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

Amanda tried to remain calm. Although they were to have waited for Richard’s arrival to help spirit them from the house, he was late, and she had panicked. He would know to find her at the Darcys’ house. He had told her she would be safe there.

***

It was then she noticed that the Darcy’s ornate wrought iron gate was unlatched and creaking, swinging freely. Apprehension grew within her. Following her gaze up the drive to the vast portico, she found it odder still that one of the double front doors was also open, illuminated from within by a dimming fireplace at the rear of the two-story, white-marble foyer. The front lamps were cold and unlit.

She walked hesitantly forward, drawing closer and closer to the forbidding black rail that surrounded the property, her heart pounding with unknown fear, unrealized danger. The night was so very quiet, eerie and still. Try to think logically now, ’manda, even if you are a woman. Her husband’s oft quoted and lovingly meant jibe caused her to grow bolder. After pushing back the imposing gate, she made her way up the circular drive to the front, setting Harry down finally before she attempted climbing the brick stairs. She instructed Mary to wait for her at their base and to hold her son’s hand then cautiously made her way to the door, calling out a “Hello!” as she pushed the front door fully open. “Mrs. Darcy, are you here?”

She heard a woman scream.

Chapter 2

Lizzy was struggling to rise when she heard the voice calling out to her from the entrance below. “Help me, God.” Her plea was nearer a whisper. With her legs trembling, her palms scraped and bleeding, her heart pounding, she managed to pull herself into a crouching position then lost her balance once more and screamed as she fell sideways, hitting her stomach against the chair. The pain was excruciating, whether from the fall or from within unknown. Terrified for her unborn child, she wrapped her arms around the little one and began to weep. Within moments, a presence knelt before her, and she blindly reached out to it, feeling a rush of relief when she clutched onto the warm, soft hand of another human being.

“Thank heaven you’re here.” She gasped for air then slowly opened her eyes to tiny slits. “By the way, who are you?” She was staring into the face of a stranger.

“Mrs. Darcy, please forgive me for barging into your home. The door was open downstairs, and I became alarmed when I heard your cry. Here, allow me help you.”

Elizabeth took a few more moments to catch her breath, resting back on her heels to look curiously about. Before her was a woman around her age, blonde and very attractive, dressed in an old-fashioned cloak and bonnet. Behind the woman stood a terrified-looking maid holding the hand of a frightened little child. Elizabeth inhaled deeply, a modicum of calm slowly returning. She shook her head. These histrionics will not do, she reasoned. I must get a grip on her emotions. Elizabeth gazed intently into the strange woman’s eyes.

“Forgive my present state. I am not usually so blunt when speaking or lax in my hospitality.” Suppressing all of her instincts toward hysteria, she forced herself to smile. “It appears that you have me at a slight disadvantage, however, madam, since you seem acquainted with me, although I do not recall the pleasure of meeting you before.”

“I am Amanda Fitzwilliam.”

“I am exceedingly grateful to meet you.” Lizzy’s eyelashes began to flutter furiously. “What did you say your name was?”

Amanda was too distracted to hear the question as she helped support Lizzy in her struggle to stand. They lurched first one way then the other, amidst the associated grunts and “oofs” and “oh mys.” There were one or two very polite apologies regarding unexpected toe injuries, but by and by, they achieved an upright position in relatively short time.

In thanks, Lizzy squeezed Amanda’s hand and then rested her weight momentarily against the other woman’s supportive body. Having regained some of her composure, Lizzy pulled back slightly to search her face.

“Are you Fitzwilliam’s Amanda?”

Diverted with clearing a path through the debris for them to walk, kicking away a small footstool and then shoving the table away slightly with her hip, Amanda answered without thinking. “No, you have it backward. I am Amanda Fitzwilliam.” Amanda quickly looked up and laughed in her embarrassment. “Oh! Yes, I am Colonel Fitzwilliam’s wife, Amanda, and you know that is the very first time I have been able to say that to anyone.” She was beaming.

“I am Lizzy Darcy.” Elizabeth’s eyes began to tear up with her joy. “You’re American, did you know that? What am I saying? Of course you know that. I sound like an idiot. We’ve been expecting you”—Lizzy hugged Amanda warmly—“just not today.” Then, just as suddenly, Lizzy doubled over in pain.