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Austen's Twilight

Summary:
Let's pretend that Jane Austen had the idea for Twilight first... > Balls, dinner parties, and many interesting exchanges between Miss Isabella Swan and Mr. Edward Cullen.


Notes:
Thank you for giving this a try! I am a huge Jane Austen fan and I love writing Twilight fan fiction, so I decided to see what would happen if I combined to two. If you have any suggestions, ideas, comments, etc. please share them with me. I've gotten a lot of great and inspiring feedback on the other sites where I've already posted this story. The ideas I've gotten from readers have often made their way into the story, so please don't hesitate to share yours! I'm finding that adapting Twilight the Jane Austen's time is a great challenge. There are some things that I've had to change to make allowences for the difference, but for the most part, I'm trying to stick to Twilights plot as tightly as possible. I do not own Twilight, Stephenie Meyer does. I do not actually believe I am Jane Austen, nor do I wish to infringe on her works with my quotes and references. All of the chapter quotes belong to Jane Austen. All of the characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infrigment intended.


2. Miss Isabella Swan

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1480   Review this Chapter

“She was small for her age, with no glow of complexion, nor any other striking beauty; exceedingly timid and shy, and shrinking from notice; but her air, though awkward, was not vulgar, her voice was sweet, and when she spoke her countenance was pretty.” - MANSFIELD PARK by Jane Austen

~>*<~

Miss Isabella Swan

~>*<~

Isabella Swan listened to the rain as it echoed inside of the carriage and she felt particular sympathy for the man outside. The looming clouds she observed through the carriage glass indicated to her that the long journey was nearing it’s conclusion.

On the day previous, she received a letter from her father, expressing his intention of intercepting her in her travels upon her reaching Port Angeles. This was as far as could be traveled by coach. The last ten miles of her journey would be completed in her father‘s company, in his own carriage.

Isabella, having not seen her father in nearly two years, was apprehensive about the length of time in which their company would be forced upon one another inside the quiet confines of the carriage. She was not one who excelled in the art of carrying conversation, even with someone as intimately related to her as her father. Generally people of close relation who shared so many traits of personality as Isabella and her father found much to speak of and their similarities of nature provided many topics of conversation. However, in their situation this was not the case. She was quiet by nature; shy in many respects and took careful pains to avoid situations which might cause her to be considered or observed by those around her. These were traits, she knew she shared with her father. What would they speak of? In what way would she fill the silence? These were the immediate thoughts that vexed her, though on the whole, she was eager to see him again.

In one thing she took comfort, and that was the privacy she was sure to enjoy upon reaching her father’s house. Traveling wearied her, she looked forward to an arrival which would grant her the peace and quiet she required in recovering from her fatigue. Her father would not insist on a social gathering in celebration of her arrival; this was a another comfort. Had her father resided in town, or if he had instead been a woman, he would have known that a ball, or in the least, a fine dinner for his closest acquaintances would be expected by his neighbors to promote Isabella‘s introduction into Forks’ society; but he had made no mention of such an event in any of his correspondence and so Isabella concluded happily that no such gathering would take place. Her father would receive his daughter quietly and allow her the solitude she desired in settling in.

With these considerations behind her, her thoughts turned to her aunt. She thought of her with an uncommon mixture of affection and distress. They had parted under difficult circumstances. On the eve of Isabella’s departure her aunt had embraced her and declared unhappily, “I do not know how I shall ever do without you!”

Isabella shared these sentiments. It was hard to comprehend how different both of their lives would be without the constant companionship they had enjoyed over the past fourteen years of Isabella’s life. She couldn’t imagine that a mother’s love could be any less genuine that the love her aunt bestowed upon her without falter.

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of an inn, interrupting these thoughts. Isabella roused herself and observed through the glass that her father was waiting before the steps. She observed that her father was smiling and this brought her an answering smile of her own.

He approached the door and offered in own hand, in place of the man’s, to assist her in stepping down.

“You look well,” He observed as he offered her his arm. “How did you leave your aunt?”

Isabella took the arm gratefully, not trusting her footing, as the ground was slippery with mud and replied, “Thank you. My Aunt is a little better, she sends her regards.”

Her father’s man, Henry, approached with an umbrella and followed them to the carriage door. They hurried forward and the man helped them inside. The carriage was jarred as Isabella’s traveling chest was moved from the coach to her father’s carriage and then, rather quickly, they were moving.

“How was your journey?” Her father inquired as the carriage started.

“Very pleasant.” Isabella replied, “Uneventful.”

Her father nodded.

In the quiet of the carriage, Isabella took the liberty of observing her father. “You have not much changed.” She spoke after a moment.

“Nor have you.” Her father smiled. There was a quiet moment, though the silence was not uncomfortable, in which they both observed the passing buildings of Port Angeles.

“You wrote often of a horse.” Her father was first to interrupt the silence. “What became of it?”

Isabella thought fondly of her Uncle’s horse which was allowed for her, her own particular use.

“It was sold.” She replied. “To help support my Aunt’s journey south to her brother’s.”

“You are fond of riding?” Her father’s next question.

Isabella nodded. It was one of the few activities outdoors in which she took pleasure. She knew her father kept only carriage horses. He was not fond of riding; if he had any small distance to travel which did not require his carriage, he walked.

“Well, I have some news then.” Her father suddenly looked as though he had something of great excitement to communicate.

“What is it?” Isabella asked curiously.

“I have bought you a horse.” He did not pause to let her reply, but continued happily. “My friend, Mr. Black, whom you have met in you previous visits, no longer had any use for it, and, as his son has a new horse of his own, he offered it to me. I had communicated to him that you wrote often of riding and how you seemed to find particular amusement in the sport. He insisted on my purchasing his horse for you. It is particularly gentle and very well trained, as his son, Jacob, who has talent for such things, trained it himself.”

Isabella did not know in what way to respond. The prospect of being without a horse at her father’s house had been an unpleasant one. She had resigned herself to a future in which riding would be an unattainable pleasure, this unexpected generosity from her father rendered her momentarily speechless.

“Thank you Father!” She exclaimed with unbridled enthusiasm which surprised, even herself, in the moment when she had recovered from her surprise and was able to speak. She paused to regain her composure and continued, “This is good news indeed!”

Her father looked satisfied. “I’m glad you are pleased.”

She was indeed, most pleased. This made the prospect of moving to a small town of unvarying society and troublesome weather a slightly less unpleasant one.

After this happy moment, her father cleared his throat and his countenance grew considerably grim. “Now I have something less pleasant to tell you.”

Isabella looked worried and her father smiled.

“It is nothing very alarming.” He assured her. “It is just that I know we share an aversion to social gatherings and unsought personal attention; we have had an invitation to a large dinner party at the Stanley’s tomorrow evening. I’m afraid I could not decline as they changed the date from yesterday to tomorrow to ensure that you would be in town and able to attend. I have suspicions that your coming to Forks has warranted such an invitation. Mrs. Stanley seemed very put out in discovering that I did not intend to have a party of my own to celebrate your arrival and I believe that is why she took it upon herself to plan such a gathering.”

As her father expected she would, Isabella looked very distressed. “A large dinner party?” She confirmed.

Her father nodded. “We can depart early.” He offered, and the carriage stopped in front of his house, putting an end to the conversation, but not to Isabella‘s distress.

Her chest was carried upstairs to her usual room. It would now be her permanent dwelling and so she observed it with new eyes. It was a pleasant chamber. The fire was lit and the bed had new linens. She walked to her window and observed the pleasant prospect before her. Her window faced south and afforded her a view of the surrounding wood and a portion of the road. There was a large tree whose branches nearly brushed the glass.

Her father introduced her to Hannah, the maid, and then with the urging “to make herself comfortable” he departed.

She dismissed Hannah and sat down at the writing desk situated near the window. She wrote to her aunt to communicate her safe arrival, and then stared out at the deplorable weather and contemplated how best to survive tomorrow’s dinner at the Stanley’s.