Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer (16 page)

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."

The color was rapidly draining from Ned's cheeks with his head bent down so far. He hiccoughed and nearly lost his footing again. "With this ghastly dress, it's hard to tell if she even has bubbies." He stumbled a bit and then plopped down on the floor before her. "I can't even be assured she has lips. But, by God, I believe there is a true beauty hiding in these dowdy duds, if only she would raise up her eyes! Bunty, poke her shoulder. Make her look up."

"I should indeed love to poke her, Ned--but in the shoulder is a bit perverse, even for me."

The raucous laughter brought another soldier up, a major. "You two are making complete clodpoles of yourselves!" The major shook his head, and standing behind her boldly placed his hand upon her shoulder to keep her seated. "You are both far too into your cups to be of any service to this sweet young thing. Bugger off and leave her to me!"

Moments passed that felt like years while the whimpering in her head continued unabated and her heart pounded. Afraid to raise her eyes, she was flushed with embarrassment, only gradually realizing that the bawdy comments had ceased and the area around her was now silent. She held her breath, though, knowing that she was still not alone. Someone stood before her, a form leaning over her and large enough that it blocked out much of the light provided from the wall sconces behind.

She slowly looked up, first at his dusty and beaten-looking riding boots
(My stars, what big feet
), and then at the muscled legs encased in white trousers (
Must be a lifelong horseman).
She blushed, realizing that she should not be gazing quite so intently at those. Next came the impressive barrel chest, the fine masculine shoulders made broader by epaulettes wide enough to serve dinner upon, a scarlet military jacket with its sash, golden buttons, braids, and medals...lots of medals (
Oh no, another soldier!
) His gloved hand rested on the hilt of a beautiful dress sword.

When her eyes finally reached his face, she saw the kindest bluest eyes she had ever beheld, a prominent jaw with a crooked, easy smile, tousled muddy-colored blond hair... With a gasp, she realized that it was the celebrated colonel, the man she continually fantasized over, her hero from the street. She sat bolt upright.

Huh.

In stunned silence, she glanced around to see that the other men had fled, and she sat alone, staring up at that tender face. It was unbelievable, her shock and his sudden presence crushing her ability to speak.

Huh.

He spoke to her at length in French, appearing surprised when she blinked back in wonder. He laughed a little and straightened up, looked around the room, and then stroked his chin. He then began speaking in Spanish, and after that a language she had never heard before.

***

After running off the drunken soldiers with unsubstantiated threats and one menacing eyebrow, Fitzwilliam turned to the beauty before him and bowed. If he imagined she was lovely through a blinding sleet storm or from the frosted window of a carriage or from across a ballroom, she was breathtaking up close, staring at him like a fairy-tale princess awaking from a trance. A gradually awakening Sleeping Beauty, perhaps, her eyelashes slowly fluttering open.

Then, her full, red, luscious lips opened to pronounce what sounded like a muted "Duh?"

He winced. Oh, shit. A horrible fear gripped his gut that Darcy would be right again and she might be yet another brainless twit. He would never live this down. Never. His heart sank further as she revisited her first observation with an even louder "Duh?"

He spoke to her eloquently in French, apologizing for his boldness in approaching and for the inebriated officers, all the time admiring her beauty if not her conversation. She was beginning to blink more rapidly, at least, her squint appearing more intelligent, or was that just wishful thinking on his part? She certainly did not look Spanish, but he tried that, too. Her eyes opened wider. He finally tried Danish. She shrugged her shoulders. Perhaps the poor darling was truly mentally impaired.

"Well, I have run out of languages, beautiful one. Now what shall I do?" He turned around and searched the crowded ballroom. "Where the hell has Georgiana gotten to?"

Her hand immediately reached out and briefly touched his sleeve. She was terribly alarmed; desperate that he was about to leave. "Pardon me for being so forward, Colonel, but she should return here in a moment. I heard her mention that she needed to find her brother and cousin."

Fitzwilliam spun around in shock. "You speak English!"

"No. I'm sorry, sir, I do not. I'm an American."

***

Georgiana, along with her new dearest friend Emily, reached the laughing couple several moments later. "Cousin?" she whispered kindly and tapped his shoulder, but he was lost to the world, staring into the loveliest eyes he had ever seen, so that he felt nothing and heard little else.

"Cousin?" she repeated more loudly and with a bit more force, then flicked his ear sharply with a hard snap of her fingers. His wits quickly returned, and he turned to his left, stunned to see people surrounding them.

"Georgiana! How nice to see you. Whatever are you doing here?" Fitzwilliam looked genuinely surprised by the crush surrounding him, suddenly being encircled as he was by eight giggling, squealing little females. It was appalling. He then recollected sending Georgiana around for his introduction.

"What do you mean, 'Nice to see you; whatever are you doing here?'" She looked curiously at him. The girls all squealed and giggled, batting their eyelashes and whispering to her their wishes for introduction. "You just sent me on a breakneck tour around this room, which was no walk in Hyde Park, I might add, in order to get you an introduction, and you end up storming across the ballroom like a man possessed!" Georgiana had an annoying tendency toward honesty, a habit of saying exactly what she was thinking the moment she thought it. Fitzwilliam briefly considered gagging her mouth.

"Well, I am sure I have no knowledge of what you are speaking," he murmured then raised his brows in what he hoped would be some sort of silent communication to her to keep her unholy trap shut. "I happened to see this lovely lady being accosted by some anonymous soldiers and came to offer her my assistance."

"You mean Ned Jeffries? And Bachman? I swear I saw Bachman sidle over here. I thought you knew them. Ooh! You did, didn't you? Yes, of course, you were all on the same cricket team for several years, and didn't Bunty play football with you and Brother at Harrow?"

Not wanting to eavesdrop on the two cousins' whispered conversation, Amanda had been watching the excited debutantes with great amusement. They were bouncing up and down, awaiting their moment to impress the famous "Colonel of Waterloo," edging Amanda and Emily farther into the background. When Georgiana finally began the introductions, the girls squealed anew, gushing and jockeying for closer positions. They preened and flirted, fanning themselves ragged, competing so outrageously that a scuffle began between them, and just when the whole situation threatened to get downright ugly, it was announced that Daddy Hill and Sir Frederick Maitland had just arrived. The herd stampeded in their direction.

"Fame is fleeting," marveled Fitzwilliam and turned again to his Beauty.

Amanda laughed. "Thank you so much, Colonel, for coming to my assistance. I apologize if I have caused you any alarm."

"Not at all, madam." He took her hand and held it gently. "It is I who should apologize to you for the behavior of the younger officers. Often at these little parties, there is too much wine and not enough common sense."

She was introduced to him then by Georgiana as the widow of the deceased baronet Augustus Penrod, and the young girl as the late baronet's young cousin, after which Georgiana tugged on his sleeve. "Excuse me, dearest of Cousins," a clearly perplexed Georgiana said with a sigh, "but I am still somewhat confused. About those soldiers who were bothering Lady Penrod--did you not rent a villa in Capri with Major Bachman just two years ago?"

"And her mouth continues unchecked..." Fitzwilliam returned his gaze to Amanda. "Ignore her, madam," he said. "We all do," he concluded under his breath.

"I hope that the officers were not too forward with you, Lady Penrod. I will be happy to have a word with them and make certain they apologize to you directly. I can assure you that I will enforce strict disciplinary measures on them all."

"Oh, no, please don't bother yourself. I am just so thrilled and honored that you, of all people, came to my rescue."

Fitzwilliam felt like a strutting peacock.

For the next two hours, the glittering favored of London society stood up for their dances or sat for their gossip, changed partners with elegant nonchalance, chatted and visited and basked in the intoxicating glow of too much money coupled with too many choices and much too much time. Everyone wanted to be seen and heard, and no one cared much about listening. It was all a performance, honed and perfected over centuries, a familiar presentation that allowed for no surprise conclusions as it continued unchecked through the night. Indeed, to the teeming multitude, it secretly felt as if the orchestra had been playing eternally.

The couple sat alone on the fringes of the assembly, he a high-ranking British officer condescending to speak with a forgotten widow of low status, an unfortunate meeting of complete opposites. They could have nothing in common, coming as they did from different classes, embracing different mores.

However, of all the glittering attendees at this party, it was these two people who felt a spark ignite between them. From the beginning, they set into teasing each other, laughing outrageously at anything the other said, even finishing each other's sentences. They thought similarly about nearly everything, she with an ease of manner and simplicity that he found delightful, as if they had known each other for years and not moments, he with his lack of pomp or proper attitude. He was easily self-assured without being arrogant. She was warm and friendly without fawning.

Although the woman's beauty fed the embers of this pursuit, it was the purity of character that fanned the flames into fire. There was humility in her self-deprecating laughter, and joy of life at her core. She made him feel alive and happy to be a man.

For Amanda, she felt her prior attraction to him only intensify. She no longer saw only the famous celebrity whose attentions had flattered and excited her. His masculinity, his strength, made her heart tremble. His self-confidence mesmerized her. He made her feel desired and secure.

"I believe that there will be a waltz played next, Lady Penrod. I would be honored if you would dance it with me."

Amanda was initially thrilled, over the moon with joy at the prospect of dancing, of again being young and carefree. Her innate common sense, however, soon overcame her. To be seen with this famous man would be courting her former mother-in-law's ire, to hold him in her arms emotional suicide. He was too attractive, too appealing, her interest too passionate. "I appreciate the honor you do me in asking, Colonel Fitzwilliam; however, I do not dance this evening." She sighed and repeated the excuse she had prepared earlier, "Out of respect for my late husband."

He was undeterred. "Your late husband is lucky indeed to have a wife faithful to him so long after he has passed." Watching her eye the assembly, he sensed the undercurrent of fear for the first time, and his heart ached for whatever was troubling her. "Perhaps if we were to go to a less-conspicuous area, away from quite so many revelers, it would be less objectionable to you. I see that the conservatory is available for dancing." He motioned toward a series of large glass doors that opened onto a lush greenhouse. "It is a lovely setting and visible enough for respectability, but at the rear of the ballroom, away from being on display, as it were."

Amanda's mind began to spin.
If I am to be allowed only one night with this man, I must surely seize the moment.
Besides, she had not danced in so very long. Looking into his intense gaze, she knew instinctively that she would be protected by him.

"P-p-perhaps... Perhaps that would be acceptable." Blushing crimson at her stuttering response, she cleared her throat and beamed.

***

From the first notes of the waltz, Amanda was swept up into what seemed like the twirling flight of angels. The conservatory was very large, large enough for exotic, flower-laden trees to tower easily above them. The beautiful ferns, the fragrant blossoms, and marble statues were wasted on the entranced couple, however, so new and exciting was their attachment. It was perfect and private and safe from the public scrutiny she so feared. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the totally female thrill of being protected and cherished, held in the arms of a man for whom she felt the first stirrings of love. It was heaven.

When the dance was over and while still in each other's arms, they looked intently at each other as couples politely clapped and angled by, trying to escape from the narrow and rather humid confines. Fitzwilliam watched her eyes, understood and shared all her unspoken emotions. He was a mere moment away from enclosing her in his arms and smothering her mouth with his.

Someone nearby cleared his throat. Startled, Fitzwilliam looked to his side to see the three errant officers from before and introduced them to her after a few tense seconds of hesitancy. The major bowed politely. "It is an honor to meet you, madam. I am afraid that we behaved abominably to you earlier and have come to beg your forgiveness. Had we known you were a lady acquainted with Colonel Fitzwilliam, we would never have behaved so ungentlemanly, nor said such things to you. Again, please accept our apologies."

"No apologies are needed, gentlemen, but they are accepted." Amanda was touched by the sincerity of the apology. "In truth, I did not understand much of what you said."

Too late, she saw the effects of her speech, not because of her words but because of her American accent. One of the captains swore crudely, and the other glared. The major, seeing Fitzwilliam's livid reaction, immediately stepped in front of his friends. "You have been most gracious, madam, and again, it was an honor to meet you. Make certain that the colonel brings you to the refreshment room. Good evening, madam, sir." With that, he turned and roughly shoved the two soldiers on their way.

There remained an edgy silence that hung in the air between them. Fitzwilliam was furious, with himself as much as the men. He knew them and how they had changed over the years, become more calloused and bitter from warfare, from the deaths and maiming of their friends in battles both on the Continent and in America. He had been distancing himself from many of these former colleagues, uneasy as he was with their hatred and talk of vengeance.

"I thank you most kindly for the wonderful waltz, Colonel. Please do not feel any obligation to bring me refreshments. I will return to my seat." Her eyes looked sadly into his. "Believe me when I say how beholden I am to you for making this a joyous evening for me." She bowed and began to turn, when he took her elbow.

"You won't escape me that easily, madam." His voice sounded gruff as he placed her hand upon his arm. "Never again."