Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer

by Karen Wasylowski

  “You weren’t anywhere that I could tell,” said the mysterious voice that was not behind the door.

  “Aunt Catherine!!”

  Amanda’s hand pressed over her mouth as they both grinned. Trying hard not to laugh, Fitzwilliam grumbled with his amusement.

  “Aunt Catherine!” he commanded. “Stop your eavesdropping and go to bed! You are old and tired, remember?”

  “I am not eavesdropping, young man.” The muffled voice managed to sound very insulted. “I am merely standing here, in my own home, by my table, which…” There was a loud crash and thud, followed by a muffled scream.

  Fitzwilliam put up one finger and walked to the door, opening it.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course I am, but I fail to understand from where that table came. Jamison?”

  “France, madam,” he replied.

  “Merciful heavens, I am perfectly aware of that! I mean now, Jamison. When was it placed here?!” Her voice was very agitated.

  “I believe that would be thirty-four years ago, madam.”

  Fitzwilliam looked back at Amanda and rolled his eyes, after which his head disappeared again into the open doorway.

  “Will you please go away?” he asked. “I am begging you, Aunt. If I pay you something, some unbelievably large amount, will you leave us? Please? Allow me some small privacy for this, please.”

  When he began closing the door, it was pushed open again. A white, blue-veined hand was the only thing visible as it reached up to his hair and patted it down.

  “Did you just spit on your hand before you patted down my hair?” he asked indignantly.

  “Oh, I did no such thing. Now be still. Of all the rude, impertinent accusations to make! Bend down lower. I will have you know that members of the aristocracy do not have ‘spit’ as you crudely refer to it, young man. We do not acknowledge saliva in any form. Straighten your collar. There, you look nearly presentable.” She grumbled in aggravation, “Do you even own a brush?” Grabbing his chin, she brusquely turned his face from side to side. “For heaven’s sake, Richard, what did you use to shave—a shovel?”

  “Leave now, Catherine, and I may spare your life.” There was a moment of quiet from behind the door. “Go, woman! I intend to begin ravishing my wife shortly; however, I will not even consider it before I see that little dwarflike body of yours waddling down this corridor! Away with you! Shoo!”

  “Oh, all right!” she finally capitulated. “By the way, mon chou, I should tell you that when you two finally get around to reconciling and retire upstairs, Amanda is occupying the large blue suite down the east corridor, not your usual bachelor room at the end of the west corridor.” She reached up to kiss his offered cheek then turned on her heels to leave. “You have finally earned an upgrade in accommodations, Richard. Well done, you.”

  ***

  Watching his aunt leave, Fitzwilliam exhaled a long, relieved breath then turned back into the room to face Amanda. He was alone finally with his wife, and his heart was beating wildly with so much yet to tell her and so many plans for their future.

  “My God, but you look striking,” he murmured gruffly. His mind was momentary mush. His initial impulse was to toss her backward atop a table. I am in full control. In his finest “addressing of the troops” voice, he began.

  “Amanda, I want to speak with you about our situation. I know we are waiting for an important decision to be made, but I do not want that decision to come between us. I want you to know where I stand with or without that decision, especially after that slight setback we experienced at Darcy’s home. We are married for life, for better or worse. If you feel you must return to your mother-in-law’s house, I will wait for you, for however long this custody procedure takes.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised his hand to stay her, taking a few tentative steps in her direction, nervously clasping and unclasping his hands behind his back. “I was a fool, Amanda, an ass. I betrayed your trust. I broke a sacred promise to you, and that is indefensible. I have no excuse to offer you for my actions. I can only say how much I love you and hope that you can forgive me. As I have said, I spoke with Wellington today. It has not been announced yet, but Arthur is to be made Master General of the Ordnance soon, and he is recommending me for appointment on the Board. He was quite enthusiastic that I had finally made my decision and assures me that the position comes with a very generous compensation, enough for me to take a house here in town, a small house but large enough for the three of us, if and when needed. Or should I say four of us? Nevertheless, I will be here for you and Harry and our baby.”

  “Richard, please let me speak. I have something to say to you.” She shook her head forcefully as tears began to stream down her cheeks.

  “Amanda, do not say something now we will both regret. I need you desperately, and I am convinced you need me also. We were meant to be together.”

  Sobbing, she tried to speak, but he rushed in once again. “Give me another chance, for heaven’s sake!” He cupped her face with his hands. “You must have some small feeling left for me, some affection. I refuse to believe I’ve destroyed us completely. Can’t you find some way to forgive me?”

  She placed her hands over his and closed her eyes. “Richard, you listen to me now before you say another word. We have received a note from my mother-in-law.” Trembling, she looked up into his eyes. “She has already made her decision.”

  “Amanda… say it quickly. It will hurt less. I swear to you I will not abandon you. I am yours forever.”

  Finally calming a bit, she kissed his palms. “Oh, my darling, darling husband…” Her voice caught on a sob. “Richard, it is over. My mother-in-law has agreed to allow us to keep Harry. She has agreed to work together with us to reverse the custody through the courts and parliament. She only asks that she not be separated completely from him.” It was a few moments before either could speak.

  “Did you hear me? It is over, Richard. It is over, and I love you. I love you now and forever, more than my life.” He stared at her in stunned silence.

  It was over? Surely she must be mistaken. In her terror, she probably misunderstood the note.

  It was over? She nodded happily at his befuddled expression. “Yes. That is why Lady Catherine was eavesdropping so blatantly. We have both been waiting anxiously for your return.”

  It was over? His arms slowly surrounded her, crushing her to his chest, tears coming unashamedly to his eyes.

  It was over. His whoop of happiness shook the rafters.

  ***

  He could not at first comprehend what that meant, his mind first rejecting this thin beacon of light then eventually becoming blinded with its sunburst. It was finally over. He kissed her eyes and nose and throat and lips, the shock rapidly turning into relief, an overwhelming relief that exploded within them both, and they began to laugh and shout their joy. He twirled her around in his arms. They kissed hungrily and with all the energy that God can provide two people wildly in love. Over and over again, kissing each other senseless, kissing each other until they both wanted more—much, much more.

  He tumbled backward onto the sofa and pulled her down onto his lap, laughing and moaning happily with each intimate touch, each caress. “I cannot believe this,” he muttered into her hair. “You realize we must name our first daughter Catherine and the second, Marie. Good Lord, how else can we ever repay them? They did it! Those sly old foxes actually did it.”

  She nodded merrily, laughing and nibbling his jaw. “I think we should just go ahead and name all of our children after them, boys and girls.” Her head rested on his shoulder, and she noticed a few nicks on his cheek, touched that he had drunkenly shaved, especially before coming to see her, then alarmed that it looked something more akin to attempted suicide by razor. He must have been so very nervous, she thought, and her heart squeezed with love. He ran his thumb across her lips and inhaled her sweet Amanda scent, the scent of soap.

  “God, h
ow dearly I love you,” he whispered.

  ***

  And so the dance began that very next day at noon, when the elder Lady Penrod’s people contacted Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s people, who in turn contacted the colonel’s people… Runners, carriages, and paper began their fluttering ballet, shuffling around Mayfair and St. James at an alarming speed until the final “i” was dotted and the final “t” was crossed and every lawyer involved was as rich as Croesus.

  Chapter 16

  On a beautiful, crisp Saturday morning several weeks later, March 12th to be exact, in the year of our Lord 1818, a certain young Mr. Darcy, a Mr. Bennet George Darcy to be precise, was officially welcomed into the Anglican Church community by none other than the Archbishop of Canterbury himself, Charles Manners-Sutton, or Cousin Chum, as Aunt Catherine had often referred to him during their childhood.

  Before the magnificent baptismal font at St. George’s Cathedral, his doting uncle, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, stood proudly, his pregnant wife, Amanda, at his side. Cradled within his strong arms, B. George Darcy screamed bloody hell, furious at the dribble of holy water running down his forehead, affronted by the laughing comments and oohs and aahs, aggravated by the ribbons and ruffles on his gown and the lace on his cap. They’d pay one day, they’d all pay, just as soon as he figured out who they all were.

  Intoning aloud for his tiny cousin the promises of lifelong devotion to God and church, the rejection of Satan and all his wicked ways, his “uncle” Fitz chuckled at the impressive display of impatience, the seven pounds of hubris encased in satin. And while family and friends gathered round to wish the newest addition into their privileged world a holy and happy life, the realization came to the boy’s adoring father that this would probably be the first in a lifetime of family gatherings, both happy and sad, to be shared between the Darcy and Fitzwilliam households.

  As he listened to the head of the Church of England explain the spiritual as well as physical role of parents in a child’s life, the importance of godparents, the love of family and ritual, Darcy’s thoughts drifted back to a little country assembly hall where he had condescended to dance only with Caroline Bingley and her sister, Mrs. Hurst. His friend, their brother, Charles, had indicated a sweet-looking young thing, the sister of the beautiful girl with whom he had danced, sitting out the current set due to scarcity of partners, egging him on to dance with her.

  Elizabeth. His beloved, beautiful, Elizabeth.

  “She is tolerable,” he had brayed like a donkey within her hearing, “but not handsome enough to tempt me. And I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.”

  Smiling down on her lovely face now, he squeezed her hand tenderly as it rested snugly within his elbow. She had brought him love and joy and family. His world was richer because of her. “I love you, Miss Bennet,” he whispered in her ear, moved by the tears of happiness shining in her eyes.

  “I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.” She laughed softly as her insulting rejection of his first marriage proposal flashed through her memory. Then she sighed. He was magnificent and handsome and noble. Her world was richer because of him.

  “No more than I love you, Mr. Darcy.”

  Epilogue

  Shortly before Easter, 1850

  Darcy joined his cousin as he rested outside on the grand terraced veranda. He carried hidden within his coat a bottle of whiskey, two glasses, and a carafe of water, proudly brandishing them as he approached. Fitzwilliam had already been alerted by the clinking and clanking of the glassware and was now waiting patiently on one of two large lawn chairs they had placed for optimal viewing of the vast driveway into Pemberley.

  “I say, Buccleuch?” Darcy loudly called out, greatly enjoying his cousin’s annoyance.

  “Damn it to hell, brat, you know how I detest being called that. Why do you persist?”

  “Well, if you’re going to answer your own questions, I wonder that you even waste your breath.”

  Fitzwilliam emitted a derogatory sound through his clenched lips.

  “No mouth farts, please.” Darcy glowed with pleasure. “Has Amanda reconciled herself to becoming a duchess yet?” He carefully placed his purloined goodies onto the table and then settled himself in his own chair.

  Fitzwilliam harrumphed. “She was only recently coming to terms with being an earl’s wife after… how many decades has it been? Now it appears it was my fault all my old cousins died childless within a year of each other.” Richard took the glass that Darcy offered and watched eagerly as the whiskey was poured. “She hates the name, you know, says it sounds as if someone is coughing up phlegm. She cannot stop laughing whenever we are addressed.” His mood brightened considerably, relishing their rare treat. “How did you get this past the old gargoyles?” He smacked his lips at the forbidden taste.

  “Really, Richard, I am the master of my home, the king of my domain.” With an indignant huff, Darcy lowered himself deeper into the chair, elegantly repositioning his cuffs and collar.

  “I imagine that is why you hid the bottle as you walked by the windows.”

  Darcy gazed with haughty condescension at his cousin. One eyebrow arched. “I hid the bottle for the same reason you’ve got those two pipes stashed beneath the table.” Fitzwilliam grunted happily at being reminded of their presence and reached below to bring them up.

  Their doctors would be disapproving of these liberties with their health—their wives would be livid. It made it somehow all the more enjoyable.

  As he lit his own pipe, Darcy became aware of the trouble his cousin was having when he noticed for the first time the glasses perched upon his nose. “Since when do you wear spectacles?” He watched as Fitzwilliam swiveled his head around like a bird eying a worm. It began to be a nearly comical attempt to bring a flame even remotely near the bowl of his pipe. Darcy leaned over to guide the light.

  “Thank you, brat, I don’t.” Fitzwilliam puffed vigorously once or twice in triumph. “Wear glasses, that is. They’re not mine. Since you feel the need to snoop, these are Amanda’s. I stole them from her dresser when I rifled through it this morning.” He stifled a chuckle. Looking very proud of himself, he leaned his head back and blew the pipe smoke into the air. “Aaahhhhh,” he sighed. He was in heaven. “The woman’s blind as a bat for reading, you know.”

  “Good God, why were you going through her dresser?”

  “Well, nosy bits, I was looking for the tobacco pouch she stole from my dresser, of course.” He shook his head as if Darcy had mortar for brains and clucked his tongue in annoyance. “You know perfectly well she won’t allow me to have tobacco since that episode with my heart.” The spectacles were quickly slipped into his pocket. “She’ll go mad looking for these.” He beamed.

  “Fitzwilliam, as wealthy as you are, you could provide your wife with more than one pair of spectacles, could you not?”

  “Well, a lot you know. Amanda has at least six pairs of these things.” Fitzwilliam glared indignantly at his cousin. “And it took me a devil of a time to find and hide them all.”

  Darcy shook his head sadly, “Have you no shame?”

  Fitzwilliam gave this a fleeting moment of thought. “No, why do you ask?” He puffed on his pipe and grinned wickedly. “Heavens, man, how else can I obtain the vital information with which to torment my beloved if I do not go through her private things? My God, Darcy, what kind of marriage do you have?”

  ***

  It was one month after the passing of the indomitable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, having lived to be an exquisitely lively eighty-nine years, her wits about her until nearly three weeks before the end. And it was one week until Easter. Easter for the two men had always been with Catherine and her daughter at Rosings Park for as long as they remembered. They had decided the tradition would continue on at the Darcy’s magnificent home, Pemberley.

  Darcy and Fitzwilliam we
re now resting on its grand veranda, awaiting the arrival of their children and a large number of grandchildren, who would be joining them for the holidays.

  “Elizabeth only this morning informed me all the children will be in attendance this year. Tell me it isn’t so, I beg of you.”

  “Yes, Cousin, as horrible as that thought is, it is true. From what I’ve been told, all of ours will be here with assorted spouses and children, as well as your three and their families.” Fitzwilliam grinned, his pipe securely clenched in his teeth. He removed it as they clinked their glasses and downed their drinks in one swallow.

  “Well, that settles it.” Darcy placed his empty glass down on the table between them. “I’ll have to sell immediately and go into hiding. God help Derbyshire.” He puffed on his pipe, unable to suppress his grin.

  Glancing furtively over his shoulder to ensure they weren’t being watched by the wives, Fitzwilliam poured them both another drink. Their children, the next generation of cousins from the Darcy and Fitzwilliam families, were very close and famously rowdy when together.

  “From what I hear, most of them were to meet in Matlock to stay overnight before setting out, in which case, poor Matlock has very likely raised a white flag by now, and they will all descend at the same time.” Fitzwilliam slouched down into his own chair, his head resting on the back cushion in order to better enjoy the sun’s warmth on his face. His pipe dangled from his mouth.

  “Have they said why they all accepted the invitation this time? Not that I begrudge them coming, bloodcurdling thought that it is, but I believe it’s been many a year since the whole family was together for a holiday. In fact, I don’t think it’s ever occurred before. Usually in-laws or business or school claim a few casualties. This may very well violate some sort of municipal health regulation.”

  “I believe they felt badly about Catherine’s passing, thought perhaps we all needed the support.” Fitzwilliam took a puff on his pipe and grew serious for just a moment, staring absently down the long road. “They have all turned out to be truly splendid people, really—proud of each and every one. I mean, if you can ignore the shootings and screaming.”