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

by Karen Wasylowski

  “Not now, Aunt!” His movements had stopped, and he glared down at Amanda’s bent head.

  “Oh, William, I have left my new cloak in the colonel’s suite. I trust that is acceptable.” Seeing her son’s shoes on the side of the settee, she bent to retrieve them, her movements heavy and slow. With growing sadness, she felt each step, each decision, each action that was taking her farther away from her beloved husband. She scratched her forehead, trying to remember all the little things she wanted to tell him. “Richard, I put the wedding ring in your top drawer. It will be safer here.”

  “My home is completely at your disposal, Amanda.” Darcy watched in sadness as his cousin’s face drained of color. An ominous silence had filled the room.

  “Fitzwilliam!”

  He ignored his aunt’s repeated call and grabbed Amanda’s wrist, pulling her before the fireplace to speak in relative privacy. “What do you mean, Amanda, ‘Send a message with Emily’?” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Why would I have need to send a message to you with Emily when you will be accompanying me, at my side at all times?”

  Amanda stared, blinking at her husband for several moments before speaking. “Whatever do you mean, Richard?”

  “You heard me well enough, I think. Harry may be returning to Penwood, but you certainly cannot. I would never allow you to return to that life.” The forbidding scowl on his face disguised his growing alarm. “No. You will remain here with me in Darcy’s home. Harry will be returned to his grandmother, and he will be fine there. You said yourself that she adores the boy. He will be very well looked after.”

  Her heart began to pound. “Excuse me, but we have discussed this, Richard. You cannot have forgotten so soon.” She saw no enlightenment dawn on his features, no hint of understanding, his face unyielding. She grabbed his arm when he dismissively turned away. “Richard, stop and remember, please. I told you that my son would come first, always. I will be returning with Harry. My place is with my little boy until this problem is settled. Oh, please do not look at me so indignantly. Just send me a note with Georgiana, or it will have to wait. In the future, when her anger cools, we can again arrange to meet somewhere. Darcy will be much more helpful to you with the solicitor than I could ever hope to be.” The room was twirling about her, and she pressed her eyes closed. Perhaps this was only another nightmare, and she would wake up soon to snuggle back into her husband’s embrace.

  He pulled from her grasp and began to pace.

  “Richard, I insist upon knowing…!”

  “Stay out of this, Catherine! This does not concern you.” He stormed back to Amanda’s side. “I am afraid I did not make myself clear to you before. Our circumstances have obviously changed. Your return to Penwood is not in the best interest of our situation, Amanda, not in the best interest of our family. No, madam, not by half. Your place is with me as my wife, and you will not be leaving, I can assure you of that. Not today nor on any day in the future.” His voice sounded unyielding, his appearance more distant than ever before; the look of disdain in his eyes alarming. The fact was that he hated himself at that moment, hated his betrayal of her trust in him, but he appeared unwilling or unable to stop himself. He could not lose her now, or ever. He would die first. She turned her back on him and tried to walk away. He grabbed her arm. “You belong to me, Amanda. I own you.”

  Amanda stared up into a stranger’s face, her nightmare coming to life. “Own me? What are you saying?” she whispered. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” Her voice shook. “Richard, we discussed this before we were married. My place is with Harry; he is just a child. My place is with my son.” Her first bout of daily morning sickness picked this moment to hit with a vengeance, and she tried to fight back her growing nausea. For a few horrible moments, she feared she would cast up her prior evening’s dinner directly into his face.

  “Ridiculous, am I?” he roared, mistaking her discomfort for disgust. “Listen to me, woman! You are my wife! You carry my unborn child! No, madam, you can put all thoughts of leaving from your mind. If I have to lock you in your room, you will remain with me!” He reached for her.

  “No!” Stepping back, she screamed, “Do not do this, please!”

  Darcy went again to his cousin’s side, trying to pull him back. “Richard, stop.” Fitzwilliam shrugged him off then appeared to calm for a moment.

  Suddenly grabbing a porcelain vase, Fitzwilliam violently smashed it against the wall. “So be it, Amanda, so be it. But the child in your belly is mine, and by God, I swear it will never be raised by you!”

  She slapped him then with all her strength, stopped by him as she tried for another. In the stunned silence that followed, Harry’s wails of terror could be heard coming from the top of the staircase where he stood naked, water dripping from his shaking body. He had heard his mother’s screams and immediately darted from his bath, terrified for her. Quickly reaching him, the nursemaid lifted him into her arms and ran with him back to the safety of his room.

  “Enough!” yelled Catherine, slamming her cane onto the floor. The shocked room became suddenly quiet. “Stop this instant! You are saying things in anger, dangerous, hurtful things, words that can never be taken back nor forgotten!”

  Darcy rushed forward to grab onto Fitzwilliam’s arm as his cousin and Amanda stood toe-to-toe, glaring hatefully at each other. Fitzwilliam violently pulled his arm away and stormed from the house, Darcy following in his wake.

  “What a bloody mess,” Catherine murmured after a few moments.

  Chapter 12

  Lady Catherine Julietta Fitzwilliam de Bourgh, countess, socialite, wife, mother, sister, and aunt, sat alone with the sobbing American girl, reflecting on her own long and full life. A woman of experience, age, and status, she had lived through nearly everything the world could throw at her. Little had surprised her through the years.

  Oh, there had been the premature birth of her daughter, Anne, and then her daughter’s subsequent lifelong illness.

  There had been the sudden marriage of her only sister to the man Catherine had truly loved above all others.

  There had been two separate women at court making sexual advances toward her for some unfathomable reason.

  There was that unfortunate discovery of an inebriated Prince of Wales naked atop an underage chambermaid on the floor of her favorite coach. They were playing “Hide His Majesty’s Scepter and Orbs.” That had been a real stunner, with the coach subsequently sold as quickly as possible.

  And, of course, there was always the fact that gowns she had worn only two years prior could mysteriously shrink, accompanied by an oddly proportionate increase in her shoe size. This, too, never ceased to astound.

  But nothing had prepared her for the events of this morning.

  When she initially discovered from her favorite informant that her nephew had been brazenly living at Darcy’s for two days with the woman from the Winter Ball, she had come prepared to do battle royal. She arrived with the determination to put a stop to the scandalous affair immediately.

  That was before she discovered they were already married.

  That was before she discovered they were already expecting a child.

  Merde.

  And there he was, pacing back and forth, the pain and desperation in his eyes tearing at her heart. He was her problem child, the one she had worried herself sick over for more than thirty-two years now—had been troublesome since the day he was born, sickly and frail. And now look at him, the big ox. His chaotic personality so mirrored her own sometimes that it brought a lump to her throat.

  To see him now and witness his world disintegrating around him was more than she could bear. Whether the woman was suitable for an earl’s son or not, they were married and bedded and with child, the deed done.

  Another unsuitable wife for yet another of her nephews, she grumbled as the battle raged on before her. Whatever is wrong with these young people today? She crushed her fan in her exasperation. Have they no sense of form or propriety? Do they imagi
ne they can marry anyone they fancy, in some havey-cavey manner, whenever the whim takes them? What was all this modern nonsense about love, love, love? It was enough to make one ill. Why, if tender feelings were a reason for marriage, most of the ton would die single. Generations of bloodlines would disappear. Heritages would be lost.

  She grunted. Oh bother! If that was what her beloved rascal wanted, she would move heaven, earth, and hell to fix this for him. She would not risk alienating another nephew. She had worked too hard reestablishing herself with the other fool.

  She had learned her lesson with Darcy.

  ***

  Harry’s jacket and stockings lay in a heap by the settee, and Amanda crossed over to pick them up. Suddenly overcome with grief, she sat and began to weep, her handkerchief pressed tightly to her eyes. So many dreams had been crushed this morning, so many cruel words, all her illusions now in pieces.

  A hesitant Catherine came to stand before her, waiting for the girl to get a grip on her feelings. She looked about the room and frowned. Good Lord, how she despised public displays of emotion like this.

  She rolled her eyes. “Please stop crying, madam.” Catherine tried to sound sympathetic as she poked her finger hard into Amanda’s shoulder, but the muffled sobs only increased. When no other verbal response came forth, she began to tap her foot impatiently. She bent far over at the waist to scrutinize the bawling figure, much as if she were studying a flopping fish on the bottom of a boat, then she straightened herself once again. She cleared her throat. “There, there,” she muttered in a flat, uninterested voice, her attention and gaze wandering aimlessly toward a particularly fine tapestry against the far wall. It was lovely in cream and blue. She must find out something about its design from Elizabeth…

  Amanda looked up, her tears subsiding. “Oh my, I should go up and see to my son.” She wiped the backs of her hands across her tears and sighed. “Excuse me, Lady Catherine.”

  “One moment of your time first, if you please, madam. I have a few questions. It will not take long.”

  Amanda nodded, apprehensive in the presence of this formidable little powerhouse.

  Catherine smiled amiably. “How long ago did you trick my nephew into this marriage?” Catherine’s previous heartwarming display of empathy was evidently now officially over.

  “I beg your pardon!” Amanda felt her back stiffen. “If you must know, the colonel and I were married four weeks ago.” She sniffled and loudly blew her nose.

  “Four weeks ago! Unheard of! You knew each other, what, two or three weeks at the most, and you are already married and with child? I don’t believe you! But I imagine that is how you were able to force my nephew’s hand in marriage.” Catherine’s cold smile grew wide, but her eyes narrowed to slits. “He is a man of great personal honor from a distinguished family. It would be simple for you to contrive a marriage to improve both your class and breeding.”

  This was beyond enough. Amanda blew her nose again, even louder. “Excuse me, but I have no need to give you any explanation regarding either my marriage or my expectancy. It is absolutely none of your business!” Amanda sat up straighter and stared directly back, her chin a little higher. “Indeed, the very fact that you feel you can insult me with impunity makes me question your own class and breeding!”

  Catherine’s eyes flashed with anger. “Upon my word, you are an impudent little baggage, aren’t you? Of all the ungracious… A common American such as yourself will never be accepted by the ten thousand. I imagine with your experience, you realize that by now!”

  Amanda’s eyes blinked rapidly. “The ten thousand what?” She always seemed to have a problem when following these English conversations.

  “The upper ten thousand, madam—the Haute Ton! Good heavens, but you are an ignorant chit!”

  Amanda placed her arms across her belly and looked angrily back at the countess. “Ah, yes, now I understand you. Well, I have never once harbored any aspirations to be accepted by that vicious and amoral group of inbred ninnies.”

  “And what a good thing that was, madam, since you never were! You see, unlike the Americans, we English prefer to embrace our traditions and ensure our bloodstock. As an earl’s son, Richard is far above you in class, my dear. Far above! You have benefited from his unfortunately long-standing rebellious nature. That is all. Even as a second son, he should have been made to choose a bride only from within the select few acceptable families of his rank. It is known as the upper classes and something of which you would never understand.” Catherine’s expression was one of superior condescension.

  Amanda’s eyes flashed wide with anger. “I know of which you speak, and indeed we have heard of it happening in America also; however, it is frowned upon and referred to by another word.”

  Sneering, Catherine gave a mirthless laugh. “Oh, really, and what word is that?”

  “Incest.”

  The countess’s head snapped up to glare at the brazen package before her. Well, well, well. The little Colonial had surprised her with her rude effrontery and tactless style. She was beginning to like the woman. Evidently not easy to intimidate, she would certainly need to be a strong wife to stand up to Fitzwilliam.

  “Well, it is all well and good for you, my dear, to dismiss the ruling class of England, but what of Richard, madam? What of your husband? These are the very people from whom he comes. Can you dismiss his heritage so completely? And whether or not you approve, not only is your son a baronet and therefore a member of that class, but you now carry the next generation within you as we speak.”

  By the time Lady Catherine had finished her speech, morning sickness was again turning Amanda’s face pale, and she swallowed back the bile that had flooded her mouth. His aunt was right. Whether or not Amanda approved of this culture or their mores, her husband and son, and now her unborn babe, were lifelong charter members.

  “Are you ill, madam?” Jesu, the little watering pot was looking bad enough to stick her spoon in the wall! The last thing Catherine needed now was for Fitzwilliam to return to a dead wife.

  “The morning sickness…” Amanda emitted a soft belch. “Macaroons seem to help.”

  “Ah.” Catherine nodded and tried desperately not to enjoy the young woman’s sudden discomfort. Somewhere far upstairs in the Darcy house, the baby began to cry, and they looked at each other, involuntarily smiling. Instinctively, Amanda rubbed her hand across her stomach.

  The quiet truce between them continued for several moments until the child’s cries could no longer be heard.

  “Forgive me, Lady Catherine, if I have spoken rudely to you. Oftentimes I speak before I think. You are right that I owe it to Richard to be more understanding of your culture and ways. I have tried, but as you say, my heritage always locks me out. It has been a bitter experience for me at times.”

  Catherine studied her carefully. “Do you love my nephew, madam? I am afraid on this score I will have to take your word for it, since there is no Bow Street Runner who could possibly confirm it for me.” Catherine’s question was so unexpected that Amanda hiccoughed and then sneezed, her tears forgotten.

  Amanda smiled briefly. “Yes, madam. I love him more than my life.”

  Catherine watched her for a while and then nodded her head. “Bold words for some, but I believe you. You certainly love your son a great deal. Anyone with that much devotion for one person usually exhibits the capacity for the same amount of devotion to others whom she loves.”

  “I only wish Richard could understand my situation better.” Amanda spoke so softly that Catherine had to strain to hear her. The girl was staring blindly out the window, again drying her tears with the back of her hand.

  “I don’t think a man could ever understand what a mother would do for her child, though I was pleased to see that Richard feels paternal attachment already. But men could never feel the bond that a mother feels, could they? To have life grow beneath your heart for so long. I may regret admitting this, but I do empathize with you, Amanda. Perha
ps he will also, in time.”

  “I hope so, Lady Catherine.” Amanda felt the tears welling again in her eyes and rested her head back on the settee.

  “When did you lose custody of your child?”

  Amanda inhaled deeply before she answered. “It was while I was in America, two years ago. I had gone home to nurse my father, who had developed consumption. Regardless of what my late husband later said, he did know I was going and why, and that I planned to return. My father subsequently died.”

  “My Anne was also felled by a weakness in her lungs. But this was from birth, a premature birth. She has been fighting for her health all her days, as have I for her.” Lady Catherine’s voice was calm and quiet.

  “Have you visited any of the lung clinics?”

  “Of course I have, young woman,” Lady Catherine snapped. “What a ridiculous question! We have tried everything. Initially, my husband resisted treatment for her, preferring to deny any imperfection in his child. By the time we investigated, it was too late, wasn’t it? Men always believe they know best.” They both shared a womanly nod and an understanding eye roll at the follies of husbands before they looked away from each other.

  “I was unaware that I had lost custody until we returned and my mother-in-law took Harry from me. Apparently, Augustus was on his way to America to claim his son when his ship went down.” She lowered her head. “He, too, betrayed my trust.”

  Catherine was very quiet. “It seems we have both had some unfortunate experiences with husbands. Well, Amanda, we have never had a marriage fail in this family, and I certainly could not allow one to do so on my watch.”

  “Richard can be rather bullheaded, Lady Catherine.” Amanda hiccoughed.

  Even as she contemplated what her new niece said, Catherine’s mind had begun to wander. She smoothed out her dress and patted down her flyaway hair. I must have my seamstress let out this gown. It has grown considerably smaller with cleaning. I imagine she is using much cheaper material. Thankfully, I haven’t paid her in quite a while. “Tell me, madam, were your parents long in the colonies? Did they reside in England before they emigrated?”