by Leenie Brown
Hazel graced him with a dazzling smile and made her way back to her seat.
“Magnificent,” Edward said as Hazel once again took her seat. “You were correct, Parkes,” he said to Harold. “I enjoyed that thoroughly.”
“There is not another with her talent,” boasted Harold.
“I would readily agree.” Edward enjoyed how Hazel’s cheeks grew rosy and how she attempted to hide a pleased smile.
There were yet three unfortunate ladies to sing. They were unfortunate because they had to follow Hazel’s performance, and Edward was certain there was not another lady in all of England, whether on stage or beside a hearth, who could have followed Hazel and not suffered for it.
He attempted to pay attention to each performance and greet its ending with enthusiasm, but he could not.
He had been to many such soirees as this at his grandmother’s request. At each one, he would smile and bow as required. He would congratulate and commend young ladies to earn a giggle or a blush. And each time he would return home to give a report to his grandmother about the number in attendance and which lady had piqued his interest. It was normally some young debutante that had seemed the prettiest and most amusing, but never had one of them caused him to feel so distracted as the lady beside him. It was a most unusual but not wholly unpleasant feeling – unsettling, perhaps, disquieting, most assuredly, but not distressing. In fact, it was in a way, extremely alluring.
After the last lady took her seat and their hostess once again thanked them for their attendance, Edward found himself not wanting to make a hasty exit. He wished to stay right here with Miss Parkes. The evening had consisted of a song and a smile mingled with a few words of conversation, but for him, it had been the most enjoyable evening of any season in which he had participated. As people began to make their way to the door, he reluctantly rose from his seat.
“Will you be calling on my cousin tomorrow?” he asked, offering an arm to Hazel to escort her from the room.
“I must. I am sorry I have not done so already.”
“Then, you will not be home to callers tomorrow?” He cast a look over his shoulder at her brother.
The gentleman smiled and nodded his assent to the silent request to call on his sister.
“No, I will not be, but then, I do not expect any callers.”
“None? After that performance?”
Hazel laughed. “I do not expect any.” Her left brow rose. “Should I expect anyone?”
She did not dip her head or flutter her lashes. Her expression was open. This was not an attempt to tease or flirt. She seemed genuinely interested in his answer. “Not if you are at my cousin’s,” he replied. “However, my cousin may be in need of entertainment, so perhaps I will call on her as well.”
“I am certain she would appreciate that.”
“I have a meeting with a friend tomorrow and had planned to use the carriage,” Harold interjected. “If Fitzwilliam is going to Mrs. Pratt’s and so are you, why do you not share a carriage? You have a gig, do you not, Fitzwilliam?”
“I do.”
“Then it is settled,” said Harold.
“Since when do you have an appointment tomorrow?” Hazel questioned her brother.
He smiled and shrugged. “Since this moment.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Are you attempting to play matchmaker?”
The shock and displeasure in her voice caused Edward to chuckle. Most ladies would not remonstrate their brothers in public. Hazel Parkes was perhaps the most interesting woman of the ton he had ever met. “I certainly hope so,” he replied before Harold could do more than stammer a couple of times.
“You do?” Hazel turned wide eyes toward him.
“I do,” he replied. To his delight, she did not turn away or shrink from his unwavering gaze. She was no milquetoast maiden.
Her head tipped to the side as she studied him. Patiently, he waited for her reply.
“What do you think of the writings of Mrs. Radcliffe?”
He blinked at the unusual question. “They are delightfully horrid novels.”
“You have read them?”
“One or two. Have you? For if you have not, I would recommend The Romance of the Forest.”
“Indeed?” she asked in surprise as a smile spread across her face.
“Most certainly. It is highly diverting.”
“Yes, I thought so, too. As did my mother, who gave it to me as a gift.”
“A book is a thoughtful gift. Your mother is wise.”
“You do not condemn her for giving me a novel?”
Again, he blinked. “Why should I? She is a woman of sense, is she not? She is capable of making rational decisions?”
“She most certainly is,” said Harold with some force.
There was obviously something important about this discussion that Edward had not yet figured out. “Then why should I question her choice of novel for either herself or her daughter?”
“Some would say that only a gentleman knows what is best for a lady,” Hazel answered.
Ah! If he were a betting man, and occasionally he was, Edward would say this had something to do with Mr. Tibbett. “I do not hold to such ideals.” The lady beside him expelled a soft breath of relief.
“Then, my brother may play matchmaker to his heart’s content.”
To his delight, her eyes held his with unflinching intensity.
“May I then accompany you to Anne’s house tomorrow?” he asked.
“You may.”
The crowd near the door had dwindled, so they moved forward.
“Have you ever read a law book?” Edward asked as they reached the steps of the Armstrong’s home.
“No, never,” Hazel replied. “Why would I?”
“There are tales in them that would put even Mrs. Radcliffe’s imaginings to shame.”
“Do you think I should read one?” she asked in surprise.
He shook his head as he shrugged. “If you wish. But I would warn you that the stories are not made up.”
“You would really allow me to read one?”
“You are a rational being, are you not?”
“Most days,” Harold muttered, earning him a glare from his sister.
“Then I do not see why you could not be trusted to decide if you wished to read it or not.”
“Huh.”
The sparkling, witty Miss Hazel Parkes seemed to be lost for words for a moment. Then, as they were approaching their carriage, she said, “I think I would need to read one account or a portion of one before deciding if I should like to read further.”
Edward smiled. “I shall deliver one such portion to you on the morrow when I arrive to take you to my cousin’s home.”
“It is fine to read it, is it not?” she asked her brother.
He nodded. “You will judge wisely.”
“Thank you,” she said both to her brother and Edward. “I should like to read it.”
“Until tomorrow.” Edward handed her into her carriage and kept to his spot on the walk until the Parkes’ carriage was lost in traffic. Then, with a whistle on his lips, he turned to make his way home and tell his grandmother about the enchanting Hazel Parkes.
~*~*~
As Bernard Tibbett watched Hazel enter her carriage, his heart sank. She was gone. He had no doubt after her performance tonight, and the way she and Fitzwilliam had been conversing while a very satisfied looking Harold oversaw the whole thing, that he had thrown away any chance he would ever have with the lady who had first captured his heart. He sighed. “Books,” he muttered as he made his way to the carriage that would, tomorrow, carry him home to his father’s estate.
There was a young lady, two estates over, who had never once been to town for a season, though she was old enough to have done so twice over. She seemed the quiet, demure sort. He would pay her a visit.
He sighed heavily once more, resigning himself to his fate. The peace such a match would bring would surely outweigh the heavi
ness he felt at present. Would it not?
It would, but not immediately.
While others might have looked upon Mr. Tibbett’s life as dull, he himself did not find it so. He occasionally regretted Hazel Parkes, but with each passing month the regret became less and less, and he grew to love his quiet wife and reveled in his peaceful country life.
Hazel read several of Edward’s law books. Each one made her shudder and demand that something be done to not allow such things to happen again. Edward would simply smile at his beautiful, opinionated, spirited wife and assure her that he was doing his best. Did he not hold a seat in parliament? And did not his wife arrange the best soirees — soirees at which she won more than one fellow Member of the House to his position?
Hazel always answered the same way – with a kiss and a reminder of just how fortunate he was to have her. England would surely devolve into anarchy without women such as she.
Edward would wrap his arms around her and laugh as he replied, “I could not agree more.”
What often followed such a declaration cannot be shared on these pages as it is much too improper for a book such as this. However, about ten months after such a discussion, it was not unusual for a new Fitzwilliam to be added to Lady Margaret’s growing brood of well-loved great-grandchildren.
Such a happy life was as apt an ending as any playwright might pen. For what had begun for Miss Parkes as a tragedy had, in the third act, shifted to something altogether different when Hazel gathered her fortitude, attended a musicale, and presented a song that led her to Edward Fitzwilliam and reclaiming her heart.
* * *
from As I Walked Forth by Robert Johnson ↵
Listen to Your Heart Excerpt
If you enjoyed the stories in this duo about Anne de Bourgh stepping forward and taking control of her own life, then you might enjoy Listen to Your Heart, a tale of bold and daring love that must overcome dark secrets and murderous villains if it is to survive.
Chapter 1
“Did you read the papers I sent you?” Anne de Bourgh questioned her cousin Fitzwilliam Darcy as soon as he entered her private sitting room at Rosings. She spared him a glance as her needle slid through the fabric on her lap.
“I did.” He nodded to Mrs. Jenkinson, who smiled and inclined her head in acceptance of his greeting before returning her focus to her stitching.
“And?” Anne looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to share his opinion of their content.
“You found them in your father’s office?” He said as he crossed the room to the sideboard where a decanter and glasses rested on a tray.
Anne nodded. “They were between two books as if tucked away and out of sight intentionally.” In fact, it had only been by chance that she had found them. Had she not wished to search her father’s office for the book of poetry he used to read to her, the papers would still be undiscovered. It was not like her father to hide document of such importance. He had always stored them in his strong box.
Darcy removed the stopper from the decanter. “I had my solicitor look at them. They seem legitimate.” He tipped his head to the side and gave her a questioning look. “They will change things for your mother. Are you sure you wish to take on that battle? Will your health tolerate it?”
“My health will never be robust, but I am not standing on the edge of the grave, Fitzwilliam.” Anne clipped the thread that attached needle to garment and then laid aside her mending. “I intend to approach her today on one item.”
“Today?” Darcy handed Anne a small glass of sherry before picking up his own glass and settling into a comfortable chair near his cousin. There was an easiness to chatting with his cousins that made such times as these particularly enjoyable. “And what item is first on your list?”
Anne sipped her sherry and considered how she should approach the subject of their supposed engagement. “I have heard some troubling news. It seems my mother’s imaginings regarding our future have travelled far and wide.”
Darcy blew out a breath. Some of the ease of the moment exiting with it. “Your mother has never been one to keep that particular story to herself. I am surprised you had not realized the extent to which it is common knowledge. Makes it blasted hard to get to know any young ladies during the season ─ which, I suppose, is her intent in publishing the tale.” His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched as he attempted to contain his frustration at his aunt’s machinations.
“Yes, but at least you are free of these walls.” Anne waved a hand around the room. “I have not even been given the opportunity to meet any eligible gentlemen, and I am nearly five and twenty! Firmly on the shelf having never left it! No longer. I will have it no longer.”
Darcy’s eyes grew wide in surprise.
“Today, my mother will know that her imaginings are just that ─ fanciful tales which hold no basis in reality. I am sorry, my dear cousin, but I do not now, nor have I ever, wished to marry you.” She smiled at him. “I need not fear for my financial stability. Father has amply provided for me as those documents attest. I am at liberty to choose a match based on compatibility and, if I am so fortunate, love. And you may pursue such a match for yourself without scorn or derision from society as I am the one to call off this sham of an engagement.”
Darcy sat slack-jawed, unable to know where to begin a reply to such a declaration, but Anne was not yet through.
“I believe I might be of assistance to you in finding ladies who would suit your temperament, but I will need you to place your trust in me.” She placed her glass on the table and leaned toward Darcy. “I have studied your character for years, Fitzwilliam; therefore, it naturally follows that I am as qualified as you, if not more qualified, to find an acceptable match for you.”
“You…” He shook his head to clear away the fog. “You will find a match for me?”
“Indeed I will, but first, I must inform Mother of my decision to not marry you.” Anne stood and walked to the window that looked out over the park toward the parsonage at Hunsford. “Mother has a new parson. Did you know?”
Darcy nodded. “Yes, I have met him. He was visiting relatives in Hertfordshire when I was there with Bingley.”
“He was sent to find a wife from amongst his cousins.” She watched Darcy’s face discretely and bit back a smile at the horror that passed across his features. “He was successful in finding a wife…” She turned and paused purposefully. “They were married in January.” The colour had drained completely from Darcy’s face, and she wondered for a moment if she had gone too far in ascertaining the truth of Mrs. Collins’s words regarding his feelings. She had shared many fascinating conversations with Mrs. Collins regarding Darcy’s stay in Hertfordshire. “It is unfortunate he did not choose to marry one of his cousins as such a marriage would have been to the family’s advantage, what with the entail and all.”
Darcy slumped forward and rested his head in his hands. “He did not marry a cousin?”
“No.” Anne came to sit near him once more. “He married Miss Lucas. I assume you know of whom I speak. I have been given to understand her father is well-known in Hertfordshire.” She studied how his shoulders relaxed and noticed him rub at the corner of one eye. She placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered. “The lady, who is your heart’s desire, remains unattached.” His body tensed under her touch, and she was certain his breathing had ceased. “Mrs. Collins is her particular friend, it seems, and she, along with Mrs. Collin’s sister, has come to stay at the parsonage for a visit. She has been here a fortnight, and I find I shall quite miss her when she leaves. So open and welcoming. Intelligent, too. It is through her I discovered just how much damage my mother’s tales of our engagement might be causing.” She withdrew her hand from his shoulder and sat back in her chair, waiting for his reaction.
“Elizabeth is here?” He whispered.
Anne smiled to herself. He was clearly more smitten than even Mrs. Collins realized, and certainly more than Elizabeth would consider. “She is, and
she is under the impression we are to marry should you ever be a gentleman and ask me.”
Darcy looked at Anne, his brows furrowed. “How has she heard this? She does not circulate amongst the ton.”
“Her cousin made mention of it to her as did another gentleman ─ although I fear that label is a misnomer for a man such as Mr. Wickham. I believe it is he who called your honour into question. It is only one of several lies he has told her regarding you.”
“And she believed him?” Darcy was clearly angry.
“And why should she not? You were less than civil, and he is all that is charming. Your dour facade makes it easy for him to convince others of your harshness.”
Darcy was on his feet and pacing the room. He had known that it was possible that Wickham would spread his vitriol around Meryton. However, he had not thought Elizabeth the sort of lady to be taken in by Wickham’s charismatic personality. “But Miss Elizabeth is not a silly woman like her mother and sisters. She is intelligent. You said so yourself. Why would she believe him?”
Anne began to feel a bit of trepidation. She had not expected Darcy to react well, but his outburst was so uncharacteristic of him that it was unsettling. “She looks to find fault in you.”
“Why?” Agony rang in his voice and marred his handsome features.
“According to Mrs. Collins, who knows Miss Bennet far better than I, she fights against an attraction to you.”
“That makes no sense.” Darcy threw his hands up in exasperation.
“It truly makes no sense?” Anne found a small amount of annoyance at his obtuseness creeping into her mind. Did he really have no idea of the charges the young woman had against him? She had been shocked at many of the things Mrs. Collins had told her about her cousin’s behaviour. True, it had been told to her through the perspective of a person who was a dear friend of the offended and privy to her personal opinion but based on her knowledge of Mrs. Collins, the woman did not disseminate misrepresentations. The information had been told to her in confidence with a hope of a happy resolution of the situation left unresolved when Darcy had so suddenly departed Netherfield. Perhaps he needed to be made aware of just how much his pride had harmed his chances with the lady who so obviously held his heart.
