Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer (12 page)

Elizabeth had been spending more and more of her visit in her room, her swollen feet once again worrying her and her back throbbing. She received word of Caroline Bingley's visit as she sat drinking chocolate and resting. "Downstairs?!" she gasped. "Here?! To see me?!" She could scarcely believe her maid as the young girl ran off to search for a pair of slippers that would fit.

Elizabeth was frozen with fear. Dear God. Here, in the same home, were the two people that she feared most in the world. What if Lady Catherine turned on her now? She was in no physical shape to take them both on at once. Her first instinct was to take the coward's way out and faint.
I should really remain in my room, bolt the door, and send down my regrets. It is what William would want me to do. It is definitely unhealthy for me to venture anywhere, being as I am so unsteady and wobbly.
Then suddenly, she noticed that the swelling in her feet had receded. "Traitors," Elizabeth hissed.

Her trust in Catherine was tenuous, her confidence in herself as solid as jam preserves.
This will not go well for me, I fear
. She struggled to her feet.
Why is William never here when I need him? Where is Fitzwilliam? Perhaps he can come down with me
. She sent her maid off to find him as a footman arrived to help her slowly make her way down into the parlor.

***

Well, here was a scene from hell, she thought to herself, a nightmare revisited. She found Lady Catherine sitting across from Caroline, both turning their dead, doll-like eyes toward her as she entered. Anne was also on the settee, along with her ever-present companion.

"Ah, Elizabeth.
Finally
you have come down and joined us! You have a visitor."

Elizabeth waddled into the room with as much grace as possible, horrified at the note of censure in Lady Catherine's greeting. "Yes, I see that, Lady Catherine. I am all amazement at this rare honor." Lizzy crossed the room and sat alone in a high-backed chair positioned between the two opposing sofas.

"We have had quite a revealing chat while waiting for you to arrive."

To Elizabeth's disgust, Caroline looked beautiful in a fawn green batiste gown that complimented her red hair and pale skin. She looked stunning. Lizzy hated her. She felt like a dead, bloated cow left out in the sun to explode.

"Although Miss Bennet and I are but recent acquaintances, your ladyship, I have friendship of long standing with your wonderful nephew, Mr. Darcy."

Elizabeth eyed the redhead from under lowered lashes. Suddenly she looked a little too redheaded, if Lizzy was any judge.
If I were only a little lighter on my feet, I could poke that beady little eye from her perfect little face.
"Evidently your memory is failing you, Miss Bingley. I am Mrs. Darcy now, and our acquaintance is of several years' duration, not moments."

Caroline grinned slyly, knowing she had made a direct hit.

"Elizabeth, must I remind you to please be more gracious to your guest?" Lady Catherine's voice was cold and cutting, and she glanced disapprovingly at Lizzy.
I knew she would turn on me at her first chance
. Lizzy sighed deeply.
I am done for, a bleeding corpse for when he returns.
It serves him right.

What Lizzy had not noticed, however, were Aunt Catherine's eyes narrowing as they looked back to Caroline. "You must forgive my niece, madam." She turned her attention once more to Lizzy. "We must strive to be more Christian, my dear. It is never good form to speak unkindly to tradespeople. We must always be unexceptional and condescending in our manner with those who are in service... and therefore beneath us."

Elizabeth, who had been blindly staring down at her folded hands, feeling miserable, froze. A glimmer of something--hope, maybe? Shock, certainly!--made her head snap up and her eyes dart quickly to her new aunt.

"I beg your pardon, your ladyship." Caroline, refusing to acknowledge an offence, seemed amused with the older woman's apparent confusion. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.
Older people are so dear.
She patted the edges of her mouth delicately with her napkin
. If only they did not hang onto life so tenaciously. Like this old goat.
She delicately sipped her tea, placed the cup lightly back onto the table then smoothed a hand over her very French, very fashionable, very expensive gown. She began to speak, but Catherine raised her hand.

"No matter, young woman. But please be kind enough to commence with your presentation. As you can see, my niece is with child and cannot be bothered for too long a period of time. And I do hope you've had enough presence of mind to bring chemisette samples." She nodded to Elizabeth and then to Anne. "And a goodly variety of fichu caps in sensible shades of white. I am hopeless when it comes to imagining these colors from their names. Don't you agree, Anne?" Anne nodded morosely, cleared her left nostril, and then gagged up some phlegm into her handkerchief.

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.

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."

"He is such a kind man, William. Truthfully, if you had come home an hour before, you would have seen a hysterical banshee instead of a wife."

He took her palm from his face and kissed her soft hand.

"You're tired, William, and you worry much too much. Let's go to sleep. This will all be over in a few months."

He grunted loudly. "I'll collapse well before then," he murmured in her ear.

***

The following morning, he found Fitzwilliam at breakfast early, as he knew he would. Fitzwilliam had to be off and on the roads to make London late the following day.

"Morning, Cousin. And how are we feeling today?" Fitzwilliam called out when he saw Darcy approach the breakfast room.

"
We
feel like a complete ass, thank you very much, and how do
you
feel, Cousin?" Grabbing a cup of coffee, he sat down across from Fitzwilliam, stretching his long legs before him.

"Very well, actually. Finally slept like a baby." He was eating three eggs, ham, and bacon. He also had a huge slice of buttered, freshly baked bread, which he was carefully stuffing into his mouth. "God, you are so predictable." He let out a hoot of laughter. "I knew you'd feel absolutely miserable this morning. Made the whole thing completely worthwhile."

"You truly are a black-hearted bastard." Darcy roughly rubbed his sleepy eyes and then destroyed the achingly perfect coif his valet had given him by rubbing his hands through it. Resting his cheek on a fist, he gazed in amazement at the quantity of food his cousin could consume.

Fitzwilliam stopped in midbite. "What?" he groused defensively then swallowed. "An army moves on its stomach."

"Well, it better not be going far. You're going to be puking before the first road station." He motioned with his hands for Fitzwilliam to pass food to him.

Fitzwilliam handed him an empty plate, sliding an egg onto it and a huge slice of ham. He then reached for the scones for both of them.

"I'm going to try to get an extended leave the month Lizzy's due to deliver. Let me know if you need me for anything before then." Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair and stretched, finishing up his morning coffee.

Darcy nodded. "Thank you, by the way, for staying with her last night. At least
you
kept her calm. I, however, managed nearly to give her apoplexy." He grabbed several pieces of toast.

"I know you, brat, and I know what is eating at you. There is no evidence for it. Many women never miscarry; some miscarry and then go on to have a perfectly normal delivery. Your mother had a history of troubled pregnancies. Her death was unfortunate but not something that will happen to Lizzy. You are worrying unnecessarily and driving everyone insane."

"Then why are you taking leave at the time she's due? Hmm?" It appeared that Darcy's appetite was returning with a vengeance as he reached for Fitzwilliam's nearly empty plate to bring it across and add any remnants onto his own. He grabbed for more toast and pastries.

"That's entirely different," Richard said. "That's me. I am a military genius, or hadn't you heard? Battle-ready whenever needed."

"You're an idiot, and you want to be there to torture me when the child is born," replied Darcy, finishing up the ham and scones.

"That's true, too." Fitzwilliam nodded deeply and in complete agreement. "Where do you go from here?" Fitzwilliam had poured himself one more helping of coffee and was ready to push away from the table.

"We go directly to London; I want Elizabeth to be as near to the best medical minds as possible. I have left nothing to chance, believe me. Her physician is world renowned and has assured me he will be in residence, near Pemberley House, the entire final month. Furthermore, he guarantees that the midwife he has secured is the very best. Also, I have contracted with no less than three other physicians and apprised them of the situation. They have all agreed, for a not-so-slight remuneration, to remain in town that last month of her pregnancy. It is all costing a small fortune, but the peace of mind is priceless." He stared unseeing out the window, not bothering to hide his distress from his cousin.