by Heather Moll
This drew Darcy’s surprise. “I wrote that I suspected her attachment and regrets in regard to Mr. Bingley had, for a long time, clouded her nearly every enjoyment.”
“You made it sound as though she had suffered a loss of bloom and spirits and that it would be of a lasting effect. Her face and figure are perfection.” Darcy pulled his gaze away from the ladies to glare at his cousin. The older gentleman coughed and looked away before adding hurriedly that he also found Miss Bennet’s manners to be pleasing.
“I shall thank you not to speak in such a way about Miss Bennet. She has patience and humility, she is everything that is good and lovely, and more importantly, she is dear to my wife. I suggest you keep your flirtatious tendencies under good regulation.”
“I am offering my observations—nothing more. Her understanding is excellent, and her manners captivating,” the colonel answered in a tight voice as he turned from Darcy’s stare and moved back into the billiard room. “There are not many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money.”
Elizabeth had observed to Darcy that she suspected his cousin admired her sister and that those sentiments could be returned. Until now, Darcy had not considered that the colonel’s interest had been stronger than enjoying pleasant conversations while he and Jane resided in the same house.
Darcy followed his cousin to the billiards table where Fitzwilliam aggressively took his shot, missing his target. He suspected the failure had nothing to do with the Charleville 1777 musket that had left a long scar on his leg. To speak about his cousin’s affections seemed entirely unfitting, but he knew Fitzwilliam’s adroitness. If the colonel did not wish to acknowledge his interest in Miss Bennet, he would have kept his opinions to himself.
“Now, seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and dependence? Your situation in life is eligible.”
“A woman like Miss—a gentlewoman would not wish to follow the drum. I am sure symphonies will be composed extolling our victory, but it is a matter of time before I return to the Peninsula.”
“Perhaps your wife would be content to remain in England and wait for you to return from the Peninsula. You said yourself the tide had turned against the French, and soon enough you might be sent home. Then you can return to London, retire from active service, and live on half-pay for the rest of your days with your wife. And what of the income from the estate you inherited from your mother’s family?”
Fitzwilliam considered this but shook his head and turned his attention back to the game. After grossly missing his shot again, he answered, “Two thousand a year would not keep a wife in Mayfair.”
“You could rein in your habits of expense if you found a woman worth the effort.”
“So says the man whose mining interests in Derbyshire earn him more than my annual income.”
“You are not thinking rationally. A moderately sized town house in Mayfair could be rented for less than a thousand pounds a year, and the excessive lifestyle that goes with it might cost three. A thousand a year could afford you four or five servants, a carriage, and a pair of horses.”
“Not in Grosvenor Street.”
“You could live adjacent, perhaps in Upper Wimpole or Harley Street. Or St. James’s Street near the War Office and the royal palace if you wish to stay in the army.”
“Those are not fashionable addresses, Darcy, even if they are less expensive. A woman who marries into a titled family would rightfully have higher expectations.”
“That depends entirely on the woman.” Fitzwilliam gave no reply, but Darcy knew that none was needed. It would be to his cousin’s advantage, as a younger son who would not inherit an estate and title, to marry a wealthy woman. It did not follow, however, that he could not spend less and thereby afford to marry elsewhere. He did not wish to be in any way involved with his cousin’s suit or his withdrawal, but foremost in his mind was the preservation of Jane’s delicate feelings.
“Do not trifle with my wife’s sister.” His tone brooked no opposition. “If you do not anticipate making your honorable intentions known before you leave, then I must ask you to confine your interactions with Miss Bennet to those of only the most detached civility.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam, no more used to being dictated to than Darcy, glared across the billiards table. “You presume too much in telling me how to act in a manner befitting a gentleman. I am well aware what qualifies as proper behavior between a man and a lady who is not his wife.”
Harsher words might have been spoken to one another had not the door burst open. Elizabeth ran breathlessly into the room to her husband’s side with a beaming smile across her face.
“Fitzwilliam! Here you are; I have been looking for you. I felt—” Elizabeth tore her eyes off him to see they were not alone. “Oh, forgive me. Darcy, when you are at your leisure, would you meet with me in my sitting room? I would speak with you privately.” Her words implied that Elizabeth would await him patiently, but Darcy curiously observed that she was nearly bouncing with enthusiastic energy.
His cousin placed his cue on the table. “Pardon me, Mrs. Darcy, but I was about to go to the stables. I shall leave your husband to your immensely preferable company.”
“Do not leave on my account. And you may call me Lizzy.”
“I thank you, but Darcy takes such pride in hearing you addressed as Mrs. Darcy that, so long as he is near, I shall indulge the besotted man and call you as such.”
***
It had been some time since Pemberley was full of company, and Darcy was not used to the bustle of activity. He was aware that in the past he did not talk freely enough to be considered agreeable, but he now often found himself being asked precisely what his new wife had done to him. He may have become more conversant, more amiable, but Darcy was still counting the days until he could once again have quiet and exemption from the thought and contrivance that any sort of company gives.
While he waited for his wife to make her appearance before the evening began, he sought his cousin for some conversation. Fitzwilliam was reading in the library, dressed for the evening and waiting for the guests to arrive.
“There you are. I thought that you would be skulking outside your wife’s dressing room, waiting to catch an early glimpse of her in her evening finery.”
Darcy made no reply; he had been hovering nearby, and he was summarily sent away. “I do not know what you mean. My presence is hardly necessary.”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes gleamed as he gave him a knowing smile. “I can well imagine the words Mrs. Darcy used to send you on your way. She does not require your assistance. I can relate to feeling unneeded; you no longer require my assistance either.”
“How do you mean?”
“Oh, I am teasing you. I have spent too much time in the company of your wife and have taken on her habits. I meant to imply that, since now you are married, you do not have use for your old cousin as you once did.”
Darcy stared quizzically. The colonel put aside his book and had the look of a man with too many things to say and no idea where to start. “Georgiana will be one-and-twenty and married before we are ready for it. She will have no need for one guardian, to say nothing of two. Did you ever consider why your father placed her in the care of us both?”
“I was not yet of age when my father’s will was written; he simply was cautious and named two custodians.”
“That explains why there are two guardians, but not why I was selected. My brother, who will someday be an earl, would be a more eligible guardian.”
“The viscount is an ineffectual fop.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed heartily. “That he is, and I would call him worse. My brother has no love for you either.”
Their amusement faded, and Fitzwilliam now spoke in earnest. “I think I was chosen so I could be of aid to you rather than Georgiana as there
could have been no doubt in your father’s mind that you would take proper care of your sister. I have always thought that my uncle Darcy wanted you to have someone nearby to draw you out, to confide in, someone to remind you to seek out your own happiness in life. You have been more like a brother to me than my own, and by having us both be guardian to your sister, it would force us always to remain in some contact. Not that such contrivance was ever necessary, and for that I am thankful.”
Darcy dared not speak lest his emotions overmaster him. To hear such strength of emotion from his cousin, and the allusion to his late father’s pride in his capabilities, was almost too much to bear. Darcy was relieved when Fitzwilliam spoke again, thereby sparing him the necessity of assigning the proper words to his swirling emotions.
“And now that you are happily wed to Mrs. Darcy, I can say, without any bitter reproach or sorrowful regret, that my position has been supplanted. I think that your father would be pleased with your choice of a wife; you are a different man.”
“I am not so changed, am I? In essentials, I believe that I am the same as I ever was.”
“There is a laugh in your eyes and a warmth that was never there before. Now I can content myself with being your shooting partner and drinking my fill of your brandy and leave the difficult work to your wife. Let us go see where the ladies are, shall we?” Fitzwilliam deftly changed the subject and led Darcy towards the stairs. “It would be mortifying to the feelings of the ladies could they be made to understand how little the hearts of us men are affected by what is costly or new in their attire, do you not agree?”
“I do. I am little affected by the texture of a muslin gown. Neatness and fashion are enough for me.”
Darcy had just uttered these words when his wife appeared at the top of the staircase and began her descent. She was smiling fondly at him, a vision of loveliness wearing a canary-colored gown that was silky and gauzy with short sleeves. Though he would have been hard-pressed to describe the finer details of the gown, he nonetheless stood at the bottom of the stairs, breathless and entranced.
“Little affected, indeed.” His cousin rolled his eyes as he made his excuses to await Georgiana and Miss Bennet in the drawing room.
“Fitzwilliam, have you nothing to say to me? Do you dislike my gown?” she said in that arch and sweet manner that he so loved.
Darcy ultimately found his voice and could not disguise his desire as he quietly answered her. “I think that it displays perhaps rather too much of the bosom, back, and shoulders. I want to take you to bed and tell all of our company to go home.”
His wife laughed, and Darcy knew he would never tire of that cheerful sound or the sight of her face smiling up at him lovingly. It took all of his self-control not to press his mouth against hers with a fervent energy. Darcy did not make a habit of kissing his wife outside the privacy of their chambers and contented himself with stroking her cheek with the back of his fingertips. Promptly, her smile of amusement fell away, and she leant against his hand while a more tender emotion crossed her features.
A romantic interlude at the bottom of Pemberley’s main staircase, where any servant or sister might soon come upon them, could not be long-lasting. She stepped away and needlessly smoothed the skirt of her gown.
She gazed down. “Fitzwilliam,” she asked, “you cannot tell, can you?”
Darcy looked at Elizabeth’s stomach and the high waist of her gown then raised his eyes back to her face. He felt such a mixture of love, pride, and delicacy when he thought of his wife and child that he could not express it well with words. “I can, I am pleased to say, but I doubt that anyone who does not know the truth would be able to.”
“Will you not ask me to dance this evening, dearest, instead of standing to the side all night and watching?”
“Will you not retire early with me this evening, my love, instead of spending the night in private conversation with our sisters?”
Elizabeth blushed, but her eyes gleamed, and she boldly stepped towards him. Her flirtatious reply was lost with the return of Colonel Fitzwilliam and the arrival of Jane and Georgiana.
***
It was a merry, joyous party, and Darcy was smiling as he led his wife down the set when the dancing began. He stood up with his sister-in-law for the second then did not dance again. But he spoke agreeably with every one of his guests, and since there were enough gentlemen for the ladies who wanted to dance, his behavior was more than enough to satisfy the company.
Georgiana happily watched the dancing, and she was soon joined by Jane, who had danced once with her host and once with Colonel Fitzwilliam and was now content to sit near her new friend. Darcy stood nearby, attempting to feign interest in his neighbor’s tedious conversation. He spied Elizabeth from across the room, where she had been speaking with some of the younger ladies, but she soon left them in order to join him and further the languishing discussion.
While Elizabeth spoke, thereby offering him a reprieve, Darcy took the opportunity to observe his cousin. He was walking with quick steps from across the room. Although he had so far danced every set, Fitzwilliam’s eyes had never wavered far from where Jane sat near Georgiana. He immediately addressed Jane and applied for her hand for a second dance.
“I am very much obliged to you, but there are other young ladies here this evening that have greater claim.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“We have already danced once, and I ought to allow some of the younger girls—”
“My dear Miss Bennet, what strange ideas have you been welcoming? Surely you are not classing yourself upon the shelf? I would be honored to partner with you a second time.”
Darcy’s attention had been caught, and although Elizabeth’s eyes never left the man to whom she was speaking, he could tell by her body language that she, too, was listening. There was no mistaking the colonel’s marked attentions. Jane again hesitated, her cheeks pink and her eyes engrossed in the paintings on the tiny fan she clutched in her hand.
“Sir, you ought to ask another lady to stand—”
He smiled at her, holding out his hand. “I shall dance with you or no one.”
Jane could no longer resist and rose, giving Colonel Fitzwilliam her hand along with a glowing smile. Darcy was certain he would once again have to listen to a gentleman speak on the subject of Jane’s beauty of face and figure and her goodness of heart. He was comforted by knowing that it was not in the nature of his cousin or Jane to love by halves and that they had each made an excellent choice.
He caught Elizabeth’s eye and could not contain his smile in the face of her own dancing eyes and beaming grin. He suspected that his wife had already jumped from the idea of Jane and his cousin living happily a few streets away from them in town to spending the summer months together at Pemberley and their children playing together.
***
Later that evening, Elizabeth and Darcy stood together in the center of the main hall where their guests were loitering and chatting. While some of their guests would stay at Pemberley for an extended visit, others would be returning home shortly. They were scattered about the room as they gathered wraps and gloves and said their good-byes. Jane and the colonel stood to the side, engaged in earnest yet quiet conversation, and Darcy presumed that before the week was out, his cousin would be traveling to Longbourn to speak with Mr. Bennet.
“We hosted a splendid event, dearest,” Elizabeth told him.
“It is more to your credit than mine,” Darcy answered quickly. He knew very well that the success of the evening had more to do with his wife’s careful planning and charming personality than any contribution on his part.
“Perhaps, but I have become accustomed to saying ‘we’ instead of ‘I.’ ‘We’ better expresses the harmony between us, and that is the way that I prefer to consider matters now. I know that you feel the same way. ‘I�
�� sounds cold and selfish when compared to our perfect happiness. No, Mr. Darcy, ‘we’ is so much more precious and endearing than ‘I.’”
Darcy was all attention, looking and listening to his wife with his whole soul. Not for the first time did he find his ability to express himself with words to be sorely lacking. Elizabeth read his feelings in his eyes and, with a smile and a gentle squeeze of her hand, let him know how well she understood him. Her hand fell from his arm, and she stepped away, considering the presence of nearly forty other people with them in the hall. Seized by the need to express his ardent love, Fitzwilliam Darcy, a gentleman of dignity, well known for his reserve, pulled his wife strongly against him and, in view of all of his neighbors and servants, kissed her fully on the lips.
THE END
About the Author
Heather Moll is an avid reader of mysteries and biographies. She has degrees in international economics and European history and an MS in information science. Heather found Jane Austen later in life than she should have, and she made up for lost time by devouring all of Austen’s novels, letters, and unpublished works, joining JASNA, and spending far too much time researching the Regency era. She lives with her husband and son and struggles to balance all of the important things—like whether to buy groceries or stay home and write. Connect with her on Facebook or Twitter.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the team at Meryton Press for their trust and support. I am particularly grateful to the talents of Janet Taylor and Ellen Pickels. Sarah Pesce was my editor and personal miracle worker, and I am happy to say that we were friends before, during, and after the process of bringing out this book. I thank my parents for thinking that all of the term papers and childhood stories I wrote were brilliant, and I am grateful to the welcoming community at A Happy Assembly for pushing me down the path of becoming a writer. My final thanks go to my husband Peter Skrabis for his constant and loving encouragement and for not laughing when I said out of the blue, “So, I wrote this story…”