First Impressions: A Novel of Old Books, Unexpected Love, and Jane Austen Read Online Free PDF Page A

pain.
    “Eric Hall,” he said. “I was just admiring your mother’s viburnum.”
    “I’m sure you were,” said Sophie. “It’s so admirable.”
    Sophie’s mother ignored her daughter’s sarcasm and said, “Eric here is a book lover, like you, Sophie. Although it doesn’t keep him from appreciating a fine garden.”
    “No indeed,” said Eric. “Or fine sculptures. I especially like the pile of torsos next to the rhododendron.” Sophie and her mother glanced at one another and each suppressed a laugh. “I would love to have an escort round the garden, Mrs. Collingwood, but I’m sure you must be much too busy.”
    “Sophie will be happy to show you round,” said Mrs. Collingwood. “Won’t you, Sophie?”
    “Blissfully,” said Sophie. Her parents were constantly trying to force her into an attachment—usually with a wealthy young man who might one day be counted on to preserve Bayfield House for the Collingwoods. That her mother was now thrusting the hitchhiking academe Eric Hall on her she found more than a little amusing.
    “So, Mr. Hall, was it?” said Sophie. “What brings you to Bayfield House?”
    “I’ve come to admire the sculpture,” said Eric.
    “Oh come on, you know as well as I do that this stuff is abominable,” she said, turning and walking up the garden.
    “Well, that’s one more thing we have in common.”
    “How did you find us, anyway?” asked Sophie, genuinely curious. Though she found his showing up uninvited a bit annoying, walking with Eric was certainly more pleasant than fetching tea for old ladies.
    “‘Open Garden and Sculpture Show at Bayfield House’—the signs are in every tearoom in Oxford. And I told you I could borrow a car.”
    “But I never told you I lived in Bayfield House.”
    “No, you didn’t. Lucky for me the only other open garden and sculpture show in Oxfordshire today was only forty miles from here. I should’ve known yours would be the house near Adlestrop.”
    “Why Adlestrop?” said Sophie.
    “You must know why,” said Eric. “Jane Austen’s cousins lived there. She visited, what, two or three times?”
    “Three,” she said, smiling. “So how was the other sculpture show?”
    “Well, the sculpture was much better, but the company wasn’t nearly as nice.”
    “You need to work on your lines,” said Sophie, almost instantly regretting her abrasiveness.
    “You know, I’m not a horrible person. And I’m not trying to get you into bed or anything. I just fancied an afternoon in the country and I thought you would make good company.”
    “I know. I’m sorry,” said Sophie. She had promised herself, standing in the Upper Library yesterday, to stop being so defensive, stop assuming—for she had finally admitted to herself that this was what she had been doing—that every man she met would break her heart the way Clifton had. “Maybe we could start over?” she said.
    “Why not? Hi, I’m Eric Hall.” When he held out his hand Sophie felt charmed and, she was surprised to find, a little disappointed (that he wasn’t trying to get her into bed).
    “Sophie Collingwood,” she said, shaking his hand once more, but this time without trying to crush it. “You’ll have to forgive me; university life has made me a bit of a cynic when it comes to men.”
    “Look,” said Eric, “I’m sorry about the other night in the pub. I could claim that I was drunk or something, but the fact is I was an ass, and I apologize.”
    “Apology accepted,” said Sophie.
    “So, what was it like growing up in a grand country house?”
    “The best part was lots of empty rooms to escape to with a good book and lots of woods and fields to tromp round in with my sister. The worst part was listening to Father complain constantly about how there isn’t enough money to replace this roof or rebuild that wall. That, and having people constantly ask, ‘What was it like to grow up in a country house?’” she teased.
    “Another topic, then,” said