Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer (8 page)

"He's blushing!" Elizabeth was delighted. "Oh my goodness, Richard, please enlighten us!"

Knowing what had happened, Darcy was in heaven. "Oh yes, Richard," he mimicked Elizabeth's high-voiced excitement. "Please enlighten us."

"This is not now, nor ever could be, dinner conversation!" He began to bluster with his embarrassment. "You are making me out to be some sort of deviant, and that could not be further from the truth! We lived in ungodly conditions and suffered horrible deprivations..."

"That must have been those times when the Duchess of Hanover was not renting a nearby villa in some quaint Spanish town. I heard you saw quite a bit of her..." Catherine's eyes were like slits. "...and still do."

Georgiana wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. She's such a peahen."

Darcy was laughing, his eyes dancing with delight. "Lord save me, I had not heard of this. And where was the duke during these encounters?"

Elizabeth nearly felt sorry for her cousin-in-law, but not nearly enough. She turned to Georgiana instead for the gossip. "Is she the one with the really large"--she hesitated, raising her hands briefly before her chest--"inheritance?"

Mr. Bennet stared in wonder. They may have been the bluest of the blue bloods, among the most aristocratic of aristocratic families, but a true family they were, with all the fights, teasing, suspicion, and retribution inherent in the word. It was definitely a family that was insane,
but whose family was not
?!

Georgiana, joining in the raucous laughter surrounding her, suddenly became uneasy when she realized her aunt was intently watching her. Catherine's concerns often shifted quickly and without warning.

"Georgiana!"

"Yes, Aunt Catherine." Georgiana jumped to attention, turning toward her imposing aunt.

"Should you not have made your presentation by now?"

"Yes, Aunt Catherine, however..."

"You must be nearly thirty-seven, I should think. Never tell me you have not been brought out yet."

Darcy came to her rescue. "Aunt Catherine, Georgiana is but nineteen. We decided to wait an extra year because of Elizabeth's mother's passing and the baby being due
."

"Also, I
am
a bit shy and truly didn't feel really ready before this year." She gulped and stared nervously at her aunt. "I am not overly fond of crowds, you see." Huge understatement, that.

Darcy and Georgiana's eyes met. They had discussed this moment, but her knees still wobbled. He smiled his encouragement and nodded. The time had finally come, and there was no avoiding the unavoidable. "Aunt Catherine." Her voice crackled a little, and she began to blush. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes before proceeding in her sweetest voice. "Dearest Aunt Catherine, would you be so kind as to sponsor me?" Georgiana, having finally blurted out her request, glanced momentarily to Darcy for reassurance. The barn door had officially been thrown open.

Catherine looked up, stunned that it was even a question. "Why, yes, yes. Of course." She blustered and rocked back and forth in her chair. "Who else in this room could possibly qualify as your sponsor?" Although she tried to look nonchalant, a small tear ran down her cheek.

Catherine had only two unfulfilled dreams in her life. One was to plan the grandest society wedding ever for her daughter and nephew at St. George's Cathedral. The likelihood that her daughter, Anne, would marry, now that Darcy was taken, was remote at best. She had swallowed that bitter pill and learned to live with it.

Her other dream was to present her daughter at court and preside over her coming-out. Anne had been too sickly all her life for either. Over the years, Catherine watched as her friends, one by one, had presented their daughters and then their granddaughters.

Finally, one of her dreams would be coming true.

Georgiana jumped up and ran to her, threw her arms around Catherine's neck and hugged her. "This will be a most wonderful year. I just have a feeling about it," she declared to everyone at the table as tears moistened her aunt's eyes. "There will be a new baby in the family, my presentation at court, finally, and..." Georgiana looked devilishly at Fitzwilliam. "Perhaps if we are very lucky, a bride for my cousin!"

Everyone toasted this proclamation--everyone except Fitzwilliam, who very dramatically turned over his glass to the cheers of the men and the indignant squeals of the women.

***

After dinner, when the ladies left the men to their cigars and port, Lady Catherine turned her attention to answering any questions concerning pregnancy and childbirth she believed Elizabeth must be anxious to ask her. As she was opening her mouth to speak, they heard a raucous burst of laughter coming from the male threesome remaining in the dining room.

She stood for a moment and stared curiously at the door. "It is so very odd. That always happens when Fitzwilliam and Richard entertain the men after dinner. I hope I have enough port set aside; it is something that they certainly seem to enjoy so." She sat back down and removed several pages of script from her ample bosom. "Now, Elizabeth, I have written down my beliefs concerning this time of your pregnancy, all of which I will give you to take home. I have knocked about this world much longer than you have, and since, thankfully, your mama is no longer around, I want you to feel free to inquire of me anything that may be concerning you at the present time."

Lizzy stared blankly at the woman, her mind a tumble of terror.

"Go ahead. Ask away. Speak freely. Never be shy." Catherine's smile quickly began to go grim. They stared at each other for several moments. "Elizabeth, are you deaf or merely dumb?"

"Thank you, Aunt Catherine, for your concern. You are very kind, but I assure you I have no questions." She bent her head over her ever-present book, praying that the inevitable discussion to come would be brief and somehow not humiliating. Or that a comet would fall from the sky and come through the roof.

Lady Catherine scowled. Lizzy was nearly five months pregnant, already quite large, and without a mother's guidance, even a mother as odious as the late Mrs. Bennet. "No need for such courteous regard for my sensibilities, dear. I give you my wisdom freely." Taking Elizabeth's hand, she proceeded to launch into a long list of mother-to-be dos and don'ts, making especially clear all her thoughts and opinions on fresh air and exercise while with child (she was totally against them both, the reason being that the child's limbs and lungs were much too small and thereby would too easily tire), on eating large amounts of fresh fruit and vegetables while with child (again, another problem in that they produced poisonous gas within the system, infecting the unsuspecting unborn), and on getting plenty of sleep while with child (positively the worst thing one could do, as that it placed the child in awkward positions for long periods of time that could cause facial disfigurement).

Also strictly forbidden were excessive laughter and spicy foods and any sort of physical expression of emotions, especially marital obligations.

"I suspect that it must frighten the baby, you know, all that bouncing and moaning and such. And then there is the problem of that protuberance repeatedly going in and coming out, going in and coming out, going in and coming out..." She rolled her eyes, all the while ensuring that Georgiana and Anne were not listening. After one or two seconds, she motioned Lizzy forward again, whispering very gravely into her ear, "At least that's what the earl and I decided when I carried Anne. In retrospect, however, it may very well have frightened the earl more than the babe."

Lizzy stared at her for several seconds, her lips twitching. "Thank you, ma'am," was all she could finally squeak out.

It was turning into a horror of a night. There were room-rattling booms of thunder and frightening light flashes, both competing with the rain that slashed across her windows. Catherine heard and saw none of it, her mind occupied solely with events of the past. Though not quite an old lady yet, she was well on her way, or at least that was how she felt on nights such as these, the nights she sat alone with her memories.

She had more memories now in her life for company than realities, so she often would revisit her youth and what she considered her "useful" days. Just now she was thinking back to the summers and springs and autumns when families thought nothing of caravaning halfway across England and Scotland to visit, loaded with gifts and servants and dogs and children.

She smiled, remembering all those children, especially her two boys, so different from each other and yet boon companions, mischievous, competitive, and loyal as brothers. She laughed softly. Had there ever been a time they were together that was not disastrous for her?

She loved those boys fiercely, especially Darcy, as if he was her own, and perhaps he would have been if she hadn't chosen the path of prestige over love. She rarely admitted to regretting anything in her life, but that decision, in retrospect, had possibly been a mistake.

There was a soft knock on her door. "Come in," she called, dabbing away any trace of her melancholy.

"I wanted to say good night," Darcy said as he entered, closing the door behind him. It had been his lifelong nightly ritual when in residence to visit her before he retired. He looked sleepy but happy. Even with his hair tousled, without his jacket or cravat, he looked magnificent.

"Is everything all right? Is Elizabeth settled?" She reached out her hands to him.

"Yes, everything is perfect. She's rather overwhelmed by your kindness to her and to her father. I am, also, by the way. Thank you, Aunt Catherine." Darcy took her hands and, after kissing them both, he sat next to her on her settee. He tucked his aunt's arm through his own.

"Well, I behaved rather badly before. I do freely admit it, but only to you. I will deny this to anyone else. I was so very disappointed, you see. I had really come to believe that you and Anne would marry one day."

"I always told you we would not, though. Neither Anne nor I wished it. Why did it come as such a surprise?"

"This may come as quite a shock to you, Darcy, but I can be a very stubborn, opinionated person." She immediately raised her hand between them in order to deflect any protests to which he would certainly give voice. He remained aggravatingly silent.

"No, please don't contradict me." She lifted one eyebrow at his firmly sealed lips. "I know my faults, few as they may be." When Darcy dared look, he saw she was grinning back at him, and he laughed softly.

"Tell me truthfully, how did Richard fare in overseeing?"

He groaned then laughed, rubbing his hand across his forehead. "Well, we just went over a few items; it will take awhile to review everything, but all in all, it is rather a mess. He cannot add, you know, nor spell, and his record-keeping is abysmal. He paid several merchants more than once, and we'll need to contact your tenants to see who actually forwarded their rents. I'll tell you one thing, however--he has a real love for the land. He kept excellent accounts of crop and timber proceedings. He'd make a good tenant farmer, maybe even an adequate squire one day."

"I tried to sit with him, but we're like oil and water so much of the time. He has no experience in running an estate this size, no training to speak of, being a second son, and yet he was the only one who stepped forward with assistance."

"I am sorry this all came about. I had no idea you were that ill, or we would have been here. As it was, he informed us about it later, when you were already on the mend." Darcy shook his head "Regardless, I should have contacted you; it was unforgivably childish of me to sulk so long, and he never told me about your steward or your secretary! Both incapacitated at the same time--imagine that. Quite a bit of bad luck, that."

"Don't give me that smug look!" She glanced sideways at him and smiled. "Yes, Darcy, I know they are old--just as I am, but, heavens, I cannot just push them out if they don't wish to leave! I owe them so much, and they are part of my family. They are just as much a part of Rosings as I am and I will keep them all around me for as long as I can!"

They sat together for more than an hour and talked about old times and memories long forgotten. They laughed a little and cried a little until Darcy let out a great yawn and stretched his arms.

"Well, I must get to bed, and so should you, Catherine." He helped her to her feet, and she suddenly appeared very tiny and frail to him. Gone was her immense wig, and in its place, a graying braid rested over her shoulder, most of her hair hidden under her favorite nightcap. Her feet were in slippers instead of the higher-heeled shoes she wore to give herself a needed inch or two, and the wrinkles around her eyes and face were more exposed now that she was unadorned with powder or lip rouge or the mysteriously moving patch that Richard and he used to laugh about.

"I don't sleep as much as I used to, Darcy," she said. "As you get older, it becomes harder to turn off memories, and believe me, they devil you to distraction at night. You get off to bed, though. The storm is still wailing outside, and you have a lovely young wife awaiting you who will want comforting during all the thunder. You need not give this old woman any more of your time."

Darcy hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead before saying good night. Then she was alone again. She thought that perhaps she would go to Anne's room and check on her, a mother's habit that would never die.

Picking up her candle, she went out into a hall dimly lit with wall sconces, smiling when she saw Darcy close the door to his suite of rooms. That was good--another of her babies would soon be safely in bed.

She padded her way down to Anne's suites to look in at her sleeping daughter, walking over quickly to close the windows that were allowing in some of the pouring rain. Clucking and grumbling, she brought a towel from the linen drawer and placed it over the rain-soaked carpet.
Will these children never learn to listen to me?
She harrumphed.

With relaxation still eluding her, she decided to check on the other rooms, to make certain servants were everywhere if needed. Jamison had done a good job, she noted to herself, as there appeared to be a footman every ten feet, the lightning outside illuminating the old mansion every few moments. She turned down the far hallway toward Fitzwilliam's rooms, laughing to herself at his earlier comments. He truly was rather far from the main part of the house. He and Darcy had always had the west wing of rooms to themselves whenever they visited. She felt bachelors should have their privacy, especially from a nosy old aunt.

She saw a faint light below his door
. Is
Fitzwilliam still awake?
It must be nearing 3:00 a.m.
The two footmen assigned there bowed at her approach, which she amiably acknowledged, and then on her signal, one knocked softly on the door. After a few moments, she heard her nephew's gruff bark. "Who is it?"

"Eleanor of Aquitaine. May I enter?"

She heard him chuckle. "Enter at your own peril. The Lionheart is in residence."

When the door opened, he arose slowly from his seat before the fire. Her eyes immediately focused on the balcony doors as she approached him. They were flung wide, allowing in the cooling air.

"Good heavens, Richard, it's raining outside, you fool." She marched over to the doors to close them, barely refraining herself from closing the windows also. "It is freezing in here."

"Aunt Catherine, the rain is not coming in this direction, and the room is only now beginning to cool down. God in heaven, woman, how can you think it freezing? Are you completely devoid of blood?" His eyes were scowling even as his lips fought off a smile.

"What a ridiculous thing to say! Of course I have blood, extremely blue blood, as you well know, and don't call me 'woman' in that tone, as if I'm a tavern wench or camp follower or French." He turned away to hide his grin as she sat in the chair next to his.

"What on earth are you doing up at this late hour?" She leaned toward him as he sat, stared at him with concern, noting the dark circles beneath his eyes. An empty glass and nearly empty whiskey bottle were on the table next to him.

"I couldn't sleep." His voice sounded a bit rough. "It happens to me now and then, especially during thunderstorms. That's why I like the doors and windows open. I dislike being locked in when it rains."

"You're a young healthy man; of course you can sleep. Don't be ridiculous! Apply yourself."

As he settled his back into the chair, he studied her face from lowered eyes. Much of the weight she had lost during her illness had not returned, and he noticed that her skin looked paper-thin, that her graying hair looked wiry where it was not confined within her braid. She looked brittle almost, fragile as glass.

"God, but I feel old tonight, Richard." She removed her cap to vigorously scratch the back of her head, yawning loudly. Gradually her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, and she saw a room in disaster--clothes and shoes thrown about, dishes resting upon the floor. His valise was opened but unpacked and rested on a bench beneath his window.

Her eyes grew huge. "Good heavens!" She was certainly wide awake now. "Richard Fitzwilliam! Did I not send up a footman to act as your valet this visit?" As any mother would instinctively do, she arose from her seat and began picking up shirts and pants, straightening chairs and stacking the amazing array of dirty plates, all the time grunting and clucking her tongue with every dirty stocking and wrinkled neck scarf.

This was the last thing he needed this evening. His eyes rolled in irritation. "Yes, you did... I sent him away."

She turned to him. "Whatever for?"

"He didn't like me."

"Well, of course he didn't like you--
he's a servant
!" After placing the folded clothes upon his dresser and the plates on the sideboard, she sat back down again. "To paraphrase our dear Lord, 'No prophet is without honor except with his own valet.'"

For a moment she engaged in a struggle to return her nightcap properly to her head, finally assuring herself that it was situated correctly. Exhausted from her ordeal, she sighed loudly. "Not all servants are as loyal as your batboy, O'Malley. Where is he, by the way?"

Fitzwilliam rubbed his eyes. "That's my batman, not batboy, and for some unexplained reason, he wished to remain in London and spend some private time alone with his wife before we return to Paris."

His aunt's only response was an uninterested, "How fascinating."

He regarded her with a mischievous grin on his face. "And what on earth are
you
doing up at this late hour, stalking the hallways like the demented Lady Macbeth?"

"Well, as people age, they don't need quite as much sleep as the young."

"In that case, I wonder that you bother coming up to your room at all," he mumbled then grinned when he saw her glare.

"I heard that. You are becoming much too cheeky, young man. I was talking with Darcy, if you must know." She smiled. "It was good to speak of old times again with him. But he went off to bed, and so should you!" Her gaze slid once again over the bottle on the table then to the empty glass. Their eyes met.

"You seem to be drinking quite a bit, Richard." Her voice had grown serious and quiet. "Much more than I ever remember, and I am growing more and more concerned about you, do you know that?" Her brow arched in inquiry as she watched him, waiting for his response. She was never one to be subtle.

"Awww... please do not start in on me again, Aunt," he groaned. His shoulders hunched forward, and he rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his neck with his hand. "I am not up to battle form tonight."

"This is not to be borne, Richard, it really isn't. You have such a... a heaviness about you at times that it breaks my heart. If there is something bothering you, you should speak to someone. Speak to Darcy. Do you feel ill? Or do you still feel the effects of the battles? Your injuries? Waterloo? Talk to a doctor, perhaps, but find out what troubles you so."

He stared into the fire for a long time. Although the nightmares and flashbacks had, thankfully, begun to lessen, lightning and thunder always seemed to trigger his memories once again. How could he tell anyone of what he had been through, what he had done, what brutality he had seen these past ten years, battle after battle, mankind's atrocities to the weaker and more vulnerable? War was nothing but legalized butchery. It was condoned insanity.

The ghosts of the past would sometimes flood back with the dark, so he kept the candles burning. Still, he was haunted with the sounds of men and animals screaming, the smell of blood and gore in his hair and on his hands, the smell of urine and shit and fear, the screams of maniacs in the heat of battle, the soldiers who viciously raped and tortured. His eyes squeezed shut at the memories. The storm outside raged on.

"What are those?" she asked, pointing to a stack of letters strewn across his desk.

"Believe it or not, those are words of sympathy I am still writing to the families of fallen soldiers, telling each and every one how their sons and husbands died valiantly in battle in the service of their country." His voice sounded lifeless, and his eyes were red-rimmed. "That is finally the last of them, for now."

"Is there any truth to what you write?" she asked quietly.

He shrugged. "I've written hundreds of these letters, thousands perhaps. There is no way to know how even a fraction of them met their ends, but no one wants to think of a loved one dying without honor or dying alone. I just hope it helps someone, somehow." How could he describe to her the mutilated corpses, stripped naked and robbed, buried in mass graves with no hint of their identities? God, he felt so old tonight.

He was tempted to pour himself another drink but stopped, ashamed for her to see him. She looked different without the wigs and jewels, paint and elegant clothes, older than her fifty-odd years, rather grandmotherly and touchingly concerned. He would pour himself the drink once she left, and then maybe he could get a few hours sleep yet.