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

At dinner, Fitzwilliam caught them up to date on all the gossip within the family, and with stories of the tenants at his father’s estate in Somerton, many of them childhood friends now grown men with families of their own, having taken over the family farms. He had been on extended leave from the military after Waterloo, traveling the months that followed, visiting his father, aunt, and uncles. Curiosity pecked at Elizabeth until she brought up the subject of Aunt Catherine, anxious to know if she was still as upset with them as she had been before the wedding.

“Aunt Catherine is in no better humor now, I’m afraid. No. Quite the contrary, as it happens. I was telling Darcy earlier that both your names evoke a tirade of abuse and the most fanciful accusations. Evidently, in her twisted mind, it was your use of feminine wiles, Elizabeth, that caused mankind’s expulsion from the Garden of Eden, and then, of course, Darcy’s arrogance initiated the Flood.”

Darcy’s hand suddenly rammed angrily into a bowl of fruit and grasped an innocent, unsuspecting orange. “Enough. The woman is demented. Our marriage is simply something to which she must become adjusted. She insulted Elizabeth and her family, and in so doing, she insulted me.” With an expression as black as pitch, Darcy commenced to vivisecting the orange. By the time he finished with said orange, it was completely dead, thoroughly dead, with no semblance remaining of its prior orange existence.

“That’s all well and good for you to say, old man, but now she’s so desperate that she has turned to me for management advice and help. I mean, really! She would have a better chance shooting an arrow into the ocean and impaling a carp than my comprehending all that gibberish.” As he spoke, he snatched the knife from Darcy’s clenched fist. “Come, Cousin, you know she loves you best. You were always her golden child, the second coming, her beau bebe garçon.”

Elizabeth sadly watched her husband as months of emotional breakthroughs and insights shattered like so much glass. He became more withdrawn, more aloof by the second, his face a cold mask of sobriety.

Suddenly, Darcy threw his napkin upon the table and stood. “Shall we go into the family salon for some brandy and cakes? I believe those chairs will be much more comfortable for Elizabeth than these hard ones.”

“I am in no discomfort here, William.” Elizabeth’s voice was very soft as she and Darcy shared a tense glance.

“Come on, Cousin, can’t you thaw a little? Seriously, Catherine is having real concerns with those tenants in the…” The look in Darcy’s eyes told him he needn’t finish.

“Richard, this is the last time I wish to talk about Lady Catherine. She has chosen her course, and I have chosen mine. Now let us go into the parlor and have no more discussion about it.” Darcy quickly left the room.

Elizabeth looked at Fitzwilliam in amazement. “I had hoped that the proud Mr. Darcy I met at Netherfield Hall had mellowed a bit. It appears, however, that we have regressed.”

“Damnation—excuse me, Elizabeth—you know, for both their sakes, I hope they find common ground soon,” he said gently. “This is hurting them.”

Fitzwilliam rose as the footman pulled back Elizabeth’s chair. “You know as well as I how stubborn he can be,” Elizabeth said. “It would appear that any attempt at reconciliation may well have to generate from Lady Catherine herself.”

“And from whom do you think he learned this damnable Fitzwilliam pride and stubbornness?” Richard smiled sadly and gave Elizabeth his arm as they followed Darcy into the parlor.

Chapter 4

The end of the year came quickly, with private balls, public assemblies, house parties, and concerts. Elizabeth’s sister Jane and her husband, Charles Bingley, one of Darcy’s closest friends, arrived at Pemberley a month before Christmas, followed two weeks later by Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and Kitty and Mary, the remainder of Elizabeth’s family. It was the first real opportunity for Darcy to socialize with Mr. Bennet, a gentleman for whom he discovered he had a great deal of empathy, especially after experiencing the constant attentions and fawning of Mrs. Bennet.

As rude and insulting as she had been to Darcy before his marriage to her daughter, she was now the complete reverse, hanging on his every word. (Reason and Mrs. Bennet never resided in the same location for very long.) She followed him constantly, all worshipful eyes and servile admiration. She murmured, she whispered, she gasped.

“See how he stands? A spine like a pitchfork, straight and true. He’s like a Roman statue, I’m sure: a true aristocrat!”

“Look how he butters his toast. Watch and learn!” she would remonstrate in all seriousness. “Watch and learn!”

Of course everyone had their particular favorite of her observations. Jane’s was, “You can always tell a gentleman’s character by how he eats his chicken.”