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

Their voices grew in strength and distinction. He had just approached his sitting-room doorway when Lizzy burst into giggles at something Fitzwilliam had said, and then they both began laughing. It was in that attitude which he found them, vastly amused with each other, laughing so heartily, in fact, that they never heard the door open or Darcy walk slowly in behind them.

The room was stiflingly warm, the candles softly illuminating the two merrymakers as they sat side by side, their backs to the door. Both of their chairs were pulled up companionably before the fireplace, both sets of feet up on footstools, shoes off, coffee cups and biscuit remains on the small table between them. What struck Darcy was how tightly they held each other’s hands across this brief expanse, their fingers interlaced. Fitzwilliam brought her hand up to his lips to kiss as they laughed once again.

It was really quite a cozy, heartwarming domestic scene—that is, if it hadn’t been his wife and his cousin.

***

He stood there a moment before he was captured in Lizzy’s side vision. “William!” she cried as she jumped up from the chair and ran around to him.

“It’s about time you returned, brat. We feared highwaymen had snatched you.” Fitzwilliam smiled broadly and began to stand. “We didn’t even hear you enter.”

“Evidently,” Darcy said, his tone as ice cold as his eyes. Lizzy was just reaching her arms up to him when he stepped back and walked over to the decanter of port on the desk behind him.

“I was very concerned that you would be grievously worried about me, Elizabeth; however, plainly I had no reason for distress. It’s good to see you in such agreeable company, alone here with my cousin. Such good company, in fact, that he was able to relieve your darkest qualms.” He poured a glass for himself, downing it in one gulp, then he slammed the decanter down on the desk.

Fitzwilliam gave a grunt. “Aw, now…don’t start to pout, Darcy. It doesn’t become you. You’ll get wrinkles on that elegant brow of yours.” Chuckling, he sat back down in his chair to finish off his coffee, tossing back the few remaining biscuits. He was annoyingly amused, making Darcy all the angrier.

Lizzy stood motionless, confused, staring up at her husband. “Well, of course I was concerned. Richard has stayed with me for company and was a most welcome support. I would think you would be glad of that.” She was both surprised and hurt at his reaction, her voice barely audible.

“Oh, I know he always has your best interests at heart, don’t you, Fitz? In fact, ever since he first set eyes on you, Elizabeth, your best interests have been uppermost in his thoughts, amongst your other many lovely attributes.” Lizzy gave a little gasp.

Fitzwilliam put down his cup and burped, excusing himself. He used his napkin to brush the crumbs that littered his pants and jacket, then began to wipe his hands. “A word of caution, if I may, Cousin.” He turned to stare steadily into Darcy’s eyes. His voice was very quiet. “Do not say anything now that you will later regret.”

Darcy leaned back on the desk with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes flaming daggers. The two cousins stared, unspeaking, for several tense moments.

The colonel sighed and shook his head. “Very well, I will leave you both. Good night, Elizabeth.” He bent down to kiss the top of her head. “Don’t fret, dearest—Darcy and I have had bigger rows than this, much bigger, and have survived.” He tossed his napkin to Darcy as he passed. “Good night, brat.” With that, Fitzwilliam left the room.

Lizzy turned and stared at her husband in disbelief. “William! How could you?!”

Darcy struggled to loosen his collar, a dark and hateful look on his face. “You know, that’s another thing, my name is Fitzwilliam—Fitzwilliam Darcy. Not Fitz, not William, but Fitzwilliam. I am awfully sorry if it gets you muddled, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”

He sat down heavily into the desk chair and immediately turned his back on his wife. God, I am so tired, so very tired of waiting for this child. Closing his eyes, he rubbed them with his fingertips, feeling guilty and petty and stupid. He knew perfectly well that there were no illicit feelings between his cousin and Elizabeth, knew he had made a muck of things this night when he should have been trying to keep stress from her, knew he should have told her of his disastrous encounter weeks prior with Caroline.