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

Charles’s was, “See how large his feet are? You know what that indicates, do you not?” Charles nearly choked at the dinner table the night that remark was made and glanced toward a red-faced Darcy.

When Lizzy’s mother nodded to one and all and explained, “The mark of a great mind,” they both exhaled loudly with relief.

When he sat to read, she would sit as near him as possible, somewhere behind, always in the great man’s shadow, near enough to worship, not near enough to intrude. If he looked up, she was at his side in a moment, inquiring if he needed anything—tea, wine, pillow, quill, ink—and she very shrilly castigated Elizabeth if she did not exhibit the same zeal in anticipating his wants.

He remembered how odd he had found Mr. Bennet’s behavior the first time he had sought him out at Longbourn when asking for Lizzy’s hand. The man could evaporate into thin air, would disappear into his library, sometimes walking off in the very midst of a conversation. Darcy now thoroughly shared his father-in-law’s literary fixation. That his own Pemberley library would be his only escape was obvious, and that had been within the first few minutes.

In fact, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bennet were embarrassed to find they had both scrambled to the library independently of each other the second night. They competed fiercely for first hand on the knob then slipped inside, waiting in the dark for several moments before lighting the candles. Charles Bingley, as always trying to be kindhearted, charming, and obliging, attempted to step up as host in Darcy’s absence, only to end up with the other men a mere half hour later.

It was still, though, a very pleasant family time, a precious and happy holiday marred only by the two or three angry chair-throwing free-for-alls most families experience during this holiest of seasons. On Boxing Day, Jane and Charles announced their expectancy to squeals and flutters and spasms. Sisterly confidences were exchanged and unlooked-for motherly advice loudly dispensed. Darcy and Bingley rode to freedom almost daily, and Mr. Bennet napped whenever possible. Days began to drag into weeks that felt like months, and finally, with a sigh of relief, the Darcys waved good-bye to her sisters and parents and settled into what would become a fateful new year.

It was the beginning of the year of our Lord, 1817. Winter had come to Pemberley.

Chapter 5

At Easter, Fitzwilliam returned home from Spain to find the whole county stricken with some sort of fever, both his father and his aunt among them, Catherine attended by no less than three physicians who attempted in vain to keep her quiet and secluded. A tenuous truce between Richard and his older brother, Regis, held only for the length of time it took for their father to be on the mend.

He missed teasing Catherine and even missed her constant nonsensical lectures, the hours and hours of bizarre and unlooked-for advice on health and happiness that she felt obliged to provide as matriarch of the family.

Fitzwilliam stayed longer than his usual visit, sending word to the War Office, extending his leave, and left only when assured the two old lions were improving. By early May, he arrived at Pemberley for a shortened visit, happy to spend his last two weeks with the Darcys before returning to his regiment.

The cousins quickly fell into their old routine of competition and teasing, racing their horses and hunting, and in the evening, would sit with Lizzy and Georgiana, talking and laughing into the early hours.

By the second week, after another delicious dinner with conversation consisting mainly of family gossip, laughter, political opinions, and reminiscing, it was a visibly satiated Fitzwilliam who finished his meal and gave sincere compliments to the cook, which Elizabeth accepted with all formality and promised to pass on.

“By the way, how was Easter, Richard?” Elizabeth knew that his father had been ill. Her mother, too, had been fighting off the same malady.

“I didn’t know if I should mention anything.” His eyes darted uncertainly toward Darcy. “Truthfully, it was far less enjoyable than in prior years, without the brat here in attendance.” Fitzwilliam’s demeanor turned somber. Placing his elbows on the table, he hesitated then looked directly across the table at Darcy, seeming to choose his words very carefully. “You know, as well as my father, Aunt Catherine has been very ill. I don’t know if anyone has shared this with you as yet.”

Elizabeth saw Darcy’s body shift suddenly, spilling wine on his hand and the tablecloth. He swore slightly under his breath but didn’t take his eyes from Fitzwilliam.

“What is her complaint?” Elizabeth asked gently, sensing the question Darcy most wanted to ask but could not. He raised his glass slowly to his lips and held his breath, watching his cousin over the rim.