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

by Karen V. Wasylowski

  Other than that, it was dreadfully quiet in the room. The clock on the mantel, a clock that had once graced the boudoir of Marie Antoinette, ticked on and on. Caroline stared uncomprehendingly at Lady Catherine, affronted by the Countess’s error. “Your ladyship has been greatly misinformed, most likely by Miss Bennet here.” Caroline looked angrily at Lizzy. “I am no tradesperson.” Her nostrils twitched at the mere scent of that word. She pulled herself up into a most majestic seated posture.

  The condescension apparent in Lady Catherine’s voice of before turned cold and hard. So did her eyes. “You must forgive me, madam. I was unaware before this that you are ill.” Her eyes did not move; in fact, she momentarily did not look human. “Evidently you are experiencing the unfortunate effects of continuous brain seizures.”

  Caroline’s natural color completely deserted her, leaving only the painted surface.

  Lizzy stopped in midsip, her gaze darting back and forth over her cup, between the women.

  Anne sneezed.

  “Sorry…? What…?” Caroline sat rigidly on her chair. Her eyes were blinking wildly.

  “My niece has already twice informed you of her name; however, as yet you seem incapable of retaining that small parcel of information.” Caroline’s eyes moved from Lady Catherine to Lizzy and then to Anne. Caroline returned her gaze back to Lady Catherine.

  “But, if indeed you are not someone who has, unfortunately, become mentally impaired through disease or accident, then, I must say you have adopted a most impertinent attitude for a seamstress.” A small, thin smile broke the gravity of Catherine’s face, and her eyes became oddly merry again. “And, I would modify your prior comment to state that, although you are, indeed, a tradesperson, you are apparently not a very good one. You will never be a great success with this offensive sort of attitude.”

  “I-I-I don’t understand what you are saying, your ladyship.”

  “Are you not Miss Bagley, the seamstress my dear friend Lady Jersey recommended?” Aunt Catherine raised her quizzing glass.

  “No, madam, I most certainly am not!” A brilliant flush of color rushed to Caroline’s face and was spreading from her cheeks into her bodice. In her indignation, she began to rock forward and back on the chair.

  “Just who are you, then? Who are your people?” Catherine snapped open her fan and worked it vigorously. “By what counterfeit means have you gained entrance into my home?” Her eyes flashed with indignation. Quietly, Jamison and two footmen entered the room.

  “My name is Bingley, Lady Catherine. Caroline Bingley.”

  “Bingley? Bingley? I have never heard of such an odd name. Are you quite sure?”

  Unaware how to answer that question, Caroline opened and then closed her mouth. “Of course I am quite sure! It is my name, madam! How would I confuse it?”

  “ Bingley?! No, no, no, that’s too absurd. Are you having fun with me, missy? ‘Bamming me,’ as the young and uncouth would say? I must caution you, it is well known that I do not approve of merriment in any manner, very bad for the humors. Merciful heavens, Bingley indeed! How you can sit there and presume… I believe that is a variety of produce, anyway. No, no, no, you must be mistaken.” With that final proclamation, Catherine proceeded to flatten out the pleats on her skirt and closed her fan.

  Caroline was as bright red in her face as in her hair. “I assure you, Lady Catherine, my name is Bingley! Bingley!” If steam could truly be produced by the human body, it would by this time be escaping through Caroline’s ears.

  Lady Catherine turned toward Elizabeth. “Is this person actually known to you, or is she merely aspiring to an association with her betters?”

  Elizabeth could hardly speak. She cleared her throat. “Yes, actually, I do know her, Aunt Catherine.” Not wishing to expose her enjoyment, Elizabeth tried to enunciate from behind her teacup. “My sister Jane Bingley is married to her brother, Charles. Charles Bingley.” Adding the name Bingley again so often had not been necessary, but it had been fun, so Elizabeth couldn’t resist throwing it out there once again. “They have just had a daughter, Marianne Louise Bingley.”

  “Good Lord, more Bingleys?!” Aunt Catherine’s eyes were ablaze. “Madam, I must tell you that I have a total of ten greenhouses on this estate alone and have no need of your fruits and vegetables. You will fail miserably in this business if you are as sloppy with your research as this indicates.”

  “Your ladyship!” Caroline screamed. “We are not fruit vendors! Or street merchants! And we are also not common snipes like your niece here and her ragamuffin family!”

  The quiet that followed was dreadful. Truly dreadful. Lady Catherine arose slowly, all color absent from her face. She loudly slammed the business end of her walking stick onto the floor.

  “My good woman, you are speaking of my niece! A member of my family. Married to my nephew. Her father is a gentleman, who has just left this house having been my guest for two weeks.”

  Caroline sat back and stared at Lady Catherine in mute shock.

  “I believe I can speak for myself and for both Mrs. Darcy and my daughter, that we are no longer interested in your produce, or whatever it is you have come to sell. Take your samples and good day to you, madam! I say good day to you, and I mean it most heartily!”

  Turning aside, she motioned to her butler. “Jamison, please show Mrs. Bagley out. Through the service door, Jamison! Not the front!”

  Jamison had taken Caroline’s elbow and was leading her, when Lady Catherine clarified her orders. He quickly switched directions, toward the service entrance, and Caroline was gone.

  ***

  It was very quiet for several seconds, when suddenly Anne blew her nose and sniffled. Lady Catherine patted down some stray hairs on the side of her coiffure as she turned to Lizzy. “Well, that was rather enjoyable, wasn’t it?”

  Elizabeth’s jaw dropped.

  Catherine began to rise from her seat. “You know, dear, I don’t believe we should wait dinner for Darcy. It looks like the rain may be delaying his return from your father’s. I do believe he would be very vexed with me if you postponed your dinner too long.”

  Just then Fitzwilliam came running into the room.

  “I came as quickly as I could. Is everything all right?” He stole a worried glance at Elizabeth.

  She looked like the cat that had gotten into the cream. “Oh, yes, everything is quite splendid, thank you.” Elizabeth reached for his proffered hand. With the proper momentum and one or two false starts, she was even able to rise from her chair. “I am famished!”

  ***

  Darcy had indeed delayed leaving Mr. Bennet’s house to return to Rosings after a light drizzle had churned the roads and slowed their journey. Mr. Bennet found he was not looking forward to an evening alone and begged Darcy to stay for early dinner, a favor which Darcy could hardly refuse. Kitty and Mary had been in London with their aunt and uncle Gardiner and were due to return later that week.

  Although eager to return to Elizabeth, he was glad that the last two weeks had given him the opportunity of becoming better acquainted with her father, and wanted to continue in the man’s good graces. They had surprisingly much in common—a love of books, an interest in horticulture, and a mutual devotion and respect for a certain young lady.

  When the light dinner was served in his library and a fire made to warm the room, Mr. Bennet began to show his son-in-law some of his most favored manuscripts and drawings. Dusty books were dragged out from under piles of writings, and original sketches from a variety of well-known artists were thrown in stacks next to new plantings being readied for his experimental garden.

  “Sir, you have a treasure trove here. Have you ever catalogued these items?” Darcy lounged in Mr. Bennet’s desk chair, looking over a very rare handwritten Bible, whose pages were beginning to crumble from exposure.

  “There is never enough time, William, never the right occasion. And I confess that I am not very well organized. Lizzy helped me often, but I’ve let it
all go bad again.”

  “Well, I would be glad to send someone over to help you. Let me see about procuring a librarian for you, initially, every day for as long as it takes, and eventually, perhaps once or twice a month for upkeep. These are much too rare and valuable not to be protected.”

  Mr. Bennet was overcome with gratitude. Lizzy’s husband was indeed a very excellent fellow.

  Chapter 20

  It was late when Darcy reentered his coach and was off again for Rosings. He was exhausted and aggravated with himself for delaying his departure for so long. It will be well after midnight by the time we return now. He parted the carriage curtains to look out. I pray she won’t be too worried. He urged his driver to go as quickly as the wet roads would allow and then settled back for the long ride home.

  Lately, his concern for Lizzy had become obsessive, all encompassing. She loved him deeply, and her emotions were so erratic that he feared causing her stress of any kind. Hopefully, she will have reasoned that I stayed a while due to the rain and to comfort her father. He watched anxiously as the terrain flew by the window. “Please try to go a little faster, Henry. Thank you,” he called up to the driver.

  They finally pulled into the great stone-encased portico of Rosings at just after midnight. Darcy thanked his driver, tipping him extravagantly for the speed and care he had taken, and then entered into one of the side halls. It was eerily quiet. Few lamps were lit in the foyer, and it seemed that only the night butler was awake in the great house. Walking quickly through the downstairs, he handed over his greatcoat then stood at the foot of the grand staircase.

  He was always taken aback at the oppressive quiet that could chill a manor house this size. It was positively tomblike with the endless marble floors and soaring ceilings. Huge statues cast ominous shadows in the diffused light. The smallest sounds were magnified tenfold, and his footfalls had been echoing loudly in the halls as he walked. He cursed himself for a fool, he should not have stayed so very long at Mr. Bennet’s. Hopefully, Lizzy was asleep upstairs and not in a frenzy of worry.

  He heard a faint sound in the distance, up in the higher reaches of the house, somewhere in the dark. He waited.

  It was Lizzy’s voice far off in the stillness, coming from upstairs, possibly from the small sitting room in their bedroom suite. He could discern nothing of what she said, but he began quickly to climb the staircase, making it his heart’s destination. After a moment, he recognized the deeper timbre of his cousin Fitzwilliam’s voice.

  Their voices grew in strength and distinction. He had just approached his sitting-room doorway when Lizzy burst into giggles at something Fitzwilliam had said, and then they both began laughing. It was in that attitude which he found them, vastly amused with each other, laughing so heartily, in fact, that they never heard the door open or Darcy walk slowly in behind them.

  The room was stiflingly warm, the candles softly illuminating the two merrymakers as they sat side by side, their backs to the door. Both of their chairs were pulled up companionably before the fireplace, both sets of feet up on footstools, shoes off, coffee cups and biscuit remains on the small table between them. What struck Darcy was how tightly they held each other’s hands across this brief expanse, their fingers interlaced. Fitzwilliam brought her hand up to his lips to kiss as they laughed once again.

  It was really quite a cozy, heartwarming domestic scene—that is, if it hadn’t been his wife and his cousin.

  ***

  He stood there a moment before he was captured in Lizzy’s side vision. “William!” she cried as she jumped up from the chair and ran around to him.

  “It’s about time you returned, brat. We feared highwaymen had snatched you.” Fitzwilliam smiled broadly and began to stand. “We didn’t even hear you enter.”

  “Evidently,” Darcy said, his tone as ice cold as his eyes. Lizzy was just reaching her arms up to him when he stepped back and walked over to the decanter of port on the desk behind him.

  “I was very concerned that you would be grievously worried about me, Elizabeth; however, plainly I had no reason for distress. It’s good to see you in such agreeable company, alone here with my cousin. Such good company, in fact, that he was able to relieve your darkest qualms.” He poured a glass for himself, downing it in one gulp, then he slammed the decanter down on the desk.

  Fitzwilliam gave a grunt. “Aw, now…don’t start to pout, Darcy. It doesn’t become you. You’ll get wrinkles on that elegant brow of yours.” Chuckling, he sat back down in his chair to finish off his coffee, tossing back the few remaining biscuits. He was annoyingly amused, making Darcy all the angrier.

  Lizzy stood motionless, confused, staring up at her husband. “Well, of course I was concerned. Richard has stayed with me for company and was a most welcome support. I would think you would be glad of that.” She was both surprised and hurt at his reaction, her voice barely audible.

  “Oh, I know he always has your best interests at heart, don’t you, Fitz? In fact, ever since he first set eyes on you, Elizabeth, your best interests have been uppermost in his thoughts, amongst your other many lovely attributes.” Lizzy gave a little gasp.

  Fitzwilliam put down his cup and burped, excusing himself. He used his napkin to brush the crumbs that littered his pants and jacket, then began to wipe his hands. “A word of caution, if I may, Cousin.” He turned to stare steadily into Darcy’s eyes. His voice was very quiet. “Do not say anything now that you will later regret.”

  Darcy leaned back on the desk with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes flaming daggers. The two cousins stared, unspeaking, for several tense moments.

  The colonel sighed and shook his head. “Very well, I will leave you both. Good night, Elizabeth.” He bent down to kiss the top of her head. “Don’t fret, dearest—Darcy and I have had bigger rows than this, much bigger, and have survived.” He tossed his napkin to Darcy as he passed. “Good night, brat.” With that, Fitzwilliam left the room.

  Lizzy turned and stared at her husband in disbelief. “William! How could you?!”

  Darcy struggled to loosen his collar, a dark and hateful look on his face. “You know, that’s another thing, my name is Fitzwilliam—Fitzwilliam Darcy. Not Fitz, not William, but Fitzwilliam. I am awfully sorry if it gets you muddled, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”

  He sat down heavily into the desk chair and immediately turned his back on his wife. God, I am so tired, so very tired of waiting for this child. Closing his eyes, he rubbed them with his fingertips, feeling guilty and petty and stupid. He knew perfectly well that there were no illicit feelings between his cousin and Elizabeth, knew he had made a muck of things this night when he should have been trying to keep stress from her, knew he should have told her of his disastrous encounter weeks prior with Caroline.

  Lizzy struggled to pick up her shoes, waddling out of the room with tears beginning to sting her eyes. I am supposed to trust him without question, and he does this. She was fighting emotions from anger, to hurt, back to anger again. How humiliating! How will I ever face Richard again? Ugh! My feet are killing me. She wanted to go pound on Fitzwilliam’s door so she could complain about her husband, but she realized that was not the best nor most logical plan at the moment.

  Am I to have no friends at all? Is he allowed jealousy with no basis in reason, while I am allowed none, when he’s already admitted to a relationship with that woman? She walked slowly to their room, angrily swiping away her tears with the back of her hand. He looks very tired though. He looks tired and concerned. She stopped by her dressing room and pressed a hand to her heart. We’ll be home soon in London, and then we can relax and wait for the baby.

  All will be fine as it once was.

  It has to be.

  ***

  For the first time in his life, he looked a mess. When he walked into her dressing room, he was barefoot, his hair wild, his eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion, his coat off, and his shirt pulled out from his pants, the tails hanging down from his waist.
Their eyes met.

  “May I?” he asked quietly. She had been standing before the immense French doors overlooking the garden, staring unseeing across the moonlit expanse, a brush in her hand. She turned to look at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, and she nodded, offering him the brush.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I find it hard to hit upon a comfortable position when I sit on that antique vanity chair, and I am so very tired tonight.” He tenderly took the brush from her hand and began to glide it through her soft, shiny hair, then set down the brush to loosely braid it for her. Quiet surrounded them.

  “Shall I rub your back?” His hands lay warm and gentle at her waist.

  She nodded, and when she looked up, she saw him watching her in the dark reflection of the window. He looks so sad and tired, and her heart broke for him. She placed her hands upon his.

  “Forgive me, Lizzy,” was all he could manage to say as he pressed his forehead atop her head. She turned quickly and reached up, struggling onto her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck. They stood like that for a time, holding each other, then softly kissed.

  He led her over to the bed, helping her up the two steps and onto her side to rest. Sitting next to her, he began to massage her back and hip through her night robe, a sad, embarrassed look upon his face.

  Finally, he spoke. “I’ll apologize to Fitzwilliam in the morning. I don’t know what came over me; I think I may be losing my mind. I saw the two of you holding hands and…”

  She turned on her back and placed a finger to his lips. “Hush! It is all right, William. I was crying, and Richard heard me, so he asked if he could enter. He was almost equally concerned, you see. I welcomed his company because it was frightening waiting alone for you with that storm blowing.”

  Darcy lay down beside her and gathered her into his arms, pulling a coverlet over them. “I don’t think he sleeps well. Catherine is concerned and wants me to speak with him; it seems that some nights he just roams through the halls. I imagine he was lonely as well.”