by Leenie Brown
“Or, at least, you are not fit for company who will not allow you to wallow in self-pity.” Harold moved not a muscle other than those required for speaking and containing a smile.
“I am not wallowing! I was refused – again – over stupid books!” Bernard paced to the window and back. “They are books! Who refuses a man over the choice of a novel?” He shook his head. “This is precisely why a lady needs guidance because, without it, she will throw away a perfectly good offer for a stack of paper and ink! Books!” He made a full circuit of the small room and was halfway into a second before his friend broke the heavy silence.
“It is not books.” Harold’s voice was calm, measured, and a trifle dangerous, just the sort a gentleman might use before coolly calling for your execution.
Bernard spun toward him.
“I have told you before. Hazel did not refuse you because you did not approve of her reading material – which, I will add, was given to her by our mother, whom you unwittingly insulted in your tyrannical diatribe.” He shook his head. “My father, my mother, and even I have always trusted Hazel to make informed and rational decisions, and at one time, you even wished to hear her opinions yourself. Yet, now, you would throw away a perfectly good match – my sister – over books! It is not Hazel who needs guidance.”
Blowing out a breath, Harold rose. “Until last night, I did not know about your declaration to her before you left for school. However, the whole ugly affair came pouring out of her after she heard you tell me of your desire to call on Mr. Darcy, leaving me with a weeping mess to console until Mother had found all the necessary tea and potions to help Hazel sleep.”
Bernard gaped at his friend. “Hazel?”
“I know. It is hard to believe that a girl as seemingly sturdy and full of boldness as Hazel would melt into a pool of tears, but she is still a female.” He rubbed his face. “It is the second time you have been the cause. She was in shambles for at least a fortnight after your misunderstanding last year. I understand that much better now.” He shook his head. “I would have never expected you to be a cad.”
“I am not.” Was he?
“Perhaps you are not. Perhaps you did not realize that you would not suit until after you had declared yourself. I suppose it could be attributed to youthful ignorance.”
Bernard swallowed. “Are you cutting ties with me?”
“I should, but I am not. However, it would be best if we kept our meetings to more public locales for a time.” He exhaled loudly and shook his head. “For one, I am, despite my present appearance of relative calm, greatly offended by you on my sister’s behalf. Also, and most importantly, it would not be best for Hazel to have you about, you see.” He tipped his head back and forth from side to side as if measuring some thought. “Last night, my mother heard about your declaration,” he said after a minute of contemplation, “and the full extent of your disagreement at Stanton’s. She is less than pleased.” He gave his friend a pointed look. “She is not home at present, so you are, for the time being, safe.”
Mrs. Parkes was angry with him as well? Was there anyone left in London who was not? And why? Because he preferred people to agree with him?
“She’s calling on your mother,” Harold added.
There was another person who would be displeased with him. “Maybe I should call it a season and return to the country.”
“It might be best. Then, Hazel can get on with finding a proper husband who will respect her for the person she is.” Harold’s tone was severe.
“You hate me.”
“A bit,” he admitted. “You broke my sister’s heart – repeatedly. How can I not despise you at least somewhat, no matter our history?”
Bernard nodded solemnly. “I can understand that.”
Harold exhaled deeply once again as if the topic was one that took a great deal of effort to canvas. “If I suspected it was intentionally done, I would have dragged you from your home last night and demanded satisfaction. However, I know that you can be a bit of an idiot, so, I did not.”
An idiot? Harold thought of him in such a fashion? That news shocked him. “I thank you then for seeing me, and I will not importune you at home again.”
Harold inclined his head in acceptance of Bernard’s words. “I will likely see you at some soiree or another. Give it a few months. After Hazel has found a good match, then come around again. There is nothing like her children being happy to make my mother most welcoming. Until then, I will call on you or meet you at our club, unless Father is with me.” He gave Bernard a wry smile. “When Mother is unhappy, so is Father.”
“Again, I thank you for seeing me today.”
“Better I than Hazel.”
Bernard winced.
“She saw you?”
He nodded.
Harold sighed, and his shoulders drooped. “Then, you will understand if I do not show you out but go see to her?”
Was Hazel really so distraught? “She truly still loved me after she turned me away so harshly?”
To Bernard, ‘How I could have even thought myself in love with a person like you is beyond my understanding’ did not speak of lasting affection.
“Apparently, yes.” Harold opened the door to the study. “Mother will be expected shortly. You should make your escape, though I do not envy what you will likely face when you arrive home.”
Bernard bid his friend farewell. He knew his mother would not hide her displeasure. She had, for years, been hinting at a possible match between him and Hazel, and he had considered the idea a good one. He had always liked Hazel — quite a bit actually. She was spirited, bright, and pleasant – exactly the sort of lady he had always thought would best suit him until another lady who was also spirited, bright, and pleasant and whom he loved dearly, his mother, had begun arguing with his father at every turn and demanding a separate living establishment. Then, he was not entirely certain he was right, but by then, his heart had latched unto Hazel and would not let her go. So, he had pushed his doubt aside and told her that he loved her.
As he thought on the disharmony in his parent’s marriage while he was at school and compared it to the marriage of Dr. Bell, the rector of the parish he attended during those years, he had come to the conclusion that a proper wife would be one who was quiet and demure, nearly mousy. He had held out hope that Hazel had matured into such a woman. Her letters to him were always proper. She spoke of nothing untoward. But then, when he had approached her last season at Stanton’s, any hope of ever having a happy, peaceful marriage with Hazel Parkes had been dashed to bits by a blasted book! A book! If she would argue with him over one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s concoctions, there was little promise that she would be the one to help him create the serene family for which he wished.
He climbed into his carriage. If only his head and his heart could agree upon the same thing! His head had led him to court and offer for Miss Darcy, who, despite appearing to be an ideal choice, had been just as disagreeable – though far less scathing – in her refusal. His heart, on the other hand, had shouted to him that offering for anyone who was not Hazel Parkes was folly of the greatest kind. And now, that heart was bleeding both for the pain that he knew he had caused Hazel and because it knew it would never have what it desired. Hazel would not suddenly become the quiet and demure wife for which he wished. In fact, she would become someone else’s wife, and for the first time since that moment in the Stanton’s garden, his head was not certain it had been right in allowing her to walk away.
~*~*~
“Parkes.”
“Fitzwilliam,” Harold replied with a nod.
Hazel pulled her eyes away from those gathered in the Armstrong’s music room to see who had approached.
Edward Fitzwilliam, handsomely attired in a jacket of blue that made his eyes seem even closer to the colour of a midnight sky, stood next to her brother. “Miss Parkes,” he addressed her with a smile, “you are looking fetching this evening.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fitzwilliam. Y
ou are looking rather dashing yourself,” Hazel replied.
“I do cut a fine figure, do I not?” A grin split his face as he puffed out his chest. “All we Fitzwilliam men do, you know.”
Edward Fitzwilliam, the third son of the Earl of Matlock, had always been a bit of a saucy fellow. He was not at all full of himself, as his words might imply, but he could not resist the opportunity to respond with affected arrogance whenever the opportunity arose, especially if by doing so, he might also draw a smile from a pretty lady.
And draw a smile he did, as well as a satisfying giggle.
“Your cousin has mentioned that you and your brothers are quite handsome.” Hazel felt a lightness she had not felt in three days lifting her chin and prodding her to be a trifle forward. “She truly cannot imagine why none – not one — of you has yet married.”
Edward shook his head. “That does sound like Anne. Wait, it was Anne, of whom you spoke was it not? I do have other cousins. It could have just as easily been Georgiana.” He shook his head again. “No, it had to have been Anne.”
Again, Hazel giggled. “It was indeed Mrs. Pratt.”
The gentleman next to her brother blew out a breath. “Between her and my grandmother, we shall all be married by summer.” He shrugged. “The viscount is on the precipice, Darcy has already succumbed, and even sweet little Georgie is swiftly following suit. That leaves just the colonel and me as holdouts.”
“Well, marriage is nothing into which one should run headlong,” Harold said.
“Indeed, it is not!” Hazel agreed emphatically.
“You are not looking to marry this season?”
“No,” both Parkes siblings replied.
“My cousin was hoping one of you might be on the happy path to matrimony.”
Hazel pressed her lips together. Her heart hurt less each day, but her anger had yet to abate. That was why she was here tonight. She would share her distress with the people who were gathered, and then, she would reclaim the heart she had given Bernard Tibbett and find a far worthier gentleman to whom to give it.
“Until last week, I had hoped the same,” she replied matter-of-factly. “However, not every gentleman can be brought up to scratch.” Until last week, she had thought that they could, but Mr. Tibbett had certainly proven that wrong.
“Nor should they be,” Harold muttered, earning him a grateful smile from his sister.
“My condolences to you on having run across a gentleman of impeccably poor taste.” Edward shrugged in response to her furrowed brow. “He would have to have less than adequate mental abilities if he were to refuse you. I was not lying when I said you were fetching; however, I may have understated my approval to avoid looking like a green schoolboy.”
The furrow became a scowl, and Edward put up a hand in protest. “I would pledge my oath at Old Bailey that it is true.”
“You do look beautiful,” Harold whispered. “I told you as much before we left home.”
“But you are my brother,” Hazel replied. “You are supposed to say such things to please me.”
“And when have I ever said anything just to please you?” Harold asked with a laugh.
Hazel shrugged. “Very well, I shall believe you both.”
“That is very good news,” Edward said. “I should hate for you to hold firmly to a lie.” He smiled at her skeptical look. “Now, if you do not already have a place to sit, might I suggest we find a place for three so that I might join you?”
“Do you truly wish to?” Hazel asked in surprise. She was still not certain she trusted his smooth words and pleasing manners, no matter how much she desired them to be true.
Edward’s mouth curved up in a half grin. “Yes, I honestly do, but since I am under oath, I must inform you that my cousin would be greatly displeased if I did not at least attempt to sit with you.”
Apparently, he was the truthful sort and not just a flatterer, for what gentleman would admit to such a thing unless he were being completely candid.
“Then, I shall secure us some seats,” Harold said.
“Miss Parkes? Shall we follow?”
Hazel placed her hand on Edward’s arm.
“Anne has also instructed me to tell you that she requires a call. She realizes that you have not been feeling quite the thing lately, but that is no reason to avoid all your friends.” He shrugged as Hazel turned startled eyes toward him. “I am only repeating verbatim what she instructed me to say.” His eyes sparkled. “She says tomorrow would be ideal, and she expects you for tea. However, do not be surprised if you must take it in her room as Alistair is being such a dear about following the doctor’s orders to the letter.”
“The doctor’s orders?” Hazel repeated.
Edward nodded. “She has been having some pains, and so she is confined to bed with only short periods of time when she is allowed up and about.”
“I wish I had known!” Hazel’s brow furrowed. “Wait. How did she know I was not feeling well?”
Edward shook his head. “That I could not tell you.” He smiled mischievously at her as she took a seat. “I suppose you will have to call on her to find out?”
“I suppose I shall,” she agreed as he settled into the seat beside her.
Leaning toward her, Edward asked, “Are you performing?”
She nodded. It was the only reason she had ventured forth tonight instead of staying ensconced in her room with a book, a cup of chocolate, three quilts, and just as many cats — each demanding her attention and showering her with affection when she granted it. If only some men could be as responsive as cats!
“You have no music.”
“I need none,” Hazel returned with a smile. “I have chosen to do a piece that is very familiar to me.” She could not have attempted anything new. Her mind had not been in the best form for practising the past three days. However, this song, which she had learned from her governess years ago, seemed to complement her melancholy brokenness quite well.
“You are very sure of yourself then?”
“Hazel is always sure of herself,” Harold interjected into the conversation.
“Not any longer,” Hazel muttered.
“He’s a cad,” her brother grumbled.
“Ah, I shall ask no further,” said Edward. And he did not, he instead commented on the proportion of the windows, the fact that the drapery was not quite the shade of blue he preferred, and how a violin was not nearly so pleasing to the ear as its larger cousin, the violoncello. This led to a discussion of the piano versus the harp. As it turned out, Edward was unable to pick a favourite between those two instruments, leaving his opinion simply as it really depended upon who was playing. “I prefer a song be presented with emotion,” he concluded.
“Then, you will enjoy my sister’s performance.” There was an ample amount of pride in Harold’s voice.
Hazel patted his hand. Hopefully, she would not put so much feeling into her song tonight that it leaked out her eyes. However, she had a handkerchief at the ready just to be safe.
“I shall await it with great anticipation,” Edward assured them both.
And from his open expression, Hazel believed he would. She watched him surreptitiously as the performances began.
Piano would be first, harp next, sundry other instruments, including one violoncello would follow, and then to close out the night, there would be voice.
Mr. Fitzwilliam applauded each performance, even the ones during which he grimaced. Bernard would not have done so. He would have only applauded those he enjoyed, and he would not have confined his displeasure to a grimace. He would have muttered about whatever it was he found wrong. Now that she was considering him through different eyes – ones that were no longer clouded by infatuation – she could see that he was excessively particular! How had she not seen that before? It was not as if he had ever hidden his opinions. Still, her heart ached at the thought of never being good enough for him, and that was very vexing. She should not care, but she did.
Fi
nally, it was her turn.
Edward rose to allow her to exit their row and whispered his best wishes for her success as she passed him.
Her confidence buoyed by his words, she lifted her chin and approached the piano. Her singing instructor had already taken his place at the instrument. She gave him a welcoming smile and turned to face her audience. The room seemed even more crowded from this vantage point, but crowds had rarely daunted her before, and she was determined that they would not tonight either.
Her breath caught as she saw Bernard leaning against the wall at the back of the room. He was here and apparently alone. She allowed her eyes to focus on him only for a moment before seeking out her brother and Mr. Fitzwilliam. Then, she gave a nod of her head, her teacher began to play, and drawing a breath, she plunged into her song, releasing every ounce of her misery into the words.
As I walked forth one summer’s day,
To view the meadows green and gay
A pleasant bower I espied
Standing fast by the river side,
And in’t a maiden I heard cry:
Alas! alas! there’s none e’er loved as I.[1]
Her voice and passion were captivating, and Edward followed her gaze as she sang. She scanned the room as if speaking to each person. However, her eyes often stopped for the briefest of moments on some object near the door. Although he had no desire to watch anything other than the enchanting songstress before him, his old friend Curiosity, begged him to see what or whom stood near the door.
Ah! It was as Anne had said. Miss Parkes had been jilted by Mr. Tibbett, and, from the way the lady was singing – as if her soul was being cleansed and she was laying a dear friend to rest – Miss Hazel Parkes would not be jilted by that fellow again. Surprisingly, the thought pleased him.
He returned to his attention to the pretty lady at the front of the room. She was just finishing her song and dabbing her eyes. As the last note faded, the room remained solemnly silent for three heartbeats before Edward stood and began applauding. Others soon followed his example.
