trees on the crest of the hill from whence the wind came ruffling the coats of the sheep as they nibbled their way down the incline. Nestled in the valley close to the curving river, the golden stone houses of Lambton basked in the mellow, afternoon light. It was like finding earthly paradise, she thought, as feelings of pure happiness overwhelmed her.

Kitty remembered her sister saying, “What are men to rocks and mountains?” once upon a time, and she chuckled at the recollection. How could anything matter when surrounded by such sublime splendour? And she decided there and then, that even if she had to spend a whole evening in Mr. Lloyd’s company knowing he was in love with Eleanor Bradshaw, she would take it in her stride. After all, Elizabeth had at one time believed herself in love with someone else, and she’d married an entirely different gentleman. Could it be there was a fate waiting for her that as yet she knew nothing about?

Kitty was impressed with her stoical philosophy, even if she was aware that her brave thoughts didn’t quite match her fluctuating feelings, and could only hope that she’d be able to convince her very soul by the time Mr. Lloyd arrived. For it was one thing to instruct yourself not to blush in the presence of a man who induced the most alarming effects on one’s complexion, but it was quite another when it came to the actual event. Oh, the treachery of one’s bodily functions! She closed her eyes, and felt the sun on her face. Lady Catherine and her mother would scold her for not bringing a parasol, she knew, but they were not here to spoil her fun. As she felt the autumnal sun brightening her cheeks, she tried to banish the image of Mr. Lloyd as he popped without warning into her head. But it was impossible to forget the expression on his face as he’d waved. He’d looked genuinely happy to see her, his dark eyes twinkling with creases in the corners made by that wide smile. She tried very hard to be sensible, dismissing all thoughts of his billowing white shirt, which like a carving by Michaelangelo had delineated every contour of his muscular torso. And, she told herself very firmly not to think about his shiny black boots or the long legs encased in breeches, which emerged as if growing from the leather sheaves leaving nothing to the imagination. No, Kitty was sure she could think of something or someone else, or at least, she could if she put her mind to it.

Lost in reverie, she came to when startled by a noise below. She sat up; her eyes open wide. Had she heard the scrape of the door? Straining, she became increasingly alarmed as the clip of footsteps were heard on the stone staircase. Kitty was frozen, unable to move. All at once, the very worst of thoughts came into her head. She’d heard Mr. Darcy talk of poachers who stole onto his land looking for hares, pheasants, and all manner of animals they could kill to feed hungry mouths. He’d always seemed to have quite a relaxed attitude about them, never prosecuting those who trespassed, for he had a kind heart, and turned a blind eye in the hard days as winter approached. But to Kitty whose imagination knew no bounds, a brigand climbed ever higher, she was sure, with a knife between his teeth. The oncoming footfall was deafening to her ears, each step louder than the last. As Kitty opened her mouth to scream, she was shocked to see the curly head of one she knew very well emerge from the stairwell.

“Mr. Lloyd!” she gasped with a shriek. Aware that she’d made an almost inhuman noise, she then proceeded to stand up before she sat down again, and knowing that her face was scarlet, all she could do was turn away in the hope that he would not notice.

“Miss Bennet, I heartily apologise,” the rector called, rushing to her side, and sitting next to her on the bench. “It is my usual habit to call out as I approach, but I confess I did not see you, and was quite sure I must be alone. I do hope I did not alarm you.”

Kitty summoned up all her courage to turn. It was so very hard to look into his eyes, which fringed in dark lashes seemed to pierce a part of her soul she had never realised existed before. “I was surprised…I did not expect.” Stammering, she scolded herself for her stupidity before trying again. “I didn’t dream that anyone else would come up here this afternoon. I wanted a walk, and my feet seemed to direct my way. It is very beautiful up here.”

“It is indeed, and I understand you completely. I found myself at a loose end, and unable to have any influence over making the arrival of the dinner hour come sooner than it will, I decided my restlessness might be cured with a walk. My feet led me here also.”

Kitty laughed before she remembered that it was clearly Miss Bradshaw that Mr. Lloyd could not wait to see. She spoke out before she realised what she’d said. “I confess I was not wishing for time to pass any faster.”

“My admission has not pleased you, I can see, and yet, I hoped it would. It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Bennet.”

Kitty looked in surprise, and wondered if she’d heard him correctly, but of course, he was only being polite. She must not read any more into the warmth of his voice, its tone and expression. Knowing she must excuse her folly in speaking her thoughts aloud, she immediately spoke again. “I am delighted to see you, Mr. Lloyd, and it is wonderful to be at Pemberley with my sister, Mr. Darcy, and Miss Georgiana. Of course, I must not forget my delightful baby nephew who has stolen my heart forever.”

“I am sorry to hear that, Miss Bennet.”

Kitty didn’t quite know what to make of her companion. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lloyd, forgive me, but I do not understand you.”

“I was rather hoping that your heart was intact, or at least, not wholly given over to another.”

Turning her head to look once more at his face, Kitty was startled by the earnestness of his expression, but deciding she must have misheard him knew she must change the subject if she were to stop imagining that Mr. Lloyd seemed to be almost flirting with her. Besides, she’d been told he was courting Eleanor Bradshaw, blatantly making it plain to everyone that she was his heart’s desire.

“It will be very pleasant to meet Miss Bradshaw again,” she said, waiting to see how he would answer.

“Yes, she is one of the sweetest girls I know. I imagine you and Miss Bradshaw would be the best of friends if you could spend more time with one another.”

Kitty did not think that would now ever be possible admitting to herself and her heart the very place Mr. Lloyd occupied.

“And when she is married,” he added, “nothing would please me better than to know she has a friend in you.”

Trying to smile, Kitty acknowledged again the ferocity of the feelings that arose from the depths of her being. Never more would she come to Pemberley after they were married. That would be too much to bear even if she told herself not to be ridiculous for thinking she could ever have had a chance with Mr. Lloyd. He clearly had been in love with Eleanor all along.

“I hope to marry her in the spring.”

Kitty’s eyes spontaneously filled with tears. So it was true. To the last second she’d hoped there was a mistake. Willing herself to stop being so emotional, she blinked rapidly, but felt a solitary tear roll down her cheek. Thankfully, Mr. Lloyd was looking into the distance, and she brushed away the moisture as if she’d been bothered by a flying insect passing by.

“It is wonderful when life turns out as it should, and when the secrets of our hearts reveal themselves,” he went on. “I think I always knew it would turn out this way, and I’m so happy.”

Unable to bear it a second longer, Kitty stood up to leave. Putting out her hand, she said, “I do hope you and Miss Bradshaw will be very happy, Mr. Lloyd. Please forgive me, but I must be going now if I am to be ready in time for dinner.” How she was going to cope with seeing them together in the evening, she couldn’t contemplate.

Mr. Lloyd was on his feet in a second. He put out his arm to stop her. She couldn’t believe he was laughing. “Dear Miss Bennet, please forgive me. I have not explained myself. Please sit for a moment longer.”

Kitty returned to her seat reluctantly. Was it her imagination or did Mr. Lloyd sit even closer? “When I said I was to marry Miss Bradshaw in the spring, I did not mean I was to marry her myself. I hope to marry her to Mr. Calladine.”

Kitty looked on askance. “Miss Bradshaw is to marry Mr. Calladine?”

Mr. Lloyd nodded. “They have declared their love for one another, and despite the fact that he did once believe himself to be in love with another, he’s now recognised that Eleanor has only ever been his one true love. Miss Bradshaw may have no fortune, but he’s finally realised at last that money is not everything.”

“But, I thought you were in love with Miss Bradshaw,” Kitty said before deciding whether it was wise to speak. “Mr. Darcy seemed to think you were courting her.”

“I have danced with Miss Bradshaw at the local assemblies, it is true, and only did so at the couple’s request. They knew there would be much gossip after what had happened before, and a little diversion of the truth was only meant to protect the young lady who knew what others would make of the news. Mr. Calladine is very sorry that he behaved so badly in the past, and I am assured that his character is transformed for the better.”

“I cannot think what they will all have to say at Pemberley,” said Kitty, hardly daring to recognise the thoughts that were surfacing. “This news will be so unexpected.”

“And yet, I think they will recognise the truth that love holds the key, and we must follow our hearts. Do you not agree with me? Shouldn’t we always believe in our feelings?”

“I do agree, Mr. Lloyd,” Kitty murmured, knowing that she spoke from her heart. “Our feelings tell us everything we need to know about the truth of love.”

Mr. Lloyd took her hand. “Miss Bennet, do you think Mr. Darcy will be very shocked to hear the truth about you and me?”

Kitty hardly dared look up, and when she did found she couldn’t answer. Mr. Lloyd raised her hand to his lips, and planted a kiss. “There is a truth in your looks, I see love in your expression. I sincerely hope I am not mistaken, but in any case, I can only declare my love for you. In short, Miss Bennet, do you think you could ever love me enough to marry me?”

Darcy’s Hall had witnessed one or two lover’s meetings before, and one might be forgiven for thinking it had been built for this purpose alone, but none seemed quite as sweet as the scene, which took place now. Kitty answered the question she’d always hoped might be asked with love in her heart, and as the pair strolled leisurely back towards Pemberley House, they looked forward to an evening which held the promise of joy, not to mention a few diverting moments, and a future filled with everlasting happiness.

Thank you, Meredith, for asking me to join the wonderful celebrations on your blog! Don’t forget to leave a comment here or on Austenesque Reviews for a chance to win a copy of Mr. Darcy’s Secret. If you leave a comment below or email me, you can choose which of my books you’d prefer. You can choose from Mr. Darcy’s Secret, Willoughby’s Return, Lydia Bennet’s Story, and Effusions of Fancy.

Jane Odiwe

Winner announced!

janeaustensequels — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 08:41:00 +0000

Thank you to everyone who entered the competition to win a copy of Mr. Darcy’s Secret – I really enjoyed hearing about your ideas.
The name drawn from the hat was:

Shelly

Congratulations, I hope you enjoy reading all about Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, and Georgiana!

Mr. Darcy’s Secret: Chapter One, and a Giveaway!

janeaustensequels — Mon, 18 Jul 2011 08:52:00 +0000

Here in England, we are enjoying (I’m not sure that is quite the word I want) a spell of miserable weather, grey skies, and rainy days. It’s actually feeling rather cold today, and so for no other reason other than trying to bring a little cheer on a gloomy day, I thought I’d post an extract from Mr. Darcy’s Secret, which I hope you’ll enjoy! Here is chapter one of my latest published novel. I’m also offering a copy of Mr. Darcy’s Secret – all you have to do is either leave a comment below, or send one to me here telling me what you’d like to read about next in an Austen-inspired novel! I’ll put the names in a hat and the winner’s name will be drawn next Monday, 25th July, 2011.

With little exception, the anticipation of a long-awaited and desirous event will always give as much if not more pleasure than the diversion itself. Moreover, it is a certain truth that however gratifying such an occasion may prove to be, it will not necessarily unite prospect and satisfaction in equal accord.

Mrs Bennet’s musings on the affairs of the day at Longbourn church were similarly divided. The ostrich feathers on her satin wedding hat quivered tremulously as she surveyed her surroundings with a self-satisfied air. Evening sunlight streamed through the long windows of the sitting room gilding her hair and silk pelisse, simultaneously burnishing the top of Mr Bennet’s polished pate with a halo of amber softness.

“Hardly has a day passed during the last twenty-three years when I have not thought about my daughters’ nuptials with the certain foreknowledge that my beautiful Jane and clever Lizzy would do their duty to their parents, their sisters, and themselves,” said Mrs Bennet to her husband on the day that her eldest daughters were married.

“Yes, my dear,” Mr Bennet replied with a wry smile, “even when you professed your resolution that they should both die old maids not two months ago, I am sure you knew better in your heart.”

“Such weddings as Longbourn and, indeed, the whole county have never seen before,” exclaimed Mrs Bennet fingering the new lace about her shoulders with an air of appreciation whilst ignoring her husband’s bemused comments. “Not that there were some matters that would have pleased me better had I been allowed to have a hand in the arrangements myself. I should have liked to host a party if I had been permitted, but Elizabeth did not think it fitting. I am sure our neighbours would greatly have appreciated the celebration, but who am I to be considered? I am only the mother of the brides married to two of the richest men in the kingdom! It is not as if it was a question of money. I am sure dear Darcy would have liked it if not for Elizabeth’s opposition. Still, it was something to see the condescension of our neighbours; I daresay Lady Lucas will not feel herself so superior now. But truly, nothing will vex me today; all has surpassed my greatest expectations.”

“I am glad to hear it, my dear, because without a doubt, if such long anticipation had been disappointed in some way, I am not entirely sure I could have borne the next twenty-three years with the same equanimity.”

“Who would have thought it, Mr Bennet,” said his lady talking over the top of him, “that I should live to see two of my daughters so exceptionally advantaged in married life?”

“Quite so, my dear,” replied he, “though I must add that however well placed I believed my daughters might find themselves, I had always planned on exceeding my own five and forty years to witness their felicity. Indeed, possessing the knowledge that your own long surviving line of aged relatives are still thriving as I speak, I must confess that I am a little astonished to think you had supposed to be dead before our daughters attained the matrimonial state.”

“Oh, Mr Bennet, you speak such nonsense. But you will not tease me out of my present happy disposition. And, I must say, I received some comfort from the fact that Miss Bingley and her sister Mrs Hurst were forced by a rightful sense of obligation and due civility to treat our family in the correct manner today. Oh, yes, Mr Bennet, I cannot tell you how much it gratified me to see the smug, self-satisfied expressions they generally display upon their ill-favoured countenances, quite wiped away. I thought Miss Bingley looked likely to choke when I turned to see Elizabeth and Jane walking down the aisle by your side.”

“I did not observe any greater condescension towards our family than that which they usually bestow, Mrs Bennet,” replied her spouse, “though I must admit I did not really pay them any great attention. My own thoughts and looks were only concerned with our dear girls.”

“What a double blow it must have been for Miss Bingley. I expect all the while she was hoping that Mr Darcy might break his promise to Elizabeth and leave her at the altar. And I am sure, whatever she might have said on welcoming Jane to the Bingley family, that the sincerity of her wishes was entirely false. Well, I cannot help feeling our advantage over those Bingley women. And Mr Darcy was as charming and obliging as ever. I think him quite superior to dear Mr Bingley in many ways, even if I hadn’t always liked him.”

“I’m sure Mr Darcy would be delighted to hear it.”

“I daresay he would, for he certainly needed to earn my good opinion after the way he strutted about Hertfordshire with his proud ways. However, I’m not entirely convinced by Lizzy’s partiality, whatever she might protest on his having been misunderstood and winning her round. A man ought to have a tongue in his head, indeed, especially a man of such consequence.”

“I should hate to hear you on the subject of despising a man if this is your approbation, Mrs Bennet. And I loathe to be contradicting you, once more, but I cannot agree with you. I believe Lizzy to be very much in love with Mr Darcy, as much in love, as dear Jane is with her Mr Bingley.”

“Well, I certainly think I might fancy myself in love if I knew I was married to the owner of Pemberley with a house in town and ten thousand a year, at least!”

“I am sure such good fortune helps love along. No doubt, my own prospects animated the feelings you had whilst we were courting.”

Mrs Bennet looked at her husband in exasperation. “Oh, Mr Bennet, it was nothing like the matter. There is no comparison. The wealth of Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley is a hundred times your consequence, as well you know. La! With Jane and Lizzy so well married; ’tis enough to make me distracted!”

“I am pleased to discover our poverty is in no way dispiriting to your outlook, my dear. But I cannot join you in your exertions. I find myself feeling most melancholy. I am delighted that I need not worry that our daughters will suffer any lack of wealth or hardship; but despite the satisfaction these assurances bring, I cannot help but add that I shall miss them very much.”

At this point Mrs Bennet burst into tears. “With my dearest Lydia so lately married and now Jane and Lizzy having left home, I shall have little to do, especially now Mary and Kitty will be gone to their sisters by the bye. I do not know what shall become of me; indeed, I do not. I shall be quite alone in this house with only my memories coupled with the dreadful understanding that William and Charlotte Collins are counting the days to your demise. What misfortune to have our estate entailed away for that odious pair to inherit. It is all Lady Lucas ever talks to me about these days: of her daughter’s delight at the prospect of being able to return one day into Hertfordshire.”

“Come, come now,” insisted Mr Bennet passing over a pocket handkerchief and rising from his seat with the intention of leaving the room. “I see no reason for tears. I am sure one or all of your daughters will accommodate you when that unhappy day befalls you and, until then, I flatter myself that you will have the comfort of knowing that you are not entirely alone. I am here, or at least I will be when I am not away.”

“Away! Do you intend to leave me, sir? Where are you going, Mr Bennet?”

“To Pemberley, of course,” came his emphatic reply.

“To Pemberley and you never said a word of it. But do you intend to go alone and without an invitation?”

Mr Bennet stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose if you should wish to accompany me, then you may enjoy your share of the invitation.”

“An invitation! Has Lizzy invited us to Pemberley so soon?” asked Mrs Bennet, scarcely able to keep the astonishment out of her voice.

“No, Mr Darcy himself, no less,” came the triumphant answer, “has not only issued the invitation, but also expects us for Christmas!”

Elizabeth Darcy looked out of the carriage window, her spirits in high flutter as they crossed the ancient stone bridge on the road into Lambton village. Nestled at the foot of a hill, on the western side of the river, a number of stone cottages, a church, and a few handsome buildings formed the landscape. Her eyes were drawn to the rich and romantic scenery of the place, enhanced in beauty by the noble appearance of wood-clad hills, wreathed in mist on this damp, November morning. She could not help but remember her first journey to Lambton, accompanied by her uncle and aunt Gardiner on their northern tour. How different had her feelings been in August when the trees had been lush with greenery, the sunshine dazzling her eyes and burnishing her skin to tones of golden brown. Elizabeth recalled her feelings of dread at the thought of being in near vicinity to that of Mr Darcy and how she had feared visiting Pemberley, the house that was now to be her home. She laughed out loud.

“Are you happy, dearest Elizabeth?” Mr Darcy enquired, taking her hand between both of his and raising it to his lips to kiss her fingertips tenderly.

“I am indeed, though happiness was not the emotion at the forefront of my mind just now. I was engaged on other, quite dreadful recollections, I must admit.”

Fitzwilliam Darcy’s brows knitted together in consternation. He studied Elizabeth’s countenance noting her expression which had suddenly changed to display a look so serious and grave that he could hardly bear to witness it. “I shall never forgive myself for the things I said to you in the past nor for the way in which I behaved. I only trust that in time I shall make sufficient amendment. My wish is to make you feel as I do, to have you love me as I love you. Please, Elizabeth, do not dwell on such bleak remembrances.”

Mrs Darcy turned her face toward him and, being unable to look anything other than completely amused, caused her husband to look searchingly into the dark, fine eyes, which he so admired. “You have clearly forgotten some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.” Elizabeth paused, her curls trembling as she suppressed the mirth bubbling inside. “I am teasing you, Fitzwilliam. I am perfectly happy to dwell on the memories of my first trip into Derbyshire, even if my initial feelings were concerned with mortification and distress. When I first set eyes on Lambton village, I could not help but think of you, and knowing that your estate was but five miles from here, with the possibility of you being in residence, was enough to overturn all my feelings.”

“Am I to deduce from this statement that you felt an inclination toward me that was beyond your own will? You always gave the impression of total disinterest, a self-sufficiency and aloofness. This description of your feelings gives quite a different picture. I think if you really had been so indifferent to me as I believed you were then, no such agitation could have been experienced. No one suffers anxiety when they are truly detached from feeling. I suspect that this distress you speak of was the deep acknowledgement that you were falling in love with me, regardless of your resolution to despise me forever.”

Elizabeth laughed again, her dark ringlets trembling prettily as she shook her head. “Oh, you insufferable, darling man. I hate to admit it, but I think there may be some element of truth in what you say, although I would certainly have denied it at the time. I felt most uncomfortable at the thought of looking around Pemberley, and yet, I was most curious to see the house where I could have been mistress, had I not turned down your wretched proposal.”

“Oh, do not remind me of that dreaded conversation at Hunsford.”

“No, I shall not be so cruel. Instead I shall remind you your second proposal was infinitely more acceptable to me, so much so, that I am sitting here, next to the man who has made me the happiest woman alive.”

“Have I made you happy, Elizabeth? I know we are just at the beginning of our life together and two days spent in exclusive company is hardly enough time for you to know whether or not you were right in your decision to accept me a second time. But, I hope you do not regret the outcome. I only want your happiness.”

“Mrs Reynolds is a very wise woman, I have come to believe.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Your housekeeper was the person who made me think again about my prejudice against you. Her description of you as the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world could not be without foundation. She, who had known you since you were a child, had to know something of your true character. I suppose it was from that day my idea of you really changed. And what is more, I believe she was correct. I know now just how sweet-tempered you really can be.”

Mr Darcy smiled and looked into her eyes at that moment with such evident longing that she felt her cheeks blush. The pressure of his fingers upon her own increased and though she reciprocated with a returning squeeze, it was too much to sustain his gaze. She must keep something in reserve, Lizzy felt, or her husband’s vanity, so recently curbed and tamed, might stir again like a beast unleashed. In any case, it would be far more fun to keep him wondering quite how far her admiration for him extended. She turned once more to seek the view through the window, simultaneously extracting her hand from his firm grasp and fussing about with her gloves and the fur tippet around her shoulders. “I thought we were to travel straight to Pemberley,” she said as the carriage started to enter the village.

“I have a small commission to fulfil first; we shall not be long,” answered Mr Darcy.

As they turned the corner into the main street the sight that met her eyes was enough to make Elizabeth cry out in surprise; for lining both sides of the road, three people deep, was the entire population of Lambton. At the sight of the carriage up went a roar and a cheer, caps and hats were thrown into the air and everyone burst into applause. Faces, young and old, peered into the carriage as it trundled past. Voices sang out from every side with wishes of joy.

“God bless you, sir, and God bless you, my lady. Welcome to Lambton!”

So unexpected was the tribute being paid to them that Elizabeth was moved to the point where she could not immediately find her tongue. “Oh, Fitzwilliam,” she uttered at last. “Is this wonderful reception for us?”

“For you, my love. I might inspire a certain affectionate respect in my tenants, but I have never seen them turn out like this before.” He took her hand again. “Welcome to Lambton, Mrs Darcy. Come, we are expected.”

The carriage stopped in front of the smithy. Mr Darcy alighted first, before helping his bride down the steps to yet more cheers and greetings. Elizabeth was quite overawed, but managed to return the smiles of the happy faces around her. A crowd was gathering about them and around by the open doors of the forge as if in anticipation. Just in front was placed a gleaming anvil polished for the occasion with the ruddy-faced blacksmith in attendance, his large muscular arms folded across his chest. A well-dressed gentleman in clerical black stepped forward and was introduced to Elizabeth by Mr Darcy. A handsome young man, Mr Lloyd, the rector of Lambton church, cut a dashing figure—quite unlike any other clergyman Elizabeth thought she had ever met. He welcomed her to the village with a very pretty speech before explaining what was to happen next.

“We have a custom in these parts, Mrs Darcy, that when a new bride arrives at Pemberley House we celebrate this auspicious event by firing the anvil. If you will step this way, Mr and Mrs Darcy, I hope you shall enjoy what is to follow.”

The blacksmith took charge, filling the central hole in the anvil with a small amount of black gunpowder, to which he added the end of a long piece of cord. The audience, which had swelled in number, now including the newlyweds, took up position at a safe distance, and as the blacksmith produced a flaming rushlight, a hushed silence fell on them all.

“Mrs Darcy, you might wish to cover your ears,” pronounced Mr Lloyd, as the blacksmith set the end of the fuse alight. All but the bravest held their hands over their ears and waited, breathless, as the flame crept along the cord. As it reached the top of the anvil there was an audible intake of breath; then, the flame slowed and looked as if it might go out, before it finally gathered pace to surprise them all with the biggest bang Elizabeth had ever heard. Shrieks, laughter, and exclamations of relief resulted as a consequence and the rector announced Mr and Mrs Darcy officially married. Lizzy and her husband offered their thanks, then moved amongst the crowd shaking hands with all their well-wishers, who, without exception, greeted them with great affability.

“’Tis not only Pemberley weddings that are celebrated in this way, Mrs Darcy,” said an elderly lady with a soft Derbyshire burr, who curtsied deferentially before Elizabeth, “but birthdays and christenings too. The heirs of Pemberley receive not only a wetting in the font, but a firing from the forge, and every birthday is remembered. God bless you, my dear. I hope we will not have to wait long before we have reason to celebrate at the smithy once more.”

As she moved along Elizabeth blushed as she thought about the old lady’s sentiments. The thought of a child, an heir to Pemberley, was not one she had ever considered before. Yet, she knew that to provide children and an heir was one of the duties that would be expected of the new mistress of Pemberley. Still, she had been quite taken aback by such forthrightness. However, though Lizzy felt the impertinence of the woman’s words, she realised that they had been spoken in true kindness. Touched by the welcome from the people, Elizabeth thought how lucky she was to have met and fallen in love with the man who inspired such affection. She turned to seek him out, realising that she had momentarily lost him in the crowd that gathered around them. However, she soon had him in her sights. Mr Darcy’s unmistakable profile was highly visible, a clear head height over the multitude. His handsome face looked at its best, his eyes crinkling with good humour, and his dark hair waving back over his forehead to fall in curls against his collar. What a striking figure he cut, all ease, though still retaining an air of stateliness. Lizzy could see him listening carefully to his tenants’ words of advice and congratulations on the married state, receiving all their good wishes with grace and forbearance. His noble stature and his build, so evidently strong under the perfect cut of his black coat, were enough to overset her feelings. Not for the first time did she feel almost overwhelmed by the thought of all that would be expected of her by this powerful man, but she was determined to show him that in choosing her to be his bride, he had made the right decision. Despite the trepidation that she felt, she was confident that she would take it all in her stride.

Eventually, after thanking everyone again, with an extra show of gratitude to the rector and the blacksmith for their special ceremony, they took their leave, climbing back into the carriage for the last leg of the journey. Lizzy felt in high spirits; it had been so pleasurable to be addressed as Mrs Darcy, even if once or twice she had forgotten to respond, being quite unused to being called anything other than Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

As they bowled along, Elizabeth watched for the first appearance of Pemberley Woods with excitement, and when, at length, they turned in at the lodge she could hardly contain the mixture of fear and elation that she felt inside. It was one matter to be greeted so kindly by the villagers, but what would the inhabitants of Pemberley House think of her arrival? And how was she to undertake the job she had to do now, as mistress of the house?

Jane Austen’s Watsons manuscript…SOLD!!!!

janeaustensequels — Fri, 15 Jul 2011 09:22:00 +0000

Jane Austen’s manuscript went on sale yesterday sold for £993,250 ($1.6m) yesterday in London – three times more than expected. There’s a clip from the BBC which makes fascinating viewing!
Oxford University’s Bodleian Library later said it had bought the Austen manuscript and it would go on display this year.

Here’s another clip from the BBC with Sotheby’s Gabriel Heaton talking about The Watsons – enjoy!

Austenesque Extravaganza

janeaustensequels — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 07:21:00 +0000

Meredith Esparza from the wonderful Austenesque Reviews has popped over to tell us all about the Austenesque Extravaganza she is holding in August! I’m thrilled to bits because I’ve been asked to participate, and there will be copies of Mr. Darcy’s Secret to be won.
I’m looking forward to joining in the fun. Over to you, Meredith!

Austenesque Extravaganza

Hello dear readers, it’s time to share with you all the fun and festivities planned for AUSTENESQUE EXTRAVAGANZA!

Austenesque Extravaganza is a month-long celebration of Austenesque novels and authors! Each day of the week has it’s own special event. Are you curious to know what events you can look forward to??

Here they are, my friends!

SOCIABLE SUNDAY - This event takes place on Twitter and will consist of a Twitter Party with several Austenesque Authors. Here’s your chance to chat live with your favorite Austenesque Author, ask them your questions, and learn more about their writing! (Twitter Parties will be at 4:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time)

MY RECOMMENDATION MONDAY - Don’t you just love to talk about your favorite Austenesque novels? Are you curious to know what books are at the top of everyone’s lists? Well here’s your chance! Who knows, maybe you will find some titles to add to your wishlist!

TRAVELING TUESDAY - Time to travel through the blogsphere and take a few stops at some spectacular Austenesque author and blogger sites! Lot’s of fun and interesting posts for you to enjoy!

WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE WEDNESDAY - Let’s talk Austenesque! What’s your favorite original character? Love scene? Showdown? Time to talk about your favorite scenes and elements from your favorite Austenesque novels!

TOURING THURSDAY - Just like on Traveling Tuesday, you will be leaving Austenesque Reviews to visit other Austenesque author and blogger sites and check out the awesome Austenesque posts they have written!

FUN AND GAMES FRIDAY - On Fridays we will indulge in some fun with Mad Libs, quizzes, and surveys!

SPOTLIGHT SATURDAY - Make sure you set aside some time each Saturday to check out all the fantastic posts Austenesque authors who don’t have their own blog have contributed to Austenesque Extravaganza. There are so many wonderful authors for you to meet and learn about!

Curious about THE AMAZING AUSTENESQUE GIVEAWAY???? That info will be coming soon!

Thank you, Meredith! We’re all very excited about this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Rice Portrait Provenance by Mrs. Henry Rice – Edward Rice 1899-1973, and Henry Rice 1928-2010

janeaustensequels — Wed, 06 Jul 2011 17:33:00 +0000

Edward Rice

As we come to the close of this fascinating history of the Rice Portrait provenance, I’d like to tell you about a new website, which gives more detail and information about the painting. The Rice Portrait of Jane Austen is to be found at www.janeaustenriceportrait.co.uk, and will cover every aspect of the portrait’s history from its provenance to concerns and addresses the Mary Anne Campion attribution, amongst other matters. It is a work in progress, and more pages are being added daily!

And now, I’d like to thank Mrs. Rice for joining us again to tell us about the tenth owner, Edward Rice, and poignantly, about her late husband, Henry Rice, the eleventh owner of the portrait.

Edward Rice 1899-1973

Edward Rice inherited the portrait as the tenth owner on his father’s death in 1943. He married a great heiress, Lord Curzon of Kedleston’s stepdaughter, Marcella Duggan, and built a ballroom onto Dane Court, which was large, echoing, and rather draughty when I knew it. However, the painting looked well there. Unfortunately, Marcella and Edward Rice were divorced having had three children, and Henry’s new French stepmother (who owned a home in Normandy) was an acquisitive and unkind lady. On Edward Rice’s death in 1973, she stripped the whole of Dane Court, sending most of the contents to Christie’s and Sotheby’s, and the rest to France. Very luckily, she was unable to take the family portraits, or the books, but she even removed the marble baths and wash hand basins, a clean sweep: (This last, however, she was forced to return.) My Henry, sickened at this rape of his family’s possessions, sold Dane Court and the estate in 1975. We were married in that year and lived for some time in Guernsey.

Henry Rice 1928-2010

My late husband, Henry Rice, was the 11^th owner of the portrait, and it is because of his fury at those who doubted its authenticity, and the untiring efforts to put this right, that it is now known as the ‘Rice Portrait’. He minded the slur on his family’s veracity as much as the attack on his own truthfulness – as his old uncle remarked plaintively, “They may not like you, Henry, but what on earth have they got against the rest of us?” What indeed? I suspect it was because of his decision to sell the portrait to help his family; if money had not been involved things would have been easier. The N.P.G. (having decided their sketch was the only authentic picture of Jane) did not wish to buy it, although its provenance is ‘impeccable’, vide Chapman! So when Henry applied for an export license for the picture it was granted. It was about this time he also discovered the correspondence that showed Sir Henry Hake’s attempts to buy the portrait from his grandfather in the N.P.G. archive.

Henry Rice

He was greatly helped by Brian Stewart, the Director of the Falmouth Art Gallery. Brian had written, ‘A Dictionary of English Portrait Painters’, (with Mervyn Cutten whom Henry also knew. He attributed ‘Jane’ without question to Ozias Humphry, (and also latterly, the large oil of Edward Knight, her brother), and lectured on this in New York. Sadly, he had an accident last year, 2010, and died not long after Henry.

‘The attribution to Ozias Humphry was recently confirmed by the discovery of a Christie’s valuation made in 1985, which identified the monogram of Ozias Humphry, and attributed the work to him in full. The monogram was impaired shortly after the valuation during Conservation work. The Brushwork, colouring, cherub lips, inconsistencies in drawing, and the characteristic habit of “Topping and tailing” (saving the highest quality of finish for the head and lower legs) are typical of the artist.’ Brian Stewart

The portrait thought to be Cassandra, literally the ‘sister’ portrait hanging at Kippington descended in that line, inherited by John Austen first, Colonel Thomas’s heir and nephew, then by his only child, Marianne, a daughter who married a gentleman called Smith Marriot. She was an heiress, and he was well heeled, so they emigrated to the South of France where they lived in a Bastide in Grasse, Maganosc, the Villa Mariquita on the Rue Auguste Renoir. They again had only one child, a daughter Charlotte Marianne known as May or Mai. She married firstly, a man called Dodgson, (a relative of Lewis Carroll,) by whom she had a much-loved son, Raymond, and secondly, a chap called Harrison, who died in the late 40’s. In 1951 she decided to return to her birthplace, France, her son had been killed in Somalia in the early part of the war, and the Knights of Chawton were her nearest living relations, indeed, they inherited her son’s monies on his death. May Harrison sent back some of her Austen collection to her Austen cousins, and also wrote to R.W. Chapman November 28^th 1952 (from the Chapman archive in the Bodleian Library) saying she owned by descent, a portrait which she believed could be Jane Austen, and asking for an opinion. He sent her request and, (a now lost,) photograph of the picture to R.A. Austen Leigh asking for his opinion. The Austen Leigh family looked at the portrait (the letter is quoted below,) and returned the letter from Mrs. Harrison to R. W. Chapman. It never seems to have occurred to them that the portrait could have been Cassandra.

Extract from a letter written by R. A. Austen Leigh to Dr R. W. Chapman

November 28^th 1952

Great Abshot

Titchfield

Hants

Mr Dear RWC

Sunday

As to the portrait it is charming and Margaret would like to believe it is JA, but after careful consideration today, helped by Winifred Jenkins, we decided against it being JA and thought the picture was more like the Zoffany girl than like JA.

Indeed, as it comes via Mrs. Harrison from the Kippington (or Capel Manor) stable, the Zoffany one belonged to a Kippington Austen, there seems quite a probability of it and the Zoffany being the same person.

But perhaps Adams will say that they cannot be the same person owing to the costume!

Many thanks for your note about the Knight pictures. I knew they were coming up for sale – but not the actual date. But I don’t want to buy any and certainly haven’t got the money.

I return the portrait.

Yours ever

R. A. Austen Leigh

P.S. I return Mrs. Harrison’s letter

Henry and I met a nephew of Mrs. Harrison’s who vaguely remembered a portrait of a girl in a white dress who looked older than the ‘Zoffany girl’, (ours,) but being young at the time, could recall no more about it. By the time Henry found out where in Grasse Mrs. Harrison could be found, she had died, leaving no will, at the age, I believe, of ninety. However, this bore out our belief that Cassandra and Jane had been painted together in 1788.

Henry carried on his research valiantly until he went nearly blind before his death in January 2010. My brother and I have continued his work to establish the true identity of the painting, and will publish our results shortly. We believe in the painting as passionately as Henry did, that this is a portrait of Jane Austen executed by Ozias Humphry R.A. in 1788, and also that it will be recognised for what it is.

Anne Rice

June 2011

The Rice Portrait Provenance by Mrs. Henry Rice – Lady Northbourne, née Gwenlian Rice 1871-1952, and Henry Edward Harcourt Rice 1864-1943

janeaustensequels — Mon, 04 Jul 2011 09:53:00 +0000

Lady Northbourne, née Gwenlian Rice 1871-1952

Jane Austen, the Rice Portrait

Lady Northbourne, the eighth owner of the portrait gave the painting back to the main branch of the family, Henry Rice 1864-1943, her first cousin. Her father, Sir Ernest had considered giving it to the National Portrait Gallery, but eventually decided his cousin should have it, as he still lived in the large house, Dane Court, which had been bought by Edward Royd Rice and Elizabeth Austen on their marriage. (The then Henry Rice had owned a fast ship, the East Indiaman ‘Dutton’, which made three trips to India collecting a fortune in tea, silks, and spices.)

He had married ‘The Heiress of Dover’, Sarah Sampson, some say for a bet, and he was also known affectionately as ‘The Pirate’, again probably quite true! (She is mentioned in Jane Austen’s letters, as is their reprobate eldest son Henry, whose mother constantly paid his large debts.)

Gwenlian Northbourne stipulated that Jane should no longer hang over the fireplace, ‘as the smoke was spoiling her.’

She died in 1955.

Henry Edward Harcourt Rice 1864-1943

Left the portrait in 1928, the ninth owner of the picture did not hang it over a hot fire, and presided over an odd episode in its history. (All the following history can be checked in the files on the ‘Rice Portrait’ in the National Portrait Gallery.)

Admiral Rice and Henry Edward Harcourt Rice

In 1930, the National Portrait Gallery was expanding their stock of pictures, and the public were agitating for an image of Jane Austen. Indeed, this was the N.P.G.’s priority at that time, as they did not possess one. They deputed a lady called Mrs. Graveson to find one, and she came across an old gentleman whom she described as a ‘delightful old Victorian’. This was one John Hubback, the grandson of Admiral Sir Francis Austen, Jane’s brother. This old chap was nearly 90, but in full possession of his faculties, and had lived in the same house as his grandfather when a boy, indeed, Admiral Sir Francis had taught him to play chess. (His father, the husband of the Admiral’s daughter went insane, and they both lived with his grandfather.) He told Mrs. Graveson that his cousins, the Rices, possessed the only portrait ever painted by a professional artist, e.g. Zoffany. Mr. Hubback visited Henry Rice, my Henry’s grandfather, but was told that although he had no intention of parting with the portrait, he had, however, consented to a copy of it being made for the National Portrait Gallery. This, the family has always considered is primary evidence that it is Jane, Mr. Hubback’s grandfather Admiral Sir Francis having been unlikely to tell a lie about his own sister.

Sir Henry Hake, Director of the National Portrait Gallery somewhat huffily declined the offer of a copy, saying that the ‘N.P.G. do not deal in fakes’ – but asked for first refusal should the picture ever be sold. They then acquired the tiny ‘scratch’ by Cassandra Austen, and at this time announced in the Times that they possessed the only portrait of Jane that could be authenticated, which the Rice family felt to be an unnecessary crack at them, as they had a perfect right to keep their Great-Great-Aunt Jane if they wished to.

However, in the 1940’s R.W. Chapman raised doubts over the ‘Zoffany’ attribution, Zoffany having been in India until 1791, whilst Ozias Humphry had returned to England in the spring of 1788. He consulted a man called Adams, who because he himself could not discover a girl wearing a comparable dress to the Rice portrait, pronounced that the dress was 19^th century, not 18^th century. Marie Antoinette herself sent a high-waisted muslin gown to the Duchess of Devonshire in the 1780’s, which she wore to the Prince Regent’s ball to great acclaim. From the 1760’s, children and young adolescents had been wearing this type of gown, the forerunner of the fashion, which adults adopted.

The Rice portrait remained quietly at Dane Court until inherited by my Henry’s father, Edward Rice, in 1943.

The Rice Portrait Provenance by Mrs. Henry Rice – The Rev. John Morland Rice, 1823-1897, and Admiral Sir Ernest Rice, 1840-1927

janeaustensequels — Fri, 01 Jul 2011 09:19:00 +0000

Mrs. Henry Rice continues the fascinating history of the Rice portrait with the Rev. John Morland Rice, and Admiral Sir Ernest Rice. Thank you for joining us again!

Morland Rice, the sixth owner of the portrait was the fourth son of Elizabeth Austen and Edward Royd Rice, who must have been devoted, producing fifteen children in all. He was called Morland after his mother’s ‘dear friend from girlhood’ Margaretta Morland, and received the portrait in 1883. He wrote to various members of the family about it, and was told by the elderly family historian Miss Fanny Caroline Lefroy (whose mother had known Jane Austen) that she ‘knew before of the portrait in your posession, and but for one or two difficulties would have no doubt about its authenticity’. She also believed that ‘the date on your picture is (she thinks) 1788 or 9, making her (Jane) not 14.’ She was correct, we have discovered a date on the back of Jane’s canvas of 1788, making her in that year, not quite 13. The other small difficulties were that the Rice family believed the false ‘Zoffany’ attribution, and were wondering if the portrait could have been painted in Bath.

In 1884 Morland’s first cousin Lord Brabourne, Fanny Knight’s eldest son, published the first book of Jane Austen’s letters. He discovered that Morland Rice posessed Jane’s portrait and enquired of Mr. Cholmondley Austen-Leigh (who knew the portrait) about it. Mr. Cholmondley Austen-Leigh wrote to Lord Brabourne who then wrote to his publisher Bentley, as follows: ‘Mr. Austen-Leigh writes that the evidence seems against the authenticity of the picture, which must be if authentic of Jane when a young girl of 14 or 15.’ Lord Brabourne then continues: ‘Mr. Rice’s letter, without communication with Mr. Austen-Leigh, says it is of a girl of 15, I incline to think therefore it is a true bill.’ He then published it, half-length as the frontispiece for his book.
Another letter describing John Morland’s enjoyment of the portrait was written by his niece, Marcia Rice:
“Over his drawing-room hung the portrait of Jane Austen by Zoffany – it was his great pride. Often did he relate the story of how Dr. Newman of Magdalen used to say to him – ‘You ought to posess the portrait of your great-aunt, I shall leave it to you.’ He had never the slightest doubt as to its authenticity to mar his joy in the posession of the portrait.”
Morland Rice married Caroline York in 1864 but died childless in 1897 leaving the portrait to his younger brother’s wife, his sister-in-law who had married Admiral Sir Ernest Rice.

Admiral Sir Ernest Rice 1840-1927

The seventh owner of the portrait, Sir Ernest Rice, rose to the rank of Admiral and at one point was made Governor of Malta. He is reputed to have been more than attached to the Queen of Greece, and although certainly dashing, managed to run two of his ships aground which caused him to be known as ‘Ground Rice’ in the Navy! (My husband met Lord Louis Mountbatten who asked him if the ‘Ground Rice’ who had taught him navigation was any relation. Henry said that he was, and added that the family believed his navigational skills were somewhat sketchy!) He received the painting from his wife, the sister of Morland Rice’s wife on their deaths. He hung it over the fireplace, at his home at Sibbertswold House near Dover, but unfortunately one cold December night he burnt his house down. Although 80 at the time, he himself threw all the family portraits out of the drawing room windows. Tradition has it that Jane went first, but he broke her frame when she hit the lawn, and afterwards he cut the picture down (as was the somewhat barbaric custom then to fit her into a smaller, plainer Victorian frame.)
Thus it was that Ozias Humphry’s notes along the back of the top of the portrait were folded back and hidden under the stretcher and a new lining. Ozias had run a large studio, and wrote on the back of his pictures noting the name, the date, and often initializing these notes with his distinctive OH monogram. He also did this on his miniatures and pastels. (My husband sold a small portrait of Edward Knight which had belonged to Elizabeth Austen to Chawton House Museum. A member of the public sent in a sketch of it to the museum which was inscribed on the back with his name and the date. It was painted in 1783, at the time of his adoption, and is also by Ozias Humphry.)
On his death in 1927, his daughter Gwenlian inherited Jane’s portrait; she had married Lord Northbourne, a local peer.

Next time, we shall be hearing about Lady Northbourne, and Henry Edward Harcourt Rice, the eighth and ninth owners of the portrait!