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

by Karen Wasylowski

  “Sorry about the pinch, but gad, you were doing it up a bit brown, don’t you think?” Georgiana and Emily watched her cousin’s retreating form.

  “Was I?” She turned a worried look back to Georgiana. “Oh, dear, I so hoped he wouldn’t notice my few blunders. I was trying to get in all the bits we wanted. Did I mention kind? Yes I did, didn’t I? I liked the ‘mother’ comment, also. He seemed moved by that, did he not? Huh! It worked much more quickly than I thought it would. Very promising, Georgiana,” Emily said with a chuckle. “Yes indeed, very promising.”

  Chapter 9

  The encounter in the ladies’ retiring room had humiliated her, and had convinced Amanda more than ever that she would never become accustomed to these people, she would never belong here. She sighed, wishing she had thicker skin, was not so easily hurt, then shuddered from the cold evening. She began to mumble to herself, wondering why Emily had asked her to wait on the balcony. If she had known she’d be going outside, she could have brought her wrap.

  “May I join you?” Fitzwilliam hesitated for a moment in the doorway and then approached her, removing his coat to place over her shoulders. “If you notice, I did not provide you with an opportunity to deny me.”

  She gazed at him, grateful for the warmth of his coat and the kindness of his smile. “Thank you so very much,” she said. “My blood was beginning to freeze out here.”

  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?”

  “You don’t understand.” She spoke barely above a whisper. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, you and I have no future beyond the moment. I am attracted to you—very attracted, and I am happy to know you have found me interesting. However, you belong to a world I do not understand nor even like. It is a world in which I have already failed miserably.” She looked up into eyes that seemed to hold only warmth and love.

  “I cannot imagine why you would fail in it, and I refuse to accept that there is no future, only here and now. Give me your reasons, young woman, so that I may bash them away.”

  “Well, it’s all very obvious, there are so many differences. For one thing, you are an earl’s son, a British officer, and I am an American citizen, the daughter of a teacher of medicine, a physician.” Her eyes wrinkled with self-deprecating humor. “When you become upset, you retire to your country estates. When I become upset, I make applesauce.”

  He studied her hands, so cool and delicate encased within his large, scarred ones, and they were indeed hands that worked at many tasks, clean and neat but not manicured or fussed over. Bringing them to his lips, he kissed them both. “Is applesauce to be our only impediment, then?” His lips brushed lightly across her forehead, her cheek, her neck. She really did smell wonderful.

  Her mind was suddenly very muddled. “No, of course not. That would be childish.” She sighed and wondered what that wonderful scent was on his neck. It was very exciting, very masculine. “Well, ahem, my heavens, let’s see; there’s also apple pie and apple butter and apple…” She knew she was making no sense, and her voice trailed off with the heady feel of his warm breath on her closed eyelids.

  “Yes, go on. You were speaking about apples, I believe. What other affront am I to battle with regards to apples?”

  “Tarts,” she rasped. He raised his eyebrows, and his eyes crinkled in amusement. She shook her head in momentary confusion. “Apple tarts, that is. Yes, that’s it, apple tarts.”


  “Ah. Thank you for clarifying that. Well, you may be correct. However, I am only a second son, so my life has long been my own to decide, with my so-called exalted heritage of a level that I can do pretty much whatever I want and still be fawned over outrageously by the peerage.” He pressed her fingertips to his heart.

  “And, while perhaps you are right and we only have right now, not tomorrow or next week, I cannot help but think that there is more to us than mere physical attraction.” All the gentle teasing gone from his eyes, he stared seriously at her. “You have lit up something within me, Amanda, an area that has been dark all my life, an area that I refuse to have go dark again. It is as if I had never lived before.”

  And suddenly she knew for a fact that nothing would ever be the same; everything he was saying was true. She was feeling the exact emotions as he, also alive for the first time in her life. His feelings mirrored her own so nearly that she shivered, began to entertain a thin ray of hope. It was frightening, allowing herself a moment to stand on the threshold of something wonderful, holding hands with the man, the only man, who had ever made her heart race and her knees weaken. Amanda pressed her back against the wall and stared mutely up at him and then down at their two hands still tightly interlocked.

  The music, the laughter, the three hundred voices had faded into silence. Fitzwilliam tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear then rested his forearm on the wall next to her head, his smiling lips mere inches away from hers. She opened her mouth to speak, only to close it again while her eyes drifted from his rumpled hair to his shining eyes and down again to his mouth.

  She had waited for this moment her whole life. This is my beloved.

  Resting his hand over her heart, he felt it pounding as hard as his. Her eyes brimmed with joyful tears as both her hands came up to press his more firmly against her breast. The moment had an unreal feel to it, as if two souls destined to journey together throughout eternity had finally been reunited.

  They had finally both come home.

  ***

  They blended together smoothly, then, their embrace encircling and their mouths slanting each to the other. His arms slipped around her waist and her shoulders, and his hand plunged into her hair. She was eager and pliant and passionate.

  How long did they stand there as their kiss deepened, their hands growing more and more bold with passion? Five minutes or five hours—neither of them could later say. They were lost in that kiss, a cessation of time and space wherein she felt she could not hold him close enough, nor did he feel that he could kiss her deeply enough. But they kept trying, nonetheless. With his body, he pressed hers hard against the balcony wall, their tongues caressing. “This is madness,” she gasped.

  “Insanity,” he agreed.

  When they finally separated and rested their foreheads together, they smiled, warm and silly and in a besotted shock, breathing raggedly.

  Then another even more passionate kiss began, leading into another.

  And then one more.

  ***

  “Fitzwilliam? Fitz? Where in bloody hell is that old fart?” Darcy muttered. “Richard, you’d better not be taking a piss off the…” He finally saw the couple in the far shadows, recognizing them a second later. The woman had jumped at the sound of his voice and now turned her flushed face away, hiding it in the shoulder of his cousin.

  “Pardon, Fitz, oh my, forgive me for intruding.” Stunned, Darcy stepped back, attempting to make a hasty retreat from the terrace.

  “What is it, Darcy?” Fitzwilliam managed to say finally.

  “Nothing, nothing really…” Darcy tried averting his eyes, but they kept flinging themselves back to the embracing couple. “Well, Fitz, I feel quite ridiculous. Georgiana is getting anxious in the crowd, and Aunt Catherine is concerned, wants us to take her home, but it can wait, good Lord, it can wait. Carry on… I mean, please excuse my intrusion.” He walked back into the ballroom, cursing his own stupidity.

  Amanda pulled back from the embrace to stare deeply into Fitzwilliam’s eyes. She was sadly tumbling back down into reality. Even if they could surmount all other obstacles, there was still her son—she would never marry, could never leave her son. He tried to return to that magic, pulling her close in his arms, and she reached up to caress his cheek. “I must go.”

  “Don’t leave, please,” he whispered so earnestly. “Stay with me, forever.”

  She stared long and hard into his eyes. “You could not understand what you ask,” she whispered back. “This must end here. Forgive me, Colonel, but there really is no future for us.”

  “I found the one whom my soul loves.” She mourned within at the words. Was that not the Psalm at last Sunday’s mass? Foolishly, she had believed at the time it an omen of good luck. Her broken heart twisted with the thought. “I am promised to another, Colonel.”

  ***

  His iron jaw clenched, and he took a quick step back, still holding her arms. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Yes. I am promised to another. I am afraid that there really is no future for us.”

  He stared down at her for a few moments. Something was very wrong here. Nothing made sense. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He chuckled, blithely dismissing her comment with a smile. Hoping to read her thoughts, desiring only to stare again into her eyes, he attempted to lift her resisting chin with his finger. “No. No, I will not believe this. You are teasing me for some reason. Have I offended you, been too forward, is that it? I can assure you, madam, that my intentions are more than honorable. I’m in love with you, Amanda.”

  Amanda cleared her throat. “Forgive me. It was the romance of the night.” She looked away, her eyes misting. “I forgot myself just a little.”

  What? Fitzwilliam’s head shot back. “Forgot yourself ‘just a little’?! You quite amaze me with that immense understatement. Explain yourself.”

  Amanda began to stammer. “W-w-well, I was s-swayed by the lovely night, by the wine, but I am more lucid now. I couldn’t think before, you see. The fact is that I am involved with someone else, and it would be unfair to him, as well as you, to allow this to go on any further.” Her voice sounded thin and completely unconvincing, even to herself. “If my emotions have been carried away, I can only explain it by saying I am only human after all.”

  “Huh!” He threw an amused glance at her, one eyebrow quirking itself to death with its skepticism. “Please do not lie to me, Amanda.” His tone became authoritative, firm. It was as if he was reprimanding a recalcitrant child. “I am not an idiot, my dear. There could be no one else, as we both know. What sort of foolishness do you play here?”

  What did he mean—could not be anyone else? Was she that undesirable? Even if she did regret this ridiculous lie, she could not retreat from it now. She yanked her hands free from his grasp and crossed her arms over her chest. “I beg your pardon, Colonel? You cannot honestly be calling me a liar?!” Her tone was icy cold.

  “Yes, I can, and a pathetically poor one at that.”

  “Well, well. Colonel Fitzwilliam, I am not accustomed to having my words doubted in this way, or in any way, for that matter!” She was suddenly livid. “I can assure you that I am involved with another! Oh yes! He is a respected physician, and I know him very well from chapel on Sundays. In fact, I go often to his hospital to volunteer my services to the poor. Yes, we are very involved! I am involved unto the brink of receiving and accepting his offer!” Ha! That told him. She pulled and tugged at her dress then ruthlessly yanked locks of falling hair and seemed to pin them directly into her skull. He half expected to see rivulets of blood stream down her forehead and neck.

  A disbelieving Fitzwilliam was becoming exceedingly annoyed. “Really? Is that a fact? How very interesting. Come, who is it, then? I insist on knowing his name. You say he is from the hospital. Very well, I am there often to visit my men. I am certain I know him. Well, speak, woman, who is this mysterious man you cannot live without? Tell me—if you can! Is it Mr. Cannon? Mr. Braithwaite? Sir Michael S
iemons?”

  “Sir Michael is nearly eighty-five years old!”

  “Madam, after this encounter, I have every confidence in your ability to raise the dead. Now stop bamming me, Amanda! You are hardly the sort of female to be on the brink of betrothal to one man while passionately making love to another! I am not some young buck just come to town.”

  This was the outside of enough! Even if he was absolutely correct in his appraisal, why would he not think another would want her? She believed herself to be attractive in certain lights—true, those lights needed to be very dim and at least twelve feet away. The nerve of this arrogant turtleback or lobsterfoot or whatever he is. Her Yankee temper flared red-hot, and she twitched around like a netted fish, unable to stand still in one spot. “Please stand aside. I am returning home.”

  “Who is it? Anthony Milagros?” Please don’t let it be Milagros. He had met Milagros and liked the man, but Milagros was tall, dark, and elegantly handsome. Most women he knew adored him. Suddenly he loathed the man. When Amanda’s head snapped up at the name, Fitzwilliam’s temper detonated. “So it is Milagros, is it? I might have known you would be like all the rest, drooling over some goddamn oily Latin type. Well, he is handsome and rich, I’ll give you that!”

  It was at that moment that Darcy came out onto the balcony, a concerned look on his face. “Is everything all right? You two are making a bit of a racket. People are beginning to become alarmed…”

  “Get out!” they shouted in unison. Seeing the furious looks on both their faces, he immediately spun around on his heel and made a hasty retreat inside.

  “Well!” She furiously patted her hair down on both sides. “I have never been so insulted nor so abused in my life! Colonel Fitzwilliam, I would appreciate it if you would never attempt to speak with me or contact me again!”

  “Believe me, Lady Penrod, that is the farthest thought from my mind! You shall have no cause for further alarm on that front! The joy of the evening to you, madam!” Fitzwilliam released his hold on Amanda’s arms so suddenly that she almost fell back against the wall. His fists rested upon his hips as he turned his body angrily away.