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

There had been the sudden marriage of her only sister to the man Catherine had truly loved above all others.

There had been two separate women at court making sexual advances toward her for some unfathomable reason.

There was that unfortunate discovery of an inebriated Prince of Wales naked atop an underage chambermaid on the floor of her favorite coach. They were playing “Hide His Majesty’s Scepter and Orbs.” That had been a real stunner, with the coach subsequently sold as quickly as possible.

And, of course, there was always the fact that gowns she had worn only two years prior could mysteriously shrink, accompanied by an oddly proportionate increase in her shoe size. This, too, never ceased to astound.

But nothing had prepared her for the events of this morning.

When she initially discovered from her favorite informant that her nephew had been brazenly living at Darcy’s for two days with the woman from the Winter Ball, she had come prepared to do battle royal. She arrived with the determination to put a stop to the scandalous affair immediately.

That was before she discovered they were already married.

That was before she discovered they were already expecting a child.

Merde.

And there he was, pacing back and forth, the pain and desperation in his eyes tearing at her heart. He was her problem child, the one she had worried herself sick over for more than thirty-two years now—had been troublesome since the day he was born, sickly and frail. And now look at him, the big ox. His chaotic personality so mirrored her own sometimes that it brought a lump to her throat.

To see him now and witness his world disintegrating around him was more than she could bear. Whether the woman was suitable for an earl’s son or not, they were married and bedded and with child, the deed done.

Another unsuitable wife for yet another of her nephews, she grumbled as the battle raged on before her. Whatever is wrong with these young people today? She crushed her fan in her exasperation. Have they no sense of form or propriety? Do they imagine they can marry anyone they fancy, in some havey-cavey manner, whenever the whim takes them? What was all this modern nonsense about love, love, love? It was enough to make one ill. Why, if tender feelings were a reason for marriage, most of the ton would die single. Generations of bloodlines would disappear. Heritages would be lost.

She grunted. Oh bother! If that was what her beloved rascal wanted, she would move heaven, earth, and hell to fix this for him. She would not risk alienating another nephew. She had worked too hard reestablishing herself with the other fool.

She had learned her lesson with Darcy.

***

Harry’s jacket and stockings lay in a heap by the settee, and Amanda crossed over to pick them up. Suddenly overcome with grief, she sat and began to weep, her handkerchief pressed tightly to her eyes. So many dreams had been crushed this morning, so many cruel words, all her illusions now in pieces.

A hesitant Catherine came to stand before her, waiting for the girl to get a grip on her feelings. She looked about the room and frowned. Good Lord, how she despised public displays of emotion like this.

She rolled her eyes. “Please stop crying, madam.” Catherine tried to sound sympathetic as she poked her finger hard into Amanda’s shoulder, but the muffled sobs only increased. When no other verbal response came forth, she began to tap her foot impatiently. She bent far over at the waist to scrutinize the bawling figure, much as if she were studying a flopping fish on the bottom of a boat, then she straightened herself once again. She cleared her throat. “There, there,” she muttered in a flat, uninterested voice, her attention and gaze wandering aimlessly toward a particularly fine tapestry against the far wall. It was lovely in cream and blue. She must find out something about its design from Elizabeth…

Amanda looked up, her tears subsiding. “Oh my, I should go up and see to my son.” She wiped the backs of her hands across her tears and sighed. “Excuse me, Lady Catherine.”

“One moment of your time first, if you please, madam. I have a few questions. It will not take long.”

Amanda nodded, apprehensive in the presence of this formidable little powerhouse.

Catherine smiled amiably. “How long ago did you trick my nephew into this marriage?” Catherine’s previous heartwarming display of empathy was evidently now officially over.