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

“You’re going straight to it, then?” Darcy searched his cousin’s eyes, frightened for him, amazed at the man’s calm. Nine years of campaigns, and he was still alive with all his limbs, a monumental accomplishment in this never-ending battle with France.

“Yes, I go immediately to join my regiment in Spain, but I believe the decider will be farther north. I’ll see Wellington upon my return, and then I’ll know better what’s to come.” He smiled brightly at his cousin, but the cloud of an unknown future for both men had already begun to overshadow their eyes.

“How do you get through it, Fitz?” Darcy asked as he stepped forward to take Fitzwilliam’s hand to shake.

“Prodigious amounts of liquor, brat.” Fitzwilliam pulled his cousin to him and, ignoring any reticence he might encounter, proceeded to give him a great manly hug, and although Darcy was not normally a demonstrative man, he returned the hug unashamedly, steeling himself once again to the possibility that his cousin might not return from this fight.

Pushing away, suddenly somewhat embarrassed by his emotions, he grinned. “Oh, that reminds me. Aunt Catherine told me to discreetly remonstrate with you on exactly that point. Seems she feels you drink far too much, and I’m to explain the evils of overindulgence to you.”

Fitzwilliam let out a loud hoot of laughter. “Poor old soul would faint if she knew the half of what I do in excess.”

“Well, consider yourself told.” Darcy smiled warmly at him. “But for my part, whatever gets you through this safely and in one piece, I say go ahead.”

The servants came for their luggage as the two men headed down the staircase, waiting a moment as they watched the odious clergyman, Mr. Collins, run from the house, his face contorted in a silent scream, his daily interview with their aunt Catherine evidently over.

“Actually, Darcy, I have a good feeling about you and Miss Bennet. I think she and you will eventually suit perfectly.” Fitzwilliam chuckled at his cousin’s groan.

“You just will not let this lie, will you?” Darcy said, his voice showing his exasperation.

“Well, no. Not now that I have the satisfaction of knowing it will annoy you so much.” Fitzwilliam grinned mischievously. “Surely after all we’ve been through together, you know me by now.”

Darcy’s shoulder was leaning on the closed door, his hand grasping the doorknob to their aunt’s sitting room, as they hesitated for a moment to rally their courage for one last bout with the Grande Dame of their family before they left.

“In that case, I’m afraid I will have to tell Catherine about your sudden and sad addiction to opium.”

“Why, you lying bastard. You know I’d never touch that horrid stuff; she’ll attack me like a mad ferret!”

Darcy smiled wickedly as he opened the door, calling out, “Aunt Catherine, I have shocking news for you!”

Fitzwilliam slapped the back of his little cousin’s head as he entered the room behind him.

Volume One Fitzwilliam Darcy A Gentleman 1815

His years are young, but his experience old;

His head unmellow’d, but his judgment ripe;

And in a word (for far behind his worth)

Come all the praise that I now bestow,

He is complete in feature and mind,

With all good grace to grace

A gentleman.

—William Shakespeare

Chapter 1

It was now a full two months after their wedding, and a sunny, crisp winter morning to boot. The newly wedded Elizabeth Darcy, née Bennet, was making a concerted effort to look out the window at the beautiful winter expanse below and not turn her gaze immediately upon waking to her magnificent husband as he slept, admiring his strong jaw line and his long eyelashes. He was, to her eyes, simply put, beautiful.

She would stare at him all day if he had not whispered to her during a performance of “The Magic Flute” that her gazes were unsettling to him and that she really must stop. But then, of course, his own eyes had been dark with longing as he squeezed her hand and kissed it during his reprimand, so how serious could he really be?

She decided to compromise and just gaze at him when he couldn’t possibly be aware, like in the morning, when she always awoke before him, or perhaps when she watched him ride his horse from the stables, or maybe at breakfast as he read the daily reports from his estate manager.