In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

Chapter Nineteen Hearts Beat Once Again

Colonel Fitzwilliam spent the remaining days of November immersed in his work. There was a great deal to do, stacks of papers having accumulated on his desk and a fresh-faced batch of recruits to whip into shape. All of this was fortuitous, as it allotted him scant time to dwell on the two women who invaded his heart. Nonetheless, as the days passed and December loomed on the horizon, the maddening aspects of his situation escalated.

Georgiana’s presence intruded at odd moments throughout his waking day. Her adorable smile, gentle touch, melodic voice raised in song or lively discourse, glowing blue eyes, and lilting laugh pervaded his consciousness and filled his soul with peace and warmth. He missed her in a way that he never had before. Their separation was necessary, but sweetly painful in how he longed for her. That fact alone was gladdening and strengthened his resolve. Absence indeed made the heart grow fonder, and those instances of cheerful contemplation were grasped onto with vigor.

But at night, and even upon unguarded occasions during the day, Simone’s memory was equally vibrant and only grew in power. The stimulus was not due to specific places he went, as he rarely ventured beyond his humble house and the Regimental yard and offices. Nor was it mentions of her name in the papers or among his peers, as he still refused to glance at the Society pages and he did not mingle at the Club or other venues where London gossip swirled. She was simply there, in his mind and, to his irritation, his heart with a persistent yearning felt acutely in his body. He heard her voice, saw her smile, envisioned her eyes, and felt the tingles of her touch as surely as if she were standing beside him.

In his dreams she came to his bed with all the erotic and sensual glories that Georgiana did not. This latter distressed him greatly. Was it just lingering feelings of guilt or scruples over falling for someone he had known since infancy? He wished now that he had succumbed to his desires to kiss her that day in the conservatory, but solicitude for her emotions under the bizarre circumstances had stayed him. Was his inability to imagine being with her in an intimate way due to that? Yet, when he tried to force the fantasy, when he purposefully replaced Simone’s face and body with Georgiana’s, his mind recoiled. Vague qualms raced through his consciousness, inexplicable shame for envisioning her in such a sordid way. Of course this was ludicrous if she was to be his wife! He welcomed dreams of this nature with Georgiana, but they never materialized beyond tender kisses; always melding into Simone’s figure and face when the passion ignited beyond his lucid control.

Logic assured him that once Lady Fotherby was completely beyond his reach, his heart and soul would be free to embrace the love he held for Georgiana.

The page finally turned, the dreaded month of December was ushered in, and with it came the arrival of Darcy to Town. His planned journey of approximately three weeks for business had initially been arranged as a family vacation. He and Lizzy thought it would be fun to spend the weeks prior to Christmas in London for the holiday entertainments available and improved shopping choices. They both agreed that this year they preferred a quiet Christmas, opting instead to visit relatives at their residences rather than inviting everyone to Pemberley. However, days before their departure date Alexander developed a mild cold and it was agreed that he should stay home where it was warm and safe.

Darcy arrived in London determined to finish the necessary work. He did, of course, immediately send word to Colonel Fitzwilliam hoping the two could drown their mutual sorrows in vigorous fencing or horseback riding or even darts if that would do the trick. He was not surprised when Richard did not respond.

For his part, Richard was not intentionally being rude. He was considerably swamped with work, his evasion of extracurricular activities not exclusively due to a desire to prevent idle chitchat that may inadvertently lead to a topic he wished to avoid. He knew Darcy would be in Town for several weeks, so figured there would be time later… after… when he would undeniably need his oldest friend’s companionship.

Yet, as the days ticked rapidly by and before he found the time to contact Darcy, two events occurred that would forever alter his future.

The first was the murder of Lord Wellson.

Colonel Fitzwilliam got wind of the tale one afternoon, three days before the marriage of Lady Fotherby and Lord Wellson was to occur, while walking through the yard on the way to the stables. A group of privates stood lounging in front of their barracks, unaware of the approaching officer as they were so engrossed in bawdy commentary and laughter.

“Caught him naked as the day he was born, in the act itself!”

“Wonder if he had finished. Seems a shame to take a bullet for the tasty joys of a trollop without the final glory, ya know!”

“What a way to go! Die with a smile on your face!”

“Maybe. Depends on how far it had gone. If the timing was right, then neither of them may have felt any pain.”

Richard shook his head, diverting around the rough group and hoping they would not see him as he was in no mood for salutes and genuflecting. His own thoughts were dark today for no reason he could ascertain, and being forced to chastise a rowdy bunch of underlings was not appealing. He was almost past when one of the young men said, “Old rake! Serves him right for carrying on with another man’s wife. With the pretty dainty he is engaged to you’d think he’d be willing to keep his stick occupied with her! Weren’t enough free bits-of-muslin out there to pluck, so Wellson needs to plow a married woman?”

Richard rounded on the fellows, face grey and tight. “What did you say?”

But he could get nothing coherent out of the men then. They were universally too embarrassed by being caught crudely gossiping and passing around a flask of whiskey by a Commanding Officer.

Heart thudding dangerously, he immediately whirled about and headed toward his office building where newspapers were plentiful. The story was plastered on the front page of every paper.

The notorious Lord Wellson was discovered flagrantly fornicating with the wife of a Fleet Street publisher by the name of Mr. Harris, in the man’s own bedroom no less! The man had suspected his wife of dallying with the infamous rogue and came prepared with pistol in hand. It was likely swift and messy, but details of the crime scene were so outrageously exaggerated that the truth would never be fully known. Lady Fotherby’s name was dragged into the circulating clamor, the reality that the poor woman was more a victim than any of the others lost to only a few. The scandal was immense and the gossip titillating.

Suddenly Richard could not circumvent hearing her name, and the associated rumors, as they were the prime discussion. Facts of any substance were scarce and so jumbled within the innuendo and blather that deciphering truth was difficult. But one detail that repeated was the news that Lady Fotherby had all this time been in Hampshire at her father’s estate. No one had seen or heard from her since well before the betrothal was announced. This was extremely odd, and although most folks used this as a launching point for further vulgar jokes, hidden in the discourse was the sporadic speculation that there was something unnatural about the whole relationship from the outset.

Richard felt truly ill. He could hardly think during the remainder of his day and functioning with any sort of normalcy was nigh on impossible. The new recruits and anyone else who crossed his path suffered the brunt of his foul mood. All the sensibilities of the past weeks that he thought he was successfully dealing with surged forth in a tumultuous spin of emotion. He could not focus onto any one long enough to grasp onto it. The reality that Lord Wellson’s death meant she was now a free woman again was not entirely lost on him, but the welter of emotions was so overwhelming and competitive that nothing rational reigned.

As soon as he was able, he left and rode directly to Darcy House. Darcy was waiting, whiskey thrust into Richard’s shaking hands before greetings were verbalized. There was some talking as the evening turned into late night, mostly on Richard’s part, as Darcy comforted by simply listening, but primarily Richard stared into space as his thoughts swirled.

Two days passed with Richard attempting to perform normally. At times the urge was overwhelming to do something, but he had no clue as to what that should be. What was the proper course? She had rejected him, he reasoned, so he certainly owed her nothing. Yet his heart refused to grow cold no matter how he pleaded for it to do so. By the end of those two days, as he rode slowly through the busy streets toward his home, exhausted and sick, the last thing he wanted or expected was to have another shock waiting for him.

My dearest Richard,

How many days and weeks have I contemplated what I would say to you if I was so blessed as to be given the chance! Oh God Richard, I pray you still believe in my love for you! Please, I beg you, do not toss this away as you probably should. I am so afraid that you will do just that and not read what I have to say. I have much to explain, but fear I have no time. As it is, I do not know if my fortunes will prevail long enough for me to finish this letter. I must be hasty.

I need your help, dear one. I am at my father’s house in Hampshire, where we have been since my foolish departure from you in September, under lock and heavy guard. My father and my uncle, evil men I now perceive, held me captive, using my children as blackmail to force me to agree to marry Wellson. Never would I have done it! Never! But my sweet Oliver has been so ill and treatment was declined him ere I relented. I know it must sound implausible, like a badly written play, but it is true. I have prayed incessantly for the slightest glimmer of hope, seeking any crack in the vigilance so I could escape and end the sham. It came finally in the news of that horrid man’s death! Please forgive me, dear Richard, for possessing no mercy, but I can only exalt in the salvation of his demise. The method matters naught to me, nor do I care about the scandal. I am in a state of utter bliss! Father is furious, somehow in his wicked dementia blaming me. He has gone insane, I am certain of it, and I am extremely fearful. Yet the ensuing chaos has given me an opening. At least I hope.

They are not watching me as closely, so I think I can slip this letter into the outgoing mail. I do not dare trying to escape and I refuse to leave my children in the midst of this madness. Please help me, Richard. Help us. I am not asking for your forgiveness, as I do not deserve it for causing you pain. My only prayer is that your compassion, which you possess in abundance, will draw you to me. There is no one else I can trust.

Yours, always,

Simone

Richard read the letter through twice in rapid succession. His weariness abruptly faded with the instantaneous rise of his wrath and fear. He noted the date as written on the day of Wellson’s murder. Four days ago. For four days she was apparently unable to hide the letter to be sent. For four days she and the children were living in a madhouse suffering God only knew what. It was more than he could bear. But, with the conditioned response of the born military man, he wasted no time on fear or anger.

The first order of business was to enlist aid. No hesitation there, Richard riding fast to the house of his best friend from their Academy days and fellow soldier during numerous campaigns, Colonel Roland Artois. Colonel Artois leaned negligently against the doorframe, casually eating a thickly crusted rye roll, while Richard gave a brief, crisp explanation. Then he grinned, brushed the crumbs off his fingers with a slap, and said, “Sounds like fun. Rescuing a damsel in distress and vexing a Lord. My wife will think me so romantic. We have to include Warren or he will never forgive you.”

“My thought exactly. You get him and meet me at the Darcy townhouse.” And with nothing further but precise nods, they parted.

If Mr. Travers was taken aback by Colonel Fitzwilliam’s curt attitude he did not show it. Fortunately, Mr. Darcy was at home, if in a meeting with his solicitor and shipping partners, but it never crossed the butler’s mind to refuse Mr. Darcy’s cousin entrance or immediate access to his Master. Darcy strode out of his library office, meeting Richard in the middle of the foyer and without preamble asked, “What has happened?”

“I have no time to explain. I need your carriage and driver, now.”

Darcy nodded. “Done.” He gestured to Mr. Travers, who waited a distance away, giving the command, and turned back to Richard. “Anything else?”

“My father’s physician, Dr. Angless. Can you send word to him to be on the alert? I may need him, I am not sure, but he is one of the best in London.”

“I will take care of it personally and have him waiting here. You are going after her.”

It wasn’t a question and Richard was not at all surprised that Darcy would piece it together. “Yes. She is in Hampshire being held captive. I know,” he said, seeing Darcy’s raised brow, “it sounds melodramatic and medieval, but she would not lie to me.” He said it with conviction, suddenly realizing how true the words were. The clarity in thought was a heady rush, leaving him momentarily breathless at the wonder of how he could ever have doubted her. The guilt at not fighting harder, forcing the truth somehow, threatened to overwhelm him. But just as rapidly he pushed it aside, regaining control, as he needed to do to deal with the present crisis.

The clomping of horses’ hooves interrupted further explanation. Richard glanced out the open door to see Artois and Warren in the street. To Darcy he gave instructions to send the driver to the estate in Hampshire as hastily as possible, leaving with a faint smile of thanks.

The three men pushed their horses hard. Fortunately, these were battle-trained mounts prepared for much rougher terrain than the well-maintained roads near London, so the distance was traversed swiftly with the animals breaking out in a minimal sweat. The sprawling estate and ancestral home of the Earl of Wrexham was surrounded by a high iron fence with the gate chained and padlocked. The last time Richard had approached these gates he was met by two stern-faced, armed groundsmen, one of whom had returned with a rebuffing message from Lady Fotherby as well as one from Lord Wrexham with the Earl’s official seal ordering him to vacate the premises or face the consequences. This time only one of the groundsmen was on guard, the frightened, wild look in his eyes escalating upon spying the three mounted men in uniforms plastered with medals and officer insignias. He shook his head when the three halted less than a yard from the bars, attempting to speak and glare, but he never had the chance to muster his authority because Richard calmly drew his pistol and with one well-aimed blast he shattered the lock. The chains fell in a metallic clatter to the ground, Colonel Artois spurring his horse forward and kicking the gates open. They rode through in a united front, none of them glancing at the stunned guard.

The drive was circular and short, the house seen from the gates, so there was no doubt that the shot would have been heard. But the soldiers were quick. They flew off their horses before the animals were fully stopped, swords drawn to meet the three footmen descending the entryway steps. Bloodshed was avoided, thankfully, as the servants were no match for the soldiers and they knew it. The orders to prohibit intruders were obliterated the second they laid eyes on the gleaming metal pointed their direction!

Richard warily entered the foyer, eyes keen and reflexes on alert. Warren and Artois followed in a flank position, equally vigilant. Strangely, the initial impression was of echoing emptiness. The footmen had backed away, silently watching from a safe distance. A couple of other servants were noted, frozen with shock and wide-eyed stares. No one spoke or made a single move. The seconds stretched, the warriors rapidly scanning the premises to gain their bearings. Just as Richard turned to signal Warren to remain posted on guard while he and Artois headed upstairs where he assumed Simone and the children would be, an angry voice pierced the air.

“You will do as I say, you frigid, ungrateful harpy! Because of your hatefulness and obstinacy you weren’t married last month. None of this would have happened if you were more accommodating!”

Richard whirled to the right, the voice he recognized as Lord Wrexham’s reverberating down the long corridor running toward the back of the manor. He sprinted, sword clutched in a white knuckled hand, and unable to hear the murmured response. But the next words left no doubt who he was berating, not that Richard was questioning.

“He wanted you, would have bedded you from the beginning and been content. But, no, not Miss High and Proper! You’ll whore for your nobody lover, a soldier with nothing, but not for a nobleman willing to marry you! You, a used slut with that loathsome invalid you call your son!”

“No!”

A murderous Richard burst through the half open door, his pace not slowing as he took in the scene. Lord Wrexham was pacing, his arms gesticulating crazily as he continued to rant and swear, impervious to Simone’s shouted negation and the fact that she was fast approaching his back with a huge porcelain vase raised over her head. Neither of them noted the noisy entrance of three sword-wielding gentlemen, both too intent upon their individual fury.

“Simone!” Richard shouted.

But it was too late. She started slightly but it was only enough to switch the point of impact from square upon the back of her father’s head, as she intended, to his left shoulder. The vase shattered, the sound loud but not drowning the sickening crunch of broken bone. Lord Wrexham yelled in pain and staggered, blood rapidly soaking his shirtsleeve, yet he somehow managed to pivot toward Simone with eyes savagely blazing and right fist raised.

Richard launched forward, leaping over the low table in between, and bowled bodily into the earl. They crashed into the wall and his sword flew out of his hand. He compensated quickly, his fist a blur as it swung upward and made contact with the earl’s left temple, the stricken man’s eyes glazing and rolling back into his head moments before he bonelessly toppled to the floor.

Richard knelt, checking his pulse to assure he was alive and then peeling back an eyelid to assure he was deeply unconscious. Satisfied on both counts, Richard then turned to Simone.

She stood taut and straight, her eyes glittering with residual anger and gradually dawning happiness. Her cheeks were flushed, hair loose and disheveled, chest heaving with ragged inhalations, and the only thought that went through Richard’s mind was that she looked absolutely ravishing!

“You came,” she said simply.

“I came,” he responded.

And then the stasis broke. They crossed the short space between, arms embracing fiercely and mouths crushing together in a passionate kiss.

Artois nudged Warren, both men smirking as they backed out of the room.

“He always has all the fun,” Warren grumbled good-naturally.

“True. But no one knows the truth but us three, so the tale can be spun to our advantage. At least our wives can think we are the heroes and that should earn us more than a kiss.”

The marriage of Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam and Lady Simone Fotherby took place three weeks after Christmas in the small chapel attached to the Fotherby estate in Buckinghamshire. It was a humble ceremony and reception with the bride wearing an unpretentious pale yellow gown that accented her stunningly youthful blonde coloring and glowing mien. She walked down the aisle preceded by her two sons tossing rose petals and escorted proudly by her stepson, Lord Oliver Fotherby, with eyes only on her earnestly waiting groom. The Colonel wore his most elaborate dress uniform with the wealth of earned medals adorning his chest polished until gleaming, wool tailored to perfection for his stocky physique, and a countenance beaming with transcendent joy.

The intimate gathering of friends and family were unified in their happiness for the couple. How could anyone feel otherwise when the two were so forthright in their giddy elation? The sacred vows were exchanged before the altar with due solemnity only broken for a second when Richard glanced toward Darcy, who winked and grinned. Many in the audience knew of the tortuous road these two had traversed to reach this place as the scandals surrounding Lord Wellson’s murder and the formal severing with her father, Lord Wrexham, were now common knowledge. But only a handful knew the full extent of the trauma, and thus rejoiced in the union finally coming to fruition.

Congratulations and blessings were abundant. Darcy was uncharacteristically effusive in his felicitations, saving the best of his teases for after the honeymoon. Lizzy did not hesitate in kissing her cousin smartly on the cheek and hugging his new bride. Dr. George Darcy was as effusive as his nephew and did not reserve his teasing. Raul and Anne Penaflor were genuine in their well wishes while Lady Catherine de Bourgh nodded politely. Lord Matlock was stately, as was Lady Matlock, but the controlled tears in their eyes spoke volumes. Jonathan clapped his brother on the back and offered a lusty “well done” while Priscilla tried not to express her chagrin over the younger brother marrying a woman of higher rank. Lord Montgomery accompanied his wife to her brother’s nuptials, although he looked positively bored stiff with the procedure, but Lady Annabella Montgomery was surprisingly moved by her brother’s happiness and bestowed a heartfelt kiss and embrace.

Georgiana extended sincere congratulations and wishes for eternal happiness to the couple. Simone embraced her young cousin in true joy and understanding of the circumstances, Richard having divulged his tumultuous emotions during their separation. The groom, however, avoided Georgiana’s eyes. His remorse and discomfort were evident, feelings that were ridiculous as Simone and Georgiana genuinely liked each other and neither woman wished for anything but his happiness. It was a strained situation that pained all three of them.

A number of Richard’s friends and military associates were present, each delighted to be a part of witnessing the long-time bachelor finally succumb. The Vernors, Sitwells, Hugheses, and Bingleys were in attendance, as were a select group of Lady Fotherby’s lifelong friends and her three sisters. Considering the prominence of the bride it was a modest assembly, many in Society shocked and angered to be denied an invitation; but Simone was unfazed. She readily embraced life as wife to an ordinary gentleman, who in her eyes was extraordinary in every possible way.

“So, Cousin, how is matrimony suiting you thus far?”

“I have been married for exactly one hour, Darcy, so aside from wishing desperately that I was alone with my bride, I do not think I can give an explicit accounting of the matrimonial state. Ask me again in a month or so.”

“Indeed I will. If you are then ready to quit your bedchamber for an evening with me.”

“Remember that I am marrying a woman with children so will undoubtedly not have as much time to dally in my conjugal bed as you probably did.”

He grinned at his cousin, Darcy grinning in return.

“Young Lord Fotherby appears healthy at the moment.”

“He was slow to recover from the poor medical management administered by Wrexham’s quack,” Richard said with bitterness. “Simone lost too many hours of sleep worrying over him, another reason her father deserves to be shot for what he did.”

Unfortunately, the most Lord Wrexham would suffer as a result of his crime was a left arm that pained him and had limited mobility. It was monumentally unfair, but Simone had no legal recourse, as there was no proof that she was detained against her will unless she chose to launch an extended investigation. Since this would likely be a fruitless effort in light of her father’s wealth and influence, it was not worth further scandal that might harm her children. Harry and Hugh were young enough to be innocently unaware of the drama. Oliver’s sequelae was serious, his condition critically worsened due to nearly two months of mistreatment. But in the end, that too may have been an odd blessing as Dr. Angless collaborated with the Fotherby family physician, as well as Dr. Darcy putting his superior intellect and unique experience to the mix, and a new plan was devised for the mysterious ailment. Oliver was responding favorably, a great deal of his gaiety and heartiness undoubtedly the result of observing the only mother he had ever known glowing with happiness.

“You a father,” Darcy teased, noting the fond smile on Richard’s face as he watched Hugh, Harry, and Oliver laughing as they exhaled on a cold window and drew pictures in the vapor. “Who would have thought it?”

“Not I,” Richard said with a laugh. “Far too much responsibility for me. Simone must be crazy.”

“Maybe,” Darcy agreed with a grin. “Do you think you will miss it?” He nodded toward the mass of medals adorning Richard’s chest.

“At times I am sure I will. It is hard to fathom no longer being a part of what has been essentially my family and identification for nearly as long as I can remember, but I am prepared to enter a new phase of life and identity as husband, father, and estate manager. I gave the matter intense contemplation, as you know, and it is for the best. I cannot be the husband she deserves if I am encumbered with my professional duties. Nor do I want to run the risk of another war or being deployed. I will not be parted from her, Darcy, not ever again.”

Darcy nodded. “I understand completely, my friend.”

They paused for a moment to gaze upon their wives where they sat surrounded by children and ladies.

“Have you told Elizabeth of your plans to take her on tour through Europe?”

“I have hinted. I am keeping it tentative at the moment until I finalize some business matters and research travel options. I have never traveled abroad with a family, so concessions must be made. You shall see in due course, Cousin. Life is no longer easy, but well worth the discomfort, I assure you.” Richard smiled, a bit foolishly, and Darcy chuckled. “The plans are taking shape and if all is well, then I shall reveal it as a birthday present. By the way, do you think you and Mrs. Fitzwilliam will be able to visit Pemberley for the Summer Festival? We are planning a smaller affair for May this year. I thought I better extend the invitation now, since I will likely not see much of you in the subsequent months.”

“Very funny. If you keep this up I am tempted to avoid you purposely for the sake of my sanity! As for the Festival, we will be there… if you think it wise.”

Darcy glanced at Richard’s suddenly clouded face, noting that his gaze had strayed from divine wife to lovely Georgiana where she stood across the room in animated conversation with Kitty Bennet and a number of others.

“Richard, you need to let your guilt go. How many times must we tell you that Georgiana is perfectly fine? Only you persist in this train of thought. She is young and resilient, much as you are. Her only pain is in your remorse and embarrassment and avoidance of her. She loves you too much to want you to suffer. You need to talk to her, and although this is perhaps not the best venue, you should not embark on your honeymoon with any residual baggage.”

Richard nodded, eyes sad but suddenly determined. “You are right. Excuse me please.”

He was waylaid on his quest by his wife, a brief moment of whispered declarations of devotion and subtle caresses lightening his spirits. It was a face infused with radiant happiness that greeted Georgiana, who instantly smiled in return.

“Miss Darcy, Miss Bennet,” he bowed formally before turning to Kitty. “Miss Bennet, may I steal my cousin away for a stroll on the terrace?”

Arm in arm they walked among the scattered guests enjoying the crisp air, content in the silence of sweet companionship. With each step Richard’s irrational guilt disappeared.

It was Georgiana who broke the hush with a softly teasing lilt, “Now, this is not so horrible, is it Richard? Taking a turn with one of your dearest friends?”

He laughed helplessly, gracing her with his beaming face and bright grin.

She halted, reaching gentle fingertips to his cheek. “Ah! There it is! The sincere smile of true happiness that I have longed to rejoice in. The face that I so adore filled with peace. You are a fool, Richard Fitzwilliam, to think that I would ever wish for anything else for you. But I shall forgive you this one misstep, as long as you promise to be my friend for all of your life.”

He blinked stinging tears, swallowing the lump caught in his throat, lowering his head to briefly rest upon her shoulder before again meeting her glorious eyes. He lifted her fingers for a firm kiss, holding her gaze while answering, “All of my life and beyond to eternity, Georgie, my little mouse. That is my promise.”

Kitty watched Georgiana and Richard disappear around the corner with a pleased smile on her face. Naturally, she knew the entire tale, she and Georgiana maintaining a constant correspondence over the months. The sadness that Georgiana experienced at what she feared was an estrangement with Richard was profound, and Kitty was thrilled to see the two finally speak. She had no doubt that their relationship’s wounds would be repaired, knowing that the affection shared was deep.

She sighed. Too bad not all relationships can be mended so easily, she thought. Of course, not all relationships were of an honest nature, a fact that she could not forget no matter how hard she tried. The odd part was that her heart no longer ached for Anthony Falke, and there were even times when she struggled to recall a fine detail of his appearance or character. Yet the damage to her soul remained as bleakly intense as on the day she was rejected so brutally.

Kitty had not shared the events in Stevenage with either parent. Primarily this was due to the painful nature of the ordeal, but also out of mortification. Being rebuffed so vigorously by someone who had professed love and proudly believing oneself a worthy recipient of love, only to have it dashed into a thousand pieces was a staggering abasement.

Torn between the fear of further lies and humiliation, and the conviction that she was deficient in some manner and therefore undeserving of the love she saw portrayed so beautifully in her sisters’ marriages, Kitty shrank from any male attention. She resisted attending the various assemblies offered in Meryton and when she was coerced, she danced few sets and generally with boys she knew to be “safe.” She had not been particularly keen on accompanying Georgiana to London, even as fond as she was of Colonel Fitzwilliam, but her friend’s pleading and misery had won over any misgivings.

Now here she was, a guest at Colonel Fitzwilliam’s wedding, surrounded by a sea of men in uniform, and all she could think of was how her mother would shrilly scold her for not taking advantage of a prime marriage market when it was laid on her lap! The thought was actually quite humorous, and she smiled at the mental image of her mother in a nervous tizzy, chuckling under her breath until she realized that her expression had drawn the attention of an adolescent soldier standing several yards away. He bowed in a sort of salute, and to her horror started crossing toward her! Eyes wild, she launched from the chair and made a dash for the doorway.

The last thing she wanted was to make idle conversation with a pimply faced boy cadet. She wove through the press of bodies conversing and laughing, making for an empty corridor to the left. A quick glance behind proved that no one was following or seemed aware of her passage. With a sigh of relief, she opened a random door and noted a darkened room. Perfect! She ducked inside and sagged against the latched door, closing her eyes for a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

The room was quite dark and it took her pupils a few minutes to adjust. She realized it was a vast library only because she was standing near a tall shelf of books. All the curtains were drawn, sporadic gaps allowing the muted light of an overcast day in January to pierce for faint illumination. She wended past the shelves and chairs toward the back of the room, no specific destination in mind, and not noting the man leaning casually against the unlit fireplace until she nearly collided with him.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, retreating several paces in alarm. “Forgive me! I did not see you there!”

“Obviously.” His voice echoed about the room, resonant tones imbued with traces of latent laughter. “It is understandable, however, so no need to apologize.”

For some reason Kitty felt a flair of irritation. “You could have alerted me as to your presence. Then neither of us would be suffering such embarrassment!”

“Why should we be embarrassed? It is a dark room so clearly you did not want to be seen. Seeking privacy, I assumed. As was I.”

“Nonetheless, you should have made your presence known.”

She could sense his shrug even though the gloom was too great to see more than a vague outline. “It is a large room so I rather hoped you would wander to the far side. I did not wish to intrude upon your solitude, but apparently the intrusion was fated to be for both of us.”

“Intrusion was what I was evading, oddly enough,” she blurted, biting her lip at the rude slip.

“What sort of intrusion?”

“Unwanted conversation, ironically.”

He chuckled, the sound reverberating. “Yes, ironic indeed. Doubly so as I fled here for the same reason.”

She cocked her head, straining to see more than an outline of what appeared to be a tall, brawny figure. The voice was indecipherable. Was he young or old? None of the squeak inherent in the truly young, or the tremulousness of the aged, but anywhere in between was possible.

“Who were you avoiding?”

“The dozens of available women from forty years on down who my father deems it his self-appointed duty to parade under my nose at any gathering we attend. Weddings, funerals, all are fair game as far as he is concerned.” There was that smoldering laughter again, not a trace of resentment in his words. Kitty realized she was smiling.

“Only forty years on down? How fortunate you are. My mother considers any male not yet in his dotage eligible.”

“Is she here now? Pointing out the wealth of handsome and not-so-handsome specimens in uniform? Is that why you scurried away?”

And she did laugh. “No, she is not here, but I was actively imagining her face when I tell her that I did not flirt with and gain the favors of at least one officer. She will be deeply disappointed in me.” And for the first time there was no bitterness in the thought.

“I gather that we are both horrid children, severely upsetting to our parents,” he said.

“Indeed we are.”

“I, for one, have vowed never to force those of the opposite sex upon my children, when they arrive.”

“Interesting. Of course, the paradox is that if you do not fulfill the wish of your father, you will never have any offspring to uphold your vow to!”

He laughed aloud, slapping his thigh in mirth. “Excellent! Touché, miss. That, I confess, has never occurred to me! Perhaps I should return to the parlor and see who he has scared up.”

“It sounds as though he may have reached the point of desperation with you, so I am not sure you can trust his judgment at this juncture.”

“Hmmm… You are undoubtedly correct. I think I am safer here in the dark conversing with a complete stranger. Ah!” And she discerned the slap of his palm against his forehead. “But I forgot that you were seeking solitude and avoiding unwanted conversation. So we now have a dilemma.”

“How so?”

“Who should leave? I was here first, so logic would dictate that you depart and face the lurking male hounds. But then I do pride myself on being a gentleman, so decorum dictates that I bow out gracefully and manfully bear the agony. What shall we do?”

“Do you have a coin? We could flip for it, the loser rejoining the assembly and taking their chances.”

“Alas, it is too dark.” And neither mentioned the simple solution of pulling the drapes.

“Well, we have been talking now for some fifteen minutes, so are no longer complete strangers.” Kitty offered hesitantly.

“True, true. And the conversation, at least from my perspective, has not been completely unwanted.”

“I agree.”

Silence fell, Kitty sensing his eyes upon her and feeling the smile. A comfortable quiet settled about them. He shifted from one foot to the other, still leaning against the fireplace and Kitty could now perceive that his arms were crossed over his chest. She paced around a chaise, fingertips brushing over the edges for tactile direction, unconsciously striving to attain an angle that might cast greater clarification upon her partner.

“Are you here as a guest of the bride or groom?”

“The groom. My father is a general in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s regiment. I have known him for years, although I cannot say we are close confidants. My brother went to the Academy with him, so is closer in age and relationship. And you?”

“The groom as well. My sister is married to his cousin, Mr. Darcy.”

“Ah! So you would be Miss Bennet?”

Kitty nodded, hesitating to speak. For some strange reason, she suddenly felt uneasy, but could not quite place her finger on why.

Then he spoke, “You preferred anonymity, yes?” His voice was soft, almost a caress. “Stay in the shadows, talking with the unseen, unknown individual where it is deemed safe? Why is that, Miss Bennet?”

“I suppose if I never see your face or know who you are than you cannot affect me.” The words burst forth, Kitty blushing at her private confession, but he did not seem perturbed.

“Hmmm… Perhaps. Although, in my experience it is the hidden one who is the greater threat. The enemy who lurks in dark places and springs out unawares.”

“Is that not, in effect, what you have done?”

He laughed, the sound musical. “From a certain point of view, I suppose that is correct. Although, strictly speaking, you sprung in on me.”

“But you were lurking in the dark place.”

“Merely because I arrived first. The scenario could have been reversed.”

“You are laughing at me,” she accused, suppressing a girlish giggle.

“Only a little. In truth I am just pointing out the absurdity in both of our rationales and actions.”

“What do you mean?”

Again she felt his shrug. For the first time since entering the library he moved from his languid repose against the mantel, standing straight and even taller than she thought, nearly as tall as Mr. Darcy, and took one stride toward her.

“We hide ourselves away to avoid what we have decided are unpleasant consequences. We seek to be left alone or at least to our own devices without exterior finagling. We weary of the game imposed upon us by well-meaning parents. And we somehow have divined that there is a safety to the dark. Yet, and I can only speak honestly for myself although I am sensing the same from you, we are actually enjoying ourselves. You see? Absurdity.”

“I suppose you now want me to congratulate you on your brilliant deductions and acknowledge that I am enjoying myself?”

“Only if you mean it.”

Kitty laughed, helpless against the smug, gay inflection obvious in his retort. “I believe, sir, that you are impertinent!”

“I have been accused of worse.”

He moved again, but in the dark she lost sight of where he was. “Sir?”

“I believe, Miss Bennet, that it is time for us to dispense with the shadows.” He was to her right, not five feet away, and beside the nearest cloaked window. “Are you willing to face the light of day with all its accompanying glories and ugliness?”

“Which are you? The former or the latter?”

“You, Miss Bennet, are a wit and I have decided I like you and that you are in the former category. I will allow you to judge me for yourself. I am brave enough to accept your evaluation.”

“Very well then. But I shall be brutally honest.”

“Understood.” And the curtains were thrust aside, sunlight streaming in and momentarily blinding both of them. Eyes blinked back tears, hands involuntarily rose to shade, but gradually their pupils adjusted. She had suspected that he was a military man, and he was tall, as she had ascertained. Easily in his early thirties if not a bit older, his form trim, but wide in the shoulders and chest. His eyes were deep brown, almost black, with thick lashes framing, and curly hair, black with scattered streaks of grey at the temples.

The seconds stretched as they examined each other unabashedly. Eventually, simultaneously, pleased smiles spread over their faces.

Kitty moved first, extending her fingers and curtsying fluidly. “Miss Katherine Bennet.”

He lifted her hand, bowing as he brushed soft lips lightly over her knuckles. “Miss Bennet, a pleasure. I am Major General Artois. Randall Artois.”