Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer (4 page)

"And from whom do you think he learned this damnable Fitzwilliam pride and stubbornness?" Richard smiled sadly and gave Elizabeth his arm as they followed Darcy into the parlor.

The end of the year came quickly, with private balls, public assemblies, house parties, and concerts. Elizabeth's sister Jane and her husband, Charles Bingley, one of Darcy's closest friends, arrived at Pemberley a month before Christmas, followed two weeks later by Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and Kitty and Mary, the remainder of Elizabeth's family. It was the first real opportunity for Darcy to socialize with Mr. Bennet, a gentleman for whom he discovered he had a great deal of empathy, especially after experiencing the constant attentions and fawning of Mrs. Bennet.

As rude and insulting as she had been to Darcy before his marriage to her daughter, she was now the complete reverse, hanging on his every word. (Reason and Mrs. Bennet never resided in the same location for very long.) She followed him constantly, all worshipful eyes and servile admiration. She murmured, she whispered, she gasped.

"See how he stands? A spine like a pitchfork, straight and true. He's like a Roman statue, I'm sure: a true aristocrat!"

"Look how he butters his toast. Watch and learn!" she would remonstrate in all seriousness. "Watch and learn!"

Of course everyone had their particular favorite of her observations. Jane's was, "You can always tell a gentleman's character by how he eats his chicken."

Charles's was, "See how large his feet are? You know what that indicates, do you not?" Charles nearly choked at the dinner table the night
that
remark was made and glanced toward a red-faced Darcy.

When Lizzy's mother nodded to one and all and explained, "The mark of a great mind," they both exhaled loudly with relief.

When he sat to read, she would sit as near him as possible, somewhere behind, always in the great man's shadow, near enough to worship, not near enough to intrude. If he looked up, she was at his side in a moment, inquiring if he needed anything--tea, wine, pillow, quill, ink--and she very shrilly castigated Elizabeth if she did not exhibit the same zeal in anticipating his wants.

He remembered how odd he had found Mr. Bennet's behavior the first time he had sought him out at Longbourn when asking for Lizzy's hand. The man could evaporate into thin air, would disappear into his library, sometimes walking off in the very midst of a conversation. Darcy now thoroughly shared his father-in-law's literary fixation. That his own Pemberley library would be his only escape was obvious, and that had been within the first few minutes.

In fact, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bennet were embarrassed to find they had both scrambled to the library independently of each other the second night. They competed fiercely for first hand on the knob then slipped inside, waiting in the dark for several moments before lighting the candles. Charles Bingley, as always trying to be kindhearted, charming, and obliging, attempted to step up as host in Darcy's absence, only to end up with the other men a mere half hour later.

It was still, though, a very pleasant family time, a precious and happy holiday marred only by the two or three angry chair-throwing free-for-alls most families experience during this holiest of seasons. On Boxing Day, Jane and Charles announced their expectancy to squeals and flutters and spasms. Sisterly confidences were exchanged and unlooked-for motherly advice loudly dispensed. Darcy and Bingley rode to freedom almost daily, and Mr. Bennet napped whenever possible. Days began to drag into weeks that felt like months, and finally, with a sigh of relief, the Darcys waved good-bye to her sisters and parents and settled into what would become a fateful new year.

It was the beginning of the year of our Lord, 1817. Winter had come to Pemberley.

At Easter, Fitzwilliam returned home from Spain to find the whole county stricken with some sort of fever, both his father and his aunt among them, Catherine attended by no less than three physicians who attempted in vain to keep her quiet and secluded. A tenuous truce between Richard and his older brother, Regis, held only for the length of time it took for their father to be on the mend.

He missed teasing Catherine and even missed her constant nonsensical lectures, the hours and hours of bizarre and unlooked-for advice on health and happiness that she felt obliged to provide as matriarch of the family.

Fitzwilliam stayed longer than his usual visit, sending word to the War Office, extending his leave, and left only when assured the two old lions were improving. By early May, he arrived at Pemberley for a shortened visit, happy to spend his last two weeks with the Darcys before returning to his regiment.

The cousins quickly fell into their old routine of competition and teasing, racing their horses and hunting, and in the evening, would sit with Lizzy and Georgiana, talking and laughing into the early hours.

By the second week, after another delicious dinner with conversation consisting mainly of family gossip, laughter, political opinions, and reminiscing, it was a visibly satiated Fitzwilliam who finished his meal and gave sincere compliments to the cook, which Elizabeth accepted with all formality and promised to pass on.

"By the way, how was Easter, Richard?" Elizabeth knew that his father had been ill. Her mother, too, had been fighting off the same malady.

"I didn't know if I should mention anything." His eyes darted uncertainly toward Darcy. "Truthfully, it was far less enjoyable than in prior years, without the brat here in attendance." Fitzwilliam's demeanor turned somber. Placing his elbows on the table, he hesitated then looked directly across the table at Darcy, seeming to choose his words very carefully. "You know, as well as my father, Aunt Catherine has been very ill. I don't know if anyone has shared this with you as yet."

Elizabeth saw Darcy's body shift suddenly, spilling wine on his hand and the tablecloth. He swore slightly under his breath but didn't take his eyes from Fitzwilliam.

"What is her complaint?" Elizabeth asked gently, sensing the question Darcy most wanted to ask but could not. He raised his glass slowly to his lips and held his breath, watching his cousin over the rim.

"Oh, it was the same as my father--cough and lung inflammation, high fever. In fact, Aunt Catherine was so ill that Cousin Anne began nursing
her
, if you can believe that. Truth be told, I think I have never seen Catherine worse or Anne happier."

Darcy sipped his wine, returning the glass to the table. "Elizabeth's mother has had a similar complaint. I'm sure it will pass with the warmer weather. What do her physicians say?"

"Well, that is exactly what they are hoping, and in fact, both Father and Catherine are much improved already. If you wish, I can have Father apprise you of her condition, should it change."

Darcy hesitated. "Perhaps..."

Elizabeth saw the reluctance in his eyes and reached over to cover his hand with hers. "Yes, and thank you, Richard. We would very much appreciate your father keeping us informed."

Darcy's eyes shifted to hers and then stared sadly across her shoulder to the darkness outside.

***

The following morning, Elizabeth was reading in her favorite flower garden and enjoying the budding warmth and the moist smell of spring that had infused the air. She had recently confirmed with her doctor that she was also with child, and only she and William knew of it. It was still early in her pregnancy, a sacred time for them to enjoy privately as a couple, as well as a time that was making her sick to her stomach most mornings. This morning was no exception, and her nausea had awakened her very early.

Fitzwilliam appeared, a determined look upon his face.

"Well, I'm off tomorrow, I fear. I have just received a communique from Wellington. He's fed up with my lazy bones and won't allow me to put him off any longer. It appears I am needed for meetings with the allies in the coming months, and it may be a while before I am able to get leave again."

"We'll be unhappy to see you depart, Richard." She placed her hand gently on his arm. "William has so enjoyed having you here, as have Georgiana and I." Richard smiled and kissed her hand, then kept hold of it as he settled in next to her.

"Elizabeth, please see if you can persuade Darcy to end this strife with Aunt Catherine." She seemed surprised at the intensity of his request.

"Truthfully, Richard"--Lizzy's free hand gripped her shawl a bit closer and she looked down--"I am ashamed to admit how hesitant I am to reinstate their relationship, even if I could. I care little what she thinks of me, but she deeply hurt my husband, and that I find very hard to understand, let alone forgive." She squeezed Fitzwilliam's hand and smiled kindly. "However, I am truly very sorry that she was so ill."

Fitzwilliam turned to look unseeing at the far horizon, at a loss as to how much he should confide, not knowing how many of the family secrets Darcy had as yet revealed to her. He leaned closer, touching his shoulder to hers, bending his head to speak in confidence. "I know she hurt you both, but perhaps you don't know their history together, hers and Darcy's."

Elizabeth slowly put her book aside and turned toward him. "No, he has never told me anything, but I know his feelings run deeply for her."

Sighing, Fitzwilliam rubbed hard at the back of his neck. "Well, where to begin? Were you at all aware that Catherine and George Darcy were very near to becoming betrothed? I thought not. It's quite true, though. They were seriously in love from what I have been told. This is all wild family gossip, you understand, unsubstantiated and strictly confidential."

Stunned beyond belief, Elizabeth could not speak for a moment. "I had no idea! What caused him to ask for her sister Anne's hand instead?"

"Lord Louis de Bourgh was the cause, and Aunt Catherine's pursuit of a title. At any event, that is what my father always believed. It was Catherine who put pin to their betrothal--she ran off with Lord Louis, figuratively speaking, and married him. Darcy's father was devastated, brooded for several years. However, he was also very young, very handsome, and very healthy. Eventually he noticed Anne Fitzwilliam, Catherine's baby sister, a child he had teased and laughed at for years. Well, the child had grown into an even more beautiful woman than Catherine. It was a happy day for them both when he turned to her for comfort. In any event, they soon developed a true love match and married.

"However, my father always believed Uncle George never fully forgave Aunt Catherine, though to his credit, he did not attempt to keep the two sisters apart. The women were famously close, supported each other through joys and sorrows; both had suffered several miscarriages before their firstborns. My father swore Darcy's feet never touched the ground for his first four years, between Anne and Catherine. After his mother's death when he was twelve, he was very often with Aunt Catherine--much more than I ever was."

Elizabeth was speechless.

"Whatever Darcy may say to you now, it was Catherine who consoled him, took him into her home and comforted him when his mother died--after all, she shared his tremendous grief at Aunt Anne's passing. Darcy remained at Rosings for several months while his father dealt with his overwhelming grief and his new baby daughter. Poor Darcy refused to be in the same room with Georgiana at first. It was Catherine who reassured him and told him that his mother had given her life for the babe, making Georgiana the most precious thing in the world. Obviously, Darcy, being the excellent man he is, soon cast himself as his sister's protector and loved her unquestioningly, above everything else."

Elizabeth rose to pace the garden. "My goodness, Fitzwilliam, she could have been his mother if she hadn't chosen title over love"

Fitzwilliam nodded. "Please don't let Darcy know that I have told you all this; however, I wanted you to be aware that there is a special history between the two of them, and both are hurting. If something should happen to Aunt Catherine, it will dearly affect Darcy."

***

It was later, alone with her thoughts, that Elizabeth realized the full impact of what she had learned.
No wonder William had been so unnerved by the news of Lady Catherine's illness
. She immediately felt she should do something or say something to him, but Fitzwilliam had sworn her to secrecy. She vowed to herself that she
would
think of something, some opportunity of repairing the rift between the two.

It was soon after Fitzwilliam's departure, only a few days, while preparing for bed that Elizabeth mused again about Catherine--one of the few people who had ever taken a great dislike to her. It was human nature to want to be thought well of, and the notion that someone harbored such a disgust of her was unsettling. She could not think of another soul who had turned against her in that way, looking upon her with jealousy and hatred in their heart.

But wait
. She was seated before her mirror, hairbrush in use.
Wasn't there was another person who had taken an instant aversion to me, and on as grand a scale as Catherine?
The name itself sent shivers of resentment down Elizabeth's spine.

Caroline Bingley.

Her hairbrush paused for just a moment.
I haven't thought of that harridan in months.
She smiled to herself, embarrassed by the sheer depth of her own dislike. Caroline Bingley had been vicious and cruel when they first met, deliberately hurting not only Elizabeth but also inadvertently hurting the sweet Georgiana. Since her sister Jane's marriage to Caroline's brother, Charles, an uncertain truce had been called.

Jane had written her of Caroline's newest
affaire de coeur
, a titled gentleman once again, a viscount and friend of both Charles's and their sister, Mrs. Hurst. It was hoped by all that this time, Caroline had finally found happiness.
Caroline Bingley and Lady Catherine.
Two women she had known in her life who absolutely detested her. She absentmindedly braided her hair as she pondered.

Why?
What could I have possibly done to either that they hate me so?
The only common thread Elizabeth could imagine was Darcy. Yes, it had to be Darcy. Unthinkingly, she undid her braid once again, ran her fingers through the long tresses to unwind them, and began to brush. What was the main reason that caused women to hate other women?

Jealousy.

Elizabeth stopped her hairbrush in midstroke.
They both loved Darcy. In different ways, of course, but the intensity of their love for Darcy had turned them both against the one person whom they perceived had taken him from them. Jealousy.

Caroline was in love with Darcy. Oh! Good heavens, Elizabeth
.
Only took you a year and a half to figure this one out--so much for your quick mind. I must ask him about this. I wonder if he knew how much Caroline may have loved him.
Lizzy wrinkled up her nose in revulsion while a surprisingly belligerent-looking female stared back at her from the mirror. One eyebrow arched.
Upon further reflection, perhaps it would be unwise to remind him. If he did know, it would only bring back those memories. If he did not know, it could cause him to think of what might have been. No, no, no, that's ridiculous. I'm surely more secure than that.

***

She entered their bedroom to see her husband at the windows, staring pensively out over one of Pemberley's beautiful small lakes, brooding thoughts apparently taking him a dozen miles away. There was a troubled look on his face that cleared immediately upon seeing her. "There you are, little one. Did you know I was watching you brush your hair for quite a while? You were so lost in your thoughts you braided and unbraided your hair twice." Wearily, he rubbed his hand across his eyes as he walked toward her. "Have a care, Lizzy, you'll be bald within the year, brushing with that much ferocity."

He came to a stop before her, a contented smile on his face as his eyes swept lovingly over her. It was a pleasant surprise to him how her young woman's body was already changing subtly with her expectancy--her delicate breasts beginning to swell, her slim hips becoming rounder. "How are we feeling? Has the child moved yet?" He pulled her into his arms, wrapping them protectively about her as he hugged her close.

She nuzzled into his chest. "Heavens no, we're not even two months into this. I shouldn't even have begun to show yet--or have I?" Like a purring cat, she rubbed her cheek against the exposed part of his open shirt and kissed his skin, the smell and warmth of it always arousing. "Do I look heavier?" Although she was laughing, she appeared nervous, vulnerable.

"No, of course not. You look beautiful, incandescent. You are Mother Earth." He gave her bottom an affectionate pat as they walked toward the bed. Lizzy's side had already been turned down, the counterpane folded neatly across the foot. She climbed in, and he tenderly covered her, then he blew out the candle on her nightstand.

"William..." she began as she held up his side of the comforter, smiling sweetly at him as he climbed in.

"Yeeessss, Mrs. Darcy..." He drew her body to him, kissing her soft, white neck, his hand moving sensuously down her side and around to cup that darling little bottom he loved so. Deeply inhaling the sweet powder scent at the swell of her breasts, he tugged the tiny bow of her nightgown open with his teeth.

"I have a rather delicate question to put to you."

He groaned and chuckled. "Can't it wait, Lizzy?" he murmured into her cleavage and then licked her there delicately. "I am otherwise occupied at the moment. Just getting to the good part, if you catch what I mean."

He felt her body stiffen in his arms. "No, William, it cannot wait. Not if you want my full participation." He stopped at once. It was very quiet as he lifted his head up to rest on his hand.

"Well, this sounds a trifle ominous. Very good, Mrs. Darcy, I am at your service. Ask away."

In the darkness he felt more than saw Lizzy lean back onto her pillow, uncharacteristically hesitant and unsure of herself. It had been difficult for him to put brakes to his lust, but he sensed that something was bothering her this evening. Suddenly he became fearful about the pregnancy and braced himself up onto his elbow, trying to make out the look in her eyes. His hand brushed hair from her face then covered her stomach. "What is it, dearest? Is it the babe?"

"Did you ever have the feeling that Caroline Bingley was in love with you?" She blurted the question out before she could think twice.

He was startled, but initial relief quickly rushed through him, an amused grin teasing the corners of his mouth. "From where, in heaven's name, is this question coming?"

She let out the breath she had been holding. "Nowhere, really. My mind just wandered as I brushed, grown weary, I suppose, of being concerned with nursemaids and new clothes for after the confinement. I believe it is a fairly straightforward question, however. Was she in love with you?"

"Caroline Bingley was involved with several men, Elizabeth."

A premonition, only a slight quiver, touched at Lizzy's heart.

"So I have heard repeatedly; however, that is not what I asked, is it?"

He remained very still for several moments, the room in quiet shadow. "Something must have motivated this line of thought. What has made you ask such a thing, Elizabeth?"

"Well, I was making a sort of mental comparison between Lady Catherine and Caroline."

With that, Darcy gave a short laugh and quickly apologized. "Go on, dear, you were saying?"

"I believe that Lady Catherine took such a dislike of me because she loves you deeply and felt that I was taking you from her and her plans for your future. Caroline is the only other person I have ever known to take me into such disgust."

They stayed without speaking for several moments.
Either he has fallen asleep, or he's upset with me.
She fidgeted with the blanket edge, frustrated at not being able to clearly see his expression in the dark. Her heart was pounding.

"Elizabeth, I don't wish to lie to you, and I really don't think there would be any advantage to either of us if we continued with this conversation."

Elizabeth stopped breathing before the sentence's end. It was a while before she found her voice again. "It is a simple question, Mr. Darcy." Raising herself onto her elbow, she turned toward him, steadying her voice as best as she could. "It requires a simple yes or no answer. I will not think badly of you if you realized that she was in love with you, and I will not think badly of you if that was something of which you were ignorant."
And I hope that's all there is to this
.

Abruptly, Darcy lay back down and turned his back to her. "I don't believe it is in our best interest to converse about this any further. End of discussion, I'm afraid. Good night, Elizabeth."

She had been dismissed.

It became deadly quiet in the surrounding universe, not a breeze nor a whisper nor a breath could be heard. Even the cicadas and frogs were stunned. Only the snores of the two mastiffs lying before the foot of their bed interrupted the quiet night. Elizabeth waited, terribly alone it seemed, for several minutes.

"William, are you angry with me?" she whispered but received no answer from his side of the bed.

Elizabeth was becoming extremely alarmed. Darcy was never cruel, always a gentleman. Oh, he could still be aloof at times, but never with her. She sat up in their bed to try for a better look at his countenance. The faint outline of her husband's back in the dark revealed him to be facing the opposite wall of their bedroom.

"William?" she said softly. No answer.

"Fitzwilliam?" Still he did not answer.

Suddenly, a flash of perception, the unerring intuition of the female brain, illuminated her mind. She gasped.

"Mr. Darcy, did you have a love affair with Caroline Bingley?"

His silence was deafening. Elizabeth's heart pounded as she repeated the question, a little louder and much more strident. She roughly shoved his shoulder.

"Mr. Darcy, did you have sexual congress with Caroline Bingley?!"

His continued silence was all the answer she really required by that point. She scrambled from the bed, refusing to allow any part of her body to be contaminated by him, and stared down at that dark and now-evil form. It was as if Satan himself had crawled into bed between them. Eventually, he rolled onto his back then ran his fingers roughly through his hair. Next, he sighed. He then said the words all women dread to hear.

"Elizabeth, it was such a long time ago."

***

The following morning brought a surprise to Darcy's majordomo. When he entered the couple's bedchamber, the fire in the grate was completely cold, and the bed was empty. He looked in mild apprehension around an apparently deserted room. He knew instantly that something was dreadfully wrong as he scanned the broken vases and overturned books. The two dogs, Buck and Milo, looked up. They had been calmly ripping apart several bed pillows between them, feathers laying everywhere. Happy woofs were their greeting to Bradford, anticipation of their imminent run outside and breakfast sent tails loudly thumping. There was, however, no sign of human life anywhere.

It was clear that the bed had been entered at some point, but the covers were still in an almost pristine condition, not wrestled about, half off the bed and half on, as on most mornings. A movement on the settee in the adjoining sitting room, a figure covered by a great quilt, caught his eye.

The form groaned and turned toward the light streaming in through the windows where Bradford had just pulled back the curtains to reveal the extent of destruction. The form was Mr. Darcy!

He shielded his eyes quickly from the brightness, and once he had made out who the intruder was, put up his hand in greeting. "Bradford, good morning. Terribly sorry for this mess." He waved his arm vaguely to encompass the bedroom and then the rest of London. He let his head crash back down on the sofa.

He looked hideous--well, as hideous as the handsome Mr. Darcy could look. Bradford slowly entered farther into the room, now seeing broken picture frames and torn clothing, overturned chairs and one or two mirrors balanced precariously on their sides in the corners.

"Is everything all right, sir?" It was an absurd question. Clearly evident were the remains of the couple's first out-and-out brawl. It was also painfully evident to him that Darcy and Elizabeth, for the first time in their young marriage, had not slept in the same bed.

Darcy moaned and turned his face into the sofa again. "Mrs. Darcy and I have had a bit of a
contretemps
." He then slowly pulled the cover up over his head.

In another first in their relatively short months of wedded bliss, there was no evidence of the mistress of the house at breakfast, her most favored meal, or again at lunch, her other most favored meal. Several of the staff began to speculate about dinner and if the bottom of the lake should be investigated. The gossip in the servants' hall would stop whenever Bradford came through but revived the moment his door closed.