by Jann Rowland
“Umm . . .” said Fitzwilliam, his mind not on the matter any longer
Darcy looked at his cousin, noting the slight frown on his face, the manner in which he swirled the liquid in his glass around, seeming to have no intention of tasting it. Fitzwilliam, Darcy had noted, had become far more thoughtful of late, almost pensive. Not that he was not introspective on occasion, for he was among the most intelligent men of Darcy’s acquaintance. But he was not given to such reflexion as a rule.
“What would you say, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam, breaking the silence a few moments later, “if I were to tell you how tired I have become of living this life?”
“It would depend,” said Darcy, choosing his words with care. “Is it the command of a militia company that is too tame for your tastes, or have you grown tired of the life of a military man?”
“Both and neither?”
Fitzwilliam laughed at his incomprehensible statement. “It has occurred to me that it is nothing more than the former, for the militia is different from the regulars, as I have told you many times. The more I think on it, however, the more I am convinced that matters have changed—that I have changed.”
“Since I am not certain you know yourself what has brought on these feelings,” said Darcy, “I will content myself to ask you if you are considering making a change because of them.”
“Considering it? Yes, to a great degree.”
“To the point of resigning your commission?”
Fitzwilliam turned and looked at Darcy. “Yes, even as far as that. Those who have never been in battle cannot understand, but there is a certain . . . exhilaration to a pitched battle. It is, perhaps, ironic that a man never feels so alive as he does when, at any moment, some enemy might end it.
“The thought of returning to that, however, has become distasteful, for everyone runs out of luck at some time or another. Would my turn come if I returned to battle? I cannot say. The thought of giving fate another chance is becoming less appealing by the day.”
Lifting his left arm, Fitzwilliam clenched his fist, flexing it, showing no signs of his previous injury. “My arm has healed well and gives me little trouble now. I have been sending regular reports of my status, so my general knows my situation. The regiment has now received its orders and will depart for the peninsula in the New Year. If I wish it, I can be part of that deployment.”
“And do you wish it?” asked Darcy.
“You know, I have always thought living quietly on an estate would be a tedious prospect.” Fitzwilliam laughed at his own non sequitur. “Sometimes I have disdained those who live quiet lives. Such boredom has always seemed to be a terrible existence, a half-life, destined to do little, stagnate and die, accomplishing nothing.
“Now I begin to wonder if a little boredom would not be the best thing for me.”
Diverted by his cousin’s manner, Darcy pressed him: “I never thought I would hear the great Anthony Fitzwilliam, the man who could never stay in one place, say such a thing.”
Fitzwilliam flashed him a grin. “Yes, well, I never looked down on you, for I saw the work you did at Pemberley, the part you played in the lives of people who struggle for something better. But many of our set are not men such as you, and to be honest, I despise most of them.
“Bingley is a good sort. He does not yet know everything, but he is eager and determined and he does not make the same mistake twice. Watching him, watching the other gentlemen of the neighborhood, I have concluded that there are other ways to be just as great as a general who leads his army to a glorious victory over a deadly foe.”
“There are many kinds of valor,” replied Darcy. “I shall not scruple to suggest you are incorrect about many of our set; you know my thoughts of them. Though men who fight and risk their lives to protect us all are to be revered, there is equal dignity in working one’s land, in assisting others and ensuring their lives are as comfortable as they can be. There is also great value in finding a woman to love, in siring the next generation of children and teaching them to be responsible adults. It is they who are the future.”
“Yes, you are correct.”
“I know you have given it little thought, but perhaps it is time you begin the process of finding a woman of your own. You have an estate, one which will support you, a wife, and can look forward to any children you might have.”
Fitzwilliam laughed and turned a teasing look on Darcy. “Speaking of boredom, with Miss Elizabeth by your side, I doubt you will ever have cause to be wearied unless it is because you must keep up with her.”
“And I would have it no other way,” replied Darcy. “Given the trajectory of this conversation, I suspect the time has arrived for you to find your own woman to keep you on your toes.”
With a shake of his head, Fitzwilliam drained his glass and looked at Darcy. “I do not believe a spirited woman such as Miss Elizabeth is for me. In fact, I believe I might prefer a calmer woman, one more practical, for I am lively enough for us both.”
Standing, he added: “Thank you, Darcy, not only for Bingley’s excellent port, but also for allowing me my maudlin thoughts. I will bid you a good day, for I should return to camp.”
“Then Godspeed, Cousin,” murmured Darcy as Fitzwilliam left the room.
At the end of their discussion, Fitzwilliam had seemed like the cousin Darcy had known so long. That introspective man he had been recently was a mystery to Darcy. There was something in his statement about the kind of woman that would suit him which had pricked Darcy’s interest, but for the life of him, he could not decide what it was.
The more important matter was that the family had been urging him to give up his commission for some time now, and Fitzwilliam had always laughed off their arguments. It seemed he was now open to the possibility, a matter of much gratitude for Darcy, for the concerns he had expressed about his cousin returning to battle were those espoused by all his family.
Chapter XXV
Preparations for four ladies were more easily managed than six. This was made further evident because one of the ladies preparing for the evening was not Miss Lydia Bennet. Lydia, though not vain to a large degree, was instead indecisive and had been known to ask her sisters for their opinions on her attire many times while preparing for an evening.
Displeased as she was to be excluded from the evening, Lydia had not deigned to descend to see them off, though Elizabeth thought she would not miss the actual moment when the carriage departed; the girl would look down on them with envy and spite, railing at her misfortune much as she had since her father had informed her of his decision that she should not attend. Kitty, of a more governable character, was on hand, exchanging a few quiet words with each of her sisters, perhaps wishing she would attend, but accepting nonetheless.
“You are a good girl, Kitty,” said Mrs. Bennet on more than one occasion. “As your father promised, your time will come soon.”
“It is no trouble, Mama,” said Kitty, showing a brave face to her mother. “I shall be ready when my time comes.”
Had Lydia been present, she no doubt would have abused Kitty for her betrayal. As it was, Elizabeth thought Kitty was being the more intelligent of the two, for Lydia did not understand that the more she fought the restrictions, the longer it would be before her parents lifted them. That Kitty seemed to realize it was an understanding Elizabeth would not have expected of her sister. Kitty had always been a follower and as Lydia possessed the more forceful personality, she had drawn Kitty along with her. Of late, she had been emerging from the shadow of her more energetic sister, and while she would never be such a person herself, coming into her own was no small step.
Soon the preparations were complete, and the Bennet ladies entered the carriage for the quick journey to Meryton’s assembly hall. Kitty and Mr. Bennet walked out to see them off, he, being eager to dispense with the night in company for the more agreeable company—in his mind—of his beloved books. As the carriage jolted with the impact of the horses against the traces, Elizab
eth saw Mr. Bennet escorting his second youngest back into the house and knew her sister would sit with her father for a time in his bookroom. Some of Elizabeth’s happiest memories were of that room, the sound of her father’s strong voice reading beloved passages to her while she sat on his knee. Georgiana Darcy was also to arrive with her companion to stay the night. Kitty would welcome the girl’s arrival, as would Lydia, though Lydia’s complaints would not cease. Elizabeth might have thought Georgiana would come before they departed, but word had come from Netherfield concerning a delay of some sort. As a result, she would arrive within half an hour but after their departure.
And there, in the window above the drive, Elizabeth caught sight of Lydia’s glaring countenance in the window as expected. She soon disappeared, the curtains falling into the place where she had been. With a sigh of regret, Elizabeth turned her mind back to the amusement of the evening, leaving thoughts of childish girls and books at home where they belonged.
As they rode, the sisters listened to their mother’s merry chatter, for Mrs. Bennet’s tongue had been loosened these last days since her eldest daughter’s engagement. On this occasion, Mrs. Bennet did not require much of a response, which was well, for Elizabeth preferred to think on the evening ahead, and the delights in which she would partake.
As they alighted from the carriage upon arriving, Elizabeth found her elbow grasped by her mother, who, as they were walking in, said: “Your young man appears to be as ardent as Jane’s, Lizzy, though he does not show it as openly. Do you think he will propose soon?”
Feeling an unaccountable shyness fall over her, it was a moment before she could respond. “I believe he might, Mama. When I met him on a walk a few days ago, we spoke of our wishes for the future, and what we each thought about rearing children.”
It was clear Elizabeth’s report delighted her mother, for she said: “Mr. Darcy is an excellent man—I am sure you will find your happiness with him. If he should propose, you must suggest to him that Miss Darcy stay with us while you are on your wedding trip. She is such a dear girl; we would love to have her.”
“When the time comes, I shall be certain to suggest it, Mama,” replied Elizabeth. “Georgiana would appreciate the chance to stay with Kitty and Lydia, and with Jane and I gone, you would not lack for room.”
Mrs. Bennet regarded Elizabeth with a gaze full of sentimentality, of happiness mixed with sadness. “Do not remind me, for the thrill of seeing a child well settled is always offset by the loss of her in the home. You and Jane will be very much missed.”
“But you shall have Mary, Kitty, and Lydia for some time yet.”
“That I shall. Then they shall leave me, and I shall be alone with your father.”
Elizabeth smiled and touched her mother’s hand. “Then you shall have grandchildren to anticipate, and I have no doubt you will spoil them to their mothers’ frustration.”
“If one of you settles close, I shall be well pleased.”
“You may always travel, Mama,” replied Elizabeth. “Think of the fun you will have visiting the homes of your five daughters in succession.”
Mrs. Bennet laughed and nodded. “That is a wonderful prospect, Lizzy. I think I shall hold you to it.”
As they gained the inside of the hall, Elizabeth parted from her mother, allowing Mrs. Bennet to seek her friends while Elizabeth searched for hers. The Bennets were punctual, often arriving fifteen minutes or more before the festivities began. There were few in attendance yet, though Elizabeth had the good fortune of spying Charlotte as soon as she entered the room.
“Lizzy!” exclaimed Charlotte upon seeing her. “I see you do not bring your youngest sisters with you tonight.”
“Much to Lydia’s chagrin,” replied, Elizabeth, rolling her eyes. “It is fortunate my father and mother are united, for I cannot imagine the havoc that girl would create if left to her own devices.”
“Maria too,” said Charlotte. “She is finding it hard to be excluded now as she is coming so close to her own coming out.”
They stood together for some minutes speaking about matters of little consequence. Having known Charlotte for as long as she had, Elizabeth could sense something a little . . . different in Charlotte’s manner that evening. It was difficult to know what it was, for outwardly Charlotte was the same interesting woman she had ever been. There was a sense of anticipation about her that evening, though Elizabeth could not say why that might be.
When the Netherfield party arrived, Elizabeth’s first sight was of Mr. Darcy, as he, tall and handsome, towered over the rest of the company except Mr. Bingley, who had left the others as soon as he noticed Jane standing some distance away. Though Mr. Darcy made his way toward Elizabeth, he was not the only one, as Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh accompanied him as he approached.
“Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy with a bow over her hand. “You are enchanting tonight.”
“I must wonder at the effect you have on my cousin, Miss Elizabeth,” said Miss de Bourgh, fixing Mr. Darcy with a mischievous glance. “I had not known Darcy could charm with such ease. If I had, I might have reconsidered my decision to never marry him.”
Though Elizabeth laughed and Mr. Darcy grinned, Lady Catherine huffed in annoyance, as she often did when they raised the subject of her ill-fated wish for them to marry. Although Elizabeth might have expected her to say something more of the matter, she pushed it from her mind and addressed Elizabeth.
“Miss Elizabeth. For different reasons, I will echo my nephew’s words. It appears I will not need to work as hard to bring you up to the standards required by my family.”
Many might have taken Lady Catherine’s words as an insult, but Elizabeth knew the lady by now, knew she did not mean her words as an affront. Mr. Darcy shook his head, while Miss de Bourgh turned a laughing smile on Elizabeth, the sight of which was almost her undoing. Knowing Lady Catherine would not allow her to escape without making a reply, Elizabeth thanked her, stating her confidence she would do very well in London.
“Yes, well, we shall see. Now, may I ask if your mother is present?”
Still amused, Elizabeth motioned to where her mother stood with some of the other ladies, after which Lady Catherine excused herself. Elizabeth had little hope the lady would find the company acceptable, but she would find more comfort there than with the younger members of the party who would dance before long.
“Is Aunt Catherine making her usual coterie of friends?” asked Colonel Fitzwilliam as he strode up to them.
“Worse,” replied Miss de Bourgh. “Were Elizabeth not so good-humored, she might have created undying enmity between them.”
They all laughed at her sally. “Ah, well, no offense, Anne, but your mother has never gone five minutes in any gathering without causing some affront. Now, as Darcy will have Miss Elizabeth’s hand for the first sets, I believe I shall ask for yours for those same dances.”
Miss de Bourgh tutted and waved a finger. “If Mother were here, she would accuse you of conspiring to get Rosings for yourself.”
“Perhaps I am,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam with a wink. “But I shall never own to it.”
After securing Anne’s acceptance, Colonel Fitzwilliam turned away and approached Charlotte, who was standing a little away speaking to another lady of the neighborhood. With interest, Elizabeth watched as the colonel joined them and was soon immersed in conversation with her, the other lady excusing herself thereafter. It appeared her companions did not miss their cousin’s actions any more than Elizabeth did.
“Is it my imagination,” said Miss de Bourgh, “or is Anthony paying more attention to that young lady than I have ever seen before?”
“Yes and no,” replied Darcy, as interested as his cousin. “You have not seen him in company much—he can ooze charm when he puts his mind to it. In this instance, it seems to me he is paying her more serious attentions than I have ever seen, for his conversation is earnest rather than playful.”
“Well, well,” said Miss de
Bourgh, “perhaps I was too hasty in accusing him of having his eye on Rosings.”
It seemed to Elizabeth that Mr. Darcy was eager to keep Miss de Bourgh by his side. That this protective attitude coincided with the arrival of the militia was much as she might have expected. Mr. Wickham was among them, resplendent in his pressed scarlet coat, his deep blue eyes flashing in his alluring manner whenever they met the eyes of a woman. There were more than a few who sighed in his wake, their hearts set aflutter by his manners and his handsome countenance. Mr. Wickham did not come near to where Elizabeth stood with Mr. Darcy and Miss de Bourgh, his destination none other than Caroline Bingley, as was his wont.
“I wonder if Mr. Wickham shall ask me to dance tonight,” said Miss de Bourgh, her manner studied in nonchalance, her words designed to pull a response from Mr. Darcy.
“Of course, you may dance with him if you wish,” replied Mr. Darcy, refusing to rise to the bait. “As I recall, he is not deficient in the activity.”
“Unlike the absent and unlamented Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, pulling a chortle from Mr. Darcy.
Miss de Bourgh, not having attended the ball at Netherfield, looked on with interest. “Surely the estimable Mr. Collins is capable of guiding a woman through the steps of a dance for a half-hour.”
“There you would be incorrect, Miss de Bourgh,” replied Elizabeth. “Mr. Collins is as inept at dancing as he is at most other things. I, myself, was fortunate to have escaped unscathed, as I took the simple expedient of avoiding him so he could not solicit my hand, not that I possessed those qualities necessary to tempt him. But I am aware of more than one young lady who suffered grievous harm because of his clumsiness!”
It was clear Anne knew of whom Elizabeth was speaking, though she avoided looking in Miss Bingley’s direction. In this manner, they continued to speak between themselves, and before the first dance of the evening, Miss de Bourgh insisted that Elizabeth call her by her first name. It was a joyous day, Elizabeth decided, whenever she was afforded the opportunity of calling anyone she esteemed friend. There was more, she thought, to Anne de Bourgh than anyone in the lady’s family had ever known.
