Teatime Tales: Short and Sweet Austen-Inspired Stories

by Leenie Brown

  “Then you shall never be rid of me, for my happiness shall not be complete without you.” She sighed and relaxed into his hold. “Will you not return to the ballroom and dance with me?”

  “I cannot.” He kissed her lightly before releasing her. “Go, dance.”

  “Will you not come with me?” She held his hands in hers.

  “I think it best if we return separately, so I shall remain here and practise.” He nodded to the piano. “I promise I will not hide away all night.”

  She slowly released his hands. “I shall save all my waltzes for you.”

  He raised his brows. “So you have been granted permission?”

  Her pert smile had returned. “No, but many places have music rooms.”

  He shook his head and chuckled as she slipped out of the room.

  2

  With All My Love

  Mansfield Park

  Thursday, 14 February 1811

  My dearest Fanny,

  You’ll think me strange when I tell you from where I am writing this. Indeed, the servants have given me some odd expressions as they have squeezed their way past me. I am in the stairwell at Mansfield, on the very step where you sat weeping all those years ago.

  It is difficult to imagine the sorrows you must have endured being removed from all you had ever known and loved to be thrown into the midst of a family that you were to be part of but not fully, to be cared for, but never treasured as you ought to have been. Had I been aware to a greater extent of your miseries, perhaps I could have done more to shield you, but I was more apt to see what I wanted than to see what was.

  No, do not excuse me because of my youth. You, my dear Fanny, have always outshone all in your ability to perceive the right in a situation. How oft did I see you display such a skill as you refused to be drawn along in one scheme or another? Had I been more discerning, I would have learned from you instead of attempting to sway your resolve. And, I blush to admit, I felt justified in so doing, for I deemed myself wiser. I feel the shame of these words exceedingly for had you listened to all my persuasions, had you laid by your good sense to accept my poor advice, how might you now suffer? How might I?

  But what might have been is not what is, and I must not dwell on it for long, for if I do, I shall become melancholy considering all my faults and failures. Instead, I shall dwell on my good fortune, my blessing, my love, my Fanny. I shall praise you, and you must bear it. I know praises are not what you wish for yourself though you are most eager to bestow them on others!

  Shall I tell you of your beauty? I believe I shall. But it shall not be a recitation of the loveliness of your hair, the sparkle of your eyes, the fairness of your complexion, or the pleasantness of your figure ─ though you possess all of these. No, these I shall tell you in person. These I shall whisper in your ear. I will trail them along your neck and across your breast. I will press them against your lips. I will whisper them at midnight and repeat them in the morning, for your loveliness enchants me.

  Here I will tell you of your true beauty. A beauty that far surpasses the excellence of your figure and outshines the light in your eyes. A beauty that will remain when all other charms have faded and passed away. A beauty which touches the lives of others and leaves its traces there, multiplying and growing until all you have met share in its splendour.

  Do not duck your head and blush. Do not chide me for my words of adoration for it is right that I should praise you. I have found the treasure spoken of in the Holy Scriptures, for your noble character, my dear Fanny, is more precious than rubies. As your husband, I have nothing to fear; I know you shall bring me good and not ill all the days of my life. I safely rest in your counsel. Your wisdom and integrity are my constant companions. I rejoice in the thought of your hand guiding our little one down a true path–a path that will lead him to become a man of sound principles, a man who is not pulled astray by every pretty word.

  I could go on for pages speaking of your diligence, your compassion, your discernment, your patience . . . but I must stop before I do indeed fill too many pages. With these few simple lines, I have taxed your ability to hear such lovely things spoken of you, have I not? Rest easy my love, I shall save further praise for another day and will close with this. My dearest Fanny, you are the heart of my heart, the soul of my soul. I am truly honoured and blessed to call you my wife, and I will ever be yours.

  Edmund

  ~*~*~*~*~*~

  Scripture passage referenced is Proverbs 31:10-31

  3

  Mr. Bingley Plans a Ball

  “Mr. Bingley to see Mr. Bennet.” Bingley placed his hat on the entryway table and handed his great coat to Mr. Hill.

  “Right, sir. Follow me then.” Hill led him down the hall to his master’s study, rapped on the door, and waited for an acknowledgement. “Mr. Bingley to see you, sir.”

  “Thank you, Hill.” Mr. Bennet stood and motioned for Bingley to take a seat. “I did not think we would see you again, Mr. Bingley.”

  Bingley smiled as he arranged himself in the uncomfortable chair. “Yes, I imagine my sisters’ and my friend’s departure made it appear as if I would not return. If Caroline had her way, I would not have. I am afraid that she favours town to the country.”

  “And does your friend also prefer London society?” asked Mr. Bennet.

  Bingley laughed. “My friend prefers a small group of friends and books to the frivolities of the ton.” He tilted his head, raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I dare say he is much like you in that regard.”

  Mr. Bennet chuckled. “Indeed, indeed. I do prefer my solitude, but you have not come here to talk about my penchant for books over people. Would I be wrong to assume your visit is in regards to one of my daughters─ Jane, perhaps?”

  Bingley steepled his fingers before his chest. “You would not be wrong, but you would also not be correct.”

  “I see why your friend enjoys your company. You are not just an eager pup; a shrewd mind lies behind the facade.”

  “Most wonder at our friendship. Though they only see us in society─the one place where my friend does not outshine me.”

  “You do seem an odd pair.”

  “I prefer to surround myself with the unusual─the eccentric some would say. Life is more interesting that way.”

  Mr. Bennet lay his spectacles atop his book and gave the young man his full attention. “Would you be seeking to add me to your collection of eccentrics, perhaps as a father-in-law?”

  “I would if that is acceptable to all parties.”

  “I cannot see how it would be unacceptable. If my wife were to hear I refused your suit on my daughter’s behalf, not even this book room would give me peace.”

  The gentlemen shared a laugh before Mr. Bennet continued. “But Jane is not the only reason for your call?”

  “No, permission to marry Miss Bennet is not the sole purpose of this interview─though her happiness and my own are the foundations for it.”

  “Do you always speak in riddles, young man? What other business might secure your happiness? Is there another suitor I should eradicate?”

  Bingley laughed. “I have found in dealing with my friend─who is quite like you─his attention improves when there is a problem to solve.” Bingley turned more serious. “You are, however, correct. There is another who needs eradication.”

  Mr. Bennet’s furrowed his brow. “Another? Does Jane have another suitor?”

  “No, sir. As far as I know, Miss Bennet has no other suitors. I speak of Mr. Wickham.”

  Mr. Bennet’s brows knit further. “What of Mr. Wickham? He seems a pleasant sort of fellow though he is not so well-liked by your friend.”

  “For good reason, sir.”

  “Well, out with it then. I am not given to gossip if that is your fear.”

  “I had not thought you to be, sir, but, in this case, a little gossip might be our solution. As you say, Mr. Wickham appears to be a pleasant and proper gentleman when, in fact, he is given to gambling and d
ebauchery. I would suspect several in Meryton hold his vowels and more than one maid is a maiden no longer.”

  Mr. Bennet’s eyes bulged.

  “I assure you, sir, I speak with authority and no exaggeration. His tales of my friend are cunningly crafted with enough truth to make his defamatory comments believable.” Bingley leaned forward in his chair. “Wickham did grow up at Pemberley. His father was the estate’s steward, and Darcy’s father did leave him an inheritance, which is where the truth of his tale ends. Mr. Wickham refused the living, opting instead to take a monetary settlement. He quickly squandered his money and returned to take up the living. Darcy refused him.”

  “I should think he would refuse! Mr. Wickham is such a scoundrel then?”

  “Much worse, I fear. He attempted to seduce Darcy’s sister for her dowry. Miss Darcy is the same age as Miss Lydia.”

  “You believe my daughters are in danger from this man? They have very little.”

  “He does not seek their money.” Bingley waited.

  Mr. Bennet’s eyes grew wide.

  Bingley nodded. “But, it is not just your daughters’ virtues at stake here, Mr. Bennet. The happiness of my friend and Miss Elizabeth is in danger.”

  “Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth?”

  Bingley allowed Mr. Bennet time to ponder the match.

  “They would do well together,” he admitted. “But he finds her merely tolerable, and she is so set against…” A smile suffused his face. “And she is enamored with him! How did I not see it before?”

  “He finds her more than tolerable, sir. I assure you of that.” He gave Mr. Bennet a wry smile. “His comments at the Assembly were part of a game we play. I encourage him to interact with people, and he attempts to put me off, telling me the exact opposite of what he is truly thinking.”

  Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrows and gave a little chuckle.

  “Darcy has never been so enamoured. In fact, he would like to introduce her to his sister, but she will not travel to Netherfield while Mr. Wickham is in Hertfordshire.”

  “And Mr. Wickham has tainted Elizabeth’s opinion of Mr. Darcy.”

  “Quite so.”

  “And you wish me to ensure his real character is known, forcing him from the area, so your friend will not know you made his happiness possible?”

  “Yes, that is the plan. If all goes well, I shall host a Yuletide ball at Netherfield to celebrate my betrothal to Miss Bennet. Darcy will, of course, attend.”

  “Well then.” Mr. Bennet stood and straightened his jacket. “I feel a need to visit my friend Sir William and share some gossip concerning a particular officer.” He lifted his hand to forestall Bingley’s comments. “I shan’t reveal my source, nor will I mention the attempted seduction.”

  Bingley sighed in relief.

  “And you, my son─how well that sounds─had best be about your business with my daughter if we wish to announce a betrothal.” He opened the door, and the pair of men exited. “Two sons—two wealthy sons,” he muttered to himself as he headed to the front door. “Fanny shall go distracted!”

  4

  From Tolerable to Lovely

  Darcy wished to rub his temples or pinch the bridge of his nose–anything to stop the throbbing behind his eyes that accompanied the incessant babbling of his overly gregarious friend. He wanted to relieve his discomfort, but he could not. He would not display such flagrant disdain for his friend’s exuberance. Had they been in private, he would have told his friend in rather ungentlemanly terms to cease speaking. But, they were not in private–far from it! They were standing in a very crowded assembly room. He would have to attempt the use of subtly to inform his friend that his attentions were not wanted. And that was the problem. Bingley was almost entirely incapable of recognizing subtly, and the more enamored he was with his circumstances, the more excited he was about whatever possibility he was presenting, the less likely he was to hear subtly. Darcy tried to focus on the stream of praise for the current surrounding coming from his friend.

  How could Bingley find such surrounding to be worthy of notice, let alone praise? To Darcy, it seemed absurd. A room crowded with people–strangers–all gawking at him, whispering about him, measuring him with their chosen standard be it clothing, disposition, looks, or wealth. Had Bingley not noticed the way the mothers had pushed their daughters forward into his path? Had he not noticed the calculating looks of the huntress as she prepared to ensnare her prey? Pleasant company? Hardly. The room was too small, too lacking in air, and too abundant in fragrance–not all of which were pleasing to the nose.

  Having chosen to sit out a dance in order to mingle with his new neighbours, Bingley was once again at Darcy’s elbow. “Darcy, you simply must dance.”

  Darcy shook his head slightly and gave his friend a hard glare. He had already done his duty in dancing with both of Bingley’s sisters. An activity he detested and with partners who were just as calculating as the mothers in attendance though perhaps a bit more cunning having practiced their techniques in the venues of the ton. What more could Bingley want?

  Dance? Did Bingley suggest dancing again? Obviously, Bingley, in his exuberance, was unwilling or unable to comprehend the stare that he had been given. A more direct approached seemed necessary.

  “I do not like dancing, Bingley, and I shall not be moved to do so.” Did his friend not know how trying, how uncomfortable, how torturous it was to be introduced to new people, to fumble for words, to act the part of the master of Pemberley as people expected? Had he not told Bingley of his struggles with conversation? The throbbing behind his eyes grew with his frustration. Darcy sighed. Bingley was now extolling the beauty of the ladies present. Darcy knew that his friend had found one lady to be of particular interest. She was a handsome blonde who smiled very willingly at one and all–far too agreeable for Darcy’s liking, but it would not do to insult his friend’s preference.

  “You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room.” Darcy hoped that such a mention would turn the conversation to Bingley’s opinion of his dancing partner and perhaps send him off in search of her. For a moment, it seemed to work.

  “But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner, Miss Bennet, to introduce you.” Bingley made to step away.

  Darcy’s arm shot out to stay his friend. Panic caused his heart to beat rapidly. Was Bingley going to arrange the introduction without waiting for Darcy’s consent? “What do you mean?” Darcy looked to see of whom his friend was speaking. There was a rather pretty girl sitting among the other wallflowers. She seemed out of place. Why would someone as lovely as she be sitting down rather than dancing? He stared at her as he wondered until she looked up and caught his eye. Startled, he looked away.

  It would not do for Bingley to know that Darcy found the lady to be attractive. Armed with such information, Bingley would become as unrelenting as his best hunting dog, chasing and manoeuvring until his prey, Darcy, was cornered. He must be as direct and ruthless as possible to stop the attack before it could be launched. It made him uneasy, but Darcy knew that a bit of prevarication was necessary. Where was the harm in it? It was Bingley to whom he was speaking. Bingley who would tease him about it later but would not share what Darcy said with anyone.

  In a low, indifferent tone, Darcy said, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough…” His words were interrupted by Bingley grabbing him by the arm and spinning both of them out of the way of a gentleman–a Mr. Dalton, if Darcy remembered correctly–who was attempting to steady his partner and save her from the complete humiliation of a fall. Darcy watched as the young girl regained her footing and continued in the dance. He shook his head, and an amused smile tugged at his lips. It was the first time he had felt any amusement in months.

  “I do believe her feet are trying to take her in different directions,” said Bingley.

  “Yes, indeed,” agreed Darcy. “A man will wish to be vigilant dancing wit
h such a partner if he does not want to literally fall into the parson’s mousetrap.” He could not help it, a smile spread wide across his face.

  “A trap you have managed to evade for years, old man.” Bingley slapped Darcy on the shoulder and laughed as Darcy gave him an exasperated look. “As I understand it, the marriage state is not to be feared.”

  “If you enter into it with the correct person, it is not, but I have seen enough unequal marriages to give me pause.”

  “And you shall never find the right person if you continue to limit your socializing to those people with whom you are already acquainted.” Bingley crossed his arms across his chest. “Now, I had offered to arrange for an introduction, and you were saying something about her being tolerable or some such drivel before we were interrupted. Please continue.”

  Darcy opened his mouth to continue with his ruthless prevarication but abruptly closed it again as he realized that they now stood mere feet away from the lady, and since Bingley had spun him, she was not longer behind him but directly in front of him. There was no way he would spout such ungentlemanly and untrue sentiments within her hearing. How could he behold the beauty before him and call it anything but what it was? He caught her eye again and saw the displeasure that resided there. Had she heard what he had said? There was nothing for it but to confess. He spoke to Bingley but looked at her. “Forgive me, I was not being truthful.” He saw her blink in astonishment. “You are right, she is quite lovely.” A faint blush crept up her cheeks. It was quite becoming. He looked to Bingley. “I would like nothing better than to be introduced. Perhaps I might even be persuaded to dance. If you promise to stop your entreaties, I will agree to one dance with someone I have just met if she will allow it.” She was regarding her hands which were folded tightly in her lap, but she was unmistakably smiling. At least he need not fear rejection.