Caroline Bingley had finally married a very wealthy tradesman and had settled in Edinburgh. She never had children and quickly regretted her removal from London society. London society, it can be reported, did not return the sentiment.
Lady Penrod died a short four years after Amanda and Richard’s marriage, and Harry immediately became one of the wealthiest nine-year-olds in London, inheriting both her London townhome, where he now lived with his own family, and another home in the Lake District.
Fitzwilliam and Amanda had eight children besides their wonderful Harry. His brother, Regis, passed two years after their marriage, and his beloved father passed five years after that, thereby making Richard the seventh Earl of Summerton. Happily, the sixth earl had lived long enough to meet the eighth earl, along with several spares.
Darcy and Elizabeth had three children altogether. He was now Sir Fitzwilliam Darcy, knighted for his outstanding leadership in his beloved Derbyshire and for his innovations in drainage.
Georgiana had married a naval lieutenant and had two lovely children, a boy and a girl. Her husband was now an admiral. Incredibly wealthy, he had traveled several times around the world for the crown, often with his beautiful family in tow.
Wickham was killed by the drunken husband of some woman with whom he was having an affair, and Lydia quickly married another “bad hat,” as Lizzy would say. No one heard from her very often anymore.
Kitty remained unmarried and divided her time living happily in the country with either Elizabeth and Darcy, or as now with her sister Jane and brother-in-law Charles, proud grandparents to adorable twin girls over whom they doted in excess. They were spending their Easter holidays in Ireland.
***
Darcy lifted his head at a distant sound. “What was that?” The four hounds lying beside them on the veranda immediately stood and leaned forward in anticipation.
“Evidently it was a minor brain seizure,” Fitzwilliam mumbled absently after scanning the empty horizon.
Darcy slumped back down into his chair and turned his face up toward the sun. “Just out of curiosity, how many grandchildren do you have now? What is the latest estimate?”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes fluttered, and his head came up momentarily. “I haven’t the foggiest notion. I’m not sure they’ve all even been named and categorized yet.” He rested his head again against the chair back.
Darcy laughed. He knew his cousin better than that, knew the man was aware of them all, whether his own or Darcy’s or Georgiana’s. Each child, each name, and each birthday was precious to him. Family parties at his home were constants over the years, for any reason, and they were legendary.
“I don’t understand how you had eight children and I only three. It makes no sense.” Darcy strummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, his narrowed gaze fixed on his cousin. He absolutely hated to lose any competition to this man. “You’re no more virile than I. Quite the contrary, in fact.”
Fitzwilliam gave a snort of derision. “Bah! I am virility personified. It oozes from my every pore.”
“Oh, is that what that is?”
“My seed practically leapt into her womb, for heaven’s sake.”
“Rather like a virus.”
Fitzwilliam chuckled and began to fuss with the spectacles he had again taken out and was wearing.
“Come to think of it, you suddenly stopped having children after Edward was born. Certainly Amanda was still young enough. Maybe you weren’t, but she certainly was. Did she finally come to her senses and boot you out of the marital bed, you randy old goat?”
“No, Darcy, as usual, you have everything backward and wrong.”
“Then how did you manage to finally stem the procreational tide?”
“Well, Cousin”—Fitzwilliam began lifting and lowering the spectacles rapidly, trying to ascertain just how myopic his wife really was—“I simply took the matter into my own hands, shall we say…”
“God in heaven, I am always so regretful after I ask you a question.” His head turned at a distant sound. The dogs also stood again, alerted to activity in the distance. They began barking and shot off the veranda.
“You know, Darcy, whenever I feel out of sorts or dreadfully depressed or nauseous, I think of you, and…”
Darcy turned his attention back to Fitzwilliam, briefly touched by this remark. He kept listening, but the sentence was never finished. His one eyebrow shot up in inquiry. “And…?” he encouraged.
“What? Oh, nothing.” Fitzwilliam flapped his hand. “There is nothing to add. I just think of you whenever I get nauseous or depressed. Brat, is that them turning into the drive?” Fitzwilliam was squinting into the lowering sun.
Darcy turned his gaze toward the far road. His face lit up with an immense smile. “Yes, you old baboon, I believe it is.”
Fitzwilliam was up like a shot, slapping his aching knee. A huge smile spread across his face as one hand came up to shield out the setting sun and the other rested on his hip, his eyes trying to make some sense of the dust in the distance.
“Amanda! ” bellowed her husband. “Front and center! ”
“For heaven’s sake! Fitzwilliam!” Darcy winced and covered his ear nearest to his cousin. “Inside voice, please, child.” He thought for a moment perhaps he was spending too much time with his grandchildren. “What I mean to say is, please exercise a little self-restraint and decorum.”
Then he himself turned to face the house. “Elizabeth! ” he bellowed. “Your babies are here! ”
It was an amazing sight, far in the distance, one after another, the beautiful family carriages turning onto the two-mile-long entrance to the main drive. Beyond the river, they could make out Harry and Alice’s carriage in the lead, as always; he was the undisputed leader among the cousins. After his carriage usually came his dearest friend Bennet George Darcy and his family. Following them both was a parade of the remainder of the cousins, or the Fitzwilliam Mob, as they had been christened by London society.
Following after the families’ vehicles were the carriages carrying nurses and nannies and maids and valets, then carriages of luggage, gifts, and toys.
It was a most impressive parade descending upon beautiful old Pemberley.
As they watched the carriages maneuver in the far distance, Fitzwilliam turned to Darcy.
“Cousin, before the Mob arrives and while we are blessedly still in quiet, shall we drink a toast to the ‘old girl’?”
Darcy smiled and nodded. “I had the same idea.” He poured another drink into their glasses.
“To Aunt Catherine,” Fitzwilliam began.
“Beloved matriarch of our family,” Darcy continued.
“Grande Old Dame,” said Fitzwilliam.
With one clink, they tossed back their whiskeys. Both smacked their lips and smiled, enjoying in silence their personal memories of her.
Darcy stretched his arms and legs, stiff from waiting. “By the way, did you receive a copy of Alice’s play for this year’s family theatrical? I believe there was a rather unnecessarily large part in it for you.” Darcy was incredibly proud of his youngest daughter’s gift for writing.
“You mean Meticulous and Libidinous—A Tale of a Tribune and a Centurion? Yes I did, and I can tell you I don’t care much for my part. The centurion, Libidinous, is bullheaded and loud, randy as a rabbit, and incredibly sloppy.”
“Well, what of my part? That tribune fellow, Meticulous , is just a finicky, overconfident snob. Proud as a peacock; thinks he knows everything. However does she come up with these characters of hers?”
After a brief silence, the two old friends burst into raucous laughter.
Closer than brothers still, they went forward to greet their families.
About the Author
Karen V. Wasylowski is a retired accountant living in Bradenton, Florida, with her husband, Richard, and their many pets. Karen and Richard spend much of their free time volunteering with the St. Vincent DePaul Society and Stillpoint House of Prayer, both
charitable organizations that assist the poor living in the Bradenton community.
They are also actively involved with Project Light of Manatee, an all-volunteer organization that provides literacy instruction to poor immigrants and to members of the community who cannot read.
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Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer Page 37
