Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer

hand down within her chemise and kneaded and rubbed until her tense muscles began to relax, the warmth and firmness of the back rub quickly beginning to loosen all the anxiety of the sad morning. Giving her shoulder a quick kiss when he finished, he pulled his wife’s backside against him, and they then easily fell into their normal spooning position from home, fingers intertwined together, arms laced, and hugs secured.

“Did you hear what I asked you?”

“Yessss.” He sighed, no immediate sleep in sight. “I imagine you are speaking of Lady Catherine and Fitzwilliam. I saw them only briefly, and they were gone before I could approach.” In truth, he felt very guilty that he had not contacted her directly during her illness, only receiving reports from Fitzwilliam and her doctors. The sight of her there today shamed him and brought to the forefront of his mind the folly of holding this grudge. Life was short, he was learning, and never to be taken for granted.

“She looked very pale and fragile, did she not?”

“Yes, she did.” She could feel him shift uneasily. “I’m not that surprised that she was there, really,” he said quietly. “In some fuzzy area of her brain she has accepted that you are part of her family, and family obligations are paramount to her.”

They were silent for a moment. He pulled another cover over them.

“Did you remove your stockings?”

“Elizabeth, I beg of you to be quiet.”

She was, for a moment.

“If you don’t remove them, your feet will become very warm, and then you shall have nightmares. And your boots will smell.”

His teeth ground for an instant, but he contained himself. “I never have nightmares—largely due to the fact that I seldom sleep anymore. And my boots do not smell.”

They were silent. He suddenly sat up and removed his stockings, again placing them with the utmost precision atop her dresser.

He’d make a fine valet, she thought briefly. Best not to voice that opinion out loud.

They were silent.

“Did you see Caroline Bingley?”

Darcy fought back an unpleasant curse. He was learning that infinite patience needed to walk hand in hand with marriage. “Yes, dear, I did. Will you be all right with Caroline there today?” he whispered.

“Yes, of course.” It was so quiet in their little room. “The real question is, will you?”

Gently he turned her chin, tilting her head back toward him.

“Elizabeth, let sleeping dogs lie.”

She smiled and nodded, kissing his mouth tenderly, but her heart and her newfound insecurities were fighting a silent battle with logic. She gave out a noncommittal “mm-hmm.”

Darcy sighed. This is going to be a long week.

***

The prior evening, Fitzwilliam had dreaded another lecture from Aunt Catherine. For two hours, she had vacillated between arguments for going to the funeral to pay her respects, or for not going and continuing the family conflict. In the end, as he knew it would, family duty won out over personal pride, and her carriage took them the long thirty miles to Meryton for the funeral, returning them back to Rosings almost immediately afterward.

Upon their arrival back to Rosings Park, Fitzwilliam barricaded himself within the business office with orders to all who would listen that he was not to be disturbed, unwilling to admit the fact that he was thoroughly mystified by his own accounting methods of a previous visit. He pulled at his hair and muttered vile obscenities, searching through what seemed like hundreds of receipts and reports and tenant requests. Everything looked the same, and nothing added up or made any sense.

Lady Catherine’s daughter, Anne, was in her bedroom suite, fearful that somehow a remnant of the illness that had felled Mrs. Bennet would return doggedly attached to her mother or cousin. She breathed into a boiling pot of clove-and-basil ointment, clutching a towel around her head, allowing only her paid companion to accompany her.

So it was that Lady Catherine sat alone that evening, her memories agitated, her ire poking the embers of her thoughts into flames as if bringing a dimming hearth fire to life on a winter morning.

It is insupportable…that he should look so well, never missed me at all, the ingrate! Where is the loyalty among the young these days? He’s even gained a little weight! Dread flooded her confused brain . Or, perhaps that is water retention. Oh no, the poor dear is retaining water. Oh, dear God, he probably has developed serious heart ailments of which he is not even aware!

Fitzwilliam burst into the room. “Do we grow peas?!”

She was startled, her thoughts still agitated. Already mourning the passing of her beloved Darcy, she stared at him several moments before she could respond. “What… yes, I believe we have lentils, peas, and barley on some farms to the north.” She gulped back the sense of foreboding that always arose when Fitzwilliam attempted anything agricultural. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing… nothing…” He began to close the door then stopped, staring intently back at her, nearly obscured within the deep shadows of the doorframe. “By the by, have you ever heard of gray mold?” She could see he was clutching a written report her estate manager had prepared shortly before the accident that had incapacitated him for nearly eight months. She let out a whimper.

Chapter 9

The day following the funeral an exceedingly kind note was delivered from Elizabeth to Rosings Park. Among many pleasantries and concerns expressed for her health, Elizabeth thanked Lady Catherine for attending the funeral and expressed her sincere hope that they would see her again soon.

Very courteous, very proper, Lady Catherine thought to herself, so pleased was she that her heart began to thump again, the cavernous labyrinth of her rather bizarre mind beginning to expand and contract with plans and machinations.

“It is as I have always said,” she spoke aloud to her daughter, Anne, as the young woman sat testing her vision by placing one hand alternately over each of her eyes. “Breeding is inbred, Anne, remember this. It cannot be crushed by paucity of means. A gentleman is a gentleman to his bones, and his offspring cannot help but absorb this.”

Anne gave an involuntary shudder and checked the pulse on her left wrist. She compared this to her right. They differed. She was doomed.

“Perhaps I was too harsh on the girl, even though she rudely spurned all my attempts to help her. The poor thing must be in want of a mother’s direction now. It really never was her fault that she was so impertinent or ill mannered; after all, she never had the advantages that should have been hers, had she had a more civilized upbringing.” Catherine glanced toward her daughter for verification, a daughter who now held two fingers against her neck to verify her previous pulse readings. “Anne, you have such exquisite posture, and you know you look absolutely glowing in that shade of lavender.”

Anne wheezed.

As excited as Catherine was becoming, she was hard put to retain any sort of dignified expression. “Imagine that mother attempting to raise five daughters without a governess! My goodness, how can a young girl possibly be expected to acquire any polish in that havey-cavey sort of atmosphere? I always felt that was odd, didn’t you? Her mother alone was obviously not up to such a task. Yes. Well, I can understand now how dear Elizabeth could have resented my kind offers of assistance.”

Catherine turned sharply toward her butler, the man innocently bringing in her afternoon tea and cakes. “It was never her fault, after all. I hope you realize that now!” she snapped.

Jamison automatically inclined his head for forgiveness.

“The poor dear had no training. None whatsoever! Think on that, Jamison, and try to show a little