Chapter 5 Seize the Day #3
Darcy choked, sputtering and cursing as brandy spattered his sleeve and trouser leg. Fitzwilliam laughed and offered him his handkerchief.
“That is, if I can convince her of my constancy.
You and Bingley certainly poisoned the well.
Her father nearly denied an introduction!
It is purely by chance that I was allowed to meet her.
And convincing her to let me call was…challenging and encouraging.
She cares not a whit for my status or connexions—it was clear they were more hindrance than asset.
She questioned my judgement and even my character at my request to call on the strength of a single encounter.
“Even before she dealt with Wickham, I was arrested by her engaging expression and pleasing figure. When that reprobate set his hands upon her person, it ignited a flame in me that matched the fire flashing in her eyes. Had I detected even a semblance of such fire in one of the ladies promoted by my mother, I should have been wed long ago.”
He sipped the fine brandy.
“But I am not an impulsive man, as you well know. I scouted the terrain and took my bearings from local opinions. What I learnt of Miss Elizabeth Bennet was sufficient incentive to seek an introduction. Her reluctance, and that of her father, to accept my attentions, only firmed my resolve to earn her regard.”
Darcy had stiffened, his face grim. Fitzwilliam noticed the shake in his hand as he set down his glass with a clink.
“What, who! Did you say Bennet?” He thrust himself from the seat.
“What the hell are you thinking, Fitz? I no sooner extricate Bingley from that grasping family, and you step into their trap! Did I not tell you that such a connexion would be unsupportable, a degradation?” He paced, muttering under his breath.
Fitzwilliam slammed his glass down. “Did you not hear a word that I said? I am not Bingley, a weak-willed boy you can lead around by the nose. Nor do I value people as commodities on the social exchange.”
Darcy burst out, “She has nothing. Nothing! No fortune, no connexions—her grasping mother and bevy of sisters will bleed you dry. You cannot afford to wed Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Is that what you told Bingley to keep him away from her sister?” Fitzwilliam scoffed.
“You had best hope Bingley does not plan to return to his estate, for after your efforts to ‘save him,’ neither of you has any cachet in the area. While you may see the family as deplorable, the Bennets are well respected in Meryton, especially the eldest daughters. Your scornful manner and precipitous departure offended the neighbourhood.”
“I do not give a damn about the neighbourhood! They are all beneath us—lower gentry with no connexions. The earl will have an apoplexy. You would be well to end this now, before you are the one to raise expectations.” Darcy stalked away from him, hands fisted.
Fitzwilliam shook his head in frustration. “I had hoped you would be happy for me, Darcy.” His voice hardened. “I will not trouble you further—but know this, I will not tolerate any disrespect towards Miss Elizabeth or her family.” He closed the door firmly behind him.
That evening, Fitzwilliam posted a letter to the Bennets stating he planned to return to Meryton on Friday and Saturday. He also wrote a brief note to his mother. In it, he expressed his hopes for a match and asked for her prayers for his success. He did not elaborate; she would understand.
Fitzwilliam took a room at the inn in Meryton for the night, advising the innkeeper he would be returning each week for some time.
The man recognised Fitzwilliam from earlier in the week and provided him with his best room and a hot meal.
After an ale in the common room, he spent the remainder of the evening contemplating the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow, and how to woo and win his lady.
Mr Bennet introduced Fitzwilliam as an acquaintance in Meryton on business with the militia. Almost at once, he was inundated by the effusions of his wife and younger daughters.
Mrs Bennet invited him to sit near her and next to her most beautiful daughter. He appreciated that Miss Elizabeth seemed to observe him closely from a seat opposite. He was courteous, even charming, but showed no marked preference for Miss Bennet.
Fitzwilliam indulged the intrusive questions of Miss Elizabeth’s mother, containing his mirth as she blatantly pushed him alternately towards her beautiful Jane and then her lively Lydia.
He diverted the younger girls with tales of his travels, while subtly emphasizing the challenges of military life.
Mrs Bennet was as wide-eyed as her youngest, though she eventually broke in with the subject foremost in her thoughts.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, will your wife join you during your stay, or does she remain in London?”
Fitzwilliam hid his amusement. He could not miss the lady’s calculating expression as she awaited his response. “I do not have a wife at present, Mrs Bennet. My duties have precluded that pleasure and, sadly, will likely do so for some time.”
Miss Elizabeth entered the conversation with an air of indifference, boldly raising her chin to him. “Do you know how often your business might bring you to the area, Colonel?”
“That is, as yet, undetermined. I hope to succeed at my mission before other duties confine me to London.” He addressed Mrs Bennet: “Does your family indulge in the entertainments of London, madam? It is always a pleasure to encounter friends and acquaintances.”
“My Jane and her sister Lizzy are frequent visitors to my brother’s home.
He keeps an elegant house on Gracechurch Street and always gives our family access to the most beautiful fabrics and accoutrements from his import warehouses.
Their family often comes to Longbourn for Christmastide.
The children love the chance to run about the country, you know.
I expect my Jane, and likely Lizzy as well, may join them for a visit after the new year. ”
It became common for Fitzwilliam to spend the early hours of each day in Meryton with Colonel Forster, discussing the challenges of training soldiers and officers while in winter quarters.
On this, his third weekly visit, he was more conscious of the time, desirous of seeing Miss Elizabeth as early as was acceptable.
Hill announced Fitzwilliam into the breakfast room just as Miss Elizabeth rushed in. Mrs Bennet muffled a squeal of delight behind her napkin as Mr Bennet stood to greet him, offering the seat to Miss Elizabeth’s left. She started as his hand brushed hers under the table.
Fitzwilliam hoped no one noted the heat rising on her neck and cheeks. He was ridiculously pleased that he could affect her so, especially when she turned an impish grin to him and nudged his boot with her own.
They played this childish, but tantalizing game until Mr Bennet caught his eye and cleared his throat.
Miss Elizabeth gave her father a brilliant smile, and Fitzwilliam nodded to the gentleman.
The tips of his ears were hot with embarrassment, especially as his hand had captured hers between them and their fingers were entwined.
He reluctantly released her, lifting the napkin from his lap to touch his mouth.
Mr Bennet invited him to join him in his study for a game of chess, asking Miss Elizabeth if she would like to play the winner.
Fitzwilliam was pleased with the bond he had formed with the gentleman.
He had learnt more of Bennet and Miss Elizabeth from these hours over the chessboard than weeks in a London drawing room could provide.
That evening, Fitzwilliam observed as Miss Elizabeth met her father’s gaze across the dinner table. When Bennet waggled his brows, a low giggle bubbled forth, and she lightly squeezed Fitzwilliam’s hand under the table.
Fitzwilliam found a letter from Darcy upon his return from Longbourn. He slipped the seal and scanned the brief missive, cursed, then crumpled it in his hand. He had hoped Darcy would come around—but his cousin’s prejudice would not affect his plans.
Each visit followed some variation of this comfortable pattern; they walked and talked, debated matters over the chessboard, and laid a foundation.
Until one Saturday in late January, when, as luck would have it, the morning dawned clear and dry.
Fitzwilliam followed directions to Oakham Mount, a promontory shared by the estates of Longbourn, Netherfield, and Lucas Lodge.
He tied his horse on a small bench partway up and reached the top just as the sun crested across the valley.
He stopped and drank in the image before him, sealing it into his memory.
Elizabeth faced the trail, the dawn’s light outlining her slim figure as he topped the rise.
As the growing light lit her face, Fitzwilliam drank in the earthy beauty that inflamed him, drawing him to her side.
He took her slim, gloved hands in his and bestowed a slow, deliberate kiss on each before drawing them to his chest, pulling her closer.
A light, floral scent lingered on her hair, and he leant in and inhaled slowly.
Elizabeth chuckled, leaning back to stare at him. Her gaze fell to his mouth, and she bit her lip. He beamed and shook his head. Her playfulness delighted him!
“Elizabeth.” His voice was low as he met her trusting mien.
“I would like to approach your father. I have well considered our circumstances, and I am resolved in my course. Only you can stop me from proceeding.” He threaded their fingers together, placing a kiss on her knuckles.
“I am not ready to say yet that what I feel for you is love, but I do know that when I consider my future, you are there with me. I desire to weave our lives together in an unbreakable bond. Do you require more time, or may we enter into an engagement?”