Posted on: 2008-08-21

Being the Account of an Inelegant and Exceedingly Adorable Affaire Amongst the High Society of London

In mid-December of 18---, less than a week after her cousin Fitzwilliam had dueled and wounded the man (though of course she did not know of it yet), Miss Georgiana Darcy started a rainy afternoon by sitting alone in the back parlor of Darcy House and pondering George Wickham, with seriousness and some degree of maturity which she had not formerly possessed.

It was easy for her to see, now, that she had never really cared for Wickham, not as he really was; for the person he had pretended to be, however, she had possessed a startling affection, though in hindsight she would perhaps not call it the true love she had once thought it, since it had been caused mostly by the similarities between Wickham's facade and the actual personality of Colonel Fitzwilliam; after whom, she now suspected, that character had been modeled.

Such a realization was assisted by the amount of attention she had been paying the good Colonel, of late.

The truth of the matter was that it had never been Wickham, or anything he had projected, which she had loved; it had been her own cousin, whom, it would seem, she been quietly and secretly adoring for years. She could recognize the truth of this now, through a mind unblinded by a handsome face.

She was in love with her cousin!

Until that moment, she had not known herself.

While she was thus thoroughly engaged --- she would not venture to decide whether it was agreeably or disagreeably so --- there was a scratching at the door. She had not called for tea or anything else, she was not expecting guests, and she anticipated her brother to be out most of the day and consequently have no need of her; she was, therefore, naturally curious about whoever was on the other side of that door.

"Enter!" she bid after a moment, once she had collected herself to attend properly upon whichever servant brought cause to interrupt her.

The door opened and the butler entered, bearing before him a salver with a calling card upon it, and announced, "You have a caller, miss."

Georgiana felt this statement was rather unnecessary, as she could clearly see the corner of the card that had been folded over to signify its owner had called in person. "Thank you, Barnes," she replied nonetheless, and extended her hand to take the card from the tray. The name upon the rectangle was engraved there, as all the best were --- furthermore, she recognized it immediately.

"Oh."

"Miss?"

Georgiana looked up, at her brother's butler rather than the card she had just involuntarily clenched her fingers around. "Barnes?"

"What shall I do with the caller?" he asked, quite as if he did not know exactly what she would instruct, as if she had not instructed the same at least a hundred times before.

She rose to her feet. "Send him in, of course."

Barnes bowed, and glided silently from the room. Scarcely a moment later, her caller appeared in the doorway, swiftly entering the room and approaching her. It was exactly as it had been on every other of those hundred times, but this time, today, she knew her heart, in a way she never had before.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had not advanced many steps before Georgiana had to say, "Cousin, this is an unexpected surprise!" She smiled at him, attempting to suppress her nervousness, that he might not catch even a hint of it. How mortifying, if he were to guess at her newly realized feelings!

"A pleasant one, I hope, my dear," he countered, with a smile she found rather strange; it seemed he was slightly nervous himself, but surely that could not be.

Somehow, Georgiana kept her smile from faltering. "Of course; only I had not thought to see you before Christmas," she murmured, perhaps a trifle weakly, but he did not seem to notice anything odd in her voice; indeed, he appeared to be so busy regarding her face intently, that it took him a moment to process her words.

"Christmas?" he enquired, after that moment had passed, clearly finding her statement confusing.

Georgiana awkwardly looked away from Fitzwilliam, confused by his confusion. "Yes, I--- we were to meet at Matlock for the holiday, as our family does every year."

"Oh, yes. Our family. Of course." Unlike a few moments before, he spoke within a reasonable time after she did, and did appear to comprehend her words, but for some reason he still seemed --- not precisely confused, or even inattentive, but... distracted.

Observing this strangeness of of demeanor, Georgiana began to worry that something was troubling her cousin, or that something might be wrong; she frowned. "Forgive me, cousin---" she began, hesitantly and in a voice so soft she thought it might not reach his ears.

"Richard," he blurted; it might have been her imagination, but for a moment she thought she saw his cheeks color. He cleared his throat, though, and it was gone. "I should think you could call me Richard by now, my dear."

"Of course," she said quickly, hoping she didn't sound as eager as she felt --- could call him Richard, indeed! --- certainly she could. "I used to, after all." Fitzwilliam gave her a strange look, as if he were startled; though she'd thought it to be an obvious reference, Georgiana kindly explained, "When I was a child. You were not a Colonel then, or even anything but mister, so---"

"Of course, of course." His face was definitely pink now. She marveled in silence at the sight, as he mutteringly added, "Naturally. I must have forgotten."

"Of course," she murmured uncomfortably, and could not help reflecting that they had both used the phrase an alarming number of times. Such a silly thing. Surely they had used to have conversations which were not so ridiculous; had they not?

Some minutes later, Georgiana noticed that they had been sitting in silence, fidgeting in their chairs and not meeting each other's eyes, for quite some minutes. She cleared her throat, a little too loudly, and Fitzwilliam started almost comically --- his eyes widened considerably and darted immediately to her face. "Georgiana?" he ventured, rather uncertainly.

"I believe you had something to say?" she prompted sweetly.

To her surprise, Fitzwilliam looked alarmed. "How did you know?" he blurted, a shocked edge coming into his tone.

Georgiana frowned again. How absurd he was being!--- it was not at all usual. "Well, really, cou--- Richard. You must have had something to say, or you would not have come to see me, would you?"

"I might," he said, but he sounded defensive, and for some reason the sulky look on his face made her want to giggle. She did not, because she was afraid he might take it amiss. "It is not inconceivable."

"I cannot conceive it," was her decisive argument, and one to which he had no reply.

"I'm in love with you," he said instead.

Georgiana stared at him in shock; the room about them held its breath in startled silence; even Richard looked surprised by what had left his mouth.

"Oh," he said, his cheeks even pinker than they'd been before.

And then, slight embarrassment tinging his voice, "Well."

"It doesn't signify," exclaimed Georgiana hurriedly, to reassure him, to make sure he realized there was no call for him to feel embarrassed. Magnanimously, she added. "I forgive you."

Fitzwilliam stared at her. "I mean it, you know," he declared earnestly.

Georgiana felt her own cheeks flushing. "Of course," she murmured, because it was true; he wouldn't have said it, otherwise. Richard was wonderful and honest that way.

"Do not say that," he grumbled, referring to her of course, and she smiled, and somehow he was sitting next to her upon the sofa. She extended her hand a little, found his reaching to meet it, and smiled again. His eyes searched her face. "I love you."

"I love you, too!" she cried, quite happily.

He smiled, an enticing version of the expression that made his countenance looked a touch devilish, and for a moment made him seem nearly as handsome as her brother. "You precious thing," he murmured then, almost purring, into her ear; "Of course you do."

"Richard!" she protested laughingly. "I meant, I'm in love with you, as well." She rested her head upon his shoulder, and he put his arms naturally about her. She sighed, and then said, "What about the rest of it?"

"Georgiana?" he questioned, clearly having no notion what she meant.

She twisted about enough that she could peer up into his face. "You know," she abused blithely. Then, at his continued blank expression, explained, "I want you for the companion of my future life, and will you marry me."

Fitzwilliam grinned. "I'd be delighted to, my love, thank you for asking."

For an instant, she had no idea what he was talking about. When she grasped his meaning, she made an indignant noise, and looked away in protest. "Oh! You are awful," but she was giggling, and she had to know; "You will?"

"Yes."

The single word was unequivocal, firm and determined. Clearly Fitzwilliam had decided on something he wanted and, like all of his family, was set to the point of stubbornness on getting it. The knowledge that she --- his possessing her --- was important enough to him that it would elicit such a reaction, thrilled her, sent up a warm, delicious glow through her whole body.

"You're really in love with me?" she questioned, looking up at him endearingly, her eyes very wide and soft with girlish affection.

"I don't suppose I could change my mind on the subject at this stage," he teased, and then at her gasp of indignation, kissed her.

Within their own minds, they both wondered if this was what heaven felt like.

"What will my brother say?" Georgiana asked dreamily a moment later, once his mouth had left hers.

"He will probably tell me that I took bloody long enough," said Fitzwilliam, gazing at her tenderly; though she did find the expression mesmerizing, she had enough of herself about her that she thought it was very telling that Fitzwilliam would unbend enough to swear in front of her. One of his hands came up, and he stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "He knows already, darling."

"I am glad." Feeling daring, Georgiana tried to send her new fiancé a flirtatious look --- only managed sweetly adoring --- and murmured, "It means you do not intend to elope with me."

"Georigana!" gasped Fitzwilliam; he was amazed that she could allude to that incident at all, much less jokingly. But her reference reminded him of what else he'd meant to say to her, so in a moment he had sobered, and very seriously announced, "You know, I have something to tell you."

"Is it as wonderful as ‘I'm in love with you'?" she queried.

Fitzwilliam paused a moment, considering. "Perhaps; perhaps not. You shall have to decide for yourself."

Georgiana took a deep breath, and then visibly steeled herself for news of a potentially terrible --- or possibly wonderful --- nature. "You had better tell me, then," she ordered.

He cleared his throat. Then, instinctively tightening his arms about her, he began, "I, er, may have dueled someone a few days ago ---" He stopped, his voice overridden by hers, raised in rather shrill disbelief.

"Richard!" she exclaimed. "You did not! Tell me you did not!"

Fitzwilliam shot her a disgruntled look. "You sound like Darcy."

"I am a Darcy," she reminded him sternly, with an uncharacteristically fierce look that made him reconsider the wiseness of pointing out that she'd soon be a Fitzwilliam instead. She pressed, "Did you?"

As he did not intend to lie to her, and in fact had come there partially for the purpose of confessing the whole debacle to her, there was really nothing he could say except, "Yes."

"Oh, how could you?" she wailed, pushing from his embrace, the better to glare at him in horror, but not actually leaving the sofa, or his side.

"It was against Wickham!" cried Fitzwilliam defensively. There was not too much heat in his voice, for he had noticed that she remained close, and therefore rightly surmised that she could not be too horrified with him.

Though his deduction was accurate, this new information rendered Georgiana mute with shock. She had heard, from her brother, of all the disagreeable, dishonorable things their father's godson had done, aside from his attempt on her fortune. --- She could not believe that Fitzwilliam would expect such a man to meet him on the field of honor; even less could she believe that Wickham actually had. If it were true, then Fitzwilliam must have won, for he was before her and obviously not hurt... But such a circumstance could not be possible, for surely Wickham must have cheated, or---

Gently, Fitzwilliam said, "I shot his knee and crippled him."

This, Georgiana had no problem with. Her face cleared. "Ah," she said. "That's all right, then. I was afraid you had let him off easy and killed him."

Fitzwilliam stared at her.

"What?" she asked, a triffile uncomfortably; she did not think she had said anything to displease him, but his expression was most unsettlingly unreadable. "Have I said something amiss?"

"Not at all, my dear. I simply had not realized you were such a bloodthirsty little thing," he reassured her, shaking his head slightly in suppressed amazement.

"Well, I actually let the disgusting man kiss me; what else do you expect I would be?" she demanded, her expression innocent and unassuming.

Immediately Fitzwilliam's face darkened. "He kissed you?"

Georgiana eyed him uneasily. Why had she said such a thing? "I'm afraid he did," she confirmed hesitantly.

Fitzwilliam's face darkened even further. "I really will kill him," he growled blackly.

"For heaven's sake, Fitzwilliam, you aren't going to kill anyone," said a voice from the doorway, and Fitzwilliam and Georgiana both turned to see her brother striding into the room, looking very cross indeed. "Especially not who I think you mean --- if you actually meant him, I mean."

"Wickham?" queried Fitzwilliam amusedly, his cousin's verbal acrobatics being sufficiently distracting that he temporarily forgot his futile anger.

Darcy nodded sharply. "Yes."

"I told him that he kissed me," Georgiana explained, to which confusing statement her brother blinked, stared blankly, then turned to Fitzwilliam as if it didn't matter anyway.

"Well?" he asked impatiently.

Aware of what Darcy wished to know, Fitzwilliam grinned agreeably and declared, "Congratulate us."

"Well, you certainly took long enough. And a good thing you did not take longer, for I sent the notice to the papers yesterday." To Georgiana's surprise, her brother then gave her only a fleeting look of pride and affection, before he said, "I'd best be off then," and turned to leave.

"Er, brother?" she called after him.

"I have work to do," he said over his shoulder, as he reached the door. "Your fiancé will tell you all, I am sure; he necessitated it, the least he can do is explain it."

Georgiana stared after her brother in bewilderment, and Fitzwilliam chuckled softly.

"He is not really peeved," he murmured, drawing her once more into his arms. She came unresistingly, leaning against his perfectly broad chest while she continued to stare at the door through which her brother had just gone. For good measure, Fitzwiliam added, "He cannot be. For I have given him something to do; you know how your brother likes to be useful."

"Yes..." murmured Georgiana. Then, recalling herself, she turned to regard her fiancé, slipping her own arm about his waist. Her face tilted up to his, she asked, "Do you mean he is busy because you fought Wickham?"

"Yes. You see," Fitzwililam flushed slightly; "I may have dropped your name, and..."

Georgiana was nodding her understanding. "... and so my reputation is again in danger, and he is in a temper. Just as when I told him that Wickham kissed me."

The reminder of this past event seemed to displease Fitzwilliam a little, for he scowled and said grumpily, "Now he is gone, however," referring to either man, really, "and you should let me kiss you again."

Georgiana of course had no objections to this scheme, as kissing Richard was much nicer than kissing Wickham --- and kissing her fiancé Richard was nicer still.

So she did.

It had not been long since Fitzwilliam's duel, but gossip spreads far and travels quickly. Whispers had started in Meryton, as an explanation for Wickham's absence from the social whirl; at first it was said the man was dead, that he had been killed defending the honor of a young lady from his days before the militia. The fact he still lived had quickly surfaced and scotched the possibility of his martyrdom, and the man's fellow officers were now so thoroughly disappointed in him that they could not bear to let it be said that Wickham had been defending anyone's honor but his own --- and that dishonorably, indeed.

Somehow, though all of those present at the crucial moment in question would long deny it had come from them, it got out that Wickham had deliberately fired before the handkerchief had been dropped. For awhile this unexpected and highly scandalous tidbit eclipsed all other news; it was too titillating a fact not to.

Soon more, new information was sought, however, and Wickham's challenger was identified. That he was Darcy's cousin was astounding; that he was an Earl's son and had used his brother the Viscount as a second was impressive. With such information, when the lady he identified was named Georgiana, some persons remembered Darcy's sister having been called such, and the possibilities fueled rumors all the way to London.

There, it was taken as established fact that any young Georgiana connected to any of the Fitzwilliam family was a Darcy, and her surname was added without qualm. The Colonel's use of the term under my protection was also conveyed with reasonable accuracy, and somehow all of society managed to forget that he was one of Miss Darcy's guardians, and settled on the more salacious and generally accepted meaning of the term.

This was the story that had reached the ladies' salons and gentlemen's clubs, and which prompted a half-drunk lord of relatively tender years to loudly exclaim, on seeing Darcy enter White's,

"Ho, there, Darcy! The Times has it that your cousin is to marry your sister after all! I say, old man, jolly lucky for you he's decided to make an honest woman of her, eh?"

Now, such a man may have outranked Darcy technically, but Viscount Everton was a full foot shorter and almost eight years junior to the northern gentleman --- and when that dark, scowling look of disdain was turned toward him and that glare of challenge was sent down that long, aristocratic nose, it caused the lord to abruptly remember the true facts of their standing in society. He did not have Darcy's money, after all, and he was not half so well liked, or a quarter so respected for his integrity.

For several minutes more, Darcy looked coldly at the man. "I beg your pardon," he bit out, eventually, his voice sharp.

The young viscount quailed. "Er--- That is--- the announcement of your sister's engagement came as quite a surprise to some of us, you must understand."

"Of course it came as a surprise, Everton," Darcy replied contemptuously. "It was a private engagement; one does not usually publicize such things. --- It would defeat the object, don't you think?"

Everton was eager to appease that Master of Pemeberley, and his ten thousand a year with which to buy brandies, and so he tripped over himself to nod and assure Darcy that he thoroughly understood. Indeed, he had understood all along; he had not meant to question the way in which Darcy and the Fitzwilliam family had conducted their business; surely they could be nothing but right and proper.

"Certainly, you are correct. Good evening, Everton." With a brusque nod, Darcy turned from him and moved across the room, to a card table with fresh faces, where he could discreetly bandy about the fact that Georgiana and Richard were alternately a love match which had been expected for many years indeed, and an arrangement which had subsisted between their mothers since they were in their cradles.

Truly, his family put him through the most disagreeable things!

Finis