The Three Colonels

“And more than three—heaven forbid! I cannot see how ladies can have more than three children. It has an air of”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“unseemliness.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

Someone put me out of my misery. Take a sword and run me through now.

The Darcys and the Tuckers sat at the table with the pair and regarded Richard’s predicament with amusement. Taking pity on him, Darcy whispered something in his wife’s ear, and she turned to speak to the colonel.

“Richard!” said Elizabeth. “While you are in Town, you must come by and visit your young cousin. He has grown much since your last visit, I declare.”

Richard was puzzled—How much could he have grown in two days?—until he recognized the rescue offered him. “Ah, I have been remiss in calling upon young Master Bennet. Forgive me, Mrs. Darcy. Regimental duties, I am afraid. I shall correct my failure at the first opportunity. Fatherhood suits you, Darcy, I think.”

Mr. Darcy nodded at his cousin. “Indeed it does, as long as one has a wife of sensibility and sense to manage the household.” He touched Elizabeth’s hand, and she rewarded her spouse with a brilliant smile. “’Tis a requirement to deal with the Fitzwilliam Curse.”

“Curse, Mr. Darcy?” asked Miss Halifax. “What can you mean?”

“Oh my, do you not know?” asked Elizabeth, eyes growing wide. “Being the wife of a Fitzwilliam or a Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to her situation, that a lady could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine, were it not for the curse. For centuries it has been thus. But the viscountess bears it well, and Mr. Darcy trusts that I shall do likewise.”

“But, Mrs. Darcy, dare I ask the nature of this curse? Please, I do not wish to offend, but I am full curious!”

Elizabeth turned her fine eyes to her husband. “Mr. Darcy, shall I?”

“Very well, madam,” replied her husband grimly. “She should be forewarned. I trust she shall not find it too distressful.”

Elizabeth looked around the table and leaned forward. “Well, my dear,” she continued to the girl in a low voice, “it seems that the wives of Fitzwilliams—my husband is one on his mother’s side—always have at least three children, and many times more, and always an odd number of them!” Her victim’s eyes grew wide, as did Mary’s, but for a different reason: She knew full well that Mr. Darcy had only one sister. “Oh, the scandal, the unseemliness,” Elizabeth put her hand to her eyes in a dramatic fashion, “but such is my lot in life!”

“Forgive me, my dear,” consoled Darcy.

“Do not speak of it, Husband,” she responded, taking his hand in hers for a moment. “I shall endeavor to persevere.”

Miss Halifax colored. Whether from shock at learning such a horrible secret or the mortification of being the butt of a joke, no one could say, for she chose that moment to excuse herself.

“Forgive me, I must attend my mother. Umm… good day,” she mumbled and left the table. It was well, because Richard could not contain himself much longer.

“Fitzwilliam Curse? Oh, that is rich!” he sputtered, trying to contain his laugh.

“Happy to have been of service, Colonel,” said Elizabeth, an eyebrow arched. “I hope we did not offend.”

“Oh, I am deeply mortified, madam,” he chuckled, “that I did not conceive it first!” Richard eyed his cousin. “I am fully aware of Mrs. Darcy’s talents, but I did not know you had it in you, sir.”

“Indeed,” said Mary. “It seems my sister has had an effect on you, Brother.”

Darcy lifted his wife’s hand to his lips. “All for the better, I can assure you.” Elizabeth blushed at the gesture. “What are your plans, Richard?” he asked.

“You mean besides attending weddings? Must not neglect Miss Bennet’s, you know. Thank goodness, it is the last one. I am sure Mrs. Bennet is in high spirits.”

Both Bennet sisters laughed, and both of their husbands gave each other a look. “You can very well say she is beside herself, Cousin!” cried Lizzy. “It is a day to which she has long looked forward.”

“‘Five daughters married! Oh, Mr. Bennet, I shall go distracted!’” Mary recited in a fair approximation of her mother’s voice, which sparked renewed laughter around the table.

“Will the earl and countess attend?” asked Darcy when he was able.

“Aye, if it is warmer. The old goat does not take much to traveling in the cold these days, and Hertfordshire is a bit closer to Matlock than London,” said his son with fondness. “Then, after I report to headquarters, it is off to Rosings.”

“In February? ’Tis very early,” replied Darcy.

Since Mr. Darcy’s marriage, it had fallen to Colonel Fitzwilliam to make the pilgrimage to Rosings to both pay court to Lady Catherine and to receive the annual report from the steward, as her ladyship was still not reconciled to Darcy’s choice of wife.

“All is well, I take it?” Darcy continued with a trace of concern in his voice.

With only the slightest of pauses, Richard answered, “Oh yes, nothing to worry about.” But the look in his eye, which his cousin did not fail to mark, gave the lie to his statement.

At that moment, there was a shuffling at the main table, and Mr. Bingley rose to give the farewell toast to the newlyweds.

*   *   *

“Sir John, what are you about? Put me down, sir!” cried Caroline.

The only answer she got was her husband’s laugh as he carried his bride over the threshold of Buford House. The servants, accustomed to the occasionally strange behavior of their employer, gave every appearance of being made of stone.

“Lady Buford, welcome home. At least for the next five days.”

“The servants! Sir John, please.”

He gave her his most disarming smile. “A kiss first, lass.”

“What? In front of the servants? Have you lost your senses?”

Sir John’s face was very close. “No,” he whispered, “just my heart.”

She looked into his deep blue eyes, and the fluttering started up again. “Close the door at least. All of London can see.”

He drew even closer. Just before he claimed her lips with his own, Colonel Sir John Buford said, “I care not.”

Caroline stopped thinking for a while.

*   *   *

Buford lay quietly awake in his wedding bed, his wife sleeping sweetly, curled next to him. Usually after a night of love, he wished for nothing but to fall fast asleep and only sometimes in the same bed as his lover. This time was different; Buford was overwhelmed by a feeling he had never experienced before. Contentment.

In his previous encounters, no matter how jolly or pleasurable his partner, Buford would become disenchanted in the end. Most times, he would want nothing more than to leave as soon as could be, fleeing back to his own rooms and trying not to feel too disgusted with himself for bedding a willing woman of the ton. He knew as long as he continued in that practice, it would always be so. He finally gave up the business before his last posting to Spain. Buford did not give up women—he was no Papist priest—but he made a solemn vow that, the next time he enjoyed a woman’s favors, it would not be with some other man’s wife but his own.

It was not long after the incident at Almack’s that he noticed he had begun comparing any eligible lady who was introduced, pointed out, or thrown at him with Caroline Bingley. Buford could not get Caroline out of his mind. From what he knew of her, she met many of the requirements he had for a wife: accomplishment, grace, ease in society, beauty, and a comfortable dowry.

Her disgrace at the assembly had an interesting effect on Buford. It became apparent to him that Miss Bingley was capable of great depth of feeling and that her nearest friends and family thought enough of her to protect her. Caroline’s apparent break with Annabella Adams and that set relieved Buford’s mind. He was aware of