Tea with the Bennets
Chapter 1
The little white door in my bedroom used to frighten me as a young girl, even now as a young woman I often jump in fright when it catches the wind and abruptly slams shut. It leads to a rather small cupboard that runs along the space of the wall, and due to slanted roof in my bedroom, it is only possible to crawl in there.
The light bulb stopped working in there when I was about seven and has never been replaced. Even now the doorknob still hangs off the wonky screw that has been there as long as I can remember. As a result of many reasons I do not go in there anymore, unless it is necessary of course.
Next to the door sits my bookshelf, piled high with both ridiculously childish stories and widely acknowledged novels. But on the top shelf stands the most precious of them all; Jane Austen. Classic edition, paperback, ones that look so old you might think them a bible if it were not for the beautiful gold writing on the spine, which clearly tells the world that it is not. Every page examined feverishly by a young girl who dreamt of parties, dresses, society and above all, love.
In the company of others I would brush such subjects as love away with a mere snarky comment or two and be done with it. But at night I would spend hours poring over all sorts of life threateningly romantic novels and always crying at the end. I would sob for what must have been hours for what I knew was not possible in my world. The rational men of today or in fact any time were not knights in shining armour who rode up on their horses to save the day. In my world, where was no such thing as love at first sight, as desperate beginnings and happily ever afters.
That is simply who I am. I, Isabella Hartwell, refuse to get my own hopes up and let them be broken. And if there were such a thing as true love and happy endings, who was I to deserve one?
And yet, in my heart of hearts, every time I read another book, every time I saw another film, I could not help but know that was what I wanted. What I have always wanted. And Jane Austen understands that.