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

“So I have heard repeatedly; however, that is not what I asked, is it?”

He remained very still for several moments, the room in quiet shadow. “Something must have motivated this line of thought. What has made you ask such a thing, Elizabeth?”

“Well, I was making a sort of mental comparison between Lady Catherine and Caroline.”

With that, Darcy gave a short laugh and quickly apologized. “Go on, dear, you were saying?”

“I believe that Lady Catherine took such a dislike of me because she loves you deeply and felt that I was taking you from her and her plans for your future. Caroline is the only other person I have ever known to take me into such disgust.”

They stayed without speaking for several moments. Either he has fallen asleep, or he’s upset with me. She fidgeted with the blanket edge, frustrated at not being able to clearly see his expression in the dark. Her heart was pounding.

“Elizabeth, I don’t wish to lie to you, and I really don’t think there would be any advantage to either of us if we continued with this conversation.”

Elizabeth stopped breathing before the sentence’s end. It was a while before she found her voice again. “It is a simple question, Mr. Darcy.” Raising herself onto her elbow, she turned toward him, steadying her voice as best as she could. “It requires a simple yes or no answer. I will not think badly of you if you realized that she was in love with you, and I will not think badly of you if that was something of which you were ignorant.” And I hope that’s all there is to this.

Abruptly, Darcy lay back down and turned his back to her. “I don’t believe it is in our best interest to converse about this any further. End of discussion, I’m afraid. Good night, Elizabeth.”

She had been dismissed.

It became deadly quiet in the surrounding universe, not a breeze nor a whisper nor a breath could be heard. Even the cicadas and frogs were stunned. Only the snores of the two mastiffs lying before the foot of their bed interrupted the quiet night. Elizabeth waited, terribly alone it seemed, for several minutes.

“William, are you angry with me?” she whispered but received no answer from his side of the bed.

Elizabeth was becoming extremely alarmed. Darcy was never cruel, always a gentleman. Oh, he could still be aloof at times, but never with her. She sat up in their bed to try for a better look at his countenance. The faint outline of her husband’s back in the dark revealed him to be facing the opposite wall of their bedroom.

“William?” she said softly. No answer.

“Fitzwilliam?” Still he did not answer.

Suddenly, a flash of perception, the unerring intuition of the female brain, illuminated her mind. She gasped.

“Mr. Darcy, did you have a love affair with Caroline Bingley?”

His silence was deafening. Elizabeth’s heart pounded as she repeated the question, a little louder and much more strident. She roughly shoved his shoulder.

“Mr. Darcy, did you have sexual congress with Caroline Bingley?!”

His continued silence was all the answer she really required by that point. She scrambled from the bed, refusing to allow any part of her body to be contaminated by him, and stared down at that dark and now-evil form. It was as if Satan himself had crawled into bed between them. Eventually, he rolled onto his back then ran his fingers roughly through his hair. Next, he sighed. He then said the words all women dread to hear.

“Elizabeth, it was such a long time ago.”

***

The following morning brought a surprise to Darcy’s majordomo. When he entered the couple’s bedchamber, the fire in the grate was completely cold, and the bed was empty. He looked in mild apprehension around an apparently deserted room. He knew instantly that something was dreadfully wrong as he scanned the broken vases and overturned books. The two dogs, Buck and Milo, looked up. They had been calmly ripping apart several bed pillows between them, feathers laying everywhere. Happy woofs were their greeting to Bradford, anticipation of their imminent run outside and breakfast sent tails loudly thumping. There was, however, no sign of human life anywhere.

It was clear that the bed had been entered at some point, but the covers were still in an almost pristine condition, not wrestled about, half off the bed and half on, as on most mornings. A movement on the settee in the adjoining sitting room, a figure covered by a great quilt, caught his eye.

The form groaned and turned toward the light streaming in through the windows where Bradford had just pulled back the curtains to reveal the extent of destruction. The form was Mr. Darcy!

He shielded his eyes quickly from the brightness, and once he had made out who the intruder was, put up his hand in greeting. “Bradford, good morning. Terribly sorry for this mess.” He waved his arm vaguely to encompass the bedroom and then the rest of London. He let his head crash back down on the sofa.