Watching his aunt leave, Fitzwilliam exhaled a long, relieved breath then turned back into the room to face Amanda. He was alone finally with his wife, and his heart was beating wildly with so much yet to tell her and so many plans for their future.
“My God, but you look striking,” he murmured gruffly. His mind was momentary mush. His initial impulse was to toss her backward atop a table. I am in full control. In his finest “addressing of the troops” voice, he began.
“Amanda, I want to speak with you about our situation. I know we are waiting for an important decision to be made, but I do not want that decision to come between us. I want you to know where I stand with or without that decision, especially after that slight setback we experienced at Darcy’s home. We are married for life, for better or worse. If you feel you must return to your mother-in-law’s house, I will wait for you, for however long this custody procedure takes.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised his hand to stay her, taking a few tentative steps in her direction, nervously clasping and unclasping his hands behind his back. “I was a fool, Amanda, an ass. I betrayed your trust. I broke a sacred promise to you, and that is indefensible. I have no excuse to offer you for my actions. I can only say how much I love you and hope that you can forgive me. As I have said, I spoke with Wellington today. It has not been announced yet, but Arthur is to be made Master General of the Ordnance soon, and he is recommending me for appointment on the Board. He was quite enthusiastic that I had finally made my decision and assures me that the position comes with a very generous compensation, enough for me to take a house here in town, a small house but large enough for the three of us, if and when needed. Or should I say four of us? Nevertheless, I will be here for you and Harry and our baby.”
“Richard, please let me speak. I have something to say to you.” She shook her head forcefully as tears began to stream down her cheeks.
“Amanda, do not say something now we will both regret. I need you desperately, and I am convinced you need me also. We were meant to be together.”
Sobbing, she tried to speak, but he rushed in once again. “Give me another chance, for heaven’s sake!” He cupped her face with his hands. “You must have some small feeling left for me, some affection. I refuse to believe I’ve destroyed us completely. Can’t you find some way to forgive me?”
She placed her hands over his and closed her eyes. “Richard, you listen to me now before you say another word. We have received a note from my mother-in-law.” Trembling, she looked up into his eyes. “She has already made her decision.”
“Amanda… say it quickly. It will hurt less. I swear to you I will not abandon you. I am yours forever.”
Finally calming a bit, she kissed his palms. “Oh, my darling, darling husband…” Her voice caught on a sob. “Richard, it is over. My mother-in-law has agreed to allow us to keep Harry. She has agreed to work together with us to reverse the custody through the courts and parliament. She only asks that she not be separated completely from him.” It was a few moments before either could speak.
“Did you hear me? It is over, Richard. It is over, and I love you. I love you now and forever, more than my life.” He stared at her in stunned silence.
It was over? Surely she must be mistaken. In her terror, she probably misunderstood the note.
It was over? She nodded happily at his befuddled expression. “Yes. That is why Lady Catherine was eavesdropping so blatantly. We have both been waiting anxiously for your return.”
It was over? His arms slowly surrounded her, crushing her to his chest, tears coming unashamedly to his eyes.
It was over. His whoop of happiness shook the rafters.
He could not at first comprehend what that meant, his mind first rejecting this thin beacon of light then eventually becoming blinded with its sunburst. It was finally over. He kissed her eyes and nose and throat and lips, the shock rapidly turning into relief, an overwhelming relief that exploded within them both, and they began to laugh and shout their joy. He twirled her around in his arms. They kissed hungrily and with all the energy that God can provide two people wildly in love. Over and over again, kissing each other senseless, kissing each other until they both wanted more—much, much more.
He tumbled backward onto the sofa and pulled her down onto his lap, laughing and moaning happily with each intimate touch, each caress. “I cannot believe this,” he muttered into her hair. “You realize we must name our first daughter Catherine and the second, Marie. Good Lord, how else can we ever repay them? They did it! Those sly old foxes actually did it.”
She nodded merrily, laughing and nibbling his jaw. “I think we should just go ahead and name all of our children after them, boys and girls.” Her head rested on his shoulder, and she noticed a few nicks on his cheek, touched that he had drunkenly shaved, especially before coming to see her, then alarmed that it looked something more akin to attempted suicide by razor. He must have been so very nervous, she thought, and her heart squeezed with love. He ran his thumb across her lips and inhaled her sweet Amanda scent, the scent of soap.
“God, how dearly I love you,” he whispered.
And so the dance began that very next day at noon, when the elder Lady Penrod’s people contacted Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s people, who in turn contacted the colonel’s people… Runners, carriages, and paper began their fluttering ballet, shuffling around Mayfair and St. James at an alarming speed until the final “i” was dotted and the final “t” was crossed and every lawyer involved was as rich as Croesus.
Chapter 16
On a beautiful, crisp Saturday morning several weeks later, March 12th to be exact, in the year of our Lord 1818, a certain young Mr. Darcy, a Mr. Bennet George Darcy to be precise, was officially welcomed into the Anglican Church community by none other than the Archbishop of Canterbury himself, Charles Manners-Sutton, or Cousin Chum, as Aunt Catherine had often referred to him during their childhood.
Before the magnificent baptismal font at St. George’s Cathedral, his doting uncle, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, stood proudly, his pregnant wife, Amanda, at his side. Cradled within his strong arms, B. George Darcy screamed bloody hell, furious at the dribble of holy water running down his forehead, affronted by the laughing comments and oohs and aahs, aggravated by the ribbons and ruffles on his gown and the lace on his cap. They’d pay one day, they’d all pay, just as soon as he figured out who they all were.
Intoning aloud for his tiny cousin the promises of lifelong devotion to God and church, the rejection of Satan and all his wicked ways, his “uncle” Fitz chuckled at the impressive display of impatience, the seven pounds of hubris encased in satin. And while family and friends gathered round to wish the newest addition into their privileged world a holy and happy life, the realization came to the boy’s adoring father that this would probably be the first in a lifetime of family gatherings, both happy and sad, to be shared between the Darcy and Fitzwilliam households.
As he listened to the head of the Church of England explain the spiritual as well as physical role of parents in a child’s life, the importance of godparents, the love of family and ritual, Darcy’s thoughts drifted back to a little country assembly hall where he had condescended to dance only with Caroline Bingley and her sister, Mrs. Hurst. His friend, their brother, Charles, had indicated a sweet-looking young thing, the sister of the beautiful girl with whom he had danced, sitting out the current set due to scarcity of partners, egging him on to dance with her.