“You are only two and thirty. My own father was married at four and thirty. You have years left. Do not give up so easily.”
“Goddamn it, Darcy, I do have some pride.”
“Oh, you stupid idiot. When it comes to love, pride always takes second place.”
“I have never had to chase a woman, never, and certainly have no intention to begin now!” With that, Fitzwilliam stormed away. “Beg for that harridan! Ha! I have not enough interest in her to even pursue this any further. End of discussion.”
Chapter 10
Fitzwilliam leaned against Darcy’s carriage, an angry lover assessing his rival’s townhouse, the freezing rain fueling his fury. And the townhouse was an awesome sight, more a mansion, one of the largest, grandest homes in London, exceeded by few others, including Darcy’s and Catherine’s. “Shit. I knew the bastard was rich, but not this rich.”
His loyal batman and driver, O’Malley, grunted his opinion. “Ah, well, don’ be so hard on yerself, Colonel. Ya have good points—God bless me, even a busted clock is right twice the day. No, truly. Yer a good horseman, the very best I’ve ever seen, and yer kind to unfortunates… and ya have grand teeth. Oh, the fancy doctor may be filthy rich, an’ dark and handsome an’ all, and irresistible to the ladies, and…” Fitzwilliam’s cold, hard stare stopped the litany of Anthony Milagros’s greatness.
Unable to tear his eyes from his colonel’s O’Malley took a large swig from his flask and trembled violently from the potent brew. He took out his pipe. “I’ll not say another word. Me lips are sealed.”
“Bloody hell…” Fitzwilliam cursed as he made his way across the road, and then again as he opened the gate. He began the climb up the granite steps, hissing “shit, shit, shit,” on each one. He looked around as he approached the massive and elaborate double-door entryway. “Bloody hell.” Fine, money evidently will not influence him. I cannot possibly kill him. What are my other options? He pounded on the door knocker.
An ancient butler answered, terror registering on his face within moments of Fitzwilliam demanding entrance. Without saying a word, the trembling servant turned, motioning for Fitzwilliam to follow, slowly leading the bizarre little parade at a snail’s pace into a magnificently ornate receiving parlor. Finally facing the colonel he announced, in dreadful tones, that the doctor would be informed of his presence.
The splendid room was lit by the fires within two huge marble fireplaces, one on each end of the room, along with several gilt branches of candles strategically placed, Fitzwilliam sneered, for the sole beatific illumination of the highly expensive furnishings, rare tapestries, and paintings. It worked brilliantly. He walked to the front bank of French windows and turned to get the full effect, sweeping the room with his eyes. He exhaled loudly.
Shit.
***
Within the elegant mansion somewhere, an unsuspecting gentleman ignored the outdoor gloom and rain. To him, it was a lovely Tuesday evening in winter, crisp, clean and enchanting. Dr. Anthony Milagros had recently returned home after spending a productive but tiring day at his hospital and had put aside the disturbing visions his dearest friend’s words had conjured up the day before.
“Bah!” He laughed at his baseless fears, rebuked his own reflection in the dressing-room mirror. He had reacted much too emotionally. Amanda had, of course, been correct, although that would be a first for her. The colonel was a highly decorated, nationally respected military leader, was lionized as a hero, a role model, a modern-day knight in shining armor. He would not act like some rabid dog defending a bone. Would he…?
No! Of course not. Ridiculous.
Anthony laughed softly as he thought back to the Sunday just past when he and Amanda had had their tiny “fracas.” It was amusing to think of, really. In fact, as he now remembered it, with two days of hysteria as a cushion, he had been quite understanding during the entire confrontation—tolerant, sophisticated, exceedingly sympathetic.
***
“Have you lost your mind?!”
“Anthony, let me explain.”
“He will call me out, Amanda. I’m a dead man. I will never again see my family, never again see Madrid. Look at these hands… look at them. They are beautiful and perfect, slim, elegant. And to think I will never again play the violin.”
“You hate the violin.” She dutifully complied with his request and studied his hands. “You play very badly.”
“That is beside the point! I will have no time left to practice, will I? I will be dead.”
They had stood outside the small chapel both attended for early Sunday mass, the only place in London that allowed Catholic services. People scurried past, frightened by his extraordinary and spirited outburst, whispering and pointing, crossing themselves. Amanda dragged him by the elbow back into the church and deep into the south transept.
The chief of physicians at St. Theresa’s Hospital in London paced back and forth. “I cannot breathe,” he announced in amazement, then stopped. “Perhaps this is a heart attack?” He pressed his hand onto his chest. “I think I can hear my mother’s voice.”
“I do not understand what upsets you so.”
“Oh, dios mio mi vida, pardon my thoughtlessness,” he hissed. “You have told a man who desires you, whose profession it is to kill people, I might add, that I am your lover. Is this not correct?”
“Keep your voice down!” Amanda swept her glance around the main room of the church, concerned that they were in danger of being overheard, then returned her attention quickly to her agitated friend. “All right, Anthony, you are partially correct, in a way, yes…”
“In a way?” A ray of hope, that. Perhaps he had misunderstood her. “In what way am I mistaken, querida?” His long dark lashes were blinking furiously.
“Well, we had a somewhat intimate moment between us…oh, it was heavenly, Anthony. However, when he expressed a desire to court me, I am afraid I rather panicked, may have led him to believe something of a relationship was occurring between you and me.”
He took a few moments to run a bejeweled, elegant hand through his curling locks then perused his cuticles closely. It was a while before he could calmly express himself. He decided he would speak slowly to her in the hope that she could grasp the gravity of what she had done.
“Well, as you know, I am acquainted with this Colonel Fitzwilliam of yours, Amanda. I have been in meetings with him at the War Office concerning his wounded soldiers. He possesses a look and manner not unlike your American grizzly bear. That is, he can be short-tempered, ruthless, aggressive, self-confident due to his rather formidable build. Also, he has fairly coarse hair.” He watched her eyes closely for understanding, for a glint of comprehension. “He is vicious, pitiless, and ferocious.” She still did not respond. “I like him enormously. But”—his hand went up before him to silence her—“I have no intention of willingly becoming the object of one of his vendettas. He is as unrelenting as he is merciless. He always gets what he wants, Amanda, always, no matter whom he must annihilate.”
Anthony searched her face to see if this speech had affected her, penetrated her thick American skull. But no, he saw only hesitation in her sad, blinking brown eyes. She looked like a spaniel. He leaned forward and spoke louder to compensate. “Do you not comprehend me, querida??” Perhaps her hearing had gone the way of her brains.
She flapped her hands for him to be quiet. “Anthony, please cease being quite so Spanish. Compose yourself.” He spat out an indignant harrumph at that. “Dearest, are you certain we speak of the same man? Richard has been all that is gentle and kind with me. Well, aside from his furious explosion on the balcony. I do not believe that he will pursue me if he believes us betrothed, and I surely had to stop his coming to Penwood, to that house. No, I am confident that, at heart, he is a most honorable man.”
“ Betrothed? ” In his burgeoning terror, Anthony heard nothing else. “Tell me, do I have little beads of sweat forming upon my brow? No? I swear that I feel definite moisture about m
y hairline.” He brought his silken handkerchief up to mop his brow then inhaled deeply. “So, my darling—tell me quickly to lessen the sting— did you, or did you not, inform him that we were betrothed? Yes or no.”
“No, Anthony, of course I said no such thing. I would never lie, not really. Not in so many words. However”—Anthony’s breathing stopped—“I may have implied that you were about to offer for me.’
Anthony looked horrified, but she continued without noticing. “You see we were… together, in each other’s arms. Oh, it was beautiful, Anthony, heavenly. Never before have I experienced such passion, and he was so gentle. Anthony, he told me he loved me.” She beamed, her eyes shining. “Do you remember how I would question you about him after your meetings at the War Office? I must confess I have long admired him.”
Anthony still looked horrified.
“Anthony, do be calm. He is all kindness. I fear what he truly felt was the need to comfort me, not love me. Emily informed him how a woman who thought I was a servant ridiculed me and tried to have me thrown from the ladies’ retiring room. It was very lowering, Anthony. She made me feel very sad.” He looked down at her bowed head, his hands rubbing her upper arms soothingly, then leaned forward and softly kissed her forehead.
“All right, now tell me exactly what you said about me to the colonel.”
“Is that all that concerns you?!” She was incensed. “Have you heard nothing else?!”
“Amanda! I am the most sensitive man alive, as you well know! I am profoundly troubled with how that woman insulted you. I hate that woman. I spit on that woman. Oh no, wait! I cannot spit on that woman because I will be… dead! Thank you, Amanda.” He grabbed her hands, bending over to look straight into her eyes. “My darling friend, why do you hate me so much?”
“Please try to see this from my viewpoint, Anthony. I am in love with him. There, I have finally spoken the words.” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply before continuing. “It was imperative to say something to him to keep him away. I had to make him believe that I was involved romantically with another. You understand, don’t you? You, as my dearest friend in the world, must understand. I have never before asked anything of you, have I?”
“Yes, yes, you have. Many times. Countless times. Constantly.” Anthony watched as Father Riley spoke to the few stragglers in the church, after which he glanced quizzically their way. The old priest had an unerring instinct for rooting out trouble. Like a pig for truffles, Anthony thought wildly. He grabbed Amanda’s elbow and led her deeper into the church.
“May I say something to you, as a close friend who loves you with all his heart and cares deeply about your happiness?
“Of course, Anthony. You know I value your opinion most highly.”
“How idiotic can you be?”
She punched him in the shoulder very, very hard.
“No, truly, Amanda. You have a chance for genuine happiness with a man you love and who evidently also cares deeply for you.” Reassuring himself that Riley had been diverted once again, he looked down with affection at his friend. “Amanda, dios mio, attend me, please. You are a healthy, lovely young woman, and he is a healthy, single man. Grab life and live for a change.”
“I have given you my declaration that he will never bother you, Anthony,” Amanda said coolly. “I must discourage this suit somehow, and he truly is an honorable man. As long as he feels that I am spoken for, he will not push me for any deeper sort of a relationship.”
“You are mistaken concerning this for two reasons.” He sighed and took her hands in his. “First, no one is honorable when it comes to love.” His eyebrows rose when she opened her mouth to protest, and he raised his hand to silence her.
“Second, you are throwing away your life. True love is rare. You know I have never been able to replace mine. If you love this man as deeply as you say, well then you are a fool to let it pass. Even if it is experienced only for a moment, true love is rare and precious.” He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them tenderly.
“But how can I, Anthony? You know how my life is held in forfeit. I could lose my son if she discovers us.”
Anthony turned a compassionate gaze at her. “In the eyes of the law, you have already lost him, querida. When will you accept this? Anyway, did I say she would have to know? Liaisons are a national diversion here. In some circles they are even mandated. Are you not aware that one half of the ton is always cuckolding the other?”
As her eyes filled with tears, she shook her head.
“It is just not my way, Anthony.” She sighed deeply. “I was not raised to carry out the sort of life they lead here. I do not understand these people and I doubt that I could ever be capable of having a relationship outside of marriage vows. I couldn’t, could I? No, it is not in my upbringing, but I love him so very much. Oh, I don’t know what I should do! You understand this, as a Catholic, don’t you? I mean, would it not feel sinful?”
“Only if he is very skillful…”
It had taken only a moment then for Amanda to swat the back of Anthony’s head very, very hard.
***
Remembering, he shook his head and chuckled at his own witticism. “Only if he is very skillful,” he repeated to his reflection in the mirror. Very clever, Antonio, he complimented himself and smiled, once again at peace and happily looking forward to drinking his very expensive imported French brandy, eating an exquisite meal prepared by his very expensive French chef, and relaxing for hours in the arms of his latest paramour, due at any moment.
Life was, indeed, very good for Dr. Anthony Milagros.
As the valet adjusted the lapels of Anthony’s exquisite dinner jacket, his butler scratched discreetly at the dressing-room door. “Enter, Bascome.” Swirling a brandy snifter around several times, Anthony took his initial sip, savoring the sweet nectar as he regarded his butler’s visage in the mirror.
The ancient gentleman gazed back.
Anthony raised his eyebrows in question and waited. They remained staring silently at each other in the mirror for quite a few moments, the tottering butler apparently unable to vocalize. Anthony finally turned toward him and finished off his drink. “Well?”
“Your lordship…” Bascome appeared distressed.
“Yes, old friend,” he said patiently and with mild humor. “I know who I am. What is it you wish to say to me?” Anthony smiled warmly at this most beloved of servants and dear old confidant. “Out with it, please. Be courageous, man. Is there a problem with the salmon? Has the cook overdone some sauce again? What is today’s disaster? What?”
As he began to fuss with the cuffs of his shirt, adjusting their length until just the proper amount of lace peeked from the sleeve of his jacket, he suddenly groaned. “If it is the champagne ices, I am afraid you will have to deal with the wine steward yourself this time. He terrifies me.”
The butler grimaced, sadly shaking his head. “Your lordship,” he intoned again, “it is with great regret that I must inform you… there is a British officer here to see you.”
Anthony froze. “Sorry? What did you say?”
“A quite massive British officer, a colonel, I believe, wishes to see you. He is in a somewhat emotional state.” Bascome removed a large white handkerchief from his cuff to dab at his brow. “Truth be told, sir, this is the first Englishman I have seen in any emotion. It is an unnerving and ugly sight and— Mother of the Divine Savior, intercede for us— he has a sword on his side that he keeps touching and— God have mercy on our souls—I believe a pistol hidden within his uniform.” The elderly butler stuffed his sodden cloth back into his pocket and attempted to stand at full attention, his arthritic five-foot-five-inch aching frame poised for the defense of his master. He dropped his voice several octaves. “Shall I summon the constabulary?”
Anthony blinked for several moments as his extremities became numb. “ Merde… I will kill her one day. Ah, I have dreams, Bascome, oh yes, wonderful dreams of a world without my dearest Amanda. We will ship her
remains to Greece. I have people there you know. No one would suspect.” He studied the terrified old man and reined in his rhetoric. “I go down directly. Please pour yourself a glass of brandy. You look as if you are about to have a seizure. Put your feet up, old friend, all will be fine.” He pointed to a chair, and when he was certain his butler was settled, he turned to contemplate his own certain death.
Chapter 11
“May I help you?” Fitzwilliam turned to see the familiar and elegant gentleman peering at him from the doorway. “Ah! Colonel Fitzwilliam, how good to see you again. It has been too long.” Despite voicing such welcoming pleasantries, however, Milagros did not approach him or extend his hand for greeting. Fitzwilliam was not displeased—it denied him the opportunity to encircle the good doctor’s throat with his hands.
“Yes, it has been a while, Doctor. I trust you are well.” Without waiting for an answer, Fitzwilliam continued. “I wonder if I could have a moment of your time.” Fitzwilliam absently rested his hand on his sword and had the satisfaction of seeing Milagros’s eyes nervously follow.
“Of course, Colonel. Please have a seat. My home is your home.” The gentleman sauntered into the room and motioned for Fitzwilliam to sit. He himself then sat at some distance away, crossing one leg over the other. “Can I have my butler provide you with anything, Colonel? Port? Brandy? Hostages?” He laughed anxiously, quickly quieting into a subdued cough, and then ended with a penitential throat clearing.
“This is not a pleasure call, Milagros.”
Resting his elbow on the chair arm, Anthony cupped his chin while he perused his visitor. “’More’s the pity,’” was his mumbled response.
Fitzwilliam had a fleeting impression that he was receiving a sort of sexual scrutiny from the man. He shook off this impression as hysteria or lack of sleep or gas. “I have come to discuss your relationship with Amanda Penrod.”
Anthony’s eyebrows rose momentarily. “My goodness, we are direct, aren’t we?” He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I have been expecting you.” A hand went up to smooth his already perfect hair.
Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer Page 20