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

Darcy cooed at his child. “The fucking bastard is lucky he left with his manhood still attached, isn’t he, little one? No, he’ll not come anywhere near this house or my family again, I can guarantee that.” Darcy rubbed his nose against his boy’s tiny mittened fist. “Not if he wants to retain possession of his spleen.” He then continued relating to the child all manner of bloody things he would visit upon the good doctor. “Amanda’s friend, Anthony Milagros, will be called for tomorrow. I’ve heard very good things about him.”

Nodding, Fitzwilliam leaned down and kissed the child’s forehead, then discharged another loud, lusty yawn in the baby’s face. The baby wrinkled his nose and shook his head in disgust, making the two men laugh uproariously.

“Go on upstairs and get some proper rest. Should I send a note over in the morning to Lady Penrod about Amanda?”

“No. I believe we have burned that bridge this night. Evidently, Amanda’s maid ran off with one of your footmen, probably back to the old woman to report. In fact, we may have no place to go after tonight, Fitz. Is it still all right if we stay here on a temporary basis?”

“Do you even need to ask?” He shook his head. “She saved Elizabeth’s life tonight, Fitz, as well as my son’s. I’m sure of it. You both can live here as long as you desire.”

As Fitzwilliam was stretching his arms and long legs, he barked his laughter. “Thank you, Cousin, but I’m certain you’ll wake to regret that offer. The fact is, though, that the marriage cannot be hidden anymore. We’re well in the soup now, and in a way, I am glad of it.”

“I don’t know how we can ever thank you, and especially Amanda. When I think what might have happened here last night…” Darcy’s voice began to break when suddenly he laughed. “He is so big, Richard! You have to see his skinny feet. I can’t believe he came from my little Lizzy. He’ll tower over you and me one day.”

“He is here and healthy, and that’s all the counts, brat. Thank God this ordeal is over.” When Fitzwilliam turned to wake Amanda, he found her sleeping soundly. She had fallen facedown and was snoring on the spot where he had been sitting. He shook her shoulder to wake her. “The entire household was vying for the happy task of blowing your brains out if this had gone on any longer.”

Chapter 8

Wearing a borrowed nightgown from Elizabeth that was both too short and too tight, Amanda fussed about Harry’s bed for a final “tuck in and hug tight,” although the recipient of all her motherly attentions was already dead to the world.

The little boy had not awakened when Fitzwilliam carried him up the stairs—so exhausted that he did not wake when he was laid down on his little bed or when his mother undressed him and slipped a nightshirt on him. Amanda watched her son as he slept, an angel still new and innocent and sweet. If only they had been able to slip away tonight . If only she could be free, even for a moment, of the terror of losing him, a terror so overwhelming that she was sorry her husband had even awakened her.

She was both emotionally and physically exhausted from the day’s events, her mind a jumbled mush with nightmarish visions of her boy being ripped from her arms, her boy screaming for her, her boy suffering because of her weakness of loving another.

The reality was that any hope for escape was probably finished. She had long suspected that servants had been watching her, waiting for her to cross the mistress. Someone would be rewarded handsomely this night. They would not wait until the mistress returned from her holiday party, she would be told immediately. The authorities would come in the morning to take away her son, and she would be forced to beg permission to return with him to Penwood House.

Once more her existence would be solitary, alone for years in that wretched house. In fact, the loneliness would be even worse now. Richard had opened a door for her to a life unimagined, a life with a passionate, caring partner. It was a life she could not openly live, if at all, for years to come, and then only if Richard was willing to wait for her.

Who was she trying to fool? After this night, they would be lucky to meet at all, let alone like thieves, sneaking around to steal forbidden moments. How long could he wait for her? Why would he wait for her? She ached only for what every other woman seemed to have and she could not: a home and a family. With growing melancholy, she steeled herself to the obvious. There could only be this night as a family, as a normal couple together.

***

Fitzwilliam looked distracted and tired after having spoken at length with Darcy. He was wearing Darcy’s borrowed night robe, brandy stains and all. He reached his hand out to Amanda. “Come on to bed now, love.” After kissing Harry’s cheek, she nodded kindly to the nursemaid who would keep watch over her son during the night, and then they walked silently into Richard’s usual room.