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

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

This book is dedicated to

the love of my life,

my best friend and fiercest champion,

my better half,

my Richie

“I assure you, I feel it exceedingly,” said Lady Catherine; “I believe nobody feels the loss of friends so much as I do. But I am particularly attached to these young men; and know them to be so much attached to me!—They were excessively sorry to go! But so they always are. The dear Colonel rallied his spirits tolerably till just at last; but Darcy seemed to feel it most acutely, more I think than last year. His attachment to Rosings, certainly increases.”

Lady Catherine de Bourgh

Pride and Prejudice

Volume II

Chapter XIV

1813

Prologue

1813

The two men stared off in different directions, making their awkward final good-byes to each other. They were, in appearance and comportment, as dissimilar as two men could be.

Though both were exceedingly tall, Fitzwilliam Darcy, the younger by nearly two years and a gentleman, was dark and handsome, elegantly dressed in the finest coat and neck cloth, breeches, and boots. His air was one of a man of elegance and breeding, his demeanor of a man three times his age: heavy, solemn, serious, and levelheaded. He was also shy to the point of seemingly rude indifference. The owner of one of the largest and wealthiest estates in England, inherited by him at the grand old age of twenty-one and then doubled, he had achieved his great success at the expense of his youth.

The elder of the two men, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, was bulkier, barrel-chested, and slightly rougher looking, dressed in his unkempt colonel’s uniform. An uninhibited joy of life exuded from him. He was like a large, gangly puppy, a happy, wild spirit trapped within a respectable soldier’s body. What he lacked in physical beauty he more than made up for in character, the magnetic center of anywhere he went and of everyone he knew. A second son, he had bought his commission into the army near the beginnings of the crusade to rid Europe of Napoleon. The past nine years of that devastating war had made him snatch life and laughter wildly, wherever and whenever he could.

Where the younger cousin was cautious to the point of being a recluse, the elder cousin was exuberant to the point of indiscretion. Each had adapted to his circumstances, impelled by an unconscious and very human bid for survival.

***

“Darcy, I cannot tell you how badly I feel about this business with Miss Bennet. If you had but told me of the depth of your feeling for her, I would have backed off. I would not have flirted half so much, and I wouldn’t have wagged my tongue so carelessly.” Feeling a bit guilty now for his actions Fitzwilliam leaned against the bureau in his cousin’s room watching as that man packed the remainder of his clothes. It was evident that his dearest friend and cousin was devastated over Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s refusal of his marriage proposal. Worse yet for the colonel’s conscience, her refusal had been in part based on his own gossipy revelations regarding the destruction of her beloved sister’s romance through Darcy’s intervention.

Darcy looked out through his bedroom window, across his aunt Catherine’s immense estate, Rosings Park, his intense gaze cast in the direction of the vicarage where Miss Bennet was visiting; reluctantly he returned his attention to his packing. Her emotional reaction haunted his thoughts. In her judgment, his very character was wanting to such a degree that she could never marry him, and worse, he was no gentleman. Her words stung his pride and his honor; her rejection caused him to question values he had regarded as inviolate.

“It’s done and over, Fitz.” The solemn young man sighed as he snapped his valise shut and then dragged it from the bed. “I’m sure I shall survive.” But his eyes were hooded and hollow, his shoulders drooping a little too low for the light weight of his bag. “This was a bleak Easter visit, though, I must confess.”

“Let me go over there one more time and speak with her; she may have returned by now. I can’t help but think that if you were willing to confide in her about Georgiana and Wickham, she must mean a great deal to you.”

“Leave it, Richard. It just wasn’t meant to be.” Darcy placed his bag on the floor and checked his pocket watch. “Besides, I think you have more important worries than my love life at the moment.” He looked at his cousin, his hands clasped behind him, his weight casually resting on his back leg.

The two were like brothers, closer really, and had been each other’s best friend and arch rival their entire lives. One was returning to his solitary existence in the country, the other to war.