Page 16 of A Good Memory is Unpardonable (Frolic and Romance #2)

Fifteen

I have never done anything by half measures.

When I returned to Netherfield that afternoon, I meant to find Fitzwilliam, wherever he was, and pin him against the wall with a kiss to make his hair stand on end. And then, I would let him have the honor of proposing, of course. If he still wanted to after that.

However, I had scarcely got my gloves off when a very fine carriage, splattered with a deal of mud from a long drive, pulled up at the door.

It seems that my cousin Collins did not exaggerate when he described Lady Catherine as magnificent, imposing, or attentive.

Nor did he overstate her potential Displeasure at the prospect of her nephew being ensnared by a “defiled temptress of no family or breeding.” I have seldom been so insulted, but at the same time, so amused.

She certainly put on a worthy performance, no doubt having worked herself into a bonafide lather all the way from Kent until the moment she swept up the steps to the house.

I had not spent the last year putting Caroline Bingley in her place for nothing.

Nor is it in my nature to surrender when someone tries to intimidate me.

I had learnt sarcasm and disinterested philosophy at my father’s knee, and though I was far from “disinterested” now, I managed to hold my own against Lady Termagant until Fitzwilliam found us.

The dear man was out of breath, with those bright blue eyes starting in horror when he burst through the drawing-room door that afternoon.

What followed was a half-hour of near-obscenities from the most venerable and bluest-blooded occupant of the room, while Fitzwilliam and I bounded between indignation and hilarity as we took it all in.

He glanced at me often, and though the veins were standing out on his neck, his mouth frequently twitched in restrained laughter. I like to think I taught him that.

At one point, after the worst insults had flown, he came to stand beside me and his fingers, hidden behind his back, brushed mine in reassurance and gratitude.

I would say that was the fateful moment when we both knew we were meant to wage life’s battles side by side.

Later, after the great lady harrumphed and threatened herself out the door, with the vow that I would never be received in polite society, I had a chance to make certain she was right.

Who needs polite society when I have Fitzwilliam?

He started to apologize for his tyrannical aunt, and I tried to beg pardon for my buffoon of a cousin when at one point, he simply stopped us both. “What the devil are we bothering with them for?”

And then he grabbed me, rather like a ruffian, but a nice ruffian, and kissed me until I was no better than a speechless rag doll in his arms. So, you see, it really was he who set us off in that way, despite his usual assertions.

While I was still dazed and limp, I may or may not have caught my balance on his cravat and left it somewhat untidy.

I am not sure what happened to the buttons on his waistcoat, but I am certain it was an accident. Just after that, Charles walked in.

Fitzwilliam set me back on my own two feet and declared that he had compromised my honor, or that I had compromised his, I cannot remember how he said it, and that we would have to marry by special license within a fortnight.

I think Charles found that a stroke of brilliance, for the very next morning, I learned that he and Jane had been discovered in a delicate position and that they would have to join us at the altar.

Caroline was, to state the least, unhappy.

The wedding came off charmingly, and in only ten days.

My mother felt justly cheated for a second time because she had once again been swindled out of planning a lavish ceremony to celebrate the catching of a wealthy husband, but I had all the pleasure of triumph.

For one thing, I won my bet with Fitzwilliam.

He still claims it a stalemate, for the original implication was that he would be duped into marrying one of my sisters, but I maintain that no such restrictions were placed.

Jane was happily situated “by my means,” and Fitzwilliam was similarly ensnared, so I claimed the forfeit.

I shall not put down what I requested, for even I am not so irreverent as that, but I will state that he left me blushing for days afterward.

There was one final conversation, on the eve of our marriage, that I feel had some material influence on our future understanding and honest relations, so it would be a woeful oversight to leave it out.

You see, we had never broached the subject of my first marriage, and I suppose any second husband secretly wishes to know how he stands in comparison with the first. In our case, his interest was doubly sensitive because of his affection for Andrew.

“I shall not attempt to replace him,” Fitzwilliam said, a little stiffly. I was, after all, reclining against his chest on the sofa, so he may have found it difficult to breathe.

“Why should I fear that?” I asked.

“Well… I thought… naturally, you would hold some memories secret in your heart.”

I sat up and looked him in the eye. “My love, perhaps I should disabuse you of some misconceptions. Andrew was very ill when I married him.”

“Yes,” he said heavily. “I recall.”

“And he was not over concerned with having an heir, for he meant everything to go to Charles.”

Fitzwilliam gave me his suspicious look—the one he gets when he knows I have something up my sleeve. “Yes?”

“I was more nursemaid than wife. Indeed, I cared for him in his most humbling hours, so no one else could have… Well. I expect he thought one day we would be a proper couple and that he would have a helpmeet when his younger siblings all married, but it was not to be. I was fond of him and pleased to play my part in his family so he could be better at peace in his last days, but I did not love him as I do you.”

He fell silent, staring at the fire. After a few moments, he put his arm back around me and drew my head to his shoulder, stroking my hair and occasionally kissing my temple as we gazed at the glowing hearth together.

“I would not have been jealous of him,” Fitzwilliam murmured at last, “but I cannot describe how I feel to hear you say that you have loved only me.”

I threaded my fingers through that perfectly ordered mess of curls at the nape of his neck and leaned my cheek against his.

“I used to say that I would only marry for the deepest love. I broke that promise to myself once, but I swore I would never do so again. And I did not. I shall love you with my last breath, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”