by Karen V. Wasylowski
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Fitzwilliam Darcy watched as his closest friend and cousin, the now moderately famous Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, approached. Since his return from Waterloo, Fitzwilliam was a popular hero, a favorite of the town, and most especially the darling of the ladies of London. Darcy could not help but grin as the very large, very affable, officer snatched two glasses of champagne from an unsuspecting passing waiter. “It’s about time you arrived, Fitz. You’re late.” Darcy tried to sound very stern.
“Apparently not late enough – the doors were still unlocked.”
Darcy indicated the glasses in his cousin’s hands. “I don’t suppose either of those are for me, are they?”
“No, why do you ask?” The colonel downed first one glass, then the other. “The first was for courage, Darcy,” he explained then sighed happily, emitting a very verbal “aaaahhhhh!”
Darcy cocked his brow. “And the second?”
“I’ll think of something. Where is Elizabeth this evening?”
“She’s resting in the other room, poor darling. Not feeling well lately, cannot sleep at night, miserable in the mornings, is sick to her stomach with nausea which makes her exhausted all day. Vomits like she’ll stick her spoon in the wall at any minute. Looks like death itself sometimes.” Darcy smiled to himself with their wonderful secret.
“Excellent. We needn’t stay long then. Well, this is quite a crush, isn’t it? I had no idea Uncle George’s family was this large, brat. Even the American Darcy is here I see, of course Robert’s quite a bit better looking that you. Almost as good looking as I am; almost being the operative word there.” His twinkling eyes scanned the room and he grunted. “In fact, I now notice there’s Darcy’s everywhere you look; can’t swing a dead cat in here without hitting a Darcy, for God’s sake. Ought to be a law against it if you ask me…“
“What are you muttering about?” Darcy, as always the picture of style and elegance in his blindingly white high point shirt, intricate cravat, deep green velvet coat and breeches, ivory brocade waistcoat, stepped back to gaze from Fitzwilliam’s head downward, horrified at the condition of his cousin’s uniform. “And what in hell are you wearing?!” He groaned at the sight.
Some of the braid was frayed, there were food stains on the broad scarlet lapel and a definite lip rouge smudge smeared across his cuff.
“My regimentals, of course! Not in the best of condition I know but still and all – a fine tribute I thought to our dear homeland, our victorious country, our beloved England. You know Darcy, I am bloody proud of this uniform and the men who died to keep our island safe… “
“You cannot fit into your dress coat can you?”
“None of them. No. Not for a long while. They seem to have shrunk during the war years.”
“You are completely impossible.”
“Are you insinuating, cousin, that my lifestyle is a bit rackety?”
“As rackety as a cart filled with iron gates rolling over the cobbles.”
Fitzwilliam laughed aloud as he resumed scrutinizing the room. “Gad! Who is that over there with Princess Esterhazy? That hideous looking man with the mole. Why is he wearing a dress? Merciful heavens, that’s her daughter isn’t it? Don’t look, don’t look, or one of us will have to dance with her. Damn. Now we’ve caught the eye of that hideous Lady Peake. Over there, Darcy – no, you clod, over there, in the far corner, next to the Regent’s latest mistress. Wave Darcy. That’s it. Smile. Damn, that tabby’s leaning into her quizzing glass so far she may tip over. Yes, hello you old goat. Remember when we were little; she threw sticks at us when we tried to pick her flowers? Or was that Lady Sefton’s mother? Ah! Look at the poor old thing.
She has no idea who I am does she? See how she turns away.”
“More likely that’s proof she does know you.” Darcy’s attention had turned elsewhere. He glanced first at a healthy looking group of sturdy, blushing women smiling at him, then he looked back at his cousin. “You know there are some very fine looking fillies here tonight, Fitz. Why don’t you go and mingle? Or just go.”
“Where in hell are you looking, Darcy? I don’t see anyone interesting.”
“Over there by the fountain. Some good breeders there, my friend. Hippy. Fine fetlocks. Broad foreheads. Good teeth.”
Fitzwilliam groaned and looked away. “You know Darcy, you really need to leave Pemberley stables once in a while.”
~end
Darcy and Fitzwilliam at the Ball
Darcy post created for Pemberley Ball by Karen V. Wasylowski
© 2010. All rights reserved.
by Karen V. Wasylowski
~-~-~-~-~ guest ~-~-~-~-~
One to watch out for...
a tale of a gentleman and an officer
by Karen V. Wasylowski
Release date: February 1, 2011
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