Darcy and Fitzwilliam: A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer by Karen Wasylowski Page B
Authors: Karen Wasylowski
Tags: Jane Austen Fan Lit
Ads: Link
or your secretary! Both incapacitated at the same time--imagine that. Quite a bit of bad luck, that."
"Don't give me that smug look!" She glanced sideways at him and smiled. "Yes, Darcy, I know they are old--just as I am, but, heavens, I cannot just push them out if they don't wish to leave! I owe them so much, and they are part of my family. They are just as much a part of Rosings as I am and I will keep them all around me for as long as I can!"
They sat together for more than an hour and talked about old times and memories long forgotten. They laughed a little and cried a little until Darcy let out a great yawn and stretched his arms.
"Well, I must get to bed, and so should you, Catherine." He helped her to her feet, and she suddenly appeared very tiny and frail to him. Gone was her immense wig, and in its place, a graying braid rested over her shoulder, most of her hair hidden under her favorite nightcap. Her feet were in slippers instead of the higher-heeled shoes she wore to give herself a needed inch or two, and the wrinkles around her eyes and face were more exposed now that she was unadorned with powder or lip rouge or the mysteriously moving patch that Richard and he used to laugh about.
"I don't sleep as much as I used to, Darcy," she said. "As you get older, it becomes harder to turn off memories, and believe me, they devil you to distraction at night. You get off to bed, though. The storm is still wailing outside, and you have a lovely young wife awaiting you who will want comforting during all the thunder. You need not give this old woman any more of your time."
Darcy hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead before saying good night. Then she was alone again. She thought that perhaps she would go to Anne's room and check on her, a mother's habit that would never die.
Picking up her candle, she went out into a hall dimly lit with wall sconces, smiling when she saw Darcy close the door to his suite of rooms. That was good--another of her babies would soon be safely in bed.
She padded her way down to Anne's suites to look in at her sleeping daughter, walking over quickly to close the windows that were allowing in some of the pouring rain. Clucking and grumbling, she brought a towel from the linen drawer and placed it over the rain-soaked carpet. Will these children never learn to listen to me? She harrumphed.
With relaxation still eluding her, she decided to check on the other rooms, to make certain servants were everywhere if needed. Jamison had done a good job, she noted to herself, as there appeared to be a footman every ten feet, the lightning outside illuminating the old mansion every few moments. She turned down the far hallway toward Fitzwilliam's rooms, laughing to herself at his earlier comments. He truly was rather far from the main part of the house. He and Darcy had always had the west wing of rooms to themselves whenever they visited. She felt bachelors should have their privacy, especially from a nosy old aunt.
She saw a faint light below his door . Is Fitzwilliam still awake? It must be nearing 3:00 a.m. The two footmen assigned there bowed at her approach, which she amiably acknowledged, and then on her signal, one knocked softly on the door. After a few moments, she heard her nephew's gruff bark. "Who is it?"
"Eleanor of Aquitaine. May I enter?"
She heard him chuckle. "Enter at your own peril. The Lionheart is in residence."
When the door opened, he arose slowly from his seat before the fire. Her eyes immediately focused on the balcony doors as she approached him. They were flung wide, allowing in the cooling air.
"Good heavens, Richard, it's raining outside, you fool." She marched over to the doors to close them, barely refraining herself from closing the windows also. "It is freezing in here."
"Aunt Catherine, the rain is not coming in this direction, and the room is only now beginning to cool down. God in heaven, woman, how can you think it freezing? Are you completely devoid of
"Don't give me that smug look!" She glanced sideways at him and smiled. "Yes, Darcy, I know they are old--just as I am, but, heavens, I cannot just push them out if they don't wish to leave! I owe them so much, and they are part of my family. They are just as much a part of Rosings as I am and I will keep them all around me for as long as I can!"
They sat together for more than an hour and talked about old times and memories long forgotten. They laughed a little and cried a little until Darcy let out a great yawn and stretched his arms.
"Well, I must get to bed, and so should you, Catherine." He helped her to her feet, and she suddenly appeared very tiny and frail to him. Gone was her immense wig, and in its place, a graying braid rested over her shoulder, most of her hair hidden under her favorite nightcap. Her feet were in slippers instead of the higher-heeled shoes she wore to give herself a needed inch or two, and the wrinkles around her eyes and face were more exposed now that she was unadorned with powder or lip rouge or the mysteriously moving patch that Richard and he used to laugh about.
"I don't sleep as much as I used to, Darcy," she said. "As you get older, it becomes harder to turn off memories, and believe me, they devil you to distraction at night. You get off to bed, though. The storm is still wailing outside, and you have a lovely young wife awaiting you who will want comforting during all the thunder. You need not give this old woman any more of your time."
Darcy hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead before saying good night. Then she was alone again. She thought that perhaps she would go to Anne's room and check on her, a mother's habit that would never die.
Picking up her candle, she went out into a hall dimly lit with wall sconces, smiling when she saw Darcy close the door to his suite of rooms. That was good--another of her babies would soon be safely in bed.
She padded her way down to Anne's suites to look in at her sleeping daughter, walking over quickly to close the windows that were allowing in some of the pouring rain. Clucking and grumbling, she brought a towel from the linen drawer and placed it over the rain-soaked carpet. Will these children never learn to listen to me? She harrumphed.
With relaxation still eluding her, she decided to check on the other rooms, to make certain servants were everywhere if needed. Jamison had done a good job, she noted to herself, as there appeared to be a footman every ten feet, the lightning outside illuminating the old mansion every few moments. She turned down the far hallway toward Fitzwilliam's rooms, laughing to herself at his earlier comments. He truly was rather far from the main part of the house. He and Darcy had always had the west wing of rooms to themselves whenever they visited. She felt bachelors should have their privacy, especially from a nosy old aunt.
She saw a faint light below his door . Is Fitzwilliam still awake? It must be nearing 3:00 a.m. The two footmen assigned there bowed at her approach, which she amiably acknowledged, and then on her signal, one knocked softly on the door. After a few moments, she heard her nephew's gruff bark. "Who is it?"
"Eleanor of Aquitaine. May I enter?"
She heard him chuckle. "Enter at your own peril. The Lionheart is in residence."
When the door opened, he arose slowly from his seat before the fire. Her eyes immediately focused on the balcony doors as she approached him. They were flung wide, allowing in the cooling air.
"Good heavens, Richard, it's raining outside, you fool." She marched over to the doors to close them, barely refraining herself from closing the windows also. "It is freezing in here."
"Aunt Catherine, the rain is not coming in this direction, and the room is only now beginning to cool down. God in heaven, woman, how can you think it freezing? Are you completely devoid of
Similar Books
