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

The countess paled, emitting a small moan. In fact, Amanda noted the exact time when her ladyship retreated to her own little happy place, shutting the door tightly to her conscious mind. Her eyes glazed over, and she began to hum tunelessly.

“Lady Catherine?” Amanda prompted. “Excuse me… Lady Catherine?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you all right?”

“Good heavens.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are you still here?” She looked absolutely bleak. “Well, well, well. I would suppose there is nothing we can do about that now.” Catherine sighed and bravely smiled. “I am sure there is no need to be quite so detailed in our explanations.” She narrowed her eyes and took a better look at her new niece, determined that whatever could be salvaged from this wreckage would be found and utilized. “Yes, well, I can present you most favorably when the time comes, with ample instruction and a good hair stylist. Perhaps a good diction coach can be applied for.” Catherine nodded to herself, in full agreement with her own assessment.

“As long as you’re not a papist!” Catherine burst out with laughter. She snorted. La, what a disaster that would be. “Good Lord in heaven, I can deal with anything but that!” She chuckled delightedly and licked her lips at her own witticism. She chuckled until she caught Amanda’s eyes shift guiltily away, taking with them a look of absolute horror and total remorse.

Catherine’s chuckle degenerated into a pathetic whimper.

“Oh, merde,” she finally groaned.

Amanda, who would normally have taken offense at these remarks, suddenly began to laugh. To her surprise, she found she was beginning to like this insane old woman who was daffy and vain and outrageous. Lady Catherine actually reminded Amanda of her own mother, though she would never dare to tell her. Gracie Sayles had been a beautiful, outspoken, and passionately funny woman who had adored life, her husband, and her beautiful little daughter, and had died much too soon.

“Richard was angrier than I have ever seen him. What if he truly sues for a formal separation?”

Catherine shook her head, her eyes softening as the woman before her struggled on so bravely to neither cry nor vomit. She handed Amanda a clean handkerchief and a glass of water. “I have seen you both together, and I am positive he loves you at least as much as you love him. I believe he just needs time to cool that horrible Scots temper that goes off periodically—a gift from his mother’s heritage, by the way, not in any way to be confused with the Fitzwilliam side’s more elegant manner of dealing with crisis.” Catherine mused for a long moment.

“Amanda, we have at least twenty-four hours to bring the child to Penwood. I want to speak with you further, but I want you and the boy to leave here before Richard returns. It would be best if you two had some space between you at the moment. I suggest you and the boy come home with me and rest.”

Still somewhat suspicious, Amanda looked at the regal dragon. “Why are you being so kind to me? You dislike me, or have you forgotten?”

Catherine’s eyes twinkled. “Do not flatter yourself, dear. My feelings for you are not nearly that engaged. However, I do love both of my nephews as if I had borne them myself. Darcy has married and is happy, blissfully, so it appears, in spite of all of my dire predictions. He was a good man before marrying Elizabeth and, as hard as this is to admit, he has emerged an even better one because of that union.

“I would like to see that happen to Richard. Will you come with me to my home? We can talk there about what needs to be done.”

Amanda sat back on the sofa for a long time, looking first confused, then tired, then resigned. “Yes. Let me get our things.” She suddenly held her hand over her mouth and groaned. “Might I hope that you have macaroons at your home?”

Chapter 13

Fitzwilliam paced nervously in the huge visitor’s parlor of Rosings House, twirling his badly battered military hat around and studying every knickknack and picture, none of it registering in his conscious mind. He wondered if he would see Amanda today. It had been two days. Over two days, actually—fifty-three hours and twenty-five minutes. He wondered what he would say to her if he did see her. A very small part of him was still furious at her words and vowed never to speak with her again. However, the entire remainder of him missed her so greatly that he had to fight the impulse to run bellowing through the house in search of her.

He hadn’t eaten or slept in their time apart, and the previous night had been the worst night of his life.

“Hello, Richard.” He heard her gentle voice, and his heart constricted in pain. He turned quickly around.

“Hello, ’manda.”

They stood in an awkward silence, not wanting to look at each other but too weak to look away.

“You look tired, Richard,” she said softly, and he nodded.