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

“No, no, nothin’ really, Caroline. Jus’ wonder why Charles would ask me t’ come here and then leave. Are you certain Jane’s all right? Why would he leave Jane ’n city and come back here t’see me?”

“Well, I believe his problem is of a very personal nature, one that he felt more inclined to discuss here at Netherfield. Shall we retire?” Nothing was making sense to him, but Caroline never did make sense. He remembered that.

Chapter 17

Darcy had stayed in this house many times and had always had the use of this particular bedroom, so he relaxed and finally allowed himself to feel at ease. His first time here had been those long weeks when he met and fell in love with Elizabeth Bennet. During those early days, she had also stayed at Netherfield to nurse her sister Jane, who had become ill during a visit— that had been hard having her so near to him and then falling head over heels for her. Of course, there also had been the small problem of her hating the very sight of him. He had ached for her until returning the following spring, finally courageous enough to ask for her hand a second time after her initial rejection. Yes, this house had many powerful memories for him, but being alone in the place with Caroline should not be one of them and would be impossible to share with his wife.

He shuddered to think of her learning about this. The picture of three Lizzies boiling his head was replaced with one of her leveling a blunderbuss at his groin. Even though the images had changed, she was still cackling. If it was not so late, he would tie himself across his horse and escape to her father’s home. But Mr. Bennet was not home either; he was at Rosings, too. He was, wasn’t he? Darcy groaned and hiccoughed. His thoughts were tumbling around, rarely connecting or making sense.

Without thinking, he took another draw from the brandy bottle. Then another. I am worrying needlessly. ’Course I am. Caroline and I have both matured and gone our separate ways. She’s been ’gaged ’bout five times since we were together, at least five times, certainly enough times t’ have forgotten me. And she’s m’ dear friend’s sister, after all. Good ol’ Bingley. He convinced himself that perhaps he had misjudged her, and even if not, there was a lock on the hallway door that he had fastened and a chair secured beneath the knob. Ha! He chuckled to himself. She was crafty. He remembered that.

He sat heavily on the bed and unbuttoned his breeches. This is so unlike good ol’ Bingley, he reflected as he tugged off one boot, the momentum of the movement rolling him over on his side. “Oooops.”

He lay there, his cheek pressed into the sheets. They felt nice and cool against his skin. Don’t like mysteries. Like concrete things. Mr. Concrete. Mr. Drainage. I hope he and Jane aren’t having difficulties. (Hiccough) I would hate to be in the middle of that one. Ha! I have my own marriage to contend with, without trying to figure out another’s. He righted himself slowly, shaking his head to settle all the confusion. He tugged off his second boot, reverse momentum continuing him over, facedown onto the bed in the other direction.

“Oooops.” He began to laugh, softly at first and then loudly snorting as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Don’t snort, Darcy. Ha!” He nearly tumbled forward as he placed the second boot down very carefully next to the first, which had apparently moved, then stood to remove his shirt, pants, and smallclothes, staggering a bit. Respectfully holding the locket containing Lizzy’s hair, he tried several times unsuccessfully to kiss it, finally placing it reverently on the nightstand next to the bed. “Good night, m’little angel,” he whispered to his phantom wife.

He waved bye-bye just before he passed out.

***