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

by Karen Wasylowski

  Fitzwilliam stiffened. “Aside from your previous gibberish, what is it about her, exactly, that you do not consider my type?”

  Darcy hesitated for a few tension-filled moments before proceeding at his peril. “Truthfully? All right. Well, she’s not at all fussy or overly made-up. She’s naïve-looking, soft, elegant, and pleasant. None of those are your usual requirements—in fact, quite the opposite.” Darcy and Fitzwilliam stood glaring at each other before Darcy finally broke rank and turned back. He then gestured toward the woman under discussion. “I mean, she really is quite beautiful, to be sure. Oh, and my goodness, what an exquisite smile she has, such luscious, full lips. And dimples, too? Good God!” He chuckled and shook his head. “No, she’s definitely not your type at all.”

  “All right, that does it. I should call you out.”

  “Well, think about it. You could actually grow to love this woman, then where would you be?”

  “Never mind about all that. I don’t care for the way you are looking at her, brat, with your insolent eyes. And how dare you comment upon her lips, goddamn it. You’re almost drooling.”

  Darcy turned to coolly assess his cousin. “You should be medicated.”

  “You were leering at her.”

  “I was not leering, you apelike menace! I was asked my opinion.”

  “Aha! Well…you are the demented one—you were never asked for your opinion, and I, above all people, know a leer when I see one, and I certainly don’t need your approval. I was merely pointing her out to you.”

  “What’s going on, gentlemen?” Georgiana returned to their side after freshening herself. The carriage ride had been long and blustery, a frigid winter storm approaching with snow and sleet threatening to descend upon London at any moment.

  “Oh, Fitzwilliam has finally lost what little was left of his mind. He is annoyed with me for glancing at his newest obsession,” Darcy whispered loudly. “He is also exceedingly upset because I have been pointing out to him the many ways in which she would not suit him at all.”

  “Really? What fun! May I take a stab? Where is she?” Darcy indicated the far corner where the beauty was standing.

  Fitzwilliam threw up his hands and turned his back on them. “I am leaving you both. I know neither of you. Good-bye.”

  “Oh, how charming she is and how different are her features! Truly a paragon!” Georgiana gushed. A slightly mollified Fitzwilliam waited. “And not your type at all, Richard. Definitely not!” Georgiana’s clear assessing gaze darted from the beauty to Fitzwilliam and then back to the beauty. He turned slowly around and faced her.

  “Et tu, Judas?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Heavens, Richard, just look at the color in your face! Are you feeling all right?” She regarded him with great concern.

  “That is not my type of woman… exactly how, may I ask?”

  “Well, no offense, dear one, but…” Fitzwilliam simmered as Georgiana wrinkled up her nose, hesitating for just a moment before she continued. “Well… frankly… I oftentimes feel a need to bathe after meeting one of your lady friends. Some of them have looked positively feral. For heaven’s sake, some have not even appeared human, ha, ha, ha… Excuse me, that was unkind.”

  Darcy stepped away briefly to disguise his laughter as Fitzwilliam’s fists balled up to his sides. It was then Georgiana took a better look at his face and stepped backward.

  “Thank you so much, Darcy and Georgiana, for your candor. If, by any chance we should meet again, say either of you lie bleeding on the street or twisted beneath a carriage, please do not be offended if I cross the road to the other side. My, what a little nest of vipers are my family.”

  Georgiana gulped and whispered to her brother, “Heavens, what have I said now?”

  Fitzwilliam glared down at her for several seconds. “Here’s the thing, Georgiana. I require you to get me introduced to that woman—it is the only reason I’m attending this blasted nonsense. I don’t know how you will do it. Fact is, my dear, I don’t really give a damn.”

  Georgiana blanched at the horde surrounding them, her fear of crowds once again rising. She had so hoped to continue hiding between her two male family members, but Fitzwilliam was not to be put off. “And, if you do not, I will tell your brother here about a certain young acquaintance of which I have heard rumors.”

  Darcy’s eyebrow arched neatly into his hairline. “Georgiana??”

  “Sorry, Brother, I have a mission to accomplish.” With her eyes averted, she had just turned to scamper off when she was stopped by an elegantly gloved hand clasped onto her wrist.

  “There you are.” The familiar and grating voice pierced their bubble of gaiety. Fitzwilliam cringed as Darcy turned to greet their aunt.

  “Aunt Catherine”—he bowed to kiss her cheek—“what a delight to see you.” He lied on behalf of them all. “We feared we would have difficulties finding you in this crush.”

  “Crush? I’ve taken baths with more servants in attendance. By the way, why on earth are you arriving at this hour? You were both taught better manners than this!” Darcy noted that her shiny eyes were having some difficulty focusing, possibly from too many glasses of sherry.

  “Catherine,” Darcy said calmly, trying to be patient, “it’s only half-past nine.”

  “Exactly! Well, it can’t be helped now. I must take you all to greet Lady Jersey. Where is Georgiana? Where is my little one?”

  The two men parted to expose the trembling debutante.

  Catherine’s hands flew up to her cheeks, tears welling in her tiny and slightly dazed eyes. “Georgiana, you look so like your dear mother. She was my sister, did you know that? Well, you look absolutely exquisite, no other word to describe. Who designed your gown, dearest? It is lovely. Who is her dressmaker? Who…?” She looked questioningly at her nephews’ blank stares and immediately gave up. “Oh, never mind. It’s like talking to cheese.”

  “Madame Collette,” Georgiana supplied, smiling.

  Catherine nodded her approval then evaluated Darcy’s appearance and glowed with pride. He was, as always, dressed in the height of elegance. She flinched visibly when she turned her attention to Fitzwilliam, cocking one eyebrow as she scanned his boots with her quizzing glass.

  “I fell under my horse at Waterloo. Haven’t had a chance to get them buffed up as yet.”

  Losing interest quickly in her nephew’s boots, Catherine returned her attention to Georgiana and smiled kindly. “Do you have a lady’s maid?”

  “Aunt Catherine.” Darcy was not amused. “I can assure you Georgiana has several lady’s maids and a companion. She also has a number of homes at her disposal whenever and wherever she desires, all bursting with staff, horses, sixteen dogs, and five cats.”

  “I do so like your hair, Georgiana. I cannot abide a maid who is unable to properly attend to hair. Yours looks exceedingly well. Who did it? The cook? The laundress? The groundskeeper?”

  “My maid, Aunt Catherine.”

  Darcy’s foot began to tap furiously, but Catherine’s infamous pendulum-like attention had now swung back to Fitzwilliam.

  “Why on earth are you turning around every five seconds?! Have you a palsy or some other like condition?”

  “Yes, Lady Catherine, and I appeal to you to excuse me. I feel the need to lie down and rest for a while.”

  Catherine huffed. “Oh, you have a condition, I’ll warrant, but it isn’t palsy. I am beginning to question your eyesight. You keep looking across the room at those old dowagers.” She squinted harder and then turned back to him, aghast. “At least I am sincerely hoping it is the dowagers. Never tell me you are casting those longing looks toward the atrocious lavender dress. She is not suitable, Fitzwilliam. Don’t repeat this to a soul, but I believe she is wearing wool.”

  He stared down at her in fuming silence.

  “She is a servant, Richard! That is obvious by the meanness of her attire! You cannot be serious!”

  Fitzwilliam’s voice grew ominous
ly quiet. “I am not in the habit of judging people merely by their garments, Aunt. Besides, how can you of all people consider her a servant? She is still young enough to walk without assistance.”

  “Don’t you get so high and mighty with me, young man! No woman of quality would be seen out in the evening without jewels, with no gloves, no hair adornments—in wool! Where is her fan, I ask? Ugh! Merciful heavens, this is not to be borne!”

  Darcy cleared his throat. “Aunt Catherine, we had considered that possibly the young woman in question may be a foreigner, perhaps in mourning attire. That would explain the rather drab clothing as well as her lack of embellishment.”

  “Oh, the poor dear, a war widow, do you think?” Catherine’s hand went to her heart in devastated compassion, completely forgetting her previous outburst.

  It swiftly passed.

  “Very well, come along, everyone,” she chirped. “Fitzwilliam, it appears that you will be having a bit of competition for your widow—oh la, that sounded rather ominous, didn’t it?” Catherine had been motioning toward an officer circling Brown Eyes when she realized what she had said. She took Fitzwilliam’s arm and pulled him behind her. “Well, never you mind, sirrah. At the present, you will have to settle with charming your viperous hostess.”

  ***

  It was nearly a half hour later before Fitzwilliam and Darcy made their escape from the high-pitched, squealing voice of their hostess, Lady Sally Jersey, in addition to the whining Lady Castlereigh, the barely audible Lady Cowper, and the baritone Lady Sefton, all audibly thrilled to have such distinguished gentlemen in their midst.

  “Kill me if I ever agree to do this for another female relative,” Fitzwilliam spoke pleasantly to anyone within hearing.

  “Aunt Catherine wants me to dance with Princess Esterhazy’s daughter…”

  “Oh, you poor sod.” Fitzwilliam’s attention was distracted suddenly.

  “Can I leave you alone for fifteen minutes without your causing a scene? Richard? Richard?”

  Richard had already stomped away.

  Merde.

  Chapter 5

  Amanda Sayles Penrod sat among the dowagers, widows, and poor-relation chaperones that occupy the draftiest, farthest, and darkest corners of any ballroom or assembly, and happy she was for even this little diversion. It had been months since she had seen been at a public gathering, years since she had attended a society ball with music and dancing. If only her dearest Anthony had accompanied her this night, she would have felt safer and more relaxed, less alone.

  She was momentarily drawn from her daydreams to be introduced, along with her late husband’s cousin, Emily, to a beautiful young woman, a member of one of the grandest families in England, the Darcys. A gracious and sweet young lady, Georgiana Darcy was much less intimidating than the other debutantes in attendance this night, and Amanda could sense Emily’s immediate ease. She wistfully waved the two off, both girls emboldened now by the presence of a kindred spirit, as they began meeting other young people.

  Amanda sighed. One day perhaps she, too, would again know the joy of beautiful clothes and dancing and love and romance. Her heart quickened as always at the thought of a certain oddly attractive and very tall colonel who, if not classically handsome, was very masculine and self-assured and commanding. She had noticed him over the years, followed his brilliant career, had smiled shyly at him from across the square, but had never come face-to-face with the man until he retrieved her reticule from under the carriage. Still and all though, they hadn’t really met properly and probably never would. Well, it did no harm to fantasize. Fantasy was all she would ever allow herself. She could never meet anyone now, not when her little boy so needed her.

  Of a sudden, she was aware of movement around her. Officers had approached and were attempting to converse with her. Pretending ignorance, Amanda shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, an impressive dumb show of confusion if she did say so herself. She lowered her eyes to hands folded demurely on her lap and just prayed to heaven that the men would forget her and leave.

  Instead, the two old women who had been seated beside her and in front clucked their tongues and walked away, uninterested in assisting a young woman who looked so poor and acted so servile. A third old tabby dozed fitfully, her head lolling back and then jerking forward whenever her snores awakened her.

  At first, the men seemed to be enjoying what they interpreted as shyness, quickly becoming emboldened by her apparent lack of understanding and protection. The discourse between the drunken officers spiraled into the colorfully ribald. “Could she be a delectable little soiled dove in disguise as a housemaid?”

  One inebriated officer laughed hysterically as he attempted to see the color of her eyes. As she kept lowering her head to avoid him, he kept bending over until, at one point, he nearly lost his balance.

  “Neddie, at the very least tell me if she rouges her nipples, please.”

  The color was rapidly draining from Ned’s cheeks with his head bent down so far. He hiccoughed and nearly lost his footing again. “With this ghastly dress, it’s hard to tell if she even has bubbies.” He stumbled a bit and then plopped down on the floor before her. “I can’t even be assured she has lips. But, by God, I believe there is a true beauty hiding in these dowdy duds, if only she would raise up her eyes! Bunty, poke her shoulder. Make her look up.”

  “I should indeed love to poke her, Ned—but in the shoulder is a bit perverse, even for me.”

  The raucous laughter brought another soldier up, a major. “You two are making complete clodpoles of yourselves!” The major shook his head, and standing behind her boldly placed his hand upon her shoulder to keep her seated. “You are both far too into your cups to be of any service to this sweet young thing. Bugger off and leave her to me!”

  Chapter 6

  Moments passed that felt like years while the whimpering in her head continued unabated and her heart pounded. Afraid to raise her eyes, she was flushed with embarrassment, only gradually realizing that the bawdy comments had ceased and the area around her was now silent. She held her breath, though, knowing that she was still not alone. Someone stood before her, a form leaning over her and large enough that it blocked out much of the light provided from the wall sconces behind.

  She slowly looked up, first at his dusty and beaten-looking riding boots (My stars, what big feet), and then at the muscled legs encased in white trousers (Must be a lifelong horseman). She blushed, realizing that she should not be gazing quite so intently at those. Next came the impressive barrel chest, the fine masculine shoulders made broader by epaulettes wide enough to serve dinner upon, a scarlet military jacket with its sash, golden buttons, braids, and medals…lots of medals (Oh no, another soldier!) His gloved hand rested on the hilt of a beautiful dress sword.

  When her eyes finally reached his face, she saw the kindest bluest eyes she had ever beheld, a prominent jaw with a crooked, easy smile, tousled muddy-colored blond hair… With a gasp, she realized that it was the celebrated colonel, the man she continually fantasized over, her hero from the street. She sat bolt upright.

  Huh.

  In stunned silence, she glanced around to see that the other men had fled, and she sat alone, staring up at that tender face. It was unbelievable, her shock and his sudden presence crushing her ability to speak.

  Huh.

  He spoke to her at length in French, appearing surprised when she blinked back in wonder. He laughed a little and straightened up, looked around the room, and then stroked his chin. He then began speaking in Spanish, and after that a language she had never heard before.

  ***

  After running off the drunken soldiers with unsubstantiated threats and one menacing eyebrow, Fitzwilliam turned to the beauty before him and bowed. If he imagined she was lovely through a blinding sleet storm or from the frosted window of a carriage or from across a ballroom, she was breathtaking up close, staring at him like a fairy-tale princess awaking from a trance. A gradually awakening Sleepi
ng Beauty, perhaps, her eyelashes slowly fluttering open.

  Then, her full, red, luscious lips opened to pronounce what sounded like a muted “Duh?”

  He winced. Oh, shit. A horrible fear gripped his gut that Darcy would be right again and she might be yet another brainless twit. He would never live this down. Never. His heart sank further as she revisited her first observation with an even louder “Duh?”

  He spoke to her eloquently in French, apologizing for his boldness in approaching and for the inebriated officers, all the time admiring her beauty if not her conversation. She was beginning to blink more rapidly, at least, her squint appearing more intelligent, or was that just wishful thinking on his part? She certainly did not look Spanish, but he tried that, too. Her eyes opened wider. He finally tried Danish. She shrugged her shoulders. Perhaps the poor darling was truly mentally impaired.

  “Well, I have run out of languages, beautiful one. Now what shall I do?” He turned around and searched the crowded ballroom. “Where the hell has Georgiana gotten to?”

  Her hand immediately reached out and briefly touched his sleeve. She was terribly alarmed; desperate that he was about to leave. “Pardon me for being so forward, Colonel, but she should return here in a moment. I heard her mention that she needed to find her brother and cousin.”

  Fitzwilliam spun around in shock. “You speak English!”

  “No. I’m sorry, sir, I do not. I’m an American.”

  ***

  Georgiana, along with her new dearest friend Emily, reached the laughing couple several moments later. “Cousin?” she whispered kindly and tapped his shoulder, but he was lost to the world, staring into the loveliest eyes he had ever seen, so that he felt nothing and heard little else.

  “Cousin?” she repeated more loudly and with a bit more force, then flicked his ear sharply with a hard snap of her fingers. His wits quickly returned, and he turned to his left, stunned to see people surrounding them.