Page 12 of A Good Memory is Unpardonable (Frolic and Romance #2)

Eleven

I t was about that same time that I first met Fitzwilliam’s cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.

Richard was the younger son of an earl and a genial, good-humored man.

We all (by ‘we,’ I mean my sisters and I) thought him quite dashing with his red coat and easy smile, even if the family features were better expressed in his cousin’s face.

My first meeting with him was something of a surprise.

Charles and Fitzwilliam had gone hunting for the afternoon, and I had persuaded Georgiana to walk with me in the dormant rose garden.

As Caroline preferred not to join us, we were quite peaceful and content.

I seem to recall that we were laughing about something rather silly when a lone figure trotted up the drive and hailed us.

“Hulloa there! Have you seen a great tall fellow around here? Proudish rascal, about seven and twenty, not a patient bone in his body?”

I was squinting at this new arrival and puzzling over his words when Georgiana squealed and raced to him so abruptly that she unsettled his horse. “Richard! Oh, it is good to see you, but why are you come?”

He laughed and dismounted, then wrapped the girl in a most immoderate bear hug. “Georgie! Upon my word, you have grown since summer. Where is that great ox you call a brother?”

“Fitzwilliam sent for you?” she guessed.

“Yes, I had his letter yesterday. Said something about life or death, I was dead to him if I did not turn up post haste, I think.”

I had approached by this time, and he turned to me with a gallant bow and a flourish of his hat. “But if this is the welcome I am to receive, consider me enchanted. Colonel Fitzwilliam, at your service, madam.”

The colonel won us all over, even Caroline, for he was a silk-tongued rogue with noble connections.

I rather liked him for his wit and goodness, and Charles, who could get on with anyone, formed an instant brotherhood with him.

By the evening meal, he had us lapping out of his hand as he told tales of battlefield heroism and the antics of his fellow officers when on leave.

I think half of it was made up, and the other half exaggerated, but it made for splendid entertainment.

After supper, he coaxed me to the piano with the promise that he would turn the pages for me and lend his voice to the right song.

This was quite an accomplishment on his part because I used to dislike exhibiting with Caroline and Georgiana present.

I was by no means deficient in talent, though I lacked formal instruction.

They, however, were exceptional, particularly Georgiana.

Call it envy, call it conceit if you will, but Caroline never failed to make sure I felt it.

Still, I could not resist the colonel, and to this day, I do not recall when or with whom I have had better enjoyment at the pianoforte.

Not that I do not love it when Fitzwilliam plays and sings with me, but his is not a character that relishes performing.

He would far rather watch in silence and let others have the limelight.

But Richard made everything gay and joyous. Even when the other ladies took their turns, I could not help but to sing and clap and join the merriment from my seat. My sides ached from laughter that night and almost every other night during his stay.

My sisters were even more frequent guests while the colonel remained at Netherfield.

I thought once or twice I would have to peel Lydia off him, but he bore it all with good cheer.

Much as I adore my sisters, however, some of my favorite memories were our evenings in.

Charles had the notion of inviting Jane to stay with us for a week to make an even table, for Fitzwilliam deemed Georgiana yet too young to join in all our amusements, and this time, I did not try to disagree.

Therefore, for a string of late evenings, it was the six of us at cards or parlor games or whatever took our fancy.

One evening, Georgiana played a reel for us before she retired for the night.

It was Fitzwilliam’s idea to make a dance of it, to my utter astonishment.

I thought at first he was mocking me when he stood and offered his hand, for his countenance was strangely off-color.

I had been bouncing my knees and probably making a fool of myself as we all listened, and the last thing I could bear was to let him see me behaving in an even more undignified manner.

“No, no,” I said, “you may despise my taste well enough from here.”

The colonel laughed it off as a good joke, but Caroline was swift to rise to her feet and take Fitzwilliam’s offered hand.

He bowed politely and led her through the steps of the lively tune with more agility than I would have expected of such a serious fellow.

Before long, Charles had coaxed Jane to the middle of the room, and the colonel came for my hand.

“We cannot let them have all the fun, can we, Mrs. Bingley?”

Naturally, I could not refuse by this time, but I was wishing most ardently that I had accepted Fitzwilliam when he first asked me. It never occurred to me that Fitzwilliam Darcy, the most fastidious man I knew, could have been serious.

It was queer, that burning sensation in the pit of my stomach as I watched him with Caroline.

I did not think he was interested in her, but he was certainly permitting her a number of liberties in the way she touched him, pressed against his side, and gazed adoringly into his eyes.

He could do worse on the marriage mart. Caroline had a dowry of twenty thousand pounds, no mere trifle.

And she was elegant, in a way I never could be.

That I found her tiresome and insincere was beside the point—she would make someone a desirable match someday.

If she could ever catch someone she deemed worth catching, and she seemed to have found him in Fitzwilliam Darcy.

The idea saddened me beyond reason. I am not certain what it was that night—a little too much wine, the heady hangover of good company when one is too weary to enjoy them fully, or a growing unrest with my own jumbled feelings regarding Fitzwilliam, but I became oddly emotional.

Caroline petted his strong chest, and he swept an arm around her, cradling her shoulders and holding her by the waist, and I nearly choked.

Of course, it was just a dance, but it seemed like a good deal more that night.

There was nothing for it. I am not formed for ill humor, and I have never processed sorrow or jealousy well.

And so, I laughed instead. I smiled at the colonel, I murmured little jokes and jests to him as we twirled, I fixed my eyes only on him so I would not have to watch the other couple.

In short, I flirted as I had seldom done in my life.

And later, I went upstairs and wept myself into confused exhaustion.

The colonel stayed with us for nearly three weeks.

Perhaps it was presumptuous of Fitzwilliam to have invited him, but Charles was always eager to welcome a new friend, and I have never stood on formalities.

We enjoyed his company and even asked him to stay longer than his original plan.

I suspected, however, that the reason for his arrival was not merely our amusement.

Since the incident at my aunt’s home with Mr. Wickham, we had curtailed our outings.

Of course, Charles and Caroline were never privy to all the reasons for it, but it was known to them that George Wickham was no friend of the Darcys.

Fitzwilliam informed us that the man’s father had been his father’s steward and that the son had been provided for in the late Mr. Darcy’s will.

He had proved a disappointment; moreover, had disdained the legacy appointed for him (a curacy), and demanded money instead.

All ties were severed, and that was sufficient to explain why the family desired no contact with the handsome lieutenant who had charmed the neighborhood.

I, however, had begun to wonder if the colonel had business with the lieutenant.

He never said as much, but on two occasions, I encountered him returning from town, very much out of humor.

And once, when I took myself to the library for a midnight book, I passed the colonel’s door and heard the echo of serious masculine voices.

It was not my proper place to ask, nor even to allow that I had noticed anything curious, so I never spoke a word of my suspicions.

However, no matter my own confused and fraught feelings for the gentleman, Fitzwilliam had become a cherished member of our little circle, though he and I did have our occasional clashes.

He thought too well of himself by half, but I had come to feel.

.. a great deal for him, even if I could not define it.

I was grateful to see that he possessed at least one confidant who had both the power to play the friend in need, and also refused to take him too seriously.