Renewed Hope

by Rose Fairbanks

  Jealousy replaced concern as Richard considered she must have injured her foot. All those ridiculous men! They had been so selfish they did not allow her to rest properly between sets. A sick feeling twisted in his gut. Lady Crenshaw came to Belinda’s side, and Richard walked over as well. He arrived just as her mother was looking about.

  “Oh, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I am happy to see you,” Lady Crenshaw said.

  “My apologies, sir,” Belinda said. “Unfortunately, I am unable to complete this set.”

  “Are you badly injured, my lady?” He asked.

  “Nothing a few days’ rest cannot heal,” her voice held a note to it he had not heard before but surmised was from the pain.

  “Colonel, I wonder if you could find a footman and call our carriage? And would it be possible to find his lordship?”

  “Certainly. I am glad to be of service.”

  He left on his errands and completed them in only a few moments. Lord Crenshaw favoured cards and was easily found in the first room.

  Upon his return, Richard allowed himself a moment to watch Belinda. He hated that they would miss their set, but he hated even more that she had been hurt. He had seen gruesome wounds in battle and been injured himself. His physical reaction to her in pain was beyond anything he had felt before. She attempted so hard to cover her pain at the death of her beloved, Richard believed her injury likely hurt worse than she let on as well. He scrutinized her lovely countenance, hoping for signs of improvement. Blessedly, he saw them. Followed by noticing her foot tapping to the rhythm of the dance. Her injured foot.

  Belinda’s eyes scanned the room and landed on him. She returned his pointed stare, and he raised his eyebrows then inclined his head toward the dancers and then looked at his feet. Glancing up, he saw Belinda immediately still, then blush. The lady had faked her injury to avoid dancing with him! So that’s how it was? He would not surrender the field of battle so quickly. Unless matters changed, he would be stationed in London until his commission was up in March. She could win the skirmish, he intended to win the war.

  *****

  The following day, Belinda ordered her carriage to the hospital. It was not her usual day for visiting, but she began to suspect Richard—that is Colonel Fitzwilliam—would attempt to meet her there. She had told him she would not dance with him and then last night he ran right over her wishes. Belinda had no doubt such bullheadedness served him well in battle. She had not intended to be his enemy, but if he would treat her as such, she could reciprocate. Such as, feigning an injured foot to sit out their dance.

  Belinda rest her head against the walls of the carriage. In point of fact, she was tired from the efforts of the night. She was lucky to have not injured herself in truth. She had never been a Society favourite and had every dance filled before. She wondered how the popular debutantes did it. But then, they would not be spending their days assisting in a hospital. Her duties went well beyond the reading and pianoforte playing she had admitted to the Colonel. In truth, she could not say why she did not divulge the full information to him. She had cared little for the opinions of others before.

  The felt fatigue all the way to her bones. All through her shift, she was sluggish with none of her usual merriness. Another worker, a twice widowed middle-aged woman, pulled her aside toward the end of their shift as the ladies folded linens.

  “Lady Belinda, what ails you?”

  “Another ball last night. I danced too much.”

  Mrs. Stanton frowned. “That is unlike you.”

  Belinda shrugged her shoulders in a hope to put the woman off. They had become friends of a sort, and Mrs. Stanton often had an unnerving way of seeing to the heart of matters. She was also plain-spoken and honest. Belinda was not sure she desired more insight on the topic. “Balls are often a way to meet suitors.”

  Beside her, Mrs. Stanton stilled. “You are ready for that?”

  “Life goes on.” Belinda ducked her head to avoid meeting Mrs. Stanton’ frank gaze. Inside, a part of her clawed at the false hope of her words. Could she really move on? She prepared for criticism from the lady.

  “Good for you.”

  Belinda looked up sharply. Her confused eyes met Mrs. Stanton’ open ones.

  “It’s not easy for us to go on living after our beloved dies. But we do go on living.”

  “You do not think it is too soon?”

  “It is different for each person. I do not doubt your sincerity for your Captain, but you had only known him a few weeks. You had few memories together to haunt you. Of course, a young lady as yourself would find a future with another.”

  A future. In truth, Belinda had seldom considered what the future would be like with Seth. Contemplating her parents accepting the engagement and allowing a marriage was uncertain enough. She had come to realize she would long for companionship and children, as her mother said. “How did you know when Mr. Stanton was the man you wished to marry after losing your first husband?”

  “We had known similar grief. A fever took his first wife. He was looking for a mother to his children. His duty to them awoke my dead heart.”

  “Your heart?” Belinda could not imagine loving again.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Stanton sighed dreamily. “It seemed impossible. He courted me for months. I was honest with him. I was uncertain about marriage and most certainly could not love him. He never pushed me but then, as happens with all soldiers, his Regiment had orders to move. I realised a week or two later that he had become necessary to me. His friendship had become dearer to me than anyone else’s. Others had opinions about how I ought to live my life as a widow, he never did.”

  Belinda was now enthralled with the story. Chagrin filled her as she noted their task and shift was nearly finished. “But you must have met again. How?”

  “He spent the winter quartered in Exeter. I heard nothing of him for five months. In the summer, they were to depart for Belgium. He was given leave and surprised me something fierce when he showed up at my home. Said he rode through the rain to see me in time.” Mrs. Stanton wiped a tear from her eye.

  “How romantic!”

  Mrs. Stanton chuckled. “It wasn’t really. He was soaked through. He was too tired and wet to say anything sweet. He was more to the point than even I am.” Mrs. Stanton smiled ruefully, and Belinda’s eyes widened at the thought. “He stayed in the Inn and spoke with the parson in the morning then had to leave again. By the time he returned to camp, he had come down with a dreadful cold, but he wrote it was well worth it. Mr. Stanton returned three weeks later for our wedding. As the Regiment was soon leaving, he could not find married accommodations and had to leave after two days.”

  “You could not go with him? I thought officer wives usually did.”

  “He was still an ensign at the time. Although, there was no time to make arrangements in any case. They deployed a week later, just as his two girls arrived.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “Well, I cannot say we lived happily ever after. Or even that we all lived, now can I? I worried every minute he was on campaign, but he returned. By the time he was sent to Spain, we had saved enough for him to buy a lieutenancy. Of course, I was expecting our babe by then so the children and I stayed behind. He returned once and was sent again to Spain. We missed him while he was gone, but made the most of our happiness when he was home. You can never be happy if you spend most of your time afraid.”

  Belinda did not need those final words. She knew they were true. She had been far too fearful to allow herself to be happy.

  “What I regret more than anything are those five months we might have had together, but I was too afraid to let my heart lead. So, I say again, good for you. There’s no reason to think that you cannot love again.”

  “Ladies, did you finish the task?” A matronly nurse arrived. Nodding at the tidy linen cupboard and the empty baskets, she crossed off a line in her notebook. “Thank you for your help today. Shall we see you back on your normal day, Lady Belinda?�
��

  “Of course,” she replied before saying her farewells. It did not occur to her until she re-entered the carriage that she was supposed to avoid her usual days.

  *****

  In a handsome, modern building situated on rising ground, sat a small, pale lady. She looked but a mouse, and not a healthy one at that, to all who knew her while her mother was a mighty lioness. On the inside, however, Anne de Bourgh chafed at her sheltered life and existence.

  “Tell me about your betrothed, Mr. Collins,” Lady Catherine said to her rector.

  When Anne had learned her mother selected a young man of only five and twenty as parson to replace the deceased incumbent, she scarcely managed to keep her excitement to herself. If he could not be a suitor, he might have a wife or sister to keep his house and befriend Anne. Young people might visit. In short, she might have a modicum of the life others lived.

  Then she met Mr. Collins, and all hope vanished. Now, he was regaling her mother about the bride he had selected upon his recent visit to Hertfordshire. Anne noted that the unfortunate lady was not one of his five cousins with whom he stayed. It did not bode well for his future wife at all if the women who could benefit the most from marriage to him were uninterested after having experienced living with him mere days.

  “A knight, you say? Well, that is more than I expected.” Lady Catherine seemed displeased by the information.

  “She and her family are all that is affable and humble, madam. They would never think themselves anything near equal to you or Miss de Bourgh,” Mr. Collins hastened to say.

  “Good, good. I cannot abide upstarts.”

  Outwardly, Anne looked utterly indifferent but inside she rolled her eyes. This Miss Lucas must certainly be far superior to her if she had managed to gain a husband. Anne had not and instead been passed over twice. Not even her nearest male relations would take pity on her. She had no hope for the lady who married Mr. Collins to be sensible, however. And so, Anne’s imprisonment would continue. At last, Mr. Collins left.

  “Anne, has Darcy written?”

  “He remains in Hertfordshire.” Darcy had not written. Nor had he since her mother began hinting that he should marry Anne since their cousin James was neglecting his duty. Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, remained a correspondent, however.

  “Hertfordshire! Did he not just leave there?”

  “It seems he has returned.”

  “What can he be doing there?”

  “He visits his friend, Mr. Bingley. You recall him, do you not?”

  Lady Catherine frowned. “The manufacturer.” Her ladyship tisked and stabbed a needle through her embroidery. “I do not know what the young men are thinking these days. Arlington and Darcy both dabble in these factories.”

  Anne’s eyes mentally rolled again. She did not forget that the de Bourgh wealth came from trade as easily as her mother did, it seemed.

  “But then, someone has to own them. I will not deny that I enjoy the products they make. It may as well be contributing to the wealth of the finest families.”

  Anne concealed a huff. Yes, how dare anyone else hope to make an income.

  “And have you heard from Fitzwilliam?”

  “Yes…I had a letter. Mrs. Jenkinson, could you retrieve it?” Anne needed the extra minute to compose herself. She would need to skip over portions and conceal matters from her mother. Her old governess returned with the letter in hand, and Anne smiled gratefully. She wondered if any other lady of seven and twenty still lived with their governesses. At this point, the woman was far too old to be put out. She was also far too old to be much use to Anne as a companion. She had been older than Lady Catherine when she was hired.

  Anne cleared her throat before carefully reading the letter to her mother. Richard had returned from Spain wounded and ill but was healing nicely. However, the bulk of his message described meeting a Lady Belinda Crenshaw. Richard had not written to Anne of a lady since his failed engagement to Miss Lucy Thrale. Anne believed Richard was quite smitten. Instead, she invented a battlefield story. She was quite proud of her imagination. She so seldom got to truly live or experience anything, she had developed the most incredible fantasies. She concluded her harrowing tale.

  “And so my dearest Anne, shall you guess what happened next? I charged the structure, leading a rousing chorus of “God Save the King,” and my boys followed suit. I felt a pain pierce my leg but could not stop until the battle was won. Then, as I helped carry a wounded private to the hospital cart, he looked down at me and cried, “Dear Colonel! You’ve been shot!” Still, I refused treatment until each of my men had seen the doctor. The wound was slight, and the glow of victory warmed my heart. Who could feel pain when Britannia was safe? That is all for now. Give my love to your mother and rest assured I shall visit at Easter.”

  Anne looked up to see her mother enraptured by the tale. When she noticed Anne watching her, she sat back and fussed at her embroidery. “I do not understand why he has to write to you such awful things of the violence he has faced. My brother ought to have made him go into the church. If he had, Fitzwilliam might have been a match for you…”

  Anne allowed her imagination free rein, her mother’s voice becoming distant. Anne did not care who she married, but she was desperate to live her own life.

  Chapter Seven

  Arriving home, Belinda was directed to the drawing room by the butler. Once inside, she saw her mother, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lord Chartley, a young viscount whom she had danced with the night before.

  “Ah, here she is, gentlemen. Belinda, look who has come to call. Is that not pleasant?” As the gentlemen bowed, Lady Crenshaw glared at her daughter. Ladies were expected to remain at home the morning after a function, in case any gentlemen chose to call. For a family as busy with London families as the Crenshaws, that meant she was expected to stay home most mornings.

  Belinda took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. After speaking with her mother, she had determined to carry on with her life and marry as soon as possible. While not fixated on a title or income requirement, she knew both would please her parents, and she wanted to avoid dramatics this time. Colonel Fitzwilliam was not an option. She desired calm and equanimity, and he never failed to cause her consternation.

  “I see you are recovered from last night, Lady Belinda. I am happy to see the ankle healed so quickly,” he said after she sat.

  “You were injured?” Lord Chartley asked.

  “It was a slight sprain in the final set,” she answered. “As you see, Colonel, I am as hale and hearty as ever.”

  “I do see,” he said, and she blushed. He surely divined her deceit from the night before, but said in his low, silken tone, she imagined he referenced something else.

  “I am ever so glad you have healed!” The young viscount declared. “And we are fortunate it did not happen during our set. Although, with all the dancing you did last night it is no wonder that you suffered the consequences. Ladies are so fragile.”

  Belinda’s eyebrows shot up, and she thought she heard a muffled snort from Richard. Although Lord Chartley was handsome, titled and she had heard he had a good income, it became increasingly clear why he was single. Tea arrived, and Belinda poured.

  “A very excellent brew,” he said after sampling his. “Such an elegant service and a charming room.” He looked about.

  Lady Crenshaw smiled. “Thank you. We recently redecorated. Belinda selected the drapes.”

  Belinda rolled her eyes as her mother regaled his lordship with selections about the room, intended to highlight Belinda’s decorating ability. She had heard the well-rehearsed lines of promotion many times before.

  “And what a beautiful pianoforte,” his lordship said. It seemed he could not allow there to be silence for even half a second. “I look forward to hearing Lady Belinda perform sometime.”

  “I do not play.” She lied between sips. Her mother glared at her again while his lordship stumbled to cover his surprise.

  “I often
think too much is demanded of ladies,” Richard intervened. “I do not know the first thing about music.” Belinda averted her eyes in confusion. On the evening of their first meeting, he had discussed music. “Nor do I fence, which is considered de rigour for gentlemen.”

  “Perhaps you are not so athletic,” his lordship preened and puffed out his chest. “I am often at Angelo’s.”

  Belinda rolled her eyes again. Just looking at Richard and you could tell he was the superior athlete.

  “Nor do I recall anything from my lessons in Greek and Latin.”

  “’Tis easy to forget what we do not make it a mission to practice. I am often rereading Latin texts for my position in Parliament—”

  Lord help her.

  “Such is the difference between you and me, Chartley,” Richard interrupted. “Gentlemen have a plethora of options and are valued nonetheless. We both serve King and country though in vastly different ways and abilities.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And you cannot say one is superior to or complete without the other. A politician is as necessary as a soldier.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Just as an empty-headed Society flirt is as necessary as a confident, capable and faithful woman.”

  “How so?”

  “It is just like with the politician and the soldier, sir. You cannot know one without appreciating the other.”

  Lord Chartley turned red, and Belinda’s eyes widened. Not only did Richard cleverly put down his lordship and defend all womankind, he specifically told her that he found her to not be the vain and shallow sort he had first taken her to be. That he appreciated her.

  The clock chimed in the silence that had fallen since his last words. Richard stood, “Pardon me, I believe my visiting time is at an end. I shall walk you out, Chartley.”