Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer (33 page)

Lady Catherine and Mrs. Fitzherbert both beamed back at him, proud as peahens. "Nonsense, Colonel. We shall still have to wait and see. It is not a
fait accompli
by any means, you realize. Have no illusions that my husband would truly revoke the child's title, please, but we can ensure that the woman's life
will
become a social nightmare, as she now knows. No one in the
ton
,
no one
, would willingly move backward in status. One would rather face the black plague.

"And I truly do empathize with what your wife has gone through. Whatever I can do to help her, believe me, I will." The look in her eyes softened, grew gentle as she spoke, remembering her heartbreak at having her marriage invalidated, her husband forced to marry another.

Fitzwilliam tucked the lap robe around his aunt and kissed her hand. "Richard, come, get into the carriage. Are you not returning with us?" Catherine looked at her nephew, her voice sounding disappointed.

The events he had just witnessed were the first real ray of hope he had experienced in over a month, and he looked away, trying to hide the emotions that threatened. "I will definitely come, but not now. I have some ends to tie up first and a bit of groveling to do with Wellington for my family's future."

"I know you will not fail me, Richard. You, more than so many others, understand honor and where your heart lies."

He leaned into the carriage and took her hands. "Aunt Catherine..." He hesitated, not knowing how to say what was in his heart. With that, he took her into his great arms to hug her close. "Aunt Catherine," he repeated hoarsely, "I can never thank you enough for what you have done today. How can I ever repay you both?"

This was her boy returning to her finally, the man she knew he could be, the man unafraid to show his love, gratitude, and devotion. Her hand patted his cheek, and she resumed her usual haughty demeanor. "Name two of your children after us, the girls, preferably. This will ensure that they will be greatly proficient in anything they undertake and that they will be considered diamonds of the first water for their beauty."

He let out a bark of laughter and kissed her forehead. "Consider it done."

She cupped his chin and smiled at him. "I will remind you of all this love and devotion at our next
bataille, mon fils
."

Laughing, he kissed both of her hands.

He took Mrs. Fitzherbert's hand and kissed it gently, thanking her once again, then backed down from the carriage door and smiled up at them both. "Please tell my wife I will come to her as soon as I can. I
will
be there sometime tonight, though, I promise." He stepped away, and the footman closed the door, the four horsemen who would ride on either side of the carriage bringing their mounts into position. Through the back window, he could see the two old friends as the carriage drove off, giggling and laughing over their great triumph.

It was much later that evening by the time he finished speaking with Wellington, his aunt's house already closed and in darkness, everyone abed. Fitzwilliam was waiting anxiously for Jamison to bring Amanda down into Catherine's overly ornate family parlor. The night and the whiskey had gotten away from him while he and his general discussed old battles, the Ordnance Board, the future, and a hundred other topics. He kept delaying his leave-taking until the peer finally threw him out, muttering about how much more courage it seemed to take the soldier to face his little bride than it had taken him to face the army of Napoleon. A slightly inebriated colonel finally climbed into his borrowed carriage and called up to the driver to take him to Catherine's.

As he waited, he looked about himself at the ostentation--the flamboyant, imported furnishings, the crystal and gilt, the priceless statues and artwork--all the incredible opulence that constantly surrounded his family and, especially, his aunt. He would never admit it to a soul, but he loved this gaudy old room.

For eleven years, he had experienced a life that the aristocracy could never imagine, and it had changed him. Commanding both viscounts and pig farmers, fighting alongside butchers and thieves, dining with emperors, sleeping with whores and countesses, he had come to realize that the Americans were right about one thing--there really
was
little difference between people.

He remembered the laughter and love between the soldiers and their women in camp--poor people who had nothing in life but each other. He certainly could not settle for less in his own life. He wanted the same tender love that any lowly cottager would. He needed the same sense of family and security taken for granted by any tavern keeper. There was only one woman for him, and if he had to wait a lifetime for her, he would do so. She was his heart and soul, his partner and closest friend, the first true love of his life, and the last.

He stopped before a portrait of his father and his father's two sisters, Catherine and Anne. Catherine, as the eldest, was seated in the forefront, a countess already at twenty with the hauteur and superior look that had made her famous--fair-haired, porcelain-skinned, and incredibly beautiful. Behind her on her right was Anne Fitzwilliam, Darcy's mother. Anne would have been nearly eighteen years old, with the dark hair and aristocratic beauty that Darcy inherited. He remembered her as a sweet and happy woman, gentle with the children and always deferring to her husband, often laughing as she hugged her son to her. Her warm eyes were softer and kinder than Catherine's.

To the left of Catherine stood his father, also with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, an incredibly good-looking young Corinthian, just eleven months Catherine's junior. Fitzwilliam swelled with pride at the sight, wished he could have known him in his wild youth. He was ridiculously proud of this father, who looked high-spirited and eager to take on the world. The three had been close in age but vastly different in temperaments.

This trio before him were links in a chain that reached as far back as the Conqueror, links in a chain of which he was a part, taking it into the future through his children and their children.

Of a sudden, he felt very proud and very humbled.

***

Amanda entered quietly, relief at the sight of him flooding through her--his size, his broad chest and shoulders always making her pulse quicken. The thought struck the moment she saw him, and her heart and her path were clear as glass before her. "'Whither thou goest, I shall go, where thou lodgest, I shall lodge, thy people shall be my people, thy God my God,'" she whispered, causing him to turn.

"Hello," she said simply.

He nodded, the sudden boulder in his throat impeding his speech.

"I was expecting you to come earlier." He was pale and looked slightly ill. "Are you all right, Richard?"

"Yes." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. His first sight of her had robbed him of breath. His second had almost robbed him of speech. She looked gloriously disheveled. In fact, she had hurried downstairs without her robe, not even taking time for slippers. It was only moments before that she had finally fallen asleep, exhausted and depressed, giving up on his ever coming over that evening even as Lady Catherine had assured her of his continued love for her.

"I am sorry to have come so late," he finally said, and then inhaled deeply. "I've been visiting with the peer, obviously drinking a bit, also. He possesses some extraordinarily powerful whiskey." She looked gorgeous as she pushed back the cascade of blonde hair from over her face, a face which was still flushed from sleep. He could see the imprint of the pillow wrinkles on her cheeks. "Of course, what I call whiskey, he calls Irish holy water."

Amanda laughed rather over brightly and nodded, crossing her arms over her chest to fend off the cold. She wished she had her slippers nearby.

"Oh, for heaven's sake." The faintly exasperated voice seemed to come from nowhere.

Incredibly, Fitzwilliam could hear his aunt muttering behind the closed door to the hallway. He turned his head to listen.

"Catherine, is that you?" The muttering stopped. There was silence.

He could hear the shuffling of feet behind the door.

"Did I say that out loud, Jamison?"

"Yes, madam."

"
Merde
."

Fitzwilliam exhaled in exasperation. "Aunt Catherine, is that you?" he called again, louder.

After several seconds, the voice from nowhere spoke. "No."

He walked over to the door and snatched it open. Amanda watched as he leaned his body into the doorway. "Could you please afford us some slight privacy?" he asked in a respectful but strained voice.

"Whatever do you mean? I am merely standing here. It's nothing to do with you. Please stand back. I need my rest. Close the door. I am very old and tired. I have a bad heart. For heaven's sake, Richard, move your hand! You are letting out the heat. I am not made of money, you know! Watch your feet." With that, the door was snapped shut in his face.

He turned toward Amanda and shook his head. "Now, where was I?" he asked absently.

"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.