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

Oh dear. She gulped and pressed her hand across her forehead. I must remain calm, must remember to breathe. I am in the middle of London, at Yuletide, surely someone is about—somewhere. Where is Georgiana? Georgiana will help me. Dear sweet, gentle, little Georgiana. What a truly wonderful sister she has been to me. She’ll make such a good aunt. I do so adore her. She began to call out her beloved sister-in-law’s name but remembered that sweet, gentle, little Georgiana had run from the house that morning, unable to stand the tension any longer. She had fled to some holiday party with Emily and two other young girls. Scrawny little ingrate, leaving me to wallow here like a beached whale, alone and helpless.

Another pain caused Elizabeth to double over and scream.

***

Amanda Fitzwilliam was making her first steps into her new life, and to liberty, the American Revolution’s motto of Don’t Tread On Me her silent mantra—very silent. It was early evening, and her mother-in-law, finally recuperated enough to enjoy the holidays, had taken Emily and Georgiana to another one of the interminable holiday house parties that the upper classes apparently thrived upon. She would be gone for three glorious days. The timing for their escape could not have been more perfect.

When Amanda was certain that the old woman had departed and that the servants had left or were distracted with celebrations for the evening, she bundled up Harry and waited for her husband’s arrival. She waited as long as she could before her nerves just snapped. Grabbing a small bag that she had prepared with a few clothes for them both, she quietly slipped down the stairs.

Without her husband to accompany her through the streets, necessity developed a new plan. She spoke with one of the maids that had befriended her, telling her to get together a bag, that they would be going away visiting for a few days for the holidays. That girl was now sitting on the back stairs, nervously waiting and chewing away at her bottom lip. “Come along, Mary. Have you packed a bag for yourself? Good. This will be great fun, you’ll see.”

Setting her bag down for a moment, Amanda picked up the sleepy Harry, reclaimed her small valise, and then began leading the way down the stairs, out the back door, and across the avenue, racing against the quickly fading daylight. “Hurry though, Mary. We must hurry. Night is falling. It is only a few blocks.”

Since the elder Lady Penrod’s instruction to Mary had been to feign friendship with the American while secretly reporting back regarding Amanda’s activities, Mary reluctantly agreed to accompany her. “I don’t know, ma’am,” she squeaked out. “Won’t ’er ladyship be that mad at me for this?”

“Nonsense, Mary, it is but for a few days at most, a little holiday just for ourselves with some friends.” Amanda craved sweets at the moment and thought that would be a certain allurement. “There will be lots of chocolate and cake.” She stopped then for a moment to resettle her child more comfortably on her hip. She hadn’t realized how much Harry had grown and how heavy he had become, but it was much quicker to carry him than to coax the tired child along.

Lord, but the boy was heavy.

***

It was a strange little procession that scurried through fashionable Mayfair and on toward St. James Street, attracting not a slight amount of attention from the few souls brave enough to face the frigid evening temperatures. Amanda forced herself to slow her pace, trying to avoid the curious glances of passersby, plus, she was quickly tiring with the added weight of Harry in her arms. “Only a few blocks more,” she called out loudly to reassure Mary. Darkness had already settled in among the tree boughs heavy with white sparkling powder.

A pair of gentlemen rushing past doffed their hats. A curious dog followed them for a block or more and then lost interest. Sleigh bells rang in the far distance. They heard intermittent laughter from unseen dwellings, and then a harp begin to play “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” in a home gaily lit with candles. They slowed for a moment to rest and listen as faraway voices sang, “ Good tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy… ” But too soon, the song ended, and there was silence surrounding them.

The truculent maid kept lagging behind, mumbling angrily and struggling with her nearly empty suitcase. “Mary, please keep your eyes forward. I don’t know why you are so concerned with what is behind us. Please walk faster.”