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

The two men parted to expose the trembling debutante.

Catherine’s hands flew up to her cheeks, tears welling in her tiny and slightly dazed eyes. “Georgiana, you look so like your dear mother. She was my sister, did you know that? Well, you look absolutely exquisite, no other word to describe. Who designed your gown, dearest? It is lovely. Who is her dressmaker? Who…?” She looked questioningly at her nephews’ blank stares and immediately gave up. “Oh, never mind. It’s like talking to cheese.”

“Madame Collette,” Georgiana supplied, smiling.

Catherine nodded her approval then evaluated Darcy’s appearance and glowed with pride. He was, as always, dressed in the height of elegance. She flinched visibly when she turned her attention to Fitzwilliam, cocking one eyebrow as she scanned his boots with her quizzing glass.

“I fell under my horse at Waterloo. Haven’t had a chance to get them buffed up as yet.”

Losing interest quickly in her nephew’s boots, Catherine returned her attention to Georgiana and smiled kindly. “Do you have a lady’s maid?”

“Aunt Catherine.” Darcy was not amused. “I can assure you Georgiana has several lady’s maids and a companion. She also has a number of homes at her disposal whenever and wherever she desires, all bursting with staff, horses, sixteen dogs, and five cats.”

“I do so like your hair, Georgiana. I cannot abide a maid who is unable to properly attend to hair. Yours looks exceedingly well. Who did it? The cook? The laundress? The groundskeeper?”

“My maid, Aunt Catherine.”

Darcy’s foot began to tap furiously, but Catherine’s infamous pendulum-like attention had now swung back to Fitzwilliam.

“Why on earth are you turning around every five seconds?! Have you a palsy or some other like condition?”

“Yes, Lady Catherine, and I appeal to you to excuse me. I feel the need to lie down and rest for a while.”

Catherine huffed. “Oh, you have a condition, I’ll warrant, but it isn’t palsy. I am beginning to question your eyesight. You keep looking across the room at those old dowagers.” She squinted harder and then turned back to him, aghast. “At least I am sincerely hoping it is the dowagers. Never tell me you are casting those longing looks toward the atrocious lavender dress. She is not suitable, Fitzwilliam. Don’t repeat this to a soul, but I believe she is wearing wool.”

He stared down at her in fuming silence.

“She is a servant, Richard! That is obvious by the meanness of her attire! You cannot be serious!”

Fitzwilliam’s voice grew ominously quiet. “I am not in the habit of judging people merely by their garments, Aunt . Besides, how can you of all people consider her a servant? She is still young enough to walk without assistance.”

“Don’t you get so high and mighty with me, young man! No woman of quality would be seen out in the evening without jewels, with no gloves, no hair adornments—in wool ! Where is her fan, I ask? Ugh! Merciful heavens, this is not to be borne!”

Darcy cleared his throat. “Aunt Catherine, we had considered that possibly the young woman in question may be a foreigner, perhaps in mourning attire. That would explain the rather drab clothing as well as her lack of embellishment.”

“Oh, the poor dear, a war widow, do you think?” Catherine’s hand went to her heart in devastated compassion, completely forgetting her previous outburst.

It swiftly passed.

“Very well, come along, everyone,” she chirped. “Fitzwilliam, it appears that you will be having a bit of competition for your widow—oh la, that sounded rather ominous, didn’t it?” Catherine had been motioning toward an officer circling Brown Eyes when she realized what she had said. She took Fitzwilliam’s arm and pulled him behind her. “Well, never you mind, sirrah. At the present, you will have to settle with charming your viperous hostess.”

It was nearly a half hour later before Fitzwilliam and Darcy made their escape from the high-pitched, squealing voice of their hostess, Lady Sally Jersey, in addition to the whining Lady Castlereigh, the barely audible Lady Cowper, and the baritone Lady Sefton, all audibly thrilled to have such distinguished gentlemen in their midst.

“Kill me if I ever agree to do this for another female relative,” Fitzwilliam spoke pleasantly to anyone within hearing.

“Aunt Catherine wants me to dance with Princess Esterhazy’s daughter…”

“Oh, you poor sod.” Fitzwilliam’s attention was distracted suddenly.

“Can I leave you alone for fifteen minutes without your causing a scene? Richard? Richard?”

Richard had already stomped away.

Merde.

Amanda Sayles Penrod sat among the dowagers, widows, and poor-relation chaperones that occupy the draftiest, farthest, and darkest corners of any ballroom or assembly, and happy she was for even this little diversion. It had been months since she had seen been at a public gathering, years since she had attended a society ball with music and dancing. If only her dearest Anthony had accompanied her this night, she would have felt safer and more relaxed, less alone.

She was momentarily drawn from her daydreams to be introduced, along with her late husband’s cousin, Emily, to a beautiful young woman, a member of one of the grandest families in England, the Darcys. A gracious and sweet young lady, Georgiana Darcy was much less intimidating than the other debutantes in attendance this night, and Amanda could sense Emily’s immediate ease. She wistfully waved the two off, both girls emboldened now by the presence of a kindred spirit, as they began meeting other young people.

Amanda sighed. One day perhaps she, too, would again know the joy of beautiful clothes and dancing and love and romance. Her heart quickened as always at the thought of a certain oddly attractive and very tall colonel who, if not classically handsome, was very masculine and self-assured and commanding. She had noticed him over the years, followed his brilliant career, had smiled shyly at him from across the square, but had never come face-to-face with the man until he retrieved her reticule from under the carriage. Still and all though, they hadn’t really met properly and probably never would. Well, it did no harm to fantasize. Fantasy was all she would ever allow herself. She could never meet anyone now, not when her little boy so needed her.

Of a sudden, she was aware of movement around her. Officers had approached and were attempting to converse with her. Pretending ignorance, Amanda shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, an impressive dumb show of confusion if she did say so herself. She lowered her eyes to hands folded demurely on her lap and just prayed to heaven that the men would forget her and leave.

Instead, the two old women who had been seated beside her and in front clucked their tongues and walked away, uninterested in assisting a young woman who looked so poor and acted so servile. A third old tabby dozed fitfully, her head lolling back and then jerking forward whenever her snores awakened her.

At first, the men seemed to be enjoying what they interpreted as shyness, quickly becoming emboldened by her apparent lack of understanding and protection. The discourse between the drunken officers spiraled into the colorfully ribald. “Could she be a delectable little soiled dove in disguise as a housemaid?”

One inebriated officer laughed hysterically as he attempted to see the color of her eyes. As she kept lowering her head to avoid him, he kept bending over until, at one point, he nearly lost his balance.

“Neddie, at the very least tell me if she rouges her nipples, please.”