Teatime Tales

  Teatime Tales

  Short and Sweet Austen-Inspired Stories

  Leenie Brown

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, without the permission from its publisher and author.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, events, and places are a product of this author’s imagination. If any name event and/or place did exist, it is purely by coincidence that it appears in this book.

  Teatime Tales © Leenie Brown. All Rights Reserved, except where otherwise noted.

  Contents

  Dear Reader,

  1. A Music Room Meeting

  2. With All My Love

  3. Mr. Bingley Plans a Ball

  4. From Tolerable to Lovely

  5. A Battle of Wills and Words

  6. Two Days in November

  Leenie B Books

  About the Author

  Connect with Leenie Brown

  Dear Reader,

  What is more delicious than settling into a comfy chair with a cup (or glass) of tea, a nibbly little snack, and a book? To me, that is pure pleasure! However, teatime is never long enough to read a complete book…a chapter–yes, a book–no. What I need for times like these is a short read–something sweet and soothing and quick, or I run the risk of never leaving that comfy chair until the whole book is finished.

  This book, Teatime Tales, is a collection of short and sweet Austen-inspired stories, just long enough to enjoy over a cup (or two) of tea and a scone. The stories are not heavily laden with conflict or angst but are intended to be light pick-me-ups . . . bits of fluff to brighten your day.

  1

  A Music Room Meeting

  A melody, haunting and beautiful, drew Harriet down the hall. Quietly, she opened the door and slipped silently into the room, taking a seat directly behind the player.

  His body moved with the emotion of the music, falling forward, raising back, following his hands as they moved up or down the instrument. The melody seemed to flow from him as if it were a part of him being breathed into existence. She dashed away a tear. How was it that a man such as he could make the air swirl with emotion. She had not even known he played. The gentleman before her clashed with the person she had always known. He was the one everyone looked to for strength. He was the one to lighten the mood with a well-placed, though not always proper, joke. Unless severely provoked he was always a picture of cheerful composure.

  His fingers held the last chord until it faded into silence. Only then did his hands fall away from the keys. His shoulders sagged, and his head drooped for a moment before he straightened, assuming his normal rigid pose.

  She paused for a moment to admire his form before alerting him to her presence. “I did not know you played, Colonel.”

  Richard spun around. “Miss Phillips!” He stood quickly and bowed. “I did not hear you enter.”

  She smiled at him. “As intended.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I was afraid you would stop playing if you knew I was here.” She motioned for him to take a seat next to her.

  He chuckled. “I would have.”

  “You play very well.”

  “Thank you. It is my mother’s doing. She insisted on all her children learning at least one instrument.”

  “At least one instrument? Do you play anything else?”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I do.”

  “Which?” She leaned toward him in anticipation.

  He shook his head. “One disclosure is enough for tonight. The others shall remain my secret. ” His eyes searched the room. “Perhaps you could share a secret with me since you have discovered one of mine. How is it that you are here unattended? Surely you did not arrive at tonight’s fete unaccompanied. Lillesley would never hear of such a thing. He did escort you, did he not?” Her brothers had always taken prodigious care of their sisters, especially Harriet as she was the youngest and most prone to finding trouble.

  “He did, but he was quite preoccupied with several debutantes and their mothers. It seems unusually easy for some ladies to shift their preference from one gentleman to another. I suppose it is the title they truly admire.” There was a hint of bitterness in her words.

  “Forgive me. I have not had the opportunity to extend my condolences to you on the passing of your brother.”

  “Thank you, but it has been nearly a year.” She smiled sadly. “Yet it seems so much longer. Edmund has struggled to find his feet with all the new responsibilities that have fallen to him. Has he written to you about it?” Colonel Edmund Phillips, now Lord Lillesley, had been on the continent with Richard when the news of his brother Matthew’s death had summoned him home.

  Richard shrugged. “He has made mention of some of his difficulties, but I believe he looks more to my brother and father for guidance on such matters than myself. What do I know about the business of being a Viscount and sitting in the House of Lords?” Since childhood Richard and Edmund had scampered along behind their brothers, following their footsteps but knowing they were the lesser sons. There had been a comfort in the understanding of the position they shared. Now, that was gone. Edmund was now the heir and as such, a step above a mere second son. His goals must now shift. His interest must change. His position was no longer one of equal rank. He was elevated both in title and in position as Richard’s superior. They remained friends, of course, and always would, but it was not as it was. It was a fact which stung.

  “You would be mistaken if you think he does not value your opinion.”

  Again he shrugged. “He may value my opinions, but that is all they are ─ theories devised through observation. What he needs is knowledge based on experience, and that I cannot give him.”

  She laid her hand on his arm, as thrilling a touch to her now as it had ever been. His arm was so firm beneath her fingers. She had always drawn comfort from his strength. He had always been ready to protect and defend her. It was his shoulder she had longed to weep on when her brother had been taken. It was his absence that had made her grieving so much more acute. “What he needs is the support of friends. That, you can give.” There was no chiding in her voice, no pleading or coercing tone. It was stated as an unarguable fact.

  Richard chuckled. “Always to the point, are you not Harry? It is good to know some things remain the same.” He placed his hand over hers. “Although, I may not have recognized you. You have become a beautiful young lady in the past two years. Do you have the young swains swooning at your feet? Is that why you have hidden away in the music room when you should be dancing the night away with the other debs?”

  She coloured and lowered her eyes. “There are a few who gather, but none who interest.”

  “None good enough?” he teased, secretly glad no gentleman had yet captured her attention. “Is it their lack of standing, or do they have some hideous physical defect?”

  She snatched her hand from him and stood, placing both hands on her hips. “Is this what you think of me? That I have changed so much in two years as to have no thought in my head that runs deeper than a gentleman’s looks and the size of his bank account?”

  “Do not fly into the bows, Harry. I was teasing. I know you have many thoughts running rampant in that pretty head of yours.” She turned away from him. “Obviously, I struck a nerve, and I am sorry. Has your brother been pressuring you to choose? Or is it the transfer of affections by others from Matthew to Edmund which has you uncharacteristically sensitive?” There was concern in his voice.

  She shook her head as she turned back to him. “Edmund has not been pressuring me exactly. He mentions this or that fellow but has made no comment further than what a fine catch they would be. As if signing your life away to another was as
easily chosen as the menu for dinner.” She threw her hands in the air in exasperation. She had always found speaking to him to be easy. Now, though she had not seen him in years, was no different, and her frustrations bubbled up and tumbled out of her mouth. “It seems from listening to my brother that all the ingredients for an ideal marriage are present if the man is not painful to look upon, is of a reasonable age for producing offspring, has an estate which is profitable or would be with the influx of my dowry─ and should he have a title, well, that is like adding the finest wine to the menu! Not once has he made mention of my feelings or the feelings of the gentleman for me. Is it so wrong to wish for a marriage that includes affection?” She blinked her eyes to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks. How silly she must appear! Surely he would laugh at such a display. She turned away so as not to see the look of amusement she was sure was on his face.

  A hand, large and strong, rested lightly on her shoulder. “No,” he said softly, “it is not wrong to wish for such a thing. My father has long said he will not abide any of his children marrying where their heart is not attached.”

  “So you will marry for love?” She looked at him with questioning eyes.

  “I hope to, but my position is not considered highly desirable so it may not be possible.” She noted the look of sadness in his eye.

  “But your father would surely help you secure a love match, would he not?”

  “If I asked, I have no doubt he would move heaven and earth to make it so. But, I will not ask. I have no desire to always wonder if it was me or my connections which caused a lady to choose me.” He shrugged sadly. “Male pride, I suppose.” He brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “So, no young buck has touched your heart?”

  She shook her head. “None of the men who beg my hand to dance or come to call or send flowers.”

  “But there is one who has?”

  She nodded. He was so close. Her heart wished to tell him that it had long belonged to him. “And your heart. Has there been a young lady who has touched it?”

  He nodded. “But it cannot be.”

  “Why?”

  “I am a younger son. I must have a profession, and the one which I have chosen is considered too dangerous. Her brother does not wish for his sister to end a young widow or married to a man who has been disfigured. He is wise to think so. My body and spirit are scarred, but I have been spared the debilitating injuries so many others must now bear. And, praise God, I still retain my life.” He walked to the window and looked out into the yet barren garden.

  She moved to stand near him. “Is this why you play instead of dancing?”

  He closed his eyes. “How can I dance when others cannot?”

  “But it is not your doing. You do not decide with whom our country engages in battle.”

  He cast a rueful look over his shoulder. “I gave orders which resulted in loss of life and limb. I cannot yet forget and make merry. Perhaps in time.”

  She studied him for a few moments. The weight of his memories rested heavily upon him. It was evident in the slight droop to his shoulders. “But if you were asked by someone who would be most grievously injured if you refused, would you dance? Just once, and in private, if you wished it?”

  He chuckled. “You have always known how to word things so I cannot but answer as you wish.” The melody of a waltz whispered through the air. “Just one dance, Harriet, no more.” He extended his hand. “Have you been granted permission to waltz?”

  Her eyes sparkled as she accepted his hand. “Permission? I am sure I do not need permission to waltz in the privacy of my sister’s music room.”

  He shook his head. “If anyone should find us there will be penance to pay for us both.”

  “A risk I am willing to take.” She barely contained a sigh as he pulled her into his embrace. “And, I shall defend your honour with my dying breath.”

  “Oh, Harriet! It is the gentleman who is to say such gallant things, not the lady.”

  “And you are to sound gruff and unfriendly when you scold, not amused.”

  “We make a hopeless pair, do we not?” He led her gracefully around the room in the steps of a well-practiced waltz.

  “You will be safe now.” She broke the silence which surrounded them.

  “I beg your pardon?” His brows pulled together in confusion.

  “Now that you are here instead of on the continent, you are safe. That should ease the mind of whomever it is who opposes your match with the lady who holds your heart.” She tried to ignore the pinching pain in her chest and allowed herself to step a little closer to him. If he was to be another’s, she wished to have this one dance to remember.

  “My work still has risks of which her brother is aware. Until he is convinced I am capable of protecting her, nothing will change.”

  “But your work,” she stopped dancing. “If you are to work for Edmund, no one will know of the dangers. Edmund’s work is not what it seems, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.” He gently pulled her back into the dance. He did not wish to miss a moment of holding her in his arms. “Now, what of the gentleman who has your heart? Does he know of it?” Silence answered his question for some minutes.

  Without warning, Harriet once again stopped her movement nearly tripping him in the process. “You work with him!”

  “I work with him?” His mind began to go through the names of the men with whom he worked. There were several who were favourites with the ladies, and a few who could aspire to the daughter of a Viscount. Perhaps . . .

  “How else would he know of the dangers you face?” She interrupted his musings.

  “I am afraid you have lost me once again. Your train of thought is proving to be rather challenging to follow this evening.”

  She laughed at the bewildered look on his face. “I am sorry, Richard. I was still reasoning out the puzzle of who would know of your work. What was your question?”

  “I asked about the gentleman who has touched your heart.” He watched her eyes narrow as she studied some thought. “Again, you are not attending.” He moved to step away, but she grabbed his arm.

  “Edmund.” It was barely audible, more a breath than a name. Her eyes were wide with shock. A smile spread across her face. “Was it Edmund who refused you?”

  Richard swallowed. He had hoped she would reason it out. No, he had known she would. He had not, however, counted on the realization occurring while she was still in his company. But, she did not look displeased by the idea, so he nodded.

  “Oh, thank God.” She threw her arms around his neck. “Thank God,” she murmured once again.

  “You will have to explain to me what has made you so deliriously happy. Is it the fact that your brother has refused me, so you have nothing to fear?” He tried to pull back to look at her, but she held fast, her head laying against his heart.

  “It is you.”

  “Harriet, please. You are driving me to Bedlam with your incoherent answers.”

  She drew back to look at him. “I love you, and you love me. That is why I am so happy.”

  “Did you not hear me say he refused me? He may value me as a friend, but he does not desire me to become anything more.” Gently, he stroked her cheek. “How I wish he did.”

  “He will.” She smiled at him. “I can be very persistent. You do remember how often he gave in to my wishes when we were young, do you not? I assure you, he has not changed so much. But should he dig in his heels, I will eventually be of age. I shall have you Richard Fitzwilliam. You shall marry me.”

  He leaned his forehead against hers. “My heart shall never belong to another, but your brother…”

  “Is your friend and superior?”

  He nodded.

  “That does make it somewhat challenging.” There was an impish glint in her eye and a pert smile on her lips. Richard did not know whether to groan or laugh at her eagerness to take on a challenge, so instead he kissed her forehead. He watched as her brows drew together and her
lips pursed while she thought. He waited for her to finish thinking, happy to simply hold her.

  “Oh!” She had obviously come to a solution. “I shall speak to Lord Matlock if need be. My brother is most anxious to keep his approval.”

  “Harriet, I do not wish to speak to my father.”

  She grasped his face with her hands. “And you shall not have to. I shall.” Before he could reply, she drew his head down and kissed him, gently at first but then with a greater urgency, clinging to him as if he was her life.

  He pulled her firmly against him, holding her there as he broke the kiss. “You should return to your brother before he comes looking for you.”

  “Let him find us.” She giggled. “It would speed things along.”

  “Harriet…” The tone of his voice held a warning. “I have no desire to begin a life together with your brother in a temper, nor do I wish to resort to manipulating him through my father.” He paused. “I cannot lose another friend. I am not happy to wait, but I am willing to do so.” He pulled her more tightly against him. “However, I shall endeavor to understand if you cannot and wish to look elsewhere.”

  She pushed against him to no avail, his grasp on her was far too strong. “Richard Charles Anthony Fitzwilliam,” she scolded into his chest. “I shall not be so easily swayed from my affections.” He grinned at the soft stamp of her foot. “Have I not already said I would wait until I was of age? You would truly let me go?” She ended with a huff.

  “Does it feel as though I wish to let you go?” He kissed the top of her head. “I do not hold you here as I do simply to keep you from speaking your mind and storming away ─ although that is part of it.” There was another huff against his chest which made him chuckle. “My darling Harriet, I could only let you go if it meant securing your happiness–though it would break my heart.”

  “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?”