Matters of the Heart
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Synopsis
A classic love story about manners, men and modern romance retold by bestselling Australian author, Fiona Palmer
Western Australia, 2019: The Bennets are a farming family struggling to make ends meet. Lizzy, passionate about working the land, is determined to save the farm. Spirited and independent, she has little patience for her mother's focus on finding a suitable man for each of her five daughters.
When the dashing Charles Bingley, looking to expand his farm holdings, buys the neighbouring property of Netherfield Park, Mrs Bennet and the entire district of Coodardy are atwitter with gossip and speculation. Will he attend the local dance and is he single? These questions are soon answered when he and Lizzy's sister Jane form an instant connection on the night. But it is Charlie's best friend, farming magnate Will Darcy, who leaves a lasting impression when he slights Lizzy, setting her against him.
Can Lizzy and Will put judgements and pride aside to each see the other for who they really are? Or in an age where appearance and social media rule, will prejudice prevail?
Australia's bestselling storyteller Fiona Palmer reimagines Jane Austen's beloved classic tale of manners and marriage, transporting an enduring love story in this very twenty-first century novel about family, female empowerment and matters of the heart.
Release date: August 27, 2019
Publisher: Hachette Australia
Print pages: 384
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Matters of the Heart
Fiona Palmer
Just a moment longer, she promised herself as she sat up on the quad bike watching the sky illuminate with shades of blue, yellow and golden streaks of the sun’s rays. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, just large gum trees nearby, their long waxy leaves glistening like tendrils of metal catching the light. It was a scene of which Lizzy would never grow tired.
A wet nose pushed into her neck and she squirmed, reaching back to pat her black-and-tan Kelpie.
‘I know, Pippa, it’s time for breakfast. Let’s go face the noise.’
Pippa braced herself on the back of the bike as they headed for home, the cold morning air making Lizzy shiver.
Pippa suddenly barked madly, her muzzle right by Lizzy’s ear. Lizzy winced and noticed a big wedge-tailed eagle circling above a white woolly body on the green pasture to her left. ‘Good spotting, Pip.’ She made a beeline to the ewe as the eagle flew up high, keeping its dinner in sight as Lizzy stopped the bike. She swore softly as she knelt beside the deceased ewe and sank her hand into the wool.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, feeling the hard, cold body under her hand. Lizzy had been out checking them yesterday afternoon. How had she missed this one? How long had the ewe struggled overnight before she died? The heavy feeling of failure weighed on Lizzy’s chest. It never got any easier. Lizzy felt horrible with every one she lost.
She checked the ewe’s back end and saw a tiny lamb, only halfway through birthing. At first she thought it was also dead – its ear was red raw where the eagle had taken a few bites, and its tongue was swollen – but then its eyes opened.
‘Oh thank goodness.’ She smiled as she reached for the lamb and gently pulled it the rest of the way out. Lizzy held it against her chest as she looked it over. Pippa watched with interest, tilting her head slightly. ‘I think this one’s a fighter, Pip.’ Its eyes opened again and it weakly tried to move. ‘Let’s get you home and fed.’
She wrapped her jacket around the lamb and climbed carefully back on the bike. Pippa jumped on behind her and together they headed home at a gentle pace.
The Longbourn house sat on the edge of the farm amid two large sheds, four silos, scattered piles of old rusted machinery and a dam. The structure itself wasn’t anything fancy: a faded red tin roof, wrap-around verandahs and well-established trees to make it cosy. Some of the back verandah had been enclosed to make two more rooms when her younger sisters Catherine and Lydia had come along. Lizzy shared her room with her older sister Jane, and Mary had kept a room to herself as her piano-playing had driven everyone out over the years. In all fairness, she was very good now and they loved the tunes she could play, but the early years of lessons had been rough on them all.
As Lizzy headed up the garden path, past tough irises edging a struggling lawn, she heard voices, raised and giggly as if a hen’s party were in full swing. Just the usual breakfast banter that came with a house full of women. Noisy Bennet women.
Inside she found her father at the table, a plate of fruit and yoghurt in front of him. He shot it a look of disdain before turning back to the newspaper.
‘How’s a man supposed to do a decent day’s work on just that?’ he asked his wife when she brought Lizzy a bowl of the same.
No one noticed the slight bulge of her jacket where the little lamb was curled up underneath.
‘It’s good for you, John. Stop your whining and eat it,’ said Margaret.
John held the paper in one hand while he poked his spoon at the bowl with his other, his expression suggesting he would rather eat a sour lemon. ‘Why should we suffer just because the CWA decided to put on a few health workshops?’
‘You look nice, Mum. Quilting club today?’ Lizzy asked as she sat down beside her dad and patted his shoulder. ‘It’s okay, I know where she keeps the chocolate,’ she whispered.
Margaret wore a long soft blue skirt, dark blue blouse and a soft pink scarf around her neck, plus a full face of make-up. She pressed a hand to her curly grey hair pulled back into a bun, gently probing for any recalcitrant loose strands. ‘Thank you Lizzy. I have a CWA meeting today and then we’re making teddies for the Smith Family.’ Margaret’s voice rose an octave as she shouted, ‘Lydia Bennet, get out of the bathroom now and come and eat your breakfast or you’ll miss the bus!’
Lizzy squinted one eye as her mum’s piercing voice went right through her. Her dad always said Margaret had the lungs of a horse; but even he would have to admit that trying to control the toileting habits of five daughters with one tiny bathroom could do that to a person.
‘Hey Dad, look who I found this morning,’ Lizzy said, opening her jacket.
His glasses were perched on the end of his nose, his grey hair like tufts of wire wool that thinned out towards the top of his head. He lowered the paper and a sadness swamped his eyes. ‘The mum?’
Lizzy shook her head.
You can’t save them all, her dad had said when she was six and saw her first mauled lamb. It’s nature; that lamb has fed a family of birds. It was a rough way to learn about the cycle of life, but in farming there was no shying away from it. Lizzy had built up a tough resolve from that moment on. She’d learned to use a gun to put animals out of their misery, including her own pet lamb when it had been torn open by wild dogs. Her dad’s hand had been on her shoulder the whole time. She’d been fifteen then. There was no way any of her sisters would have done it. Sometimes she felt like she was the only one who took after their dad, the only one who truly understood life at Longbourn.
‘Oh, this one is just hanging on,’ said Jane as she joined them at the table.
Margaret came out and put Jane’s breakfast in front of her before she spotted the lamb, practically sitting at their table. ‘Poor little blighter. Was nearly someone’s breakfast, I see. I’ll get some stuff for its ear and then make up some milk.’
‘Thanks Mum.’
‘You girls eat up while I get it ready.’
Jane picked up her spoon with long graceful fingers. ‘Thank you Mum,’ she said with a wide smile.
Jane put the smallest amount of yoghurt on the end of her spoon and slipped it into her mouth soundlessly.
Lizzy touched her brown hair, hurriedly plaited this morning, as she admired the way her sister’s blonde silky mane cascaded over her shoulders as if she’d spent the past two hours brushing it until it shone. When Lizzy was little she used to think Jane was a princess for her delicate ways and beauty; indeed, she often wondered how she could be Jane’s sister when she was so different: brown hair, sun-dyed skin and bull-at-a-gate tendencies. Her eyes were brown and her body curvy, contrasted with Jane’s gorgeous features: high cheekbones, skin creamy and blemish free plus blue eyes that looked like sparkling sapphires.
Jane met her gaze and her perfect lips curled up. ‘How are you today, Lizzy? Did you sleep okay? I heard you get up early.’
‘I wanted to check on the lambs and see the sunrise. It was worth it,’ she replied. ‘I’m not sure this little guy would be alive if I’d found him any later.’ Her sister’s concern always warmed her heart. No matter if it was a snotty-nosed four year old or an old man who repeated himself ten times over, Jane would focus her attention on them wholeheartedly. She was a natural nurturer and perfectly suited to her role in childcare.
‘Mum, Lydia still isn’t out of the bathroom and I need to do my face.’ Catherine stomped into the open kitchen–dining area in her fluffy pink onesie.
‘Oh my god, Kitty, you’re not even dressed! Here I am worried about Lydia.’ Margaret pushed a bowl into her daughter’s hands. ‘Eat this quickly while I sort out your sister.’
Jane smiled as Kitty joined them for breakfast. Before eating she slipped the hood of her onesie up so she resembled a pink rabbit. Who would have thought she turned seventeen this year? Most days she behaved as if she were two years younger, like Lydia.
Moments later they heard banging on the door as Margaret yelled a hurry-up to Lydia.
‘Oh wow, we have a new pet lamb?’ said Kitty, spotting their guest. ‘Can I feed him?’
Lizzy frowned. ‘I don’t think you’ll have time. But after school he’s all yours.’
‘Yay.’ Kitty turned to Jane. ‘Looks like we might be catching a lift in with you, sis.’
‘Well, I’m leaving in fifteen minutes. Be ready.’
‘Oh, did you hear the news?’ asked Margaret eagerly as she re-joined them at the table with her bowl of yoghurt and fruit. She didn’t wait for anyone to answer, too caught up in her own excitement. ‘Janice at the P-and-C meeting last night told me that Netherfield Park has finally been sold.’
John shifted in his seat and Lizzy jerked upright, suddenly all ears. Lizzy wasn’t one for gossip, but when it included the large property – worth millions – that bordered their land, she was interested. Not only that, but some of Netherfield used to belong to the Bennets, back before she was born, so she felt a vested interest in the place.
‘Who would have bought that? No one around here can afford that kind of money.’ It was prime farming land that had been built up by the Jones family for three generations. But last year their only son had died on the farm, leaving the family devastated. The two daughters didn’t want the farm, and the parents simply couldn’t bear to stay, so they’d decided to sell and follow their daughters to the city.
‘Who has that kind of money? A corporate? The Chinese? I heard they bought a big farm up north,’ said Lizzy, again, hoping her mum had the answers.
Margaret fluffed up like one of her chooks as she relayed the information. ‘The Bingleys have bought it. I was told that their son, Charles, is to take over the farm.’
‘Charles Bingley is a hunk,’ said Kitty. ‘All the girls at school follow him.’
Everyone’s eyes shot to hers.
‘Follow him where?’ asked Margaret.
Kitty rolled her eyes. ‘On Twitter. His sister is a fashion guru, with her own blog. Charlie posted a photo just the other day of him at the front of the gates to Netherfield. Such a hottie, those blue eyes,’ said Kitty as she brought up the photo on her phone. ‘See?’
She held out her phone to show them all. Kitty never let anyone touch it, so Lizzy had to lean over the table to get a good look at Charlie. Sure enough she recognised the gates to her neighbour’s farm and there next to them was a tall, handsome man with the said blue eyes, in moleskin pants and a patterned button-up shirt. He looked like a model advertising watches, not someone who would pull lambs from dead ewes. ‘Yeah, he is a bit all right,’ she said as Kitty snatched her phone back.
‘Maybe if you followed some cool pages instead of all that farming and political stuff you might actually know what’s happening,’ teased Kitty.
‘I don’t have time to scroll through some random person’s photos, even if you think they’re famous. Why would I want to? It’s not like I know them personally or ever will. Seems like a waste of time and data.’ Lizzy ignored Kitty’s pulled face. ‘Besides, I have heard of the Bingleys. And I know they have the money to buy a property like that.’ She turned to her dad. ‘I wonder what his plans are for the place?’ she said, raising her eyebrows.
‘Wonder if he’s found the busted boundary fence yet?’ her dad replied. ‘You think seeing as he’s so wealthy he might fix it all himself?’ John gave her a hopeful wink.
As far as this Charles Bingley was concerned, the Bennets were at the opposite end of the farming spectrum. Half of their land was leased out to Ken Collins, and the bank had been breathing down their neck for years. Each season they clung to hope that they’d have a good enough year to get through.
‘Be nice to have a new young man about, and a good-looking one at that. It’ll cause a stir in the hen house if he’s single!’ Margaret put her spoon into her empty bowl. ‘Bet he’s never had to worry about where his next bit of money is coming from or feel the pressure of waiting for the bank to come knocking on his door! We’ll be the talk of the town soon with the way this season is panning out, John.’
John breathed out slowly as he put down his spoon. ‘Margaret, I can’t help it if we had a drought one year and then a frost the next.’ He tilted his head slightly, his eyes squinting behind his glasses. ‘Farming is a gambling man’s game and I was never very good at the casino. But if the government could see fit to look after the ones feeding the country, like they do in America, then we’d not be so hard up thanks to Mother Nature.’
Lizzy smiled at her dad. ‘Should go into politics, Dad, and sort them all out.’
Margaret frowned. ‘Really, Lizzy, don’t egg him on.’ She tutted and headed over to the sink with some dirty dishes.
Jane and Lizzy shared a conspirator’s grin just as Lydia waltzed in, her school uniform consisting of a very short navy skirt and a polo shirt emblazoned with the school’s logo. Her long dark hair was swept up on her head in a loose knot. The girls had an hour trip to get to the district high school. If they missed the bus Jane sometimes took them in on her way to the childcare centre that she managed. Which could happen today unless Kitty planned on wearing her bunny onesie to school.
‘If Mary was here she’d tell you that you wear too much make-up to school,’ said Jane.
Lydia squinted at her oldest sister. ‘Yeah, but she’s not and I don’t need you on my case too. Besides, all the girls wear eyeshadow.’ She shot Jane a look to show just how much she cared before moving on to something she was interested in. ‘Mum, I need a new dress for the cabaret on the weekend. Can I have a hundred bucks?’
Margaret threw her hands up in despair while Kitty left to get dressed. ‘Do I look like I’m made of money? I struggle to pay our grocery bill. Borrow one of your sister’s dresses.’
‘No way! Not fair, Mum. You don’t understand. Do you want me to be single forever?’ Lydia took out her phone and started texting. It beeped shortly after. ‘Megan says you’re horrible too,’ Lydia announced as she picked up her school bag and headed outside to the beat-up old ute they used to get to the end of the driveway to meet the bus.
‘Maybe Charles Bingley might be at the cabaret,’ said Margaret touching Jane’s shoulder. ‘You should make a new dress for the occasion. Use that baby blue material you have, it sets off your eyes.’
Jane closed her eyes for a moment, her white teeth pulling on her bottom lip. ‘I don’t know if I’ll have time,’ she said. ‘Still lots of setting up to do at the hall.’
‘I was thinking of wearing jeans,’ said Lizzy and waited to see her mum scoff.
‘I wouldn’t put it past you, Elizabeth. A flannel shirt and your work boots too, probably.’ Margaret rolled her eyes as if she’d been shown how by Lydia.
‘I like the sound of that,’ said her dad.
‘Don’t you start,’ warned Margaret, handing Lizzy a beer bottle filled with milk with a black teat on the end.
‘Thanks Mum.’ Lizzy moved in her chair so she had room to feed the lamb, who had been so quiet she would have thought it was dead if it wasn’t for the feel of its heartbeat against her chest. ‘Poor little guy is so worn out.’ She opened the lamb’s mouth and wiggled the teat into it, trying to let some of the milk dribble out so it could get a taste. ‘Come on, you know you’re hungry.’ Everyone was watching, holding their breaths, silently hoping the lamb would feed. It was a long few seconds and then the lamb began to suck and Lizzy felt the room relax, including herself.
‘Good, good,’ muttered John.
Jane grinned from ear to ear and reached over to stroke the lamb’s head with her finger.
‘Well done, Lizzy,’ said Margaret. She checked her watch as Kitty sped past them, dressed in her uniform and trying to brush her long brown hair as she went.
‘Bye, catch you later,’ she said as the screen door slammed behind her.
Jane went to brush her teeth and Margaret went back to the bedroom. Suddenly the house grew peaceful again and Lizzy almost sighed. Beside her, her dad actually did.
‘Much better,’ he said going back to his newspaper.
Lizzy couldn’t agree more. The Bennet household at peak hour would be enough to scare anyone, let alone potential boyfriends.
LIZZY DRAGGED THE WIRE GATE ACROSS THE GRASSY PADDOCK and tied it shut against the thick old fence post. She leaned against it for a moment, watching the ewes waddle with full udders while their lambs trailed close by. Some nudged at the teats, forcing their mother to stop while they kneeled to drink, sending their tails into a dancing frenzy. Lizzy grinned as she watched them. The one she’d rescued had begun to feed well and soon his tail would be jiggling like the rest. ‘Hey Dad, I’ve been thinking,’ she said turning to where John sat in the ute. ‘We should call him Rocky.’
Pippa was already on the ute waiting for the next job, her tongue hanging out from the exertion of shifting this mob to the new paddock.
‘The lamb?’
‘Yeah. Like the movie.’
Her dad chuckled. ‘Why not. It’s much better than Kitty calling the last one after that boy singer.’
‘Bieber grew into his name,’ Lizzy said with a smirk before giving the mob one last look and returning to the ute.
‘You heading into town now?’ he asked as she drove back to the sheds.
‘Yep, think I’ll get those parts. What will you do?’
John scratched at his chin. ‘I might tinker with that old pump motor.’
‘Good luck.’ It had died a long time ago, but John never liked to give up on anything. ‘I’ll drop by the pub and see Lottie while I’m at it.’
‘Figured you might,’ he said with a knowing grin.
At the shed her dad got out and whistled to Pippa, who reluctantly got down and threw Lizzy an aggrieved look.
‘You can keep Dad company. Be a good girl.’ With a wave she headed down the driveway.
Lizzy pulled out onto the gravel road, leaving their rusty farm gate in her dust. It was surprisingly warm for the end of June. It had been a late dry start to seeding. Many sleepless nights as Lizzy prayed for rain. If a drought came now the farm would slip further from their grasp. But luckily the rain had arrived just recently and the crop was coming to life before her eyes. Lizzy left her window down so she could breathe in the air thick with damp soil and moist straw.
Paddocks flashed past, most covered with green as new crops began to grow, some edged with shrubs or tall gum trees, others dotted with barren salt patches where grey dead sticks stuck out like abandoned old fence posts. It was hard to believe they once had been trees, before the salt killed them. It was a harsh landscape at times. During the drought it had been bloody awful but it was still home and Lizzy loved this area despite the hardships it could bring. She’d long ago – at the age of ten – decided that the farm was her place, and she’d told her dad she was going to be a farmer. They had spent the day looking over the growing crop, John answering her many questions about how it grew and what the parts of the plants were called. At one point Lizzy had lain between the rows and hidden from her dad. He’d laughed until he’d nearly cried when she pretended to swim through the green crop, her stomach pressed against the dirt as her legs kicked and her arms flailed about in an approximation of freestyle. Moments after she’d sat up with the rich chlorophyll wheatgrass scent filling the air, she’d known the soil beneath her was where her roots had set up home. ‘I’m going to be a farmer too, Dad.’
His reply had been simple. ‘Well, I guess I better teach you how to drive the tractor.’
She’d begun dreaming of becoming a jillaroo and by the age of thirteen she was trying to convince her dad to let her stay home from school to help with the harvest but had to concede to just jumping on after school. There was something about working the machinery, looking after the sheep, being on the land from sun-up till sundown that filled Lizzy’s heart with inspiration, passion and a happiness that no one else in her family seemed to understand, apart from her dad. There were times she’d catch him just watching over the land, taking in all the details, and the appreciation for what he saw had threaded down to her.
Lizzy slowed to watch a large blackish-brown wedge-tailed eagle on the side of the road stand over a fox carcass, tearing at it with its sharp hooked beak. It didn’t pay her any notice until Lizzy was nearly level with the bird and its dinner, when finally it opened its wings and took flight. She guessed its wing span to be nearly two metres as she marvelled at its wedge tail. They were amazing birds, even if they did like to nibble on lambs like Rocky. Lizzy had nearly come to a standstill watching it, but as it soared around in a loop she put her foot down and continued on her way.
The gravel road finished at an intersection, and Lizzy turned onto the bitumen road into town. It was a half-hour journey to Coodardy, population fifteen hundred, served by a pub, a pool, a police station, a church hall and a main street wide enough that cars could park nose in to the kerb on either side. It was an old town but the council had a full-time gardener who kept the kerb gardens green, pathways swept and the red roses around the memorial hall trimmed. On Anzac Day the local ladies and school kids covered the ground around the hall and base of the flag pole with handmade red poppies. It made. . .
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