Karen Wasylowski - Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer

“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.

“Something else is bothering you—out with it.”

“What if there are twins in there?” Darcy shook his head. “She’s so big, much larger than I had imagined she would be at this point. But mayhap it is because she’s such a tiny thing. I don’t know anymore. The proportions appear all off to me. And her delivery is not until sometime at the end of January.” He sighed heavily. “At any rate, do not forget about Georgiana’s debut and presentation. That will require Elizabeth and me to reside in London from before Christmas and then throughout the entire social season.”

“I have been trying to forget. Georgiana cannot be ready yet for this. I’m not ready yet for this.”

“She can, and she is. She and her maid have already arrived in London, and she’s commenced shopping. From what I have heard, she and Elizabeth are planning a major campaign. To them, we go to London for the dressmaker, not for childbirth. It’s a good thing I’ll be there to keep Elizabeth in check, or she’ll be wielding that immense body of hers around every shop in town. As Georgiana’s other guardian, you will be expected to be on hand for the presentation at court and the presentation balls and Almack’s, so save some leave time for then, also. One must never forget Almack’s.”

Fitzwilliam threw down his napkin and pushed back his chair. “Well, evidently I’ll be using a lot more time this year than I had anticipated. I do have it coming, unfortunately, so that should not be a problem. Surely, though, you will want to present her at court yourself alone?” He looked hopefully at Darcy. “You are, after all, her closest male relative.”

“Forget it, Richard. We will jointly have that pleasure. As her co-guardian, I would not think of depriving you of this bliss.”

Fitzwilliam smiled evilly.

“I’ve just had a delightful thought. Do you realize, Cousin, that if our baby girl is not successful in her first season, if she does not snag a prospective suitor, if she is not married by next year, you will have to go through the whole season again, Almack’s and everything, and without me. I’ll be in Paris with the returning army of occupation.”

“Black-hearted bastard,” Darcy mumbled to his cousin’s retreating back and finished off the last of the coffee.

Leaving Rosings had been harder on Lizzy than she could ever have imagined three weeks before, let alone two years ago.

Once Darcy and Lizzy had entered the carriage, Darcy called up to his driver, “Henry, take your time going home. I’m bound that we’re going to enjoy this solitude.” He settled himself back into the seat and pulled Lizzy to him, resting her back on his chest for support then, finally beginning to relax, he stretched long legs out to the seat across from them, and they took off toward home.

They rode for a long time in silence, his cheek resting on top of her head, his arms encircling her and holding her close. “This could go on forever, and I wouldn’t mind,” she whispered sleepily.

Her back didn’t hurt for once, and her feet weren’t too swollen. She was in heaven. He kissed the top of her head and rested his cheek there again. Both of them closed their eyes to the rest of the world.

“Oh, William, in all the excitement last night, I forgot to tell you something.” He groaned a little in reply, preferring his drift into unconsciousness to conversation.

“You will never guess who came to see us the day you escorted Father home.” He barely heard her voice. The carriage was rocking like a cradle, and he was half asleep and half awake. “Caroline Bingley.”

The name slowly made its way into his brain but elicited no impression for several seconds. Suddenly, his eyes popped open.

“Who did you say?” He attempted to sound casual.

“Caroline. Caroline Bingley.” Lizzy giggled at the memory of the beast’s meeting with Lady Catherine. “I imagine she actually wanted to see you but had to settle for Aunt Catherine, Anne, and me.” Darcy’s heart began pounding, his voice trying to remain steady.

“What did she have to say for herself?” he asked.

“Nothing too much. At first I was horrified having both Caroline and Aunt Catherine alone in a room with me, but believe me, it wasn’t long before Caroline was being eviscerated by Aunt Catherine.” Lizzy gave a delighted chuckle, any attempt at pretending indifference being long forgotten.

“I’m sorry to be so gleeful about it, but it was truly a sight to behold, watching someone else being attacked by your aunt. I have the distinct impression either Aunt Catherine is completely dotty or she is the slyest fox in the henhouse.”

“More than likely it’s a combination of both.” Darcy closed his eyes, trying not to panic. It didn’t sound as if Caroline had said anything to her. He should have just told Lizzy the truth about Netherfield, saving himself from another lie. I can tell her everything later, he reasoned, after the baby is here.

“She didn’t give any explanation for a visit though?” he asked.

“No. I truly think that Aunt Catherine had her so confused that she completely forgot what she was about.” Darcy smiled, relieved that Caroline’s deception and his visit to her were still unknown to Lizzy.

“That’s the first time I heard you call her Aunt Catherine instead of Lady Catherine.” He kissed her head again and rested his chin on it. “I think we are making real progress.”

“I’m feeling more part of the family every day. After ten or twenty years, I shall be right at home in all this luxury.”

“Get some sleep, will you? I need the rest.” He pushed his hat down over his eyes and closed them, letting his thoughts ruminate. Why in the world had Caroline come all that way? What could she have up her sleeve? He began drifting deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.

“By the way”—Lizzy’s voice sounded groggy—“where is my mother’s locket? I should like to be wearing it when I have the baby.”

His eyes opened with a shock. The locket! Oh, dear merciful God in heaven, he didn’t have the locket. He had left it at Netherfield and never returned.

“William? Are you sleeping?” He didn’t answer her and remained very still. “I’ll pester you tomorrow,” she murmured and was soon snoring softly. Darcy, however, was not going to sleep any time soon.

Fighting a brutal and sudden gust of frigid November wind, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was making slow headway in his march across Mayfair, advancing doggedly toward the townhouse of his cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy. Onlookers not distracted by their freezing extremities saw a tall, broad, and very familiar soldier passing by them. Hunched shoulders beneath a nearly floor-length, battered military greatcoat, muscular legs resembling tree trunks encased in scruffy military knee boots, gloved hands grappling at the cloak’s broken neck closure. This pathetic excuse for an ensemble was topped off by a large, dark bicorn hat that had been pulled low and was plain and battered, absent of fancy feathers or brass.

Bent against the cold and sleet, he was presently lost in thought, having just left his general’s home. It was November 11, 1817, and Colonel Fitzwilliam was returning from a disturbing morning meeting with Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington—his mentor, commanding officer, and dear friend.