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

After several moments, the door slowly opened. “Speak,” she commanded as she turned to walk back into the room. She then sat in regal silence, her eyes red-rimmed and her hair sticking out Medusa-like from her head.

Darcy took a few steps in and closed the door behind him. “Now you are being sensible. Good thing you let me in; I believe the servants were beginning to suspect something was amiss.”

She lifted her hairbrush threateningly.

“All right, all right.” Raising both his hands in a plea for truce, he took a seat directly opposite her. Where to begin? How to begin? “It happened years ago, a short time before I first met Bingley, when Fitzwilliam and I returned from our grand tour. We were both just out of university.”

An unblinking Elizabeth gazed straight past him, her hairbrush still poised to attack at any moment.

“It is all Fitzwilliam’s fault, you know. He introduced me to Caroline. They had met through a mutual acquaintance, an officer friend of both, and I have to admit I thought she was very, very pretty.” With that, Elizabeth turned cold, dead eyes to Darcy. They narrowed on him dangerously. “Well, she is, or was, anyway. Maybe one ‘very’ would have been sufficient, eh?” When Elizabeth didn’t respond to his jest, he continued with the narrative.

He rubbed his hands nervously across his thighs. “As I was saying,” he began, “it was after a gathering we had all attended, one of many that had been, well, more than a bit wild and bawdy, and we, uh, all had a great deal too much to drink, and… and…”

“You are a drunkard and a debaucher. Thank you. I feel ever so much better.” She was not letting him off the hook so very easily.

“Well, I was not her first, Elizabeth, if that’s what you’re implying. I was no seducer of an innocent.”

Elizabeth allowed an exaggerated eyebrow to rise. “Oh, really?” Suddenly her mood became ferocious. “How many times were you with her?” she barked out. The Spanish Inquisition had been more gregarious.

“Once. Well, twice actually, but both on the same night. The first time, I believe I fell asleep on her. Well, not exactly on her…” The lethal hairbrush was quickly on the rise again.

“Does Bingley know?” she snapped.

“Good Lord, I hope not. No one knows except you… and Fitzwilliam. She had several men before me, Lizzy, and after me, too. She had become quite legendary. Just ask him.”

Lizzy’s eyeballs opened wide. “Really? He also…?” she asked, more interested now in acquiring the ton gossip than her own problems. Darcy didn’t really know for sure, but Fitzwilliam had introduced them and had been mildly attracted to her, as well, had spent some time with her, and knowing Caroline, it was very possible. “Don’t be naïve, Lizzy.” What the hell. “Yes, of course Fitzwilliam, too. He’s no saint, you know.”

She lowered the hairbrush. “Well… once I could somewhat imagine, when you were exceedingly drunk. Blind and deaf as it were. But twice tells me you regretted missing out on the first and waited around to have a try at her again.” Her lower lip quivered in a small pout, and her arms crossed in front of her.

“I was very young, and she was making herself extremely available. Men are different than women.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and harrumphed. All at once she looked exhausted and defeated. “That, Mr. Darcy, is one of the sorriest excuses ever used by men for their abysmal behavior. And believe me, sir, I have never found the comparison used in a good light.” She placed the hairbrush down onto her dresser. “Is there anyone else I need worry about from your wild and reckless youth?”

“No, of course not, Elizabeth. Not unless we happen to meet Elinor Prescott-Pickard at a ton function,” he muttered and tried to think of the odds that they would come in contact with Jennie Dewar or her twin sister, Lady Cathie, more Carlton House lovelies. Elizabeth grunted and massaged her sleepy eyes.

“Will you come back to our bed tonight?” he asked softly, and she nodded after making him wait just a few minutes longer.

“Will you forgive me for not telling you sooner?”

Again she nodded, and he could see that the storm had passed. “William?”

“Yes, Lizzy?”

Her eyes began to twinkle. “Can we get some food sent up, please? I am famished. See if Cook can make up some spinach-and-cheese puffs. And some ham. Maybe those tarts we had last week—the cherry ones. Oooh, and honey. I have a craving for honey with pickles…”

Darcy walked over and quite energetically pulled her into his arms.

“One more thing”—she looked deeply in his eyes—“I do not want to be in the same room ever again with Caroline Bingley, is that understood?” Darcy nodded in agreement. He was so relieved, he would have agreed to most anything. This was an easy promise.

“I will have to explain something to Jane. I don’t know what I would do if I ever saw that husband-stealing, wretched, common tart person again!”

Chapter 8