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

“Richard! Are you all right?” She tried to run her fingers through her hair to help dry it but quickly abandoned the attempt because of the snarls. She then pushed it from her face to lean her elbows atop her knees. She demurely placed one row of toes over her others to keep them warm.

“Hmm?” His eyebrows rose with his response, his mind a hopeless mush of confusion.

“You were saying something important, were you not?”

“I was?”

“I’m almost certain you were.” She gave him a guilty smile and stood. “Oh, dear, I am not being very attentive again, am I?” Padding over to him, she rested her hands high up on his shoulders. “I am very sorry. Please forgive me for being so rude. Good heavens, barefoot like this, I feel small standing next to you.” Smiling contentedly she ran her hands across his shoulders, and then gently stroked down the front of his chest. “It’s like I am standing in a hole or something.” Her eyes drifted, just for a moment, to his mouth.

Fitzwilliam scowled. “Amanda, go and stand over there, please.” He sounded very annoyed.

“Why? What have I done?”

“Just do it, goddamn it.”

“If you insist, Colonel.” She pursed her lips and walked back to where she had been sitting near the fire. “Fine, shoot.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Sorry, that was an American phrase. Please proceed with what you wanted to say to me.”

He hesitated for a moment and then began again, after further clearing his throat and downing his fourth or fifth glass of claret. He had lost count.

“Amanda.”

“Yes, Richard. I have not left. I am listening.”

“Right. Yes… where was I?” He began to massage his temple. “Ah… It is evident that we have… strong attraction for each other… damn it to hell, what was I saying? Your fussings, all this to do, have gotten me completely off topic! Oh, yes, I remember—Amanda, I am of an age where I find I desire something more substantial in my life than a meaningless coupling with someone. Forgive my blunt speech, but I do want us to be open with each other.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he strolled to the window, a headache threatening, then rubbed at his chest, feeling as if a ravenous wolf was within clawing to be released. It had been those little pink toes, and he knew it. For no apparent reason, those stupid pink toes had captured his imagination and were now driving him wild.

“Ahem. Ahem.” He hesitated for a moment to stare outside. “After years of professing the complete opposite, I find that, since meeting you, I truly do desire a home life and a family. I want to share my thoughts with someone, share my dreams and love and future with one person, and we seem to rub along well together, don’t we? Can you understand what I am saying?” He turned to look at her. “As I was saying, I have arranged for something to which I pray you are amenable…” He suddenly exploded. “Bloody hell! Now what are you doing?!”

She froze midway in her process of unbuttoning her bodice, a guilty blush sweeping over her face.

“Now are you going to tell me that your breasts are cold and wet and you need to relieve them of your top?” His voice sounded angrier than he had meant it to be, while his walls of protection continued crashing down around him. The wolf was breaking free.

Brown eyes looked down in shame, and tears began to well. Her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Please do not yell at me, Richard. I cannot help it if my dress is wet, and I’m cold.”

“I don’t mean to yell. It’s just that I am trying to bare my soul to you here, and you cannot seem to retain possession of your clothes. Now please get yourself dressed again. We are not staying. If you would only let me explain to you my overall strategy…”

He watched in horror as her face crumpled into a blubbery mass of tears. “I am angering you, and you are sending me away.” She stomped her bare foot in self-disgust. Throwing back her head, she began to wail and sob with her frustration and anger and disappointment. “Oh, I am such a fool! I wanted to look beautiful! Instead, I look like a sodden pile of rags. But please, Richard, don’t force me to leave here. Don’t give up on us.”

Fitzwilliam reached her in two steps, pulling her roughly into his arms. “Stop it, Amanda. I’m the fool, not you.” Immediately their mouths found each other, and they kissed with hunger, licking and biting and ravenous. “Forgive me,” he mumbled over and over while her hands grabbed into his hair, pulling him closer. He crushed her to him and lifted her from the floor, those offending pink toes dangling in midair.

“I love you, Richard. You don’t know how I dream about you and pretend I talk to you when you’re not with me. I love you so much I kiss my pillow each night, and hug it, and wish it was you there with me.”

“I am the worst of brutes, bellowing at the only person who matters.” He kissed her eyes and nose and feasted kisses on her neck. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart. Please. I love you so much. This was entirely my fault. It was a stupid idea to meet here. But you see, I have made some plans. I wanted to explain to you…”

She sniffled and nodded, agreeing with him wholeheartedly. Holding his face in her hands, she stared lovingly into his eyes. “Yes, it is your fault, isn’t it?”

He smiled over her head as he set her down on her feet again and reached into his pocket, sacrificing yet another handkerchief to the Penrod family. “Blow,” he instructed, and she trumpeted into the cloth. “Well done. Are you finished?” he asked, and she nodded. “Good. Come with me.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her to an overstuffed chair, where they settled down, her legs tucked neatly across his lap. She sniffled and snuggled as he nudged her head under his chin, stroking her cheek and hair to soothe her. They sat in easy silence until her sniffles stopped and she finally sighed.

“Are you warmer now?” he asked quietly, and she smiled.

“What is wrong with me, Richard?” she asked after a moment.

“Wrong with you? Now why would you say something silly like that?” He kissed her forehead, gently pressing her head onto his shoulder. “You are perfection.”

That was nice, she thought. Nestled in his arms like a child, she began to play with his cravat. “I worried and worried myself sick about today, I swear it. I must have awoken at four in the morning to get dressed and fretted about whether to wear the horrid lavender dress or the dreaded grey dress.” She wriggled closer to him, her voice becoming even softer. “Tell me again how I am perfection.”

His answer was another deep and thorough kiss. “You are beyond perfection.”

“You are just being kind. You are very kind, you know, and brave and decent and honorable. No, I have bungled this whole thing. I’m such an idiot.” She sighed once and then once again. “I look pitiful. My nose is running, my hair is drenched, my hands are coarse… feel free to disagree with me at any time,” she muttered into his neck.

Fitzwilliam’s senses were lost somewhere in her hair, in the fragrance of flowers and soap. He was very glad to hear her humor emerge again. He glided kisses across the top of her head.

“You have brought others here, have you not? What is wrong with me that you don’t want me in that way, Richard? Why am I so undesirable to you? I thought I was being alluring by loosening my top a little, but you looked horrified.” She hiccoughed then apologized when her head hit his chin.

“We seem to be working at cross-purposes, my love. This has nothing to do with not wanting you. I want you desperately. I hoped you knew that by now.” He kissed her waiting lips. “I love you passionately.” She wriggled joyfully in his lap and threw her arms around his neck.