Slightly amazed, Fitzwilliam pulled himself back to stare intently into Darcy’s eyes. “I’m sorry that I missed your wedding, brat, but good Lord, if you haven’t all the markings of a lovesick puppy!” Richard shoved at the side of Darcy’s head, just a tap really. “God’s indeed in his heaven, and you look like a grinning idiot!”

Darcy laughed happily and chucked his cousin’s arm, a mere glancing blow. “And you look like shit itself.” They hugged each other’s shoulders once again briefly, moving a little farther into the room as he ripped a dangling button from Fitzwilliam’s ancient uniform then grimaced at some crusted food on the sleeve. “No, really. My Lord, a sorrier sight I have never seen. Look at you, Fitz, you’re a disgrace! Did your batman commit suicide when he learned you were still alive?”

The pushing and taunting back and forth increased until they suddenly began to wrestle in earnest, knocking over the odd table and chair, and then, just as suddenly, they began to laugh uproariously.

“You’re weak… as an… an old woman, Darcy.” Fitzwilliam gasped for breath.

“This is no time to discuss your sorry love life… Besides, I… held back because you’re getting old… and fat.” Darcy wheezed and waved away all further comments with his hand. “But who gives a shit about you—tell me about Waterloo! I heard it went badly at first.” Darcy knew his cousin hated to speak about the battles in which he had fought during the past ten years, but good heavens, this had been Waterloo! Their energy spent for the moment, they both leaned back upon the huge library desk.

“Badly?!” Fitzwilliam made a rude noise with his lips. “That’s an unfortunately inadequate description. It was a fiasco! It was bungled almost from the start.” He stopped speaking for a while to shove tangles of errant dark blond hair from his forehead as Darcy set the tables and chairs to right. “I tell you there were times during that battle when I would have happily sacrificed my brother Regis for just a few dozen medieval English archers.”

Darcy let out a bark of laughter. “Not impressed, Fitz—not by half. Over the years, you have volunteered to forego your brother for many lesser things. A hot cup of coffee, better seats at the opera; once it was a desire to obtain quicker mail delivery in Portugal.”

“You are a small and vindictive man, Darcy. I don’t have to stand for this type of character assassination.” With that, Fitzwilliam dragged over a chair and sat, reaching into his pocket for his ever-present pipe and tobacco pouch.

“So, how is newly wedded bliss?” His gaze narrowed on his cousin for a moment. “As if I need to ask, you smug-looking little ass. I am sorry now I insisted they not announce me upon my arrival.” He studied his tobacco pouch intently, dipping his pipe bowl within it and then packing down the brownish flakes. “I was beginning to fear that the two of you would never come up for air! My, my, I had no idea you had such staying power, brat.” He leaned back and lit the pipe. He puffed once or twice to get it going. “I am quite impressed. But you know, Darcy, even the Huns pulled out occasionally.” He leaned his head back to study the ceiling and then began to chuckle when he heard his cousin’s groans.

Scowling, Darcy sat down heavily on the chair behind his desk. “You see, this is what I feared. All right, let’s get this thing settled up front. I would appreciate it if you would watch your tongue in front of Elizabeth; she’s still very shy about all this. I don’t want you making crude remarks like that in front of her.”

“Please, Cousin, I am desolate. You wound me until I bleed upon your fine carpet. Do you think me completely devoid of feeling or sensitivity?” Fitzwilliam did attempt to appear upset. “I am highly offended. If I thought you had at least one friend to serve as your second, I would call you out.”

Darcy threw him a sardonic look and poured himself a cup of coffee. “I have plenty of friends, dozens in fact.”

“Name six.”

“Well…Bingley, for one. He’s a tremendously fine fellow and likes me very much.”

“Bingley doesn’t count. He is notoriously indiscriminate, likes everyone, even me.”

“A lot you know.”

“Oh, very funny. Now, let us come back to all the lurid details, such as whether or not you were you able to perform all night.” Darcy threw a pen at Fitzwilliam’s head. “Terribly sorry, momentary relapse.” He puffed once or twice on his pipe and blinked innocently at his cousin. “So just where is this new missus of yours? Still gagged and tied to the bedposts? Drugged, perhaps?”

Darcy stared fixedly at Fitzwilliam. “If you must know, she is as far away from you as I could send her.” Darcy lifted the cup to his lips and sipped. “Is it any wonder that decent families hide their daughters from you?”

“I resent that, Darcy. I truly do.”

“Do you deny it?”

“No, of course not, but I truly, truly resent it—cuts dreadfully into my social life.”

“In actuality, she’s taking a walk.”

“In this weather?! Bah! You see, she has no sense. It is no wonder she was willing to marry you.”

“I told you she is very shy, and she’ll sort it out herself if you will but refrain from teasing her.”

“Say no more, say no more, my good man. Please, Darcy…” He shook his head. “I am the soul of discretion with the ladies—a gentleman always, as you well know.” The knock on the door brought in the requested breakfast tray.

“Capital. Very wise. Keeping up his stamina. Excellent.”

“Fitzwilliam!”

His cousin scrubbed his face with his hand, grinning continuously. “Sorry, I don’t know what gets into me around you. You’re just so damn easy to fluster.”

Shaking his head, Darcy abandoned any attempts to hide his own laughter and eagerly began his breakfast. Fitzwilliam reached over and swiftly grabbed a piece of ham and toast, his hand just missing being slapped away.

“May I offer you some breakfast?” Darcy asked sarcastically, his mouth full.

“Oh, Lord, no. Your exemplary Mrs. Reynolds was most obliging and provided me with no less than three breakfasts as I cooled my heels down here, plus coffee and cakes until I almost burst. I couldn’t eat another thing.” He reached over and grabbed a scone. “By the way, brat, I’ve just been visiting the Grande Dame herself, and she’s still spewing poison about the two of you. How long is this feud between you going to continue? She requires some guidance with that great old horror house of hers and was almost desperate enough to turn to me.” He leveled a gaze at his cousin, his eyebrows raised high into his forehead, an eloquent expression conveying how totally futile that would be. “I loath to admit this, but I am a complete imbecile when it comes to grand-manor types of things.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short, Fitz.” He shook an admonishing finger at his cousin. “Believe me, you’re a complete imbecile about a great many more things than that.”

“Very humorous, brat. Very droll. Seriously, is this war going to continue for a long time? You will be back in the immense bosom of our aunt by Easter, won’t you?” He lowered his voice to its sincerest depth. “Please, Darcy, have a heart. Stop thinking only of yourself…think of me.” He looked pathetic. “You know how I so hate having my own pleasures curtailed, and I would miss our annual pilgrimage of penance.” He grabbed for another piece of food, a fork just missing his hand.

“This war, as you aptly call it, was begun by Aunt Catherine, and it will need to be rectified by Aunt Catherine. As neither she nor my beloved mother saw fit to consider my feelings regarding marriage with Cousin Anne, I feel no remorse at disregarding her opinion about whom I did marry.” Darcy poured himself another cup of coffee, splashing it all over with his angry, jerky hand movements.

Fitzwilliam darted a glance at his irate cousin, all the while trying to get his own cup beneath the moving spout. “…Yes, well, as long as you keep a happy thought…” he mumbled.

Darcy slammed down the coffee pot. “No, I won’t let her abuse Elizabeth ever again. She doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment.” A smile softly crept into Darcy’s eyes, his lips twitching at their corners. “She is the kindest, sweetest, most delicate creature God ever created.” Darcy’s face had a faraway, glazed, and grinning expression, very similar to an empty-headed jack-o-lantern. It became too much for his cousin.

“Hold that thought for a moment, if you would, Darcy. Please. Could you pass that trash pail. No, not that one—the other—yes, the larger one. Yes, thank you. Why? Because I feel I’m going to throw up at any moment!”

Darcy tried not to laugh but had little success. “If I remember correctly, you were besotted with her once yourself.” He leaned back in his chair, smirking broadly.

“Incorrect yet again. An unbroken streak, I might add. Now, I may have been bemused by her and bewitched by her, even beguiled, but I was never besotted. That, my friend, I left entirely to you.” While Fitzwilliam sipped his coffee, he regarded his cousin with warm affection. “I will, however, admit to a bit of envy for your happiness, would even consider marriage for myself one day… if I could meet a woman of character, integrity, compassion, intelligence, gentleness…”

Darcy regarded Fitzwilliam as if he had just grown another head. “Who are you, and what have you done with my cousin?”

“…with a face like a goddess and a body meant solely for sin…”

“Ah! And the world returns to its revolutions; all is right again with the universe.”

“Getting back to Catherine,” Fitzwilliam continued, never missing a beat, “I have thought a great deal about this—now don’t go giving me that haughty Uncle George expression. I firmly believe that Elizabeth is the one person in this pathetic little family circle of ours not needing protection from Aunt Catherine. I seem to remember your teeny wife having the backbone of a Viking. I have every faith that she is more than able to hold her own with the Marble Countess.”

When Darcy began to protest, Fitzwilliam put up his hand to stop him. “No, Darcy, I think it was your own pride that was offended by Catherine’s highhanded behavior more than anything she may have said to Elizabeth. Come, Cousin!” he whined pathetically. “To hell with Aunt Catherine—have pity on me! You will have to let this thing go eventually. Remember, ‘Family is Everything.’” Fitzwilliam raised his hand in salute to their aunt’s favorite quote.

“You’re probably right. I can’t judge myself anymore, it seems. I only know that she said some very mean things to Lizzy about her family—yes, I realize I’d said the same things she did, but I recognized my deplorable behavior and apologized for it. Now Aunt Catherine will have to do the same. Let’s not discuss this anymore, please.”

“Do you have any idea how similar you two are? How similar you are to the Queen of Hubris? Arrogant and stubborn, the both of you. I myself am the most good-natured of men, and yet I remain ruggedly handsome and charismatic. I truly believe it impossible that I could be related to either one of you. I must have been dropped at the door by some Scottish circus group.”

Chapter 3

Elizabeth walked briskly around the house, clasping her cape tightly at her neck and her hood close around her face. She reflected on what she considered her Embarrassing Predicament. Or was it? First and foremost, she was a realist and a sensible country girl. All right, she began to shiver with the cold. Just of what am I ashamed? I’m no different than any other young woman, am I?

No, Elizabeth, you are not.

We are married; we want children, do we not?

Yes, most emphatically you are and you do! Honestly, this is ridiculous. Eventually the embarrassment of marital relations will fade, if only through the sheer bliss of repetition. Finding herself vigorously nodding in agreement, she could not help a bit of giggle and blush. She then forced herself to regain her composure. And, the embarrassment may very well fade quicker if you do not make such a childish spectacle of yourself, bringing more attention to it than you already have. She felt her backbone stiffen with her resolve— or perhaps it is just freezing into place, she mused as she gazed longingly up at the massive back of the main estate house with the windows steaming from the heat within, smoke billowing from its many chimneys.