Posted on Friday, 21-Aug-98

Author's Note: No, you do not escape this time! I must always preface my stories, because you know how much I love to talk. I dedicate this to Lise especially for being so kind as to challenge me to it, and a *tank you!* to Maddie, like, for reading it! I only beg you, really nice Reader, to please suspend belief and all sense of time for this story . . . although I assume that for the purposes of this story the events of S&S happened a ways before P&P took place. Just forget reality, and once you have done that, this story might make sense . . .

ichard! Well met! Come and share a drink with me! I have some stories to tell you . . ."

The Colonel turned at the sound of his cousin's voice and smiled. "Sure, Darcy. I am at your service!" He removed his hat and waited as the courteous footman jumped down and opened the door for him. He quickly took a seat from across his cousin, who had the largest smile on his face. The carriage started moving, and his cousin's glance floated to the window, and he began humming happily.

The Colonel raised an eyebrow at his cousin suspiciously. "Darcy! What has gotten into you?"

Darcy's reply was unhelpful. "Oh, nothing . . ." he said dreamily, and continued staring into nothing with a large grin on his face.

The Colonel was greatly irritated at such fancies, but he figured if he was patient, he would be rewarded with learning what made his cousin act in such a way. It was not long before they arrived at Darcy's townhouse, and they alighted from the carriage easily. Fitzwilliam was quick to note that Darcy's step was as firm as ever, and he appeared in no way to be inebriated. He followed his cousin into the library, and watched as his cousin tossed off his cap and dropped into the chair at his desk, and leaned over to the small table near himself.

"Care for some brandy, cousin?" he asked, then suddenly put down the glass and rang the bell. When the servant came in, he received the command to bring up the best bottle of champaign from the cellars. As soon as the confused man left, the Colonel gave his cousin his best quizzing look with his eyebrow raised quite high.

"Darcy, what is this business? The best champaign—what can have happened?"

Darcy merely smirked at him and continued to hum as they waited for the servant to return with two glasses and the champaign bottled. The Colonel impatiently waited as the bottle was uncorked and the servant removed, and he tapped his fingers impatiently as his cousin unobtrusively poured two glasses.

"Let's have a toast, shall we, cousin?" Darcy asked as he handed a glass to his cousin, and stood up. "To our regal aunt, the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh!"

Laughing, the Colonel seconded the toast and clinked glasses with his friend. "Is Anne to marry some nobleman now?"

Darcy's smile broadened until it could hardly fit on the man's face. "Better—I am engaged to marry Miss Elizabeth Bennet!"

The Colonel burst into joyous laughter. "Ahh! Now I see why you should be so delighted! I offer my congratulations to you!—I hope your marriage will be as felicitations as you could ever hope for! I dare say I should be furious with you, as you have stolen a match on me . . . still, I must say after my first romance, I have been quite cautious of avoiding the state myself."

Darcy's eyebrows raised, and he sat down eagerly. "Now this is a story I have never been privileged to hear . . . you never talk of your first foray into the world of matrimony! I have always fancied that the girl must have been as heartless as she was charming, and refused your proposal in a trice, sending you on your way promptly—and very wise of her to do so!"

The Colonel wryly smiled at his cousin. "You have hit the nail on the head . . ." He sat for a moment, reflecting silently on this old romance, and smiled ironically. Darcy waited curiously as the Colonel sat, and finally Fitzwilliam's attention was drawn back to the room. The Colonel sat his glass down on the desk and ran his finger along the rim. "You would, perhaps, like to hear the tale?"

Darcy sat up, quickly swallowing the drink as well as placing the glass down on the table. "Gladly!"

The Colonel sighed. "Well, here is the tale . . ." And so he began.

Mrs. Jennings hesitated, not knowing how to put the matter delicately. So, she went ahead and said it in her usual giggly way.

"Well, Major Fitzwilliam, as much as I am flattered by your kind offer of matrimony, I am sad to say that I cannot marry you, as I will admit to you that I consider myself married already, as I am in a secret betrothal with Captain Tilney . . . I fear his father's disapproval so dreadfully!"

The disappointed Major's face fell. "Really? I know General Tilney well—he seems to be a man who would live yet for years and years, and really, my darling, you should not marry such a crude flirt as that pip-squeak Captain!"

Mrs. Jennings giggled again. "Well, Major Fitzwilliam, I think it very sweet of you, but I really should prefer the Captain . . . but I do know a young girl I could arrange for you to marry—very sweet she is, and though dowerless would adore you, I am assure you! Her family has a fondness for Fs!" she said with more giggles, while the Major looked at her adoringly.

"But I adore you . . . passionately!" he cried, and seized her hand, beginning to cover it in violent kisses. Suddenly, the door opened, and in walked none other than Mr. Palmer!

"Good God! Not you again, Major? I thought I told you to stay away!"

"I will not let myself be dictated to by such a fool as yourself!" the Major said, standing up to look the man in the eye. Mr. Palmer looked him over quietly, then put a hand on his shoulder.

"Major Fitzwilliam . . ." he said, bringing the Major along with him, "You can see my mother later on . . ."

This treatment quite disarmed the Major, and he called back to Mrs. Jennings, "Fare thee well, my dearest Cordelia! I love you! I will write to you!"

"Good-bye, Major! I shall winkle your secrets out of you later!" she called back, going back to her sewing.

Once Mr. Palmer had him alone, he quickly ushered the man into his library, and took out his sherry-container.

"She's not rich, you know . . ." he said casually as he shut the door behind them.

"What?" asked the Major, sitting in a chair from across the desk.

"She's not very wealthy—not enough to pay the probably numerous debts of a military officer."

The Major nodded. "Oh, I see. You fear I want her for her fortune . . . no, I am well acquainted with her situation and I have no great debts myself . . . and if I did, my father, the Earl of Matlock, would be able to take care of them himself."

Mr. Palmer stared at him. "Then what are you doing here? Are you proposing to that silly crone because of a joke? a bet? If this is the case, I can assure you that I do not approve of gaming and will have no problem in speaking to your superiors about your conduct."

The Major shook his head. "No—I love her! Who could not help but do so?"

Mr. Palmer's eyes widened as far as they could, and he nearly spat out his drink. He indicated that the lad should rise. "Sir, I would very much appreciate it if you would walk along the edge of the rug there—back and forth. The Major looked at his skeptically, but obediently walked back and forth in a very straight line.

"I should like to know what this is about, Sir!" he asked, but grudgingly followed Mr. Palmer's further instructions to extend his left arm all the way to his left side and holding it, then touched his left index finger to the tip of his nose, and repeated the process with his right hand.

Mr. Palmer then indicated that the young man should sit down with a sigh. He stared gravely at the man, looking him in the eyes, and summarized that the man was not drunk . . . what could it be, then? "Does your family have a history of mental illness?"

The Major shook his head again. "I am not insane! If I am crazy, it is that I am crazy over your mother! Cordelia is such a gem."

"Now listen, lad," said Mr. Palmer, who was tired of this nonsense. "I should like to know what you are doing with my mother, and what your intentions are towards her . . . you cannot be serious."

The Major nodded earnestly. "I am!" he said vigorously.

Mr. Palmer raised his eyebrow at him eloquently. "Listen, young man. I must say that I do not know what you can be about! My wife's mother is a woman of weak understanding. You might fancy that because she is complacent and good-natured a match might be desirable, but I assure you it is not! Please, lad, what can you be about? How could a man who seems to be a gentleman of taste and refinement come to fall in love with a woman more than twice his age who has not beauty, wealth, or understanding to recommend her?"

"Well, Sir, I shall explain to you how I came to fall in love with your mother-in-law . . ."

And so, after a sip of sherry provided for him, he began to explain himself.

Mrs. Jennings sat complacently at the ball in a chair, watching her lately married daughter stand up with her new bridegroom, Sir John Middleton. Mrs. Jennings giggled as she thought of Lady Middleton and Barton Park. She hadn't expected her younger daughter to make such a good match, but she was quite proud of her. She looked at the young Colonel Brandon speculatively, but knew very well that since he hadn't done for Charlotte, who had preferred Mr. Palmer, she thought she could find him a bride among the company—it was the only thing to do!

And as the dance ended, in entered a young man who looked a bit uncomfortable in his Major's uniform, and Mrs. Jennings noted the smartness of his uniform, the shine of his boots, and the not altogether disagreeable aspect of his face. She immediately decided that such a military man deserved her attentions, and she rose from her seat, and journeyed towards him. When she was appropriately close to him, she casually dropped her fan, and it caught his attention.

He quickly picked it up, and he sprung up and tapped her on the arm. "Madam—here is your fan!" he said obliging, and she took it with an excited expression in her eyes.

"Ah, thank you! And to whom am I obliged?" she said gently.

He bowed easily. "Major Fitzwilliam, your humble servant, madam!"

She laughed gaily, extending her hand to him just like a schoolgirl. "Mrs. Jennings! Quite a pleasure to meet you, sir! I have hardly ever seen such a handsome man in my life!"

He blushed deeply at the extravagant compliment, quite flattered. "Oh no, the honor is all mine, madam! Hardly ever have I been so confronted by such beauty!"

She giggled, enjoying this extremely. It had been a long time ever since she had been flirted with. She decided to relish this chance and have some fun. "Oh, you flatter me so excessively!" she said playfully, with a wink at him.

He laughed cheerfully. "How could I but tell the truth to such a lovely lady as yourself?" He looked over at the dance floor, and nodded to it. "Should you like to dance with me?"

She gasped in pleasant surprise, and playfully batted him. "La, sir! You favor me so especially!—I should enjoy it much!" And so, it ended with the Major dancing the next with Mrs. Jennings.

It turned out that she was a surprisingly good dancer, as she had indulged in the activity often when she was young. The Major and her made a fine couple, and he was quite happy, having dreaded a night by the walls as he knew none in the district. Mrs. Jennings was equally happy in being squired about by such an agreeable young man—hardly the sort of gallantry she was expecting.

However, this did not last too soon, as the Major was soon induced to leave with the rest of his party, and Mrs. Jennings was diverted by her daughter Charlotte's arrival, and so meeting him completely escaped her head.

However, after the Major spent a few lonely nights at the barracks, he was more disposed to remember kindly the Mrs. Jennings who had danced and flirted with him . . . as time passed, he began to feel a passion for this ethereal figure and he began writing poetry dedicated to her. He was no great poet, but it was a way to occupy the time. His memory of her began to fade slightly, but he felt sure she had been quite beautiful and interesting and enchanting, and after a year or so, when he finally was given leave, he determined to find that frail creature and propose matrimony to her.

"And that is how it happened . . ." said the Major to the fascinated Mr. Palmer.

"So . . . I see how it stands . . . you are just excessively silly. But you seem to be a man of understanding . . . I am sure that your youth has just done you a cruel trick . . ." He thought about this, and seemed to come to an understanding with himself. "I am determined to spare you the fate of many a man. Come with me," he gestured, and the Major followed him out of the room and back to the door of the parlor.

When they arrived at the closed door, Mr. Palmer put a finger to his lips in silence, and then bent down at the keyhole. The Major followed his example, and Mr. Palmer put his ear to the door. When the Major began to ask explanation, a hand came over his mouth, and he was bidden to "Just listen, you fool! I am trying to save your skin!" And so, the Major listened to the conversation taking place between Mrs. Jennings and Mrs. Palmer.

This was no remarkably frivolous conversation, nor was it serious. It was such a commonplace gossiping as can be imagined. It was so trivial that the Major could not even remember it a week later. But it was enough to make him back away from the door with wide eyes a few minutes later.

"Thank you!" he said to Mr. Palmer, and snatched his left hand and shook it vigorously.

Mr. Palmer sighed with a smile, very happy to have saved one man from his fate. "Now you see what I mean . . . and I am married to the other one!"

The Major's mouth dropped and he looked very piteously at Mr. Palmer. "I am very sorry for you! My condolences!"

Mr. Palmer shook his head. "Oh, it's nothing . . . sometimes I can laugh about it! I am just glad to have saved you—my dear Major Fitzwilliam, I hope this experience makes you think twice the next time you think to engage upon matrimony. If you are not careful, you can end up in a marriage to someone who you think is something completely superior to her true nature . . . think carefully, Fitzwilliam, and choose your wife, for all men should marry if they can do it to advantage, carefully."

The Major nodded, and Mr. Palmer and he insisted on going back to his library, where they took out the sherry again and toasted Mrs. Jennings and all of the silly women in the world before the Major took his leave.

"And that is the story," said the Colonel to the flabbergasted Darcy.

"Wh—wh—WHAT?"

"That is what happened, little cousin. I was a regular green one, but I had the good fortune to pick the one woman with family who were ready to save young men from her 'charms' . . . this is why I have always been a bit skeptical of marriage, and it is this which I has saved me from ruin a few times."

The Colonel sat for a moment, thinking of other escapades while Darcy sat wide-eyed, wondering if he ever had really known his cousin. Eventually, the Colonel came out from his abstraction, and picked up his champaign glass.

"Let us toast one of the most exceptional men—To Mr. Palmer!"

"To Mr. Palmer!" seconded Darcy, and the Colonel happily drank to that.

The End . . . at least, this particular story ends here, because it was hard enough to get here, let alone to continue and it would be rather pointless if I continued some more. You know enough of what happens to make it a moot point whether I write more—Darcy marries Lizzie, the Colonel gets drunk on brandy in the future, and Mr. Palmer has a child and a seat in Parliament. If you want to know more, think it up yourself!