Alyssa Richards

Mystery, Thriller, and Suspense

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The love and romance of Jane Austen’s courtship

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BecomingJane

The love and romance of Jane Austen’s courtship continues to pull me through time as I ride the energy held in Jane Austen’s 200 year old ring. With seamless transition I land in her young life and find myself strolling arm and arm through the cool, damp evening with her dance partner. The scent of roses and pine wraps around us on the gentle summer breeze, seducing and guiding us further into the isolated courtyard.

His elegant demeanor has charmed her and now and then I can hear his Irish brogue as he and Jane secretly confide their deeper thoughts to one another. To Jane it was nothing less than a stroll through heaven. To spend any amount of time with a caring man who is not intimidated by her intelligence, but rather impressed by a creative woman whose thoughts and ideas are well beyond her time. It was her dream come true.

Looking away from his face I turn and realize he’s led me along the garden path and into the near dark shadows of the rich evergreens that line the garden paths. I look back to his face and find his ready gaze rooted in endless time, a trance that only lovers share. The delicate touch of his fingers against Jane’s face is enough to close my eyes on contact. And the feel of his soft lips against my own makes Jane forget the world around her as well as her past, and send her dreaming about a future she only now feels brave enough dream.

It is the kind of kiss that awakens something within you, breathing life into a part of you that had previously lay dormant, existing only in quiet, isolated moments. It was a kiss that reached inside, touching this place in your soul, birthing with it this part of yourself that could never be ignored again.

As I wandered through the depths of his eyes as warm as cinnamon spice, I realized that this was the man that had changed Jane from girl to woman, had helped establish the seeds of love and romance in the writer to come. And given the depths of their connection, changed her perhaps in a way no one else could.

I felt the bonds of their love, the way they connected so uniquely, so powerfully as to embolden Jane. He understood her, bolstered her confidence and helped birth the strength of an identity that had previously been quiet and unwelcome in other circles.

With one look into his eyes she recognized his soul. Knew the purpose of their meeting, and leapt into his arms with the trust and confidence of new love meant to be.

 http://www.pinterest.com/pin/135459901264376948/

tune in tomorrow for the next scene…

Love and Romance Speaks from Jane Austen’s Ring

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130802141334-jane-austen-ring-story-top“Actually, Henri,” I said as I looked down at Jane Austen’s ring and remembered the smile of the man with the rosy cheeks. “What if I tried to wrap up the appraisal while you’re out courting love and romance? A far more worthwhile pursuit than an appraisal, I might add.” I smiled but Henri stopped where he stood, his eyes fixed on the ring as if I might be planning to abscond with it.

“I don’t know Addie,” Henri said as he cleared his throat.

“It would be a good exercise for me to try to do this appraisal on my own. You could proof my work when you’re back this afternoon.” I placed the ring back in its box with the hope that move might make Henri feel more at ease. Though I kept a finger on the the box. I didn’t want to entirely lose touch with Jane’s past.

Henri didn’t move so I broke out one of the last weapons I had. I wasn’t too proud.

I batted my eyelashes a few times and sent him the sweetest look I could conjure. “Please?” I asked.

Henri smirked and shook his head. “You women know just which string to pull on a man’s heart to make him give in.”

“It’s a genetic gift.” I said with a laugh.

“You must love Jane Austen as much as my Mother,” Henri said and then stared at me for a long moment with his wide, brown eyes.

“Do not tell Otto I let you do this. He would kill me.”

“Our secret,” I said.

Henri wagged his well-manicured finger and shot me his best warning look just before the heavy door ka-chunked shut behind him. I waited three full seconds to make sure he was gone before I turned and grabbed the ring again. Love and romance was my favorite addiction.

The small carpeted room of the Albrecht firm began to disintegrate into the whirling motion of dance and music. The stringed instruments sang to us from the end of the room, giving lift to our steps as well as the unequaled opportunity to steal flirting glances as we twirled in each others’ arms.

Quite simply it’s a dance Jane plans to dance for the rest of her life. There are no reservations. No concerns. Just the purity of love’s first wish: to spend the rest of her life with this man who holds her in his capable arms, if only for the beat of a few musical moments.

The dance finishes, he bows, I curtsy.

“Jane,” he says.

tune in tomorrow for the next scene…

http://www.pinterest.com/pin/397020523373433786/

BecomingJane

Love and Romance Echoes from Jane Austen’s ring

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130802141334-jane-austen-ring-story-topHenri, our most experienced appraiser, took Jane Austen’s delicate and simple gold ring from my glove-laden hand to inspect it once more. As I released the ring, the vision released my mind. The sight of the brown-eyed man with the kind face and rosy cheeks faded like watercolors in the rain.

“The stone is a cabochon of natural turquoise…” Henri spoke again in description of the ring. But I wasn’t listening. All I could think about was Jane Austen’s story. The one that lay embedded in the gold that touched her skin over 200 years ago.

I nodded as Henri suggested certain values to be attributed based upon Jane Austen’s fame and the world’s endless love of her work. But my heart was not on the project. Instead it longed to step back into Jane’s late 1700s life. To wear her simple cotton dress with the empire waist and to stare into the wide eyes of the true gentleman who asked me – or rather her – to dance.

“Love and romance will never go out of style,” I sighed. Henri, being French, understood.

Like an answered prayer, perhaps from the Roman gods of love and romance themselves, Henri’s phone began to vibrate. He placed the ring back into its original box, slipped off his white cotton gloves and peeked at his phone screen. “Speaking of love and romance, I’d better take this call. I’ll just be a moment,” he said in his French accent as he stepped out of the room.

“Take your time,” I said quietly as he disappeared from view.

My fingertips danced across the original black box and the darkened ivory satin interior. Flashes of the 1795 scene I’d lived just moments before began to sputter. As I slip the ring between my fingers the music from the ball serenades me from its place in distant time, bringing me closer to the candlelit room where 20 year old Jane Austen dreams of finding her true love, her husband.

I stroked the pad of my left-handed middle finger over the turquoise stone and land – most unfortunately – on the shrewd glare of Jane Austen’s mother.  A light sweat coats my palms at her intensity. I ran my hand across my chest to soothe my nerves, and my nerve. I could feel Jane’s simultaneous disgust over the societal gauge of a woman’s worth as it related to her ability to marry, combined with her excitement at the potential of finding love.

I wondered which emotion would motivate her more.

As luck would have it the man with the rosy cheeks is in front of me once more and it’s all I can do not to throw myself into his arms, feel his warm lips press against mine. Of course to do this would have shamed me and my family for the entirety of Jane’s life. So, both she and I are restrained. But I am in love with him from the moment we see one another.

And it’s obvious. At least to me. That he feels the same way toward me. His eyes sparkle, his smile is warm and gentle and we laugh as if we are the only ones in the room.

I curtsy as he bows.

“May I have the honour of the next dance, Jane?”

The lilt in his voice, his accent, he’s Irish. And there is a streak of independence in his energy that matches mine. Though his is more well-contained.

One dance after another, he is the only one I dance with at this evening’s elegant ball and it isn’t enough. A lifetime with him would not be enough time to share.

To be in the arms of a man who sees no one else in the world but you, is more intoxicating than any wine. I’ve known this experience in my own life with only one man. Blake Greenwood. A man whose affect on me I still don’t quite understand.

“Whatever it is you’re dreaming of, I need to share some of that with my girlfriend.”

I turn toward the voice and see Henri walking into the ball, walking through dancing couples and melting the edges of Jane’s reverie that is held safely in her ring.

“You are positively glowing!” he exclaims. “My girlfriend. I wish she would look at me like that again. She is most unhappy wis me right now.” Henri shook his head and waved his hands in frustration.

I held Jane’s ring between my hands like a child grasping its’ cherished lollipop. “Do you love her?” I asked.

“Oui,” Henri answered as he helplessly ran both hands through his dark, wavy hair.

“Does she love you?” I asked.

“I think so. Though right now I’m not very sure.”

“Perhaps you should go to her. Make things right. Nothing is more important in life than love.”

Henri gave a heavy sigh and glanced at Jane’s ring in my hands.

“You have a special relationship with Ms. Austen’s ring, no?”

“Oui,” I said with a smile that came from the love in Jane’s heart.

“Maybe you’re right. We could take a little break and come back to the appraisal this afternoon.”

Henri walked toward me to collect the ring and I took a step away from him.

 

Tune in tomorrow for the next scene …

 http://www.pinterest.com/pin/397020523373418570/

Jane Austen’s Ring Still Sends Echo of Love and Romance

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130802141334-jane-austen-ring-story-top

It was the latter part of last year that our appraisal firm, The Albrecht Appraisal Firm was asked by The Jane Austen House Museum to appraise a piece of her jewelry. It was a turquoise and gold ring that Jane had worn throughout her life. This particular ring is only one of three pieces left that are known to have belonged to the author.

Oddly, Kelly Clarkson, the singer, had purchased the ring and now Jane Austen’s museum wanted it back. They said it was too much a part of England’s history to be privately owned. I have to agree.

Otto, the owner of our firm and my grandfather’s former partner stopped me in the hallway and told me that we would be performing the appraisal. Though I’m only a lowly researcher, he asked if I would like to assist on the appraisal.

Would I??!!!

Ahem.

“I’d be delighted.”

Would I get to touch it? I could only hope.

Because you see I was born with a gift. Not the gift where I see ghosts. I don’t really consider that ability a gift. But rather the gift of psychometry. The psychic gift of touch. I can give any item the slightest touch, tune in and it’s history comes pouring forth. I can’t often control this gift, so it makes for interesting encounters. And I have to be careful when I touch others’ personal items such as pens, wallets, watches and purses, because I’ll often end up tuning in to the item’s history – and their owners’ stories.

So, I usually keep a general ‘hand-off’ policy with bank pens and other items that have been touched by thousands of people. Trust me. You don’t want to know all too much about most people.

Shudder.

But working in a high-profile appraisal firm I sometimes come across a few objects I’d like to spend a few quiet and tangible moments with. And that’s exactly what happened with the ring that belonged to the original Queen of Romance – Jane Austen.

Otto told Henri, our chief appraiser, that I would shadow him on the appraisal. That meant I would be in the room with Jane Austen’s ring of romance, white gloves in tact, and I’d  get to hold it. Oh God. I could have a psychic orgasm on the spot.

Breathe, Addie.

So, the appraisal process began and right away Henri handed me the ring to show me some slight tarnishing below the central turquoise stone. And then it happened. As it always does. The story began pouring forth. And I didn’t do anything to stop it.

Henri prattled on about the condition of the ring. While I watched and felt the snippet movie of Jane Austen’s life.

The first scene held in her ring opens through Jane’s eyes and I stand in a large candle-lit room with pale walls. The woman next to me is wearing an expensive, imported Parisian gown with a revealing V down the back.  I’m wearing a simple, cream colored cotton dress with an empire waist. A reflection of the station of life Jane was born into.

The ball is filled with exquisite music and suited gentlemen. As Jane, I’m happy just to be in the room. Though my mother is giving me the ‘eye’. The look that says I need to mingle. I need to find a husband. Sigh. A woman’s only goal in the late 1700s. A fact of life that I detest.

I look away from my mother’s glare to find a gentleman standing in front of me, bowing. When he raises, and his eyes meet mine, the attraction is instant. As if everything in my life was leading to this moment. He extends a gloved hand and asks me to dance…

I’d always wondered how a woman who lived in the 1800s and never married was able to write so accurately and passionately about love and loss. Now I would know.

Tune in tomorrow for the rest of her story ….

http://www.pinterest.com/pin/397020523373410419/

 

 

Sometimes what you see is what you get – Life of an Empath

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I attended a dinner the other night associated with the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Beyond Fashion exhibition. Extraordinary. I highly recommend you make it.

http://www.metmuseum.org/about-the-museum/press-room/exhibitions/2013/charles-james

Anyway – so I was standing in a small group of three society ladies. All of them seasoned experts at navigating New York society, which puts them on the equivalent of mafia bosses, jungle safari guides and maybe lion tamers. As we moved toward our tables, one of the ladies said to me, “I’ll sit next to you since you’re wearing nice jewelry.”

True story.

She said it out loud.

Apparently she wasn’t afraid of being called shallow.

I have to feel a little thankful though. I always appreciate someone who tells me who they are up front. As an empath I’m usually dancing between the outer mask people show and their inner voice they think no one can hear.

 

True Love Lives Forever in the Heart, Can’t be Stopped

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Look at this touching story about true love that survives even Alzheimer’s.

 

Her husband with Alzheimer’s was lost, when he comes home she receives the ‘gift’ of a lifetime. – Melvyn Amrine was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s three years ago. On Mother’s Day he wandered out of the house and was missing. His wife called in and the search began. When the officer’s found him, he was having a moment of clarity which would turn out to be a special moment for the loving couple.

 http://www.cbsnews.com/news/as-mans-mind-fades-heart-comes-to-the-rescue/

 

 

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