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

“Richard, you do realize that you would not be able to come back. You’d be hounded by the authorities. You would both be fugitives.”

Fitzwilliam had waited as long as he could for the worst news. “Yes, I know. In truth, I am thinking it will be best if we relocate to America. She still has her family home in Boston and some relations there to help us begin anew. As you know, I have no real means of surviving here without my father’s aid, and I could not ask him to support something like this.” Fitzwilliam inhaled deeply and raked his hand through his hair again. “We don’t even have the luxury now of examining our options. She believes she’s with child.”

Darcy’s eyebrows shot up, and he smiled warmly at his cousin. “By God, Richard, I know it’s making it more difficult, but how glad I am for you.”

Fitzwilliam could not contain his own smile. “Truth be told, I’m rather pleased myself. I had never hoped to have children of my own.”

“America,” Darcy said quietly.

Fitzwilliam nodded.

“America!” Darcy repeated, the realization beginning to sink in.

“Will you quit repeating that like we’re going to the moon?” Fitzwilliam ground out in irritation.

“Bah! It’ll never happen.” Darcy tried to rally his drooping spirits. “I cannot possibly credit that Aunt Catherine would allow it!”

They sat in quiet for a long while. “Would you be leaving soon?” The thought of his cousin’s leaving weighed heavily upon Darcy, knowing it unlikely he would be able to return to England once they fled.

“I’d like to wait until the end of January, of course, until Elizabeth has the baby, but that may not be possible.”

“Well, how can I help you, Fitz?” Darcy asked.

“If needed, may we stay at your home, Darcy, for one night only? We would be leaving within the next week perhaps. I hate to drag you into this, but I want her to know she has a safe refuge to which she can escape should something go amiss.”

Darcy fought off his growing sadness and laughed. “Come on, you great idiot, you know we never need beg favors of each other. Meanwhile, let’s get you home. Lizzy is driving me mad with her worry.”

***

When they arrived at the Darcy’s house, Elizabeth was at the door to greet them, nearly in tears with her relief. Her hand firmly pressed onto her aching back, she waddled around the two men, staring up at their severe faces, greatly annoyed at not being acknowledged more demonstratively. She kept switching her weight from one foot to the next as they settled farther into the hallway and handed their coats and gloves to the footmen.

Unable to restrain herself a moment longer, she began her outburst. “Richard Fitzwilliam, where have you been? We thought something ghastly had happened to you. You gave us such a fright! Did he not, William? Yes, a terrible fright! Everyone has been out looking for you, did you realize that? Was it something to do with that woman to whom you were attracted? Did you have an argument or something? That is so common, really. You must not take it to heart. Look at William and myself. Remember how horrid he was to me in the beginning? That horrid, demeaning, contemptible proposal he made me at first? But we overcame that, you see. I have forgiven him completely—the insult to my family, the humiliation, the cold disdain for my feelings. We never think of it anymore.” Darcy and Fitzwilliam’s eyes met briefly over her head, and both valiantly refused to grin. Darcy leaned down and kissed the top of his wife’s head.

“Oh! Or was it something else? Did you get ill? Is he ill? Are you ill?” she shouted on the off chance that he had suddenly gone deaf.

Fitzwilliam passed by and patted her shoulder then turned to speak in a loud whisper. “Is there any chance she will find a period to this sentence and employ it soon?” He began to ascend the stairs slowly, the fatigue and stress of the past weeks beginning to overwhelm him. “I take it I still have my old rooms upstairs, or have you moved me somewhere else?”

“No, same place as always. Shall we wake you for breakfast?”

“Not if you desire to live.” He turned and walked back down the two steps, leaning over to kiss Lizzy on both cheeks. “Good night, beautiful,” he muttered, “and thank you for the concern.” He then disappeared up the stairs. Elizabeth and Darcy both watched him until he turned the corner of the hallway.

“Well, that is very strange, I must say!” Elizabeth whispered, one hand pressed to her lips. She turned to look up at her husband. “Very extraordinary, don’t you think? I shall have to go up and speak with him tomorrow.”

“Leave him be for a while, please, Elizabeth. And by the way, how did you get down those stairs? Hmmm? Did you call for assistance? I do not seem to see the carrying chair down here, do I?” Sighing, Lizzy rolled her eyes and waddled silently away, shaking her head and holding onto her back.

“Don’t you walk away from me, young woman!” Darcy’s hands were planted on his hips. “ I am speaking to you, Mrs. Darcy! ”

December 24, 1817

Dearest Emily,

I hope this letter finds you well and having a merrier Christmas at Penwood than we are experiencing here at Pemberley House. It is with a heavy heart I convey to you that my brother has lost his mind completely and is attempting to take us all down with him. There is to be no Christmas pudding, no mistletoe, no garlands of ivy, no gifts, and no wassail.

“What is left to you, dear friend?” you may ask. We are left with something akin to the Twelve Days of Good Friday rather than Christmas.

We are left with servants hiding below stairs whenever possible, hiding so determinedly that one must drag them from their rooms by their feet.

We are left only with the “Interminable Wait” for the “Blessed Event,” although my dear brother grows paler each time he calls it that. He has alienated everyone, including the dogs, and his temper is so tightly coiled at this time that I fear his eyeballs will pop from their sunken crevices.

What concerns me most is that even the doctor has taken umbrage, refusing to return his calls, saying there is “plenty of time yet.” He has even refused my brother’s requests to install the midwife a month early, and I fear my brother is more persistent than prudent. We will all be glad when this is over.

And dear Elizabeth is sometimes an afterthought in all the horror.

Many thanks to you for allowing me to vent my frustrations like this. You are a true “Friend in Need.” I shall look forward to seeing you Boxing Day at Bunny Bridges’s holiday gathering, which will probably be the only merry time this year for me.

Yours in friendship,

Georgiana Darcy

***

Miss Georgiana Darcy did not, in any manner, exaggerate the mood at Pemberley House at Christmastime in the year of our Lord 1817. There were indeed no wishes to stir into the Christmas pudding. There was no mistletoe, no garland, no wassail. A goose life was spared, the fowl in question remaining undressed and happily ignorant of his near-death experience. Perfectly good presents remained unmolested upon shop shelves.

Darcy’s fears for Elizabeth’s pregnancy had progressed over the past months into an unreasoning hysteria as he envisioned his delicate wife, now much larger horizontally than vertically, in the throes of childbirth. Nightmares disturbed his sleep.

And she had still another month to go. Another four weeks for that behemoth, that monster, that fiend within her to continue its unchecked growth! Darcy had purposefully removed Elizabeth from the country, from the very bed in which his own mother had died giving birth to Georgiana. He had purposefully brought her to his beloved London, the city with superior physicians and advanced medical practices. He had not, however, counted on the greater crowds, almost twice as large as the prior year, and the noise! London, bursting at this holiday season and still celebrating the allies victory! Was this damned commemoration never to end?

***

The house remained in expectant quiet and seemed deserted to the innocent outside world, the knocker still packed somewhere within the attic, giving notice that no visitors were welcome. But those who lived within knew better. They who lived there, and all of surrounding St. James, waited.

Damn it to hell! Darcy took one last look up the stairs before storming out into the frosty night. I should not be forced to run like some criminal, driven from my own house, by my own wife. He paced back and forth on his front stoop, his breath blooming out around him with every heated exclamation, every “harrumph,” every “damnation,” every “ridiculous” that was spat out. Stomping his feet on the chilly pavement, he slapped his arms to ward off the freezing winter temperatures. She’s lost her mind, that’s all there is to it. I shall care for her, of course, for as long as she lives, and if she’s not careful, that won’t be too much longer.