Karen Wasylowski - Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer

Richard beamed down at the boy. “Why don’t you see for yourself, lad?” He reached down and lifted Harry up onto his shoulders.

“Oh, Mummy! This is very high up! I should like to be this tall someday! Will I ever be this tall, do you think? How tall are you, sir? I don’t think Tio Anthony is even this tall!” Harry excitedly pumped his arms and legs as Fitzwilliam turned the twisting little body this way and that to see everything.

Observing the couple stealing glances at each other, Anthony reached up to retrieve Harry. “Let us give your mother and the colonel some privacy, eh? We will await you outside, Lady Penrod, Colonel.” As Anthony carried Harry out the door, he could sense the colonel’s single-minded intensity and Amanda’s apprehensive nerves, and laughed when he turned and saw her gazing anxiously after him.

Fitzwilliam cleared his throat first and adopted his usual formal parade stance. “Amanda, my dear…” he began; however, she spoke simultaneously. “Colonel…”

They both laughed awkwardly.

“Excuse me, madam. I wanted to apologize to you for my behavior the other evening, very unlike me, really. But please, you go first.”

“Thank you, Colonel. I was going to comment on the fact that you appear to already know Dr. Milagros. I have only recently learned of this.” After one quick glance up at his face, she returned her eyes to a level with his cloak button. “He has also just told me that you and he have recently spoken. Imagine my surprise.”

“Yes, and he has told me something of your situation…”

As he spoke, Amanda took a deep breath, her heart strumming. He looked so very masculine and strong and smelled very nice. And very handsome. Yes, he looked very handsome indeed. Amanda’s heart was hammering away determinedly and sounded so loud in her head that she heard nothing of what he was saying, only watched his mouth and admired his fine teeth. The knowledge that he had come here to seek her out, that he was truly that attracted to her and that interested made her suddenly bold, feeling desirable and feminine and alive. She trusted him. More importantly, she loved him desperately. Amanda had thought of little else than this man for two weeks and now had at last come to a spontaneous decision. She was going to live for the moment. She would agree to become his mistress!

Placing her hand on his arm, she interrupted him just as he was beginning the meatier part of his presentation. “Colonel, I have been thinking of what we spoke of at the Winter Ball. Perhaps we should see more of each other, as you said. Much more.” Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and rushed on. “Perhaps we could meet somewhere? You are an experienced man of the world, and I am sure you know of a place where a man and woman can have some private time together, a place that is discreet and out of the way.” Amanda had whispered this in such a rush that she needed to stop and catch her breath. Her face was crimson.

Fitzwilliam stared at her as if she had grown gills. His fine speech went out the window. “I beg your pardon, madam.” He appeared to find her words somehow humorous.

Amanda’s color brightened even more, and for the first time, she looked directly up into his eyes. “What do you mean, ‘I beg your pardon’?” she said, her embarrassment giving her words a harsh clip. “I am suggesting that we should meet. ‘In private,’ as they say.” She raised one eyebrow. “Isn’t that what you wanted? We are both adults, and I am a widow, after all. You need not fear that I will be shocked.”

Instead, Fitzwilliam was shocked, no longer amused by what he thought had been an embarrassing bit of misspeak on her part regarding ‘Private Time Together.’ The chit was serious! What was it about this woman that both pulled him so strongly while at the same time could aggravate the hell out of him so easily? He was never out of sorts with anyone else, always smooth and clever and carefree. Why, he was the most bloody charming person he knew, goddamn it.

“I believe you have misconstrued my meaning, madam, perhaps not listening quite as attentively as you should. I said to you that I had honorable intentions. That generally would mean calling for you at your home, to take you out riding in my impressive carriage—well, actually in my cousin’s impressive carriage—to escort you to the opera, to take tea with you, and to take your son out to the park. In short, madam, I desire assurances that we would suit each other, with an eye toward an offer of marriage.” Damn but she was infuriating. He was not just flapping his lips here! How much plainer must he be?

Seeing the anxious look in her eyes, he dropped his voice to the barely audible. “I certainly did not intend to coax you into some sort of sordid secret liaison.”

“Well, why ever not?”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘Why ever not’?!”

Amanda was distraught. Oh, sweet heaven! All her hopes and dreams were disappearing before her eyes. She was losing this man before ever possessing him. “I believe I made it clear to you that I am not available for courtship, Colonel. However, it is perfectly acceptable here for widows to engage in nonbinding relationships of mutual consent. I am a widow, and therefore I consent.”

He took a step back and stared at her in stunned disbelief. He arched his eyebrow in palpable annoyance. Instead of these perfectly clear machinations dissuading her, she continued! “No. To pursue a course toward marriage would be a complete waste of both of our times. I am quite sophisticated, I’ll have you know, and very worldly. Yes, I am. And what is more, I am already involved with Dr. Milagros, as I have previously mentioned. However, I have spoken with him, and he has no objections if I meet with you also. So, as you can see, there is nothing to impede our being together.” She rocked back on forth on her feet. “It is all very sophisticated.”

Fitzwilliam nearly laughed in her face. “Bah and humbug, madam, what a terrible liar you make! You are not involved with Dr. Milagros! I discussed this with him also.”

Her eyes narrowed. “My, what chums you both have become! Well, he is the deceitful one, he the liar. I will deal with him later.”

His fists balled at his waist. “Amanda, this is beyond enough! I am not going to have you as a mistress, so just put that from your mind. I do not want a mistress! I had a mistress. Actually, I have had several mistresses. I allow myself exactly one mistress per year. Unfortunately, at the present time, I have used up my allotment until the year 1846. And because I have never fully embraced, nor understood, the concept of celibacy, you can understand that it is imperative that I take a wife.” As he spoke, he had gradually backed her into a corner and now towered over her, continuing his furious reply. “ I want a wife and family. I desire that wife to be you, and your son to be my family.”

Amanda was humiliated beyond belief at his refusal, even insulted. Her eyes darted back and forth while her brain tried desperately to catch up. “But I was led to believe all aristocratic Englishmen want a widow to bed so you did not need to marry. Don’t you know this, you ill-tempered person?” She shoved his shoulder in her anger. “Oooh, you aggravating man! I cannot believe how pigheaded you are, and here I was expecting you to be happy! I was expecting you to be thrilled! You are spoiling everything!”

Fitzwilliam coming to court her at Penwood was unthinkable. It terrified her. Her mother-in-law would throw her out into the street and bar the door. There was slim chance of a secret liaison succeeding, let alone a marriage! He must be mad, she thought. Marriage?! A marriage would have to be grabbed in snatches. He would have to accept second place to her son. How soon would it be before he grew to hate her, grew tired of the lies, and asserted his lawful rights over her as his possession?

No, she would have to remain single and in control of her own life. But she wanted him so frantically. She loved him so very deeply.

She just wanted to kill him.

“Please control your temper, madam. Remember, we are in a church.” Fitzwilliam dragged her by the wrist to a more isolated area of the back of the church. When they had at last reached a secluded alcove, he paced back and forth in frustration, raking his hand through his already tousled hair.

“This must be some new ring of hell of which I was unaware,” he muttered, his tone gruff with anger.

In response to this, her arms crossed before her, and her foot rapidly tapped.

“Now, I take it that you doubt the possibility that we can adapt to a marriage that would accommodate your temporary problem with your mother-in-law’s custody of your child.”

He saw the hesitancy in her eyes as they quickly searched his. This is splendid, her heart began to soar. Perhaps he does understand. That is precisely the problem in a nutshell. “Well, yes. I am afraid that marriage is just not possible for me at this time.”

Grunting, he shook his head. For heaven’s sake, he fumed, he could not, in all good conscience, allow her to embark on a relationship with him that would harm her in any way. Her culture was not like his culture, and he realized what she did not, that her preferred course would only lead to tremendous emotional upheaval and guilt for her. He would protect her, even from herself. He loved her beyond all reason, beyond himself.

He just wanted to kill her.

Amanda had spotted the old priest walking toward them and sucked in her breath. She leaned toward Fitzwilliam. “You have possibly forty seconds left to decide. Oh, merciful St. Jude, Father Riley is scowling and is heading toward us. It is mistress or nothing, Colonel. Where do we meet and when?” Amanda’s heart stopped. She waited.

Fitzwilliam could hear the voice of the old priest getting nearer and nearer as he greeted the few others that had remained after mass.

“Ye gods! Twenty seconds,” she whispered hysterically.

“All right, all right! I cannot believe you are forcing me to do this!” All these months he had been proudly mending his ways, removing ties to the darker sides of his life, and now desired only to take his place as a respectable member of society and set up his nursery with the woman he loved. He was livid. “What days do you attend the hospital?”

“Tuesdays or Thursdays usually, occasionally both.”

“Bloody hell! All right, madam, all right. Thursday morning I will send my batman, O’Malley, to meet you at the hospital. Just so that we are clear, I believe you to be seriously deranged. I am agreeing to this fiasco on one condition alone, and that is that we are meeting to discuss our situation! I am in no way sanctioning any sort of liaison.”

“Amanda, will you introduce me to this great, huge, hulking English soldier who is inhaling all the breathable air from my church?” Father Riley had arrived.

It had been a trying and busy few days for the colonel. They were to have their “discussion” at the Lions Head Inn, an elegant and discreet place just outside the center of London, a place where Fitzwilliam had brought many ladies of quality over the years. Too many, he soon realized as the staff hailed him warmly, and he, in turn, found he was able to inquire by name after family members. He was an important patron, and as such, one of the best rooms was always held in reserve for his use alone, overlooking the exquisite back garden and not the front street with the noise and pollution.

Extremely well-to-do merchants, daring members of the ton, and visiting dignitaries mingled, along with anonymous travelers, all scurrying back and forth, assiduously minding their own affairs. There was no permanent housing or residences in the area—an area where there was deliberate inattention to who was doing what to whom. Everyone was anonymous and treated with the utmost discretion.

He had been pacing nervously, wiping sweaty palms, and trying to calm a pounding heart, but his resolve remained steadfast. A part of him worried that she wouldn’t come even as another part worried that she would. He patted once again the packet of papers within his coat.

At last there was a soft knock on the door before it was opened by an older matron in a white ruffled mobcap and black dress with white apron, remnants from a much older, more formal time. Following closely behind came a walking pile of dripping wet veils and hooded cloak. Her boots were squishing water.