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

“I beg your pardon!” Amanda felt her back stiffen. “If you must know, the colonel and I were married four weeks ago.” She sniffled and loudly blew her nose.

“Four weeks ago! Unheard of! You knew each other, what, two or three weeks at the most, and you are already married and with child? I don’t believe you! But I imagine that is how you were able to force my nephew’s hand in marriage.” Catherine’s cold smile grew wide, but her eyes narrowed to slits. “He is a man of great personal honor from a distinguished family. It would be simple for you to contrive a marriage to improve both your class and breeding.”

This was beyond enough. Amanda blew her nose again, even louder. “Excuse me, but I have no need to give you any explanation regarding either my marriage or my expectancy. It is absolutely none of your business!” Amanda sat up straighter and stared directly back, her chin a little higher. “Indeed, the very fact that you feel you can insult me with impunity makes me question your own class and breeding!”

Catherine’s eyes flashed with anger. “Upon my word, you are an impudent little baggage, aren’t you? Of all the ungracious… A common American such as yourself will never be accepted by the ten thousand. I imagine with your experience, you realize that by now!”

Amanda’s eyes blinked rapidly. “The ten thousand what?” She always seemed to have a problem when following these English conversations.

“The upper ten thousand, madam— the Haute Ton! Good heavens, but you are an ignorant chit!”

Amanda placed her arms across her belly and looked angrily back at the countess. “Ah, yes, now I understand you. Well, I have never once harbored any aspirations to be accepted by that vicious and amoral group of inbred ninnies.”

“And what a good thing that was, madam, since you never were! You see, unlike the Americans, we English prefer to embrace our traditions and ensure our bloodstock. As an earl’s son, Richard is far above you in class, my dear. Far above! You have benefited from his unfortunately long-standing rebellious nature. That is all. Even as a second son, he should have been made to choose a bride only from within the select few acceptable families of his rank. It is known as the upper classes and something of which you would never understand.” Catherine’s expression was one of superior condescension.

Amanda’s eyes flashed wide with anger. “I know of which you speak, and indeed we have heard of it happening in America also; however, it is frowned upon and referred to by another word.”

Sneering, Catherine gave a mirthless laugh. “Oh, really, and what word is that?”

“Incest.”

The countess’s head snapped up to glare at the brazen package before her. Well, well, well. The little Colonial had surprised her with her rude effrontery and tactless style. She was beginning to like the woman. Evidently not easy to intimidate, she would certainly need to be a strong wife to stand up to Fitzwilliam.

“Well, it is all well and good for you, my dear, to dismiss the ruling class of England, but what of Richard, madam? What of your husband? These are the very people from whom he comes. Can you dismiss his heritage so completely? And whether or not you approve, not only is your son a baronet and therefore a member of that class, but you now carry the next generation within you as we speak.”

By the time Lady Catherine had finished her speech, morning sickness was again turning Amanda’s face pale, and she swallowed back the bile that had flooded her mouth. His aunt was right. Whether or not Amanda approved of this culture or their mores, her husband and son, and now her unborn babe, were lifelong charter members.

“Are you ill, madam?” Jesu, the little watering pot was looking bad enough to stick her spoon in the wall! The last thing Catherine needed now was for Fitzwilliam to return to a dead wife.

“The morning sickness…” Amanda emitted a soft belch. “Macaroons seem to help.”

“Ah.” Catherine nodded and tried desperately not to enjoy the young woman’s sudden discomfort. Somewhere far upstairs in the Darcy house, the baby began to cry, and they looked at each other, involuntarily smiling. Instinctively, Amanda rubbed her hand across her stomach.

The quiet truce between them continued for several moments until the child’s cries could no longer be heard.

“Forgive me, Lady Catherine, if I have spoken rudely to you. Oftentimes I speak before I think. You are right that I owe it to Richard to be more understanding of your culture and ways. I have tried, but as you say, my heritage always locks me out. It has been a bitter experience for me at times.”

Catherine studied her carefully. “Do you love my nephew, madam? I am afraid on this score I will have to take your word for it, since there is no Bow Street Runner who could possibly confirm it for me.” Catherine’s question was so unexpected that Amanda hiccoughed and then sneezed, her tears forgotten.

Amanda smiled briefly. “Yes, madam. I love him more than my life.”