Becoming Jane Page #4

I saw Queen Marie Antoinette

wear something the same at a ball once.

Am I making a show? I am, I know.

What trouble we take to make them like us

when we like them.

Henry?

- Eliza, my brother is much younger than you.

- And poorer.

He knows that I care for him sincerely.

I know that he is handsome...

And the handsome young men must have

something to live on as well as the plain.

You encourage him to take you for money?

- Men do.

- That does not make it honourable.

Well, I'm a sensible woman.

I thank God I am not, by your description.

If you were, you might have ascertained

that your Irish friend has no money, not a penny

and could not be expected to marry without it.

Consider that at the ball tonight.

In any event, he'll be gone tomorrow back

to Bond Street where he can do no more harm.

Good evening, Miss Austen.

Yes, yes.

Miss Jane Austen.

Pleasure.

We're very honoured

to be here at your aunt's ball.

You dance with passion.

No sensible woman would demonstrate passion

if the purpose were to attract a husband.

- As opposed to a lover?

- Hmm.

Rest easy, Mr Lefroy.

- I have no expectation on either account.

- I did not mean to offend or hurt...

Oh, no, no, of course not.

Excuse me, I'm just over warm.

Pardon me.

- Ah, Miss Austen.

- Excuse me.

This is unbearable.

My father is pressing for an early ordination,

while my own inclination is to the scarlet of

a captaincy in His Majesty's regulars.

But I do not have the money to purchase one.

I do.

- Well, that, of course is impossible.

- Oh, Henry, do not disguise yourself, not to me.

The scarlet will suit you very well.

Miss Austen? There you are.

Miss Austen, I cannot believe I am obliged

to have this conversation.

Your Ladyship?

Mr Wisley's mother,

my own dear sister, died young.

I have no children of my own.

I hope you never come to understand

the pain of that condition.

Let us simply say my nephew's wishes

are close to my heart,

however extraordinary they may be.

Well,

your health seems robust.

You have the usual accomplishments.

Your person is agreeable.

But when a young woman such as yourself

receives the addresses

from a gentleman such as my nephew,

it is her duty to accept at once.

But what do we find?

- Independent thought?

- Exactly.

My nephew, Miss Austen, condescends far indeed

in offering to the daughter of an obscure

and impecunious clergyman.

Impecunious? Your Ladyship is mistaken.

I am never mistaken.

Your father is in grave financial difficulties.

But all is not lost.

He has a daughter

upon whom fortune has smiled.

Mr Wisley is a good opportunity for Jane.

She should accept him at once.

Do not you think?

- Lucy, let us take some refreshments.

- What? Mother.

I have learned of Mr Wisley's marriage proposal.

My congratulations.

Is there an alternative for

a well-educated young woman of small fortune?

How can you have him?

Even with his thousands and his houses,

how can you, of all people,

dispose of yourself without affection?

How can I dispose of myself with it?

You are leaving tomorrow.

- Did I do that well?

- Very, very well.

I wanted, just once, to do it well.

I have no money, no property,

I am entirely dependent

upon that bizarre old lunatic, my uncle.

I cannot yet offer marriage.

But you must know what I feel.

Jane, I'm yours.

Gah, I'm yours. I'm yours, heart and soul.

Much good that is.

Let me decide that.

What will we do?

What we must.

"My dearest Cassandra,

my heart has wings.

"Doubts and deliberations are ended.

"Soon I shall escape the attentions

of that great lady and her scintillating nephew.

"Eliza, Henry and I will join you at the coast,

"but we are obliged

to break our journey in London.

"Tom has cleverly secured an invitation

to stay with his uncle, the judge.

"Let us hope

we can convince him of my eligibility.

"Please destroy this disgraceful letter

"the moment you have recovered

from your astonishment.

"Yours affectionately, and in haste, Jane."

Tom! Our guests have arrived.

Decorum.

Countess.

Sir.

- Welcome...

- Madame le Comtesse.

Madame le Comtesse. Seldom, too seldom,

my house receives the presence of nobility.

And, of course, its friends. Please.

Your stay is short. There's not a moment to lose.

My nephew has devised a plan

of metropolitan amusement.

Pleasure is, as you would say, Madame, his forte.

Ah, is it?

Which battle was it, Tom?

Villers-en-Cauchies.

Very good.

Thousands slain. Served those Frenchies out.

Oh. Saving your presence, ma'am.

Be not afraid of abusing

the Jacobins on my account, Judge.

- They guillotined my husband.

- Oh, savages. Beasts.

- And his property?

- Confiscated.

A disaster.

Of course, by then,

much of my wealth was portable, so...

Yes, portable property

is happiness in a pocketbook.

Do I detect you in irony?

It is my considered opinion

that irony is insult with a smiling face.

Indeed.

No.

No?

No, irony is the bringing together

of contradictory truths

to make out of the contradiction a new truth

with a laugh or a smile,

and I confess that a truth

must come with one or the other,

or I account it as false and a denial

of the very nature of humanity itself.

My cousin is a writer.

- Of what?

- Jane?

Novels.

A young woman of family?

Yes, uncle, and tomorrow

we go and visit another, Mrs Radcliffe.

She keeps herself to herself, almost a recluse,

but I know her husband through the law.

- Who?

- The authoress, Mrs Radcliffe.

- As writing is her profession.

- Her what?

500, uncle, for the last novel,

The Mysteries of Udolpho.

- And 800, I believe, for her next.

- The Italian.

Above 1,000?

The times, the times.

You live so quietly.

And yet your novels are filled

with romance, danger, terror.

Everything my life is not.

Apparently.

Of what do you wish to write?

Of the heart.

Do you know it?

Not all of it.

In time, you will.

But even if that fails,

that's what the imagination is for.

Your imagination has brought you independence.

At a cost to myself and to my husband.

Poor William.

To have a wife who has a mind

is considered not quite proper.

To have a wife with a literary reputation

nothing short of scandalous.

But it must be possible?

- To live as both wife and author?

- Oh.

I think so.

Though never easy.

Could I really have this?

What, precisely?

You.

Me, how?

- This life with you.

- Yes.

Lefroy.

- Hush. The judge.

- The man's like a rampant dog.

He will be generous. I'm sure of it.

- You'll speak with him?

- Tomorrow, I promise.

I really must say good night.

- Good night.

- Good night.

- Miss Austen?

- Yes?

Good night.

You know, I think my mother is right.

A husband, and the sooner, the better.

Five girls of little fortune.

"...sensibly and as warmly as a man

violently in love can be supposed to do.

"Mr Wickham was the happy man towards

whom almost every female eye was turned.

"...partial, prejudiced, absurd.

"Watch for the first appearance

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