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

They stood silently, each vibrantly aware of the other, looking out over the wintry gardens of this most impressive of mansions. “Miss Emily has told me of your unpleasant encounter just now. That was dreadful, and we weren’t much better. I’m so sorry if we hurt you in any way with our teasing.” He leaned toward her in confidence. “The trouble with close families is that you fall into a routine of banter and oftentimes forget others may not be aware that it’s all meant in fun.”

“Oh, do not distress yourself.” She smiled sweetly. “I was not upset.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Embarrassed and shamed, without a doubt, and extremely mortified, humiliated, in fact, but please don’t give it another thought.”

They both burst into laughter. He apologized again, much relieved. Then all was quiet. She suddenly felt shy, standing there wearing a jacket still warm from his body, alone with him for the first time when like magnets, their shoulders touched, sending a tremor of excitement through them both. Their gazes met.

He looked longingly from her parted lips up into her eyes. True mirrors of her soul that they were, they showed every emotion within her, every longing, every vulnerability. She would have no resistance to his more worldly experience he realized; she was so sheltered, so trusting and innocent that she could never even imagine the need for such defenses. This woman was all softness, all femininity; his complete opposite in every way.

“You better put your arms into those sleeves before you catch your death.” It was the best conversation his keyed-up brain could improvise at the moment with his heart bouncing around in his chest and his lips dry as the desert.

He helped her slip the coat on, and then they both laughed at the overhanging arms and hem. She thanked him, blushing when he briefly rubbed her arms to create some warmth.

“Truly, it is my own fault that I spoke that word and not another phrase I thought to be… very indelicate; but a phrase which apparently refers to someone who has died. I asked Emily about it as we walked, and she explained it to me.”

“You mean ‘cock up one’s toes’?” Fitzwilliam asked, chuckling already.

Her face was bright pink, and she hesitated, but only a moment before she nodded. Fitzwilliam let out a loud laugh, and she quickly joined in, shyly giggling.

After a while, when their laughter quieted and the stars and moon began to work their magic, they returned their attention to the quiet night. She sighed at the beauty of the stark Mayfair landscape sparkling with its glittering layer of snow and hard rime. Inhaling the crisp air, she whispered her gratitude to God for this magical moment. It had been a struggle all night for her to not to sit gaping at him, and here he was next to her, stirring up emotions that she never even knew existed.

“My son will be impressed when I tell him I have had dinner with a real soldier.”

“Indeed?” Fitzwilliam was taking great pleasure in the scent of soap and flowers surrounding her and crossing his arms before him leaned closer, his hip against the balustrade. “And how old is this ne’er-do-well son of yours?”

“Five.”

“Ah, the age at which I achieved my emotional peak. I take it he is a fine boy, the very essence of an English gentleman.”

“I confess to total prejudice in his favor. He is truly the most beautiful child alive, noble and happy, with the sweetest nature. However, spending nearly two years in America may have tarnished his English manners. I believe I have finally managed to convince him that spitting is not a competitive sport.”

“He sounds like officer-candidate material to me,” Fitzwilliam whispered. She intoxicated him, drew him like a bear to honey as he rested his hands against the wall behind her, trapping her between them. “He is a very lucky young boy to have such a beautiful and devoted mother.”

The balcony became very still.

“Amanda, I am certain it has not escaped your notice that I am very enamored of you. Very enamored.”

Her heart was pounding viciously. She had been yearning for a declaration of some sort from the colonel, but he had surprised her with his bluntness. He was so straightforward and her reaction was so intense it unsettled her. She smiled briefly then cleared her throat. “Perhaps I should return to the dowagers.”

“What is it, Amanda? What do you fear so much? Is it me?”

“No. Not you.” She shook her head sadly and sighed. “In truth it would never work, colonel,” she said finally, her lashes low enough to hide her eyes, “you and me, together.”

“Why ever not?” Taking her hand in his he kissed it then pressed it against his chest with both of his. “You care for me also, you know you do. How can you deny it?”