Beginning , Section III

Chapter 7

Posted on Sunday, 15 October 2006

Overnight Pemberley was transformed from a quiet estate into a storm of frenzied yet orderly activity. With little more than two weeks before Elizabeth’s grand Twelfth Night celebration, hardly anyone in the house was permitted to do anything other than prepare for the festivities. The guest list needed to be compiled, invitations sent out, menus planned, guest rooms prepared, seating arrangements calculated on top of countless other tasks. Darcy and Fitzwilliam were allowed to be excused from the fray, their input on appropriate guests being the only duty required of them. While Mary desired to be part of the planning for such a special event, as the guest of honor she was forbidden from lifting a finger. Elizabeth was surprised to find Georgiana as her willing assistant. Georgiana had never been very enthusiastic about planning such elaborate parties, much less one on such short notice. She had always seemed to prefer quieter affairs whose guests were limited to a circle of intimate family friends. However, Georgiana was determined to do her utmost to make this Twelfth Night celebration the best that Pemberley had seen in years.

Colonel Fitzwilliam took full advantage of being exempted from the house party preparations, spending most of his time in the company of Mary and young William. When he discovered that Mary had never been ice skating, he took it upon himself to be her teacher. For her part, Mary could not fathom why one would willingly strap blades to one’s feet and scoot about on a sheet of ice for merriment. She infinitely preferred an un-bruised bottom and a cup of hot cocoa to that sort of reckless amusement. However, Fitzwilliam proved to be a rather persistent and persuasive advocate of the sport. He employed all of his rhetorical skills and the gentle persuasions of a lover to coax Mary out of the warmth of Pemberley’s halls and onto the frozen lake. Much to his chagrin, his most powerful and successful tactic proved not to be his wooing, but the doe eyed pleading of little William. Mary could not long prove resistant when such youthful exuberance was before her.

So, Mary found herself wrapped in blankets and furs riding in an open sleigh with Fitzwilliam, young master William, Georgiana and her maid as companions. Another sleigh followed behind them with a few more servants who brought hot cocoa and treats.

“Come Miss Mary,” Fitzwilliam coaxed, “you’ll never learn how to skate properly if you never get out of the sleigh.”

“I still cannot believe you convinced me to come out here, Richard,” Mary grumbled in a voice loud enough for only Fitzwilliam to hear.

Fitzwilliam smiled before whispering conspiratorially, “This is the first time I have seen you pout so dramatically, Mary. I must admit that I find it rather charming.”

Mary’s pout only increased at this pronouncement, causing Fitzwilliam to laugh in earnest.

“You would not want to disappoint little William, would you?” Fitzwilliam replied, deciding to change his tactics. “He has been waiting for so long to show his Princess his skills on the ice.”

Mary looked over to where William was standing on the ice with Georgiana, his skates already strapped on and a bright expectant look on his face. Mary bit her lip. She could not disappoint her Little Bits. When she had finally agreed to learn to ice skate, he had spoken of nothing else for three days straight. Mary turned to look at Fitzwilliam. He was grinning at her most impudently, one eyebrow arched high in a manner that could make Mary agree to almost anything.

Mary sighed dramatically, “You must promise me that you will not let me fall, Richard. If I should bruise my bottom, I will never forgive you.”

Fitzwilliam’s smile grew as he handed Mary down from the sleigh. Once she was on solid ground, he bowed deeply over her gloved hand and whispered saucily.

“I promise that I will do my best so that your bottom remains unbruised. I shall guard it with my life.”

Mary gasped at Fitzwilliam’s bold remark, which only caused Fitzwilliam to smile in satisfaction. He took great delight in shocking Mary’s sensibilities, especially as their courtship was still unofficial. He had yet to speak to Mr. Darcy of his intentions towards her and had asked her to withhold telling the news to others until he had spoken with her guardian. Mary wondered at the necessity for such secrecy, but agreed to the scheme nonetheless.

Mary’s maid assisted her in strapping on her skates and within minutes Mary found herself clutching to Fitzwilliam’s arm with all of her strength. Fitzwilliam chuckled and spoke reassuring words to her as they slowly made their way out onto the ice. Mary held her breath as their pace increased from a slow shuffle to a glide.

“There, Miss Mary. You have not fallen and are doing quite well.” Fitzwilliam announced once they were well out onto the ice.

“Yes,” Georgiana concurred as she skated towards them with little William in tow. “You will soon discover that skating can be great fun. We’ll have you skating as if you were born with skates attached to your feet come Twelfth Night.”

“I will be more than satisfied with merely remaining upright,” Mary replied with a smile before being distracted by an urgent tugging at her skirt.

“Yes, Sir Little Bits?”

“May I do my tricks for you, Princess Mary?” little William pleaded, a huge smile stretching from one rosy cheek to another as he looked up to her with wide eyes.

“Why, you have never offered to show your Aunt Georgiana or I these tricks, Master William.” Fitzwilliam replied, attempting to sound offended.

“You can watch too, Uncle Richard. I will show you how to do tricks for Mary!”

Mary laughed as she watched little William hurriedly skate out farther onto the ice in preparation for his tricks.

“Sir Little Bits?” Fitzwilliam questioned with a look of amusement.

“Well, William was quite insistent that every knight aught to have a proper name given to him by his lady and that Sir William would not suffice. So, I dubbed him Sir Little Bits, which was surprisingly met with much satisfaction on his part.”

Fitzwilliam and Georgiana chuckled in reply before their attention was called away by William’s cries that his tricks were about to begin. Mary made sure to clap and cheer loudly after William skated backwards, twirled about in a lopsided circle and performed a few simple jumps. Little William beamed with pride before skating back towards Mary and taking her hand to lead her out on the ice. Fitzwilliam relinquished her other arm and watched bemusedly as a nervous Mary skated with only Sir Little Bits for guidance.

“Miss Darcy?” Fitzwilliam queried, turning his gaze from Mary to his cousin as he offered her his arm.

Georgiana took his arm with gratitude before setting off at a slow pace.

“I am happy to have this opportunity to talk with you,” Georgiana began. “I have had little opportunity to chat with you since you arrived.”

“Yes,” Richard replied, as he slowly turned from observing Mary and William to focus on his cousin. “It would appear that much has changed since I was last at Pemberley. William has become quite the little gentleman and you have a new friend in Miss Mary.”

“Yes,” Georgiana replied with a faint smile. “Mary and I have become fast friends. I am quite happy she has come to Pemberley. It is very nice having someone closer to my age with whom to converse.”

“Yes, Miss Farthington is quite delightful. William is quite taken with her as well. One can hardly blame him for being so besotted with one so charming and pretty.” Fitzwilliam replied wistfully as he returned his attention to Mary and William.

The pair skated for a few minutes, chatting disjointedly about Fitzwilliam’s tour in America and time in the West Indies and about Georgiana’s first season in London. Georgiana found herself growing more annoyed by her cousin’s inattentiveness as the conversation wore on. His eyes were frequently fixed on Mary and his replies to her queries were short and rather perfunctory in comparison with their usual ease of conversation. The needling worry that had plagued Georgiana since finding Fitzwilliam and Mary in a somewhat compromising position a few days before now gained strength as she observed her cousin’s countenance.

“No,” Georgiana thought to herself. “He cannot have serious designs on Mary, I am sure. Fitzwilliam has always been amiable and given to admire anyone of his acquaintance. Yes, his interest is merely friendly. I am sure of it.”

Having thus rationalized her suspicions away, Georgiana endeavored to be more lenient toward her cousin. Just as she turned toward him to enquire after her Aunt Josephine, her cousin came to an abrupt stop, causing Georgiana to momentarily loose her footing.

“Cousin, whatever is the matter?” Georgiana cried out as she regained her equilibrium.
Georgiana looked up to find that her cousin had already left her side and was skating with great haste toward Mary who was in danger of taking a rather nasty spill on the ice. Fitzwilliam managed to skate to her aide just in time to catch her as her efforts at remaining upright had failed.

Concern for her friend overcame Georgiana’s annoyance at her cousin’s abandonment. She skated toward them enquiring after Mary’s safety.

“I am quite alright now, Georgiana.” Mary smiled at her warmly. “Just as I was beginning to think I had gotten the hang of things, I found myself in danger of landing on my bottom! Well, at least I hope I would have landed on my bottom.”

“Well, as you say, you are quite safe now.” Fitzwilliam smiled down at her before blushing slightly. Fitzwilliam had forgotten to relinquish his hold of her and still held her protectively in his arms. He apologized briefly before setting her upright and offering his arm.

“If you do not mind, Sir Little Bits, I shall take over escorting the Princess.” Fitzwilliam saluted William, dismissing him from his duties.

William returned the salute before offering his services to his Aunt Georgiana. She gladly accepted his hand and resumed her turn about the lake. Once the pair was some distance away, Fitzwilliam leaned over to whisper in Mary’s ear.

“Did I not promise to guard your bottom with my life?”

Mary bit back a smile and attempted to look at him disapprovingly. Fitzwilliam grinned in satisfaction, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

They skated for most of the afternoon, Mary rarely relinquishing her hold on Fitzwilliam’s arm after her near fall. She found that she grew to like ice skating, despite her earlier disparaging comments on the sport. While she was not a true proficient, Mary managed to loose her footing only twice more. True to his word, Fitzwilliam was there to catch her both times.

Having bathed and dressed rather quickly, Mary found herself in the pleasant position of having a nearly an hour to herself before dinner. Taking advantage of the solitude, Mary retrieved her journal from her trunk and made her way towards the solarium. She was accustomed to writing in her journal on the beach in New Sussex, the gentle sound of the waves inducing her to dream and write freely. The sea had indeed been her muse and companion. How she missed it! However, Mary found that Pemberley’s library was an adequate spot to do her journaling. While there were no waves to calm her spirits and stir her imagination, there was always a large fire to warm her and comfortable chairs in which to curl-up.

Mary perched on one such chair and opened her journal. She had but a few pages left in the well worn leather book. As she searched to find an unused page, she could not help but pause and read her entries from the past few years and admire her sketches and drawings. Her fingers stilled over a charcoal drawing of her father. She had drawn the picture a few days before he had fallen ill to the disease that would eventually claim his life. She smiled down at the picture. She had drawn it as they sat together by their favorite rock on the beach. He had just returned from one of his long trips to America where he had spoken on the abolitionist cause to sympathetic audiences in the North. As was their habit, they had taken a long stroll along the beach to get reacquainted with one another. During their walk, Mary had begun to notice that his steps were a little slower than before and that he leaned on his walking stick often. She had commented on his slow steps only for him to reassure her that he was indeed well, just a little more fatigued from his journey than he had thought. However, the following morning confirmed Mary’s fears. A fever had come upon him in the wee hours of the morning, sending the house into a frenzy. The doctor was sent for and had managed to break the fever easily. Despite the alarming nature of the fever, the doctor had assured Mary that her father would recover with a few days bed rest. He had a stout constitution and was very fit for a man of three and fifty. The doctor assured her that a trifling cold would not bring such a man down. Lord Farthington had been optimistic as well, even to the point of ignoring the doctor’s orders and escaping his chambers to join Mary on her evening walks. He would not listen to Mary’s protests, claiming that the exercise made him feel better.

However, Lord Farthington had been gravely mistaken. A few days later he could not even be roused out of bed. The doctor had little hope for her father’s recovery, finding that he had consumption. Mary knew that this was a death sentence and decided to devote all of her energy to her father’s comfort and care. She had her father’s bed moved towards the balcony so that he could look out over the ocean and all of the windows to his quarters thrown open so that he could breathe fresh air. During the last two weeks of his life, Mary hardly slept in her own room, preferring the settee in her father’s chambers when she wanted for rest and spending most of her time in an armchair by his bed. At night she would sing him to sleep and during the day she would read to him from Paradise Lost or simply sit and hold his hand.

The night he died he was struck with a persistent and violent fever, which Mary toiled tirelessly to break. After hours of his restless tossing and moaning, her father had lay surprisingly still, exhaustion providing him some semblance of sleep. Ignoring the pleas of her governess and the head maid, Mary decided to keep watch over her father, unwilling to leave his side for a moment.

Mary awoke late the next morning in her own bed, confused and disoriented. In a panic, she quit her bed and ran to her father’s room. The house that morning was strangely silent. Gathered before her father’s door in a somber mood was the doctor, the head maid and her governess. Ignoring their pleas for her to stay without, Mary pushed past them and into her father’s room. She would never forget the feeling of anguish that overcame her at the sight of her father’s body. He had passed in the night alone and without her comfort. Her sorrow was too deep for words or tears. Mary felt bruised and too weak to stand. She was grateful for the presence of the doctor behind her when she sank to the ground insensible to all around her.

Mary set aside her journal, the task of writing another entry completely forgotten as her eyes filled with tears. Mary did not know how many minutes she sat lost to her tears before she heard her name being called.

“Mary? What has happened? Are you ill?” Darcy asked as he picked up the journal and took a seat beside Mary. Looking at the open page, he soon guessed the cause of her tears.

“Ah, you are missing your father, are you not?”

Mary nodded in response, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her bare hands. Darcy handed her his handkerchief and silently watched as she sought to regain her composure.

“My own excellent father died around this time of year. I too often think on him as Christmas draws near.”

“I am sorry.” Mary offered as she returned his handkerchief to him. “Was it very long ago?”

“It will be eight years this January. Long enough for the wounds to heal. However, one never forgets those who are dear to you.”

“Yes, one never does. Sometimes I can go several days without thinking on his passing, while other days the simplest thing will remind me of him.”

“I can tell you this, Mary. The mourning does get easier. Wounds begin to heal with time and one can begin to think on the loved one that has been lost with fondness absent of tears. Yet the wounds never fully heal. It is only natural that you should think on your father. With his passing you have also lost a small bit of yourself.”

Mary smiled sadly, turning her gaze from Darcy to look towards the fire. “I wonder how preparations for Christmas are coming on New Sussex,” Mary offered in an attempt to change the topic of conversation. “It was always such a festive time on the island! Father always made sure to be home during Christmastide and it was always a time of joy.”

Darcy regarded her thoughtfully. “While I fully realize that Christmas here at Pemberley can never be the same as it was at your home, I do hope that you can find some joy with us here this season. We are certainly happy to have you here to share it with us.” Darcy smiled warmly at Mary before rising and offering her his arm to escort her to dinner. Mary returned his smile, and taking the offered arm made her way out of the library and down to dinner.

The next morning found Pemberley a buzz with activity in preparation for the next days’ Christmas Eve festivities. Servants busied themselves in nearly every room of Pemberley hanging greenery and decorations while the kitchen staff was busily preparing for tomorrow’s Servant’s Ball. Mary, Georgiana and Elizabeth were busily employed in the wrapping of presents for all the servants and their children, a momentous task that lasted them well into the afternoon.

The ladies found their time together to be most agreeable, as it was a day spent mostly to themselves. Mr. Darcy was engaged with estate business for most of the morning and late afternoon. Fitzwilliam chose to spend his day exclusively in the company of his young cousin. After the morning lessons were done, he spirited the young lad outside to engage in some winter sport. The pair planned to spend their afternoon ice skating to be followed by a delicious repast of hot chocolate and cake.

Fitzwilliam laughed gaily as he watched his little cousin perform a simple jump and twirl about the ice, unabashed joy written all over his rosy cheeks. He could not recall a time when he had so much pleasure on the ice, save for his time teaching Miss Mary how to skate. That had been a pleasant time indeed. A skating lesson was an excellent excuse to be near her, her timidity at the new sport causing her to cling to his side for support. He remembered her grumblings and dramatic pouting with amusement, especially given her delight at the sport by the end of the afternoon.

The sound of cracking ice abruptly drew him out of his reverie and reminded him of the task at hand.

“William! William!” Fitzwilliam called as he scanned the ice in a panic. His little cousin was no where to be found. Fitzwilliam’s eyes grew wide as he spied the cause of the sound that had alerted him. A large crack and hole in the ice had appeared on the lake.

Fitzwilliam’s heart sank into his gut as he realized what had happened. Shouting for the aide of the servants that had accompanied them, Fitzwilliam sprinted toward the hole in the ice. Upon reaching the edge, he quickly pulled off his skates, shoes and great coat before leaping into the frigid waters in search of his cousin. The shock of the cold water hitting his skin as he drove in was great, yet his fear for the life of little William dulled his sensation. He swam deeper and deeper finding no sign of his cousin. The dimness of the light under the ice rendered his search difficult and he began to despair of finding his young charge. Just as he thought his lungs would burst from the lack of oxygen, he spotted William floating lifelessly a few feet away from him. Fitzwilliam swam toward him, clutching the young child to his chest before kicking his way to the surface.

With a great gasp, Fitzwilliam surfaced with young William tight in his grasp. Suddenly, many hands were upon them, pulling William and himself out of the water and hurrying them towards the bank of the lake where they were shrouded in blankets. Fitzwilliam hurried to William’s side. The young boy lay motionless, his face a shade of pale blue against the white blankets. Acting quickly, Fitzwilliam turned the boy on his back, tilting back his head and placing his mouth over the boy’s forcing air into his lungs while alternatively applying light pressure to his torso. After a few moments, the boy began to cough. Fitzwilliam turned William onto his side while striking his back to help him expel the water he had taken in. Fitzwilliam’s elation that William had begun to breathe again was soon dampened by the realization that he had not regained consciousness. Swaddling the boy in more blankets, Fitzwilliam barked out orders to the servants and ordered a horse to be brought to him. Troubled by the lightness of his small burden, he hurried in stocking feet through the snow toward the horse that had been brought to him and raced towards Pemberley.

As the ladies of Pemberley finished up the last of their wrapping, a great commotion drew their attention. A flustered maid soon burst into the drawing room startling all with her announcement.

“Ma’am, there has been an accident with Master William. Colonel Fitzwilliam is bringing him inside this instant. You are needed at once.”

Her task forgotten and her face growing pale, Elizabeth leapt from her seat and quickly followed the maid. Mary and Georgiana followed, both dreading what they would find. They all ran towards the main stairwell to see a greatly disheveled Fitzwilliam at the base of the steps clutching an unconscious William to his chest. Elizabeth let out a cry of her son’s name before racing down the stairs to meet Fitzwilliam.

“We were skating and he fell through the ice,” Fitzwilliam explained breathlessly as he handed his precious burden to Elizabeth.

“My son,” Elizabeth chocked out as she nuzzled her son’s cheek with her own. “He is oh so cold. We must get him warm.” Elizabeth began to run back up the stairs and toward her son’s rooms, shouting for Mrs. Reynolds and for the doctor to be summoned at once. Georgiana followed in her wake, tears already streaming down her face.

Mary made to follow after them, until saw the state Fitzwilliam was in. His hair and clothes were quite wet and he was in quite a state of undress, wearing only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. His feet were devoid of shoes and covered only in wet stockings. His skin was deathly pale and he trembled as he mounted the stairs. Mary flew to him, throwing her arms about him once he reached the top of the stairs. In their panic over William, the servants had followed Elizabeth and Georgiana, leaving Fitzwilliam unattended and forgotten.

“The fault is mine, Mary. If I had only been by his side,” Fitzwilliam mumbled as he buried his face in her hair.

“No, Richard. You mustn’t blame yourself,” Mary soothed as she cupped his face in her hands and brought him round to face her. “You were there to save him. All will be well, Richard.”

Fitzwilliam wrapped his arms around her, drawing Mary towards him. Mary began to be afraid as she felt the dampness of his clothes and the coldness of his skin against her own. A shiver ran through Fitzwilliam’s body so strongly that Mary could feel it in her own.

“Come, we must get you out of these clothes and warm. You will catch your death in this state.”

“I must see after William. I will be fine,” Fitzwilliam replied as he released her and began to make his way towards William’s rooms.

After a few steps, he began to sway precariously and had to place a hand on the wall to steady himself. Mary resumed her place at his side, draping his arm over her shoulder and assisting him to his rooms. Fitzwilliam leaned heavily upon her, feeling his tiredness keenly as the adrenaline that propelled him began to diminish. Mary helped Fitzwilliam into his room, heedless of all notions of propriety as she helped him to his bed. Leaving his side for but a moment, Mary rang for his valet. Mary was soon back at his side, working determinedly as Fitzwilliam’s strength waned. Silently, she removed his wet stockings before moving to remove his waistcoat and shirt. Fitzwilliam made to stop her, grasping her hands as she reached for his cravat.

“We must get your warm, Richard.” Mary replied as she suppressed a blush. “I’ll leave your breeches to your valet, but until he surfaces I am determined to see to you. I will not have you fall ill.”

At any other time, Mary’s persistence in divesting him of clothing would have amused him greatly, but observing the sincere worry in her eyes and acknowledging the tremors and weakness of his own body, Fitzwilliam acquiesced. As his drowsiness became too much to fight off, the searing heat of her hands upon the bare skin of his chest was the last thing he felt before darkness overcame him.

For her part, Mary was momentarily distracted by the sight of Richard’s masculine figure as she worked, but the coldness of his skin soon abused her of all notions of maidenly reserve. She had just thrown a blanket over his sleeping form when his valet finally arrived. If the older gentleman was shocked by the presence of a young lady in his master’s bedroom, he did not betray those feelings. Mary instructed the valet to see that the fire was restored and his master was made as warm and dry as possible before quickly leaving the room.

Once outside, Mary leaned heavily on the door and breathed deeply. She fought the urge to return to Fitzwilliam’s side. She knew she did not have the right to be by his side, but she wished she could be there all the same. In deed, his appearance had shaken her deeply, more deeply than she imagined it would. Images of another man she cared for that had been taken from her too soon came unbidden to her mind. Mary said a silent prayer before hurrying toward William’s room.

Chapter 8:

Posted on August 5, 2008

One would hardly recognize Pemberley as the same estate of that morning. All of the busy preparations for Christmas Eve had seemingly ground to a halt as the entire household waited for news of the state of young master William. The dining room and drawing rooms were quiet and dark, bereft of their usual chatter and activity. Elizabeth, Darcy and Georgiana all maintained a constant vigil in William’s room, watching the sleeping boy fretfully.

Mary chose to sit guard in the hallway between both of their rooms, willing herself to remain away from Fitzwilliam’s chamber. Fear gnawed at her stomach as the minutes drew long. She had instructed the servants not already engaged with William in what should be done for the Colonel. That was all that she could do at the moment until Dr. Roberts was available to see to Fitzwilliam. It seemed as if an eternity had passed since a servant hurriedly escorted the physician to William’s rooms. Mary wondered why the inspection was taking so long. Her heart almost broke at the thought that her Sir Little Bits could be in serious danger. Her lips moved in silent prayer as she beseeched God to keep those she cared for.

Fitzwilliam. A sigh escaped from her mouth as she thought on him. He had been so weak when she left him to the care of his valet. His skin, already pale, had taken on a sickly pallor and had been covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Mary had been struck by the sharp contrast of the dark hair of his chest against his pallid skin. The feel of his skin beneath her fingers as she stripped away his nearly frozen sodden garments had only added to her fear. Mary touched her lips absentmindedly, remembering the coolness of his blue tinged lips against hers as she gently kissed him after covering him with heavy quilts and coverlets. He had been asleep then, giving in to his fatigue. She remembered whispering to him nonetheless, commanding him to be well before his valet had entered the room.

Mary was stirred from her thoughts by the exit of Dr. Roberts from William’s room. Rising quickly from her perch, Mary approached the doctor eager for news of William’s condition.

“He will be fine, Miss Mary,” Dr. Roberts replied to her unspoken question. “With some rest, he should be fine in a day or two. We’ll just have to watch for any sign of a fever.”

Mary exhaled in relief.

“It is good that he was brought out of the water so quickly,” Dr. Roberts continued. “I fear things could have been much worse had he stayed in such frigid water for much longer.”

Mary nodded in reply, thankful for Fitzwilliam’s quick action.

“You may see him if you like,” the doctor offered before turning to leave her.

“Dr. Roberts, may I have a word?” Mary called after him, her voice anxious.

“Yes, of course. What can I do for you?” The older man smiled back at her gently, his grey eyes soft and kind.

“I am very concerned for Col. Fitzwilliam. He was the one to rescue young William this afternoon. He did not look well at all when he arrived back at the house, and I was wondering if you might look in on him while you are here.”

“Col. Fitzwilliam? Mr. and Mrs. Darcy never mentioned that the gentleman was ill.”

Mary frowned slightly at this bit of news. “I am sure they did not realize that he was unwell. The house was in such a state when they arrived that I think Col. Fitzwilliam was quite forgotten.”

Dr. Roberts rubbed his chin thoughtfully before shaking his head slightly and giving Mary a reassuring smile. “Of course I will attend to the Colonel right away.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Mary broke out into a wide smile, her first all evening.

Mary led the doctor to Fitzwilliam’s rooms explaining all she had observed of his condition on the way. Mary took a seat outside of Fitzwilliam’s chambers, determined to get a report on his condition as soon as the doctor finished his examination. Leaning her head back against the wall, Mary let go a deep sigh and closed her eyes. Mary would not ever forget the look of fear and concern on Elizabeth’s face as she set eyes on William that afternoon or the anxiety shown on Mr. Darcy’s countenance. She understood their fear as parents. However, as the hours passed, she could not understand how so little thought had been given to Col. Fitzwilliam. No one had inquired after him and they had said nothing to Dr. Roberts about him. Mary was sure that they all loved him very much, yet she could not help but feel a little angry on the Colonel’s behalf. He had looked truly ill indeed upon entering the house. And on top of it all, the poor man seemed to blame himself for the accident. Mary wondered if Elizabeth and Darcy blamed him as well and so neglected him accordingly. Mary quickly chastised herself for harboring such uncharitable thoughts. They could not possibly be so unfeeling towards one they loved.

After many long minutes, the doctor came out of the room, his face unreadable. He had barely quit the room before Mary was on her feet pestering him with questions. Dr. Roberts smiled at her grimly before relating his patient’s condition to her.

“It appears that the Colonel is suffering from hypothermia. He is not conscious and should be monitored closely until he awakens. I expect him to recover, but I fear that his risk of fever and further illness is severe.”

The doctor paused at Mary’s gasp, taking her hand into his and patting it reassuringly. “However, I should commend you for your quick thinking, Miss Farthington. Had it not been for your solicitous care, I fear that the Colonel would not be with us now.”

Mary’s eyes grew a bit wide at this pronouncement. She had not told her role in the affair to Dr. Roberts. She realized after the fact how unseemly it would be for a young unmarried woman to be found in such a position as she had been that afternoon. The doctor was quick to relieve her of her distress.

“Col. Fitzwilliam’s valet informed me of your role this afternoon. Have no fear. I will not relate the details of what transpired to anyone. You have no cause for shame, Miss Farthington. Had you not acted as you did, the Colonel would be dead. Hypothermia is a serious business requiring immediate treatment. Getting him warm as soon as possible was vital. The gentleman is much in your debt.”

Mary shook her head demurely as she thanked the doctor for both his praise and his silence on the matter. The doctor accepted her thanks with a tired nod.

“Do not fret, Miss Farthington. I believe that all will turn to rights,” Dr. Roberts replied, as he patted her hand reassuringly before turning from her. He took a few steps away from her, before turning again as if he had forgotten something.

“You may see him, if you like,” the doctor added before favoring her with a slight smile.

Mary watched the doctor return to William’s room, before hurrying to Fitzwilliam’s chambers. The doctor’s permission had been quite unnecessary; her concern would have had her by his side regardless of what was considered proper. She had not realized how close the Colonel had come to death, and resolved to see him for herself. The Colonel’s valet quickly answered her light knock on the door. He surveyed Mary coolly, before stepping aside and allowing her entrance.

“Should you require anything, miss, I will be in the dressing room,” the valet quietly informed her before slipping from the room.

Mary was quite surprised by this reception. No words had been needed to make her desires known. She wondered if she had indeed made a friend in the valet or if the doctor had left instructions to allow her admittance. Whatever the reason for the valet’s cooperation, Mary was grateful for the moment of privacy.

Mary quietly moved towards the large four-poster bed where Fitzwilliam lay. He had been changed into a dry sleeping gown and was tucked securely under heavy blankets, just as she had instructed the valet. His arms lay above the blankets, one bent and resting on his chest while the other lay at his side. He had the appearance of one in a peaceful slumber, his chest rising and falling in a slow steady rhythm, his eyes shut with long lashes fanned against his cheek. His skin still held a sickly pallor that frightened her. The room was almost unbearably hot. This pleased Mary for she knew that the heat would help speed his recovery. Mary doubted whether or not she should disturb him. She noticed that a sheen of sweat began to form on his forehead, a few drops already falling down his face, hugging to the curve of his nose. Taking up a cloth, Mary went to his side and gently dabbed at his forehead.

Mary wondered about the strange mix of feelings she felt for the man who lay sleeping before her. Only a few weeks ago, she found him to be the most annoying and infuriating man of her admittedly limited acquaintance. How things had changed since the night of the snowstorm. Now she found herself longing for his company and his caress. His smile, which she had once thought sly, now thrilled her and she could be completely undone by one arched eyebrow. His teasing, to which she always feigned astonishment, secretly delighted her. However, she found her heart was warmed most by his gentle attentions toward her. He was ever conscientious of her feelings and always gentlemanly in their moments alone. Ever conscious of propriety and her naiveté, he had never pressed her for than a chaste kiss upon the lips and a gentle caress of her face. Truly if he had been the sort to trifle with the affections of a young lady, as Elizabeth had led her to believe, he would not have felt restrained by manners in the attainment of his goal.

The thought of marriage had been so far from her mind less than a month ago, and now she found herself receiving such attentions from a gentleman that under any normal circumstance would lead to courtship and marriage. Previously, the thought had frightened and perplexed her. What did she know about marriage and becoming a wife and mother? She had no examples of such in her upbringing and her father had never discussed the idea with her. However, as she lightly ran her hand over the hair of the man sleeping before her, the idea of marriage did not seem so foreign. Mary felt she was well on her way to being in love with Fitzwilliam, if the feelings she felt could be properly called love. They were so new and overwhelming, that Mary wondered about their constancy and depth. However, she did know that if the Lord chose to take this man from her so soon after reclaiming him that had been her entire family, she might not survive the hurt. Mary took one of his large hands into hers. She was pleased that it felt warm to the touch. She brought it up to her lips and placed a kiss upon the palm, as Fitzwilliam was wont to do to her in their moments alone. Mary gently folded her fingers into his before bringing both hands against her cheek.

“Please, Richard,” she whispered to him. “Please be well.”

Elizabeth, Darcy and Georgiana were surprised to hear Dr. Robert’s report on the condition of their cousin. None of them had realized that Fitzwilliam was even ill, much less that his condition was so severe. They had been so concerned for William that they had not even considered that Fitzwilliam might have been affected by the cold dip in the lake. Darcy was especially concerned, as he regarded Fitzwilliam as a brother.

“How is he now, doctor? May we see him?” Darcy asked.

“He is resting now and will probably be in a deep sleep for quite some time. He should be monitored constantly for the next day or two for any signs of fever. You may visit him, if you like. I believe that Miss. Farthington is with him now.”

“Miss. Farthington? Why is Mary with him?” Georgiana questioned, surprising everyone.

“Well, the lady was quite concerned for his state and I suggested that she look in on him to help calm her nerves. It was Miss. Mary who informed me of the Colonel’s illness and who is responsible for his current condition. If not for her timely instructions and actions, I fear the gentleman would be severely ill if not dead.”

Darcy nodded at this bit of news, the look on his face grave. Since William was sleeping soundly and was out of danger, Darcy and Elizabeth and Georgiana decided to look in on their cousin; leaving the nursery maid to sit with William should he awaken during their absence.

Darcy and Elizabeth were the first to enter Fitzwilliam’s chambers. The sight that greeted them gave rise to quite different feelings in the breast of each. Mary sat in a chair close by Fitzwilliam’s bedside, holding Fitzwilliam’s right hand against her cheek as she bent her head in what appeared to be a silent prayer.

“Mary?” Elizabeth questioned in a low tone as she approached the girl from behind, laying one hand on her shoulder.

Mary moved as if startled, dropping Fitzwilliam’s hand and rising from her seat. She hurriedly wiped at her eyes before turning to face Fitzwilliam’s new visitors.

“Elizabeth…Mr. Darcy…I…Dr. Roberts said that I…” Mary stammered, as her cheeks grew hot.

“We know. Dr. Roberts explained that you were watching over him,” Elizabeth replied, giving Mary a tired smile and her hand a reassuring squeeze. “How fares the patient?” Elizabeth asked as she took the seat that Mary had just vacated.

“He sleeps soundly, as you can see,” Mary replied, forgetting her previous discomfort at being found in such a position by her guardians. “Rich…Fitzwilliam has improved much in looks since this afternoon. Some of his color has returned and he seems to have warmed up.

Darcy’s eyebrow rose at Mary’s slip of the tongue. However, his concern over her increased familiarity with his cousin soon gave way again to his concern for Fitzwilliam’s well being. He stood by his wife, one hand on her shoulder as he watched his sleeping cousin. Fitzwilliam and he were like brothers and their friendship had only increased once they became guardians of Georgiana and weathered the trials of Ramsgate together. Now, he found himself indebted to him for the single handedly rescuing his son, who was dearer to him than anyone in the world. Darcy had missed his cousin a great deal during his tour of duty in the Americas and had been vastly pleased to have him at Pemberley once again. The family had been grateful that he escaped the dangers of the war unscathed when so many of his comrades had fallen or been gravely injured. Darcy would never have imagined that his cousin would find himself in such a life-threatening situation on the very grounds of Pemberley.

Georgiana entered the room soon after, going to Fitzwilliam’s side and taking his left hand into hers. The look on her face mirrored that of everyone in the room. All were greatly concerned and exhausted by the trials of the day. The family sat for several long minutes observing their cousin before Elizabeth broke the silence.

“I fear it is growing very late and you all look exhausted. I suggest that we take turns sitting with Fitzwilliam per the doctor’s orders. I can take the first shift and sit until dawn. I do not think I could possibly sleep tonight.”

“No my dear, I will sit with Richard through the night. I insist that you get some rest. Even if all you do is lay in bed staring up into the canopy. There is no need to argue with me. I insist,” Darcy commanded as he assisted his wife in rising from her seat and placed a chaste kiss upon her forehead. “Please, I could not fathom having another loved one fall ill today.”

Elizabeth nodded her acquiescence. “Well, then I shall retire to bed then. However, I shall not retire to my room as you demand, but will rest with William in the nursery.”

“Fine,” Darcy replied. “I shall ask Mrs. Reynolds to prepare a cot when I speak to her about canceling the Servant’s Ball.”

“Must the ball be cancelled, brother?” questioned Georgiana, “I do know how everyone was looking forward to it. We have held a ball nearly every Christmas Eve, and everything is nearly ready. Cook has been baking all day. It would be a shame for so many pies and cakes to be left uneaten”

“I know, sweetling, but what can be done? I would not feel right having such festivities while Richard must be attended to. I am sure the staff will understand,” Darcy replied.

“Could we just not attend the ball?” Elizabeth offered.

Mary thought for a moment, before offering a solution of her own. “I could stay behind and look after Fitzwilliam and William while you all attended the ball. Then the ball need not be cancelled, Elizabeth.”

“But, Mary. That would hardly be fair for all of us to go while you stay behind,” Georgiana protested.

“I confess that I do not mind, Georgiana. I would be more than content to stay behind. My presence would certainly not be missed while everyone would expect all of you to attend.”

After a little more urging on Mary’s part, Darcy and Elizabeth agreed to Mary’s plan. Now that William was pronounced well, only being in need of a good day’s rest, both parents felt comfortable enough to commit to one evening away from his side. Soon, all of the ladies repaired to their respective chambers to retire for the night, leaving Darcy to look after Fitzwilliam until dawn.

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Chapter 9

The morning of Christmas Eve found the house in much better spirits then the night before. Preparations for the Servant’s Ball resumed and Georgiana and Mary made visits to Pemberley’s tenants on behalf of the Mistress of Pemberley, providing generous baskets of sweet stuffs, preserves and warm linens to each family. They were received warmly at each house they visited and many offerings of kind words were given for the welfare of both Master William and Colonel Fitzwilliam.

During the day, the family took turns sitting with Fitzwilliam, watching for any changes in his condition. He woke briefly in the late afternoon and was able to partake of some broth before falling back into a deep sleep. Dr. Roberts was encouraged by this development and the family felt more at ease regarding their plans to attend the Servant’s Ball.

Soon the time for the ball arrived. Mary bid Georgiana, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy goodbye before heading to William’s room to partake of a simple supper with him. The pair passed the hour amicably and Mary treated little William to a story after supper was finished. Mary told him a story of a brave prince who was enchanted by a wicked sorcerer and turned into a toad. William sat enchanted for the entire tale. A large yawn on the part of little William signaled the story’s end. William begged Mary to continue, protesting that he was not the least bit tired before giving in to another big yawn. Promising to conclude her story the next afternoon, Mary kissed her little knight on the forehead and left him to the care of his nurse.

Mary made her way towards Colonel Fitzwilliam’s chambers. The Colonel’s valet, who had been keeping watch over his master since the early afternoon, answered her gentle knock. Mary was received more cordially this evening, a quiet understanding and acceptance having been formed between the two. Mary released the valet from his watch so that he could partake of some dinner and perhaps attend the Servant’s Ball as well. All nonessential staff members were in attendance at the ball. Only the valet, William’s nurse and Mary’s maid April stayed behind to look after the ill men.

Mary resumed her place by Fitzwilliam’s side, taking up a piece of embroidery that she had left in his rooms to occupy herself during her shifts. Fitzwilliam slept soundly. Most of the color had returned to his cheeks and Mary thought he looked remarkably well. The anxiety that had robbed her of rest was lessened greatly by his improved health. Content with the notion that Fitzwilliam would rest peacefully for most of the night, Mary set to work on her sampler.

A few hours later, a deep sigh stirred Mary from her task.

“Mary,” Fitzwilliam greeted her, his throat parched and scratchy.

“Shhh, now.” Mary ordered him gently, as she dropped her sampler and moved to pour him a cup of water. She brought the cup to his lips with one hand while gently helping him lift his head with the other.

“There now,” Mary smiled as she dabbed some of the water that had spilt off of his chin with a cloth.

“So you have come to wait on a foolish wounded soldier?” Fitzwilliam asked, a faint smile lighting upon his lips at the feel of Mary’s hand smoothing back his hair from his face.

“A foolish soldier? No, I only see a brave knight. Is it not the duty of every lady to see that her knights are well looked after when they are ill?” Mary replied to him, before favoring him with a broad smile.

“Brave knight, indeed,” Fitzwilliam harrumphed as he turned his head from her. “Foolish is a more apt title. But for my inattention, William would be well and our Christmas would not be spoiled.”

“How can you speak so ill of yourself, Richard?” Mary countered fervently, “If not for your attention and bravery, William might have drowned and our Christmas would have truly been bleak. But he is well, or will soon be well again. We have much to be grateful for this Christmas in that you both are with us still.”

“Nay. You are too good, Mary. I am to blame and I feel it keenly as I should. I could have prevented it,” Fitzwilliam replied, his voice low and full of regret.

“Look at me, Richard,” Mary commanded, her voice stern.

“You are not to blame. How could you have known about the weakness in the ice? We all skated upon it without concern not two days ago. No one could have known the ice would break.”

“But had I been more attentive he would not have fallen at all. I could have…”

“You were there to save him!” Mary cried as she clutched his hands tightly in her own. “With no thought to your own safety, you jumped into the water and brought him back. You could have died in the process, Richard…you almost did,” all sternness fled her voice as she mentioned his sickness.

“Mary?” Fitzwilliam whispered, his brow knit in concern at her change of demeanor.

“I was so afraid, Richard,” Mary chocked out, as she tried to wipe the tears that now fell fast. “You were so cold and pale. I thought that…I thought that you might leave me.”

Mary found herself being gently pulled toward the bed. Giving no resistance, Mary followed Fitzwilliam’s gentle urgings and lay beside him, her body on top of the covers that were tucked around him. He gathered her close with one arm and bid her to rest her head upon his chest.

“Shhh, my love, all is well,” he cooed to her as he rubbed her back gently. “You see that I am quite well. Unshaven and quite possibly ill smelling, but quite well.”

Mary could not help but chuckle through her tears. He did look a sight and he had seen fresher smelling days, but Mary would hardly complain. They lay together for several minutes, Fitzwilliam gently rubbing her back and speaking soothing words to her as her tears ran their course. Soon Mary found herself calming down until her tears were spent. The anxieties and fears of the day began to melt away as Mary took in the delightful sensation of Fitzwilliam’s strong hand gently caressing her back and the warmth and firmness of his chest beneath her cheek. Soon her breathing matched his own and Mary was overcome by the comfort and safety she felt in his embrace. She knew that her present position was improper, but she did not care. All that mattered to her was that she was in the arms of the man that she loved and that he was well.

Mary had not realized that she had fallen asleep until a strong jolt broke her from her slumber.

“Richard,” she queried, her voice thick with sleep, “is anything the matter?”

As she regained her senses, Mary realized that things were not well. Mary found that her cheek, that had once rested comfortably upon Fitzwilliam’s chest, was now wet and slick with his sweat. In fact, Fitzwilliam’s clothes were soaked from his perspiration and, although he slept, he had begun to thrash about in his bed. It was as Mary feared; a fever had set in.

Moving quickly from the bed, Mary rang the bell for a servant, before returning to Fitzwilliam’s side to wipe his brow with a wet cloth from the basin by his bedside. As Fitzwilliam’s thrashing became more pronounced, Mary’s unease grew. She wondered how things could have changed so quickly in only the span of a few hours. Soon, her maid April appeared in the doorway. Mary instructed her to alert the doctor that the Colonel had caught fever. As she waited for the doctor to arrive, Mary attempted to cease Fitzwilliam’s violent movements by grasping his arms for fear that he might injure himself. However, Fitzwilliam proved too strong, and she instead found herself thrown to the ground. Mary cried out as she landed on her hand, twisting it painfully. Entering the room soon afterwards, Dr. Roberts rushed to her side and assisted her in standing.

“Are you injured, Miss Mary?”

“It is just my wrist, Dr. Roberts,” Mary replied as she held her forearm gingerly. “But it is of no concern. Merely a sprain, I am sure. It is Richard who concerns me more.”

“Hmm. I see. Well, as you are in no condition to assist me, please send for a footman or another strong servant to help me,” the doctor requested after ascertaining the situation.

Mary left quickly to find April and a few footmen. It appeared as if several hours had passed as the doctor attended to Fitzwilliam. Mary sat looking on the scene, her wrist wrapped in linen to prevent further injury. Her sense of uselessness only served to increase her anxiety. She could do nothing to aid Fitzwilliam and could only sit and look on in fear. Mary felt a foreboding sense of dejavu. It was very late into the evening when Fitzwilliam’s fever finally broke.

“Well, the worst has passed, Miss Farthington,” Dr. Roberts announced as he mopped his brow with a cloth. “The colonel gave me quite a scare, but he appears to be more himself now. He should sleep without anymore problems until morning.”

Mary smiled and nodded, before drawing her injured hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. She grimaced at the pain of the movement, her injury, which had temporarily been forgotten, now making itself more than apparent.

“You should let me have a look at that, Miss Farthington. Come, come.”

Dr. Roberts examined Mary’s wrist, noting the swelling that had taken place and prodding it gingerly for signs of any breakage. After some moments of discomfort on Mary’s part, for having endured the pain, and on Dr. Roberts’ part, for being the instant cause of it, Mary’s wrist was pronounced as suffering only from minor bruising. The doctor removed the makeshift linen brace that April had fashioned for Mary, and replaced it with a more permanent linen wrap to keep the wrist immobile. After inspecting his handiwork, Dr. Roberts tried to persuade Mary to retire for the remainder of the night. Mary refused to be moved, arguing that she wasn’t the least bit tired and pleaded to be able to sit with Colonel Fitzwilliam just a few hours more. Dr. Roberts consented to this wish, and after informing her that he would only be a few doors down should he be needed again, he retired to his rooms. Mary resumed her seat next to Fitzwilliam’s bed, pulling a quilt that April had brought for her around herself as best she could with her good hand. Mary watched Fitzwilliam sleeping soundly, his black hair wet with perspiration and framing his face haphazardly. Mary determined that whatever she did she would not fall asleep. She would be there should Fitzwilliam need her, he would not be left to face the worst alone as her father had.

A bright light woke Mary from her slumber. Mary moved to shade her eyes from the light as she slowly recovered consciousness.

“Good morning, miss,” April curtsied to her from her place by the window. She had just opened the curtains after bringing in a tray with a pot of hot tea and a plate of biscuits and jam. “Mrs. Darcy sent up some breakfast for you.”

“Breakfast?” Mary murmured as the fog in her head began to clear and she surveyed her surroundings. She was no longer in Fitzwilliam’s room, but had been placed into her own bed. “April, what time is it?” Mary asked anxiously as she leapt down from her bed.

“Why, it is nearly a quarter ‘till eleven, miss.”

“Oh, no. I must see to Richard,” Mary raced from her room with April following close behind with her dressing gown in hand calling for her to stop. However, Mary could not hear April’s pleas, so focused was she on getting to Fitzwilliam’s side.

Mary finally reached Fitzwilliam’s chambers and threw open the doors, not bothering to knock.

“Good heavens!” Dr. Robert’s exclaimed as he turned around. “Oh, it is only you, Miss. Mary. You gave me quite a start. Is everything alright?”

“Richard,” Mary cried out as she hurried towards the doctor, “Is Richard…tell me the Colonel is not dead.”

“Why, I dearly hope that I am not.”

Mary gasped, her look of anguish giving way to one of relief. Dr. Roberts smiled at her, before stepping aside to give her an unobstructed view of the bed. A smile of relief and joy broke out across her face at the sight she saw. Fitzwilliam sat grinning at her, his back supported by a mountain of pillows. He looked remarkably well, being clean-shaven and wearing a fresh shirt and cravat. Dr. Roberts slipped from the room, closing the door behind him. At the sound of the door closing, Mary fell upon the bed, seizing him in a tight embrace as she showered his face with small kisses.

Fitzwilliam laughed, “If this is the greeting I am to receive, I think I should spread reports of my demise everyday.”

“Richard, how can you tease me at a time like this?” Mary protested through her laughter.

“Tease you? I assure you that I am perfectly in earnest. To be showered with kisses by a beautiful woman who jumps into your lap while only wearing her delicate nightgown. What better way to start one’s day.”

Mary laughed and hit him playfully on the shoulder. Fitzwilliam feigned injury, which won him more kisses of apology, just as he had desired. Mary clutched him closer and buried her face in the space between his neck and shoulder. Fitzwilliam laughed again until he felt Mary’s hot tears on his neck.

“I see that I have the unforgivable habit of causing you to leak,” Fitzwilliam said as he pulled Mary back far enough so that they could look one another in the eye. “Come, tell me what is the matter. For all my jesting, I am well, as you see. There is no reason for this sadness,” he pleaded in a more serious tone.

Mary savored the feel of his hand caressing her cheek before replying. “I am not sad, Richard. Indeed I am quite the opposite.”

“Then why these tears, Princess?”

“Last night you were in such a state. It scared me so and I vowed that I would not sleep or leave your side until I knew you were well. When I awoke in my own chambers, I feared that I had failed you, just like I failed him,” Mary explained as she brushed a wayward lock of hair from before his eyes. “But, here I find you well and just as handsome and exasperating as before and I thank God that it is so.” Mary embraced him again, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Just like who, my love? Who did you think you failed?” Fitzwilliam asked after several moments.

Mary took a deep breath before telling him about the night her father died. Fitzwilliam listened closely, coming to better understand her behavior and fears. His heart ached from the sorrow she related and he cursed himself for having been the cause of additional anguish. When she finished her account, Fitzwilliam cupped her face in his large hands and brushed away the new tears that began to fall down her cheeks.

“You must remember what I promised you, Princess,” Fitzwilliam said, his voice soft and tender. “I will never leave you unless it is your most earnest wish.”

“Yet such a thing is not in your power to ensure,” Mary protested.

“What I know in my heart is within my power, Mary. I would never abandon you. I would face all of Napoleon’s armies to stay by your side.”

Fitzwilliam pulled Mary towards him and captured her lips in a kiss. Finding no resistance, he pulled Mary against him on the bed, his hands roaming her figure through the thin fabric of her chemise. Mary soon forgot her tears, so consumed was she in this new feeling of abandonment. All she was sensible of were Fitzwilliam’s lips, hands and the smell of him, clean and earthy. Soon, a pleasantly startled Mary found herself beneath Fitzwilliam, the thick covers of the bed a barrier between them. Fitzwilliam resumed his attentions to her mouth, this time seeking entrance with his tongue. Mary was surprised by this action, but she soon came to enjoy the sensation of this more intimate contact. Just when Mary began to wonder if she could do without air for much longer, Fitzwilliam moved from her mouth to placing kisses down her neck and along her collarbone. Mary thought to protest at the break in contact until she shivered at the sensation caused by the soft brush of his lips against her skin.

Fitzwilliam remembered himself upon hearing Mary’s soft moan. He moved his weight off of her, laying to the side of her as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Forgive me,” Fitzwilliam whispered as his breathing returned to normal. “I did not intend to take such liberties.

Mary gazed into his eyes, noting how they moved from being dark with passion to reflecting his sincere regret.

“There is no need to apologize, Richard. These activities… were not unpleasant,” Mary replied as she bit her bottom lip and turned away from him.

“‘Not unpleasant?’” Fitzwilliam repeated. “I should take offense and work to extract higher praise than ‘not unpleasant.’ But I fear that by doing so I make take actions that we both may come to regret.”

“Then perhaps it is best that I take my leave of you,” Mary replied as she moved to get off the bed. “I also would not want to be found so scandalously underdressed in a gentleman’s bed.”

“It may be too late for that,” Fitzwilliam replied. “The good doctor was witness to your attack on my person upon your bursting into my chambers. However, he is the picture of discretion.”

“Attack on your person!” Mary replied incredulously. “I thought you said there was no better way for one to start one’s morning. If it is such an imposition, I will be sure to never ‘attack’ you again.”

Fitzwilliam laughed heartily at this retort. Mary slipped from Fitzwilliam’s room and hurried to her chambers. Closing the door behind her, Mary fell upon her bed and laughed in delight. What a wonderful Christmas this was turning out to be.

Colonel Fitzwilliam watched as Mary slipped from his room to return to her chambers. A deep sigh escaped from his chest as he fell back upon the pillows. He did not know that he could experience such heights of joy and depths of pain in such a short course of time. Fitzwilliam’s heart ached upon seeing the one he loved weep before him. The pain was all the more poignant, as he knew that he was the chief cause of her anxiety. Mary had been genuinely afraid that he would perish. Fitzwilliam knew that he was too much of a tough bird to let a little chill bring him down. However, despite his bravado, Dr. Roberts’ relation of just how close he had come to death sobered him. Fitzwilliam pondered the remarkable woman who had captured his heart. If not for her care, Dr. Roberts had told him, he might have very well perished. He imagined his Princess ordering about his valet and the shock that old Jenkins must have felt upon seeing his master half naked with a young woman in his bedchamber. However, Fitzwilliam knew that he could depend upon Jenkins to be discreet.

He felt joy and hope at the newfound knowledge that Mary truly loved him. He felt such relief at being able to cast those worries aside. Her tears and her ardent response to his touch confirmed what he had only dared to hope. He shut his eyes and remembered the experience of having his beloved beneath his own body, of her sighs, the taste of her mouth and skin. He felt awed by the trust Mary had placed in him; she had offered herself to him innocently and without fear. Fitzwilliam knew that he could not abuse her trust by allowing himself to loose control again. He cursed himself for his lack of control. He had promised Elizabeth that he would wait until after the Twelfth Night Ball to make his suit and seek Darcy‘s blessing, and here he was compromising their charge in his own bed. Twelve days seemed like such a long time to wait, especially when he would still not be assured of Darcy’s consent. Fitzwilliam hoped that Elizabeth would be successful in altering Darcy’s position on the match. He did not like to think on what he would do if Darcy remained opposed. Despite the uncertainty, Fitzwilliam resolved to exercise patience until the Twelfth Night Ball. He would have to have another conversation with Darcy, and soon. He would have Mary for his wife, Darcy’s displeasure be damned.

Georgiana stood motionless in the hallway, watching Mary’s form retreat down the hall back towards her bedroom. Georgiana had thought to check on her cousin after breakfast and to perhaps sit with him for a while once the doctor was finished with his examination. Georgiana was surprised to find Mary, rather than the doctor, slipping from Fitzwilliam’s rooms. Upon seeing Mary’s exit, Georgiana unconsciously stepped into a nearby doorway, ensuring that she had an unobstructed view of Mary without fear of detection. Georgiana watched Mary make her quiet exit and was alarmed to find Mary clad only in a thin chemise, her feet bare and her dark hair unbound and hanging in thin dark ropes that framed her face and shoulders. However, it was not Mary’s state of undress that caused Georgiana’s alarm, but the look of pure joy that covered her face.

Georgiana was not released from her spell until several moments after Mary had disappeared into her own chambers far down the hall. Her suspicions regarding Mary and the Colonel could no longer be brushed aside. Hurt and humiliation warred within her chest as Georgiana quickly made her way for the safety of her own rooms. Once safely in her chambers, she dismissed her maid with orders that she not be disturbed and sank onto her bed as her resolve gave way to a flood of tears

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Chapter 10

Posted on August 5, 2008

Her tears spent, Georgiana lay upon her bed staring uncomprehendingly at the lace canopy. Georgina wished that she could undo what she had witnessed in the hall that mid-morning. However, the image of her friend slinking away from her cousin Richard’s bedchamber in naught but her chemise proved too potent to be imagined away. Georgiana suspected that she had caught Mary leaving from some sort of assignation with Richard. However hard Georgiana tried, she could develop no other explanation for Mary being alone in Richard’s room so improperly dressed. Yet Georgiana did not want to think so meanly of her friend or her cousin. She knew Mary and understood her character. Richard was her guardian and had always conducted himself with propriety and decorum. Surely nothing too improper had occurred between them. Georgiana concluded that there had to be some sort of understanding between the two. The scene she had witnessed in addition to the other instances of displayed sentiments that Georgiana had noticed only served to turn what she had thought to be paranoia and mere suspicion to irrefutable fact; Richard’s heart was out of her reach.

Richard had always been a favorite of Georgiana’s. When they were children, she looked forward to his visits above that of any other relative. While Fitzwilliam was always a kind and solicitous brother, Richard had been the only one who ever really listened to Georgiana. She felt as if she could tell him everything, no matter how trivial or silly. He would even oblige her in attending her tea parties. Richard was always mindful to conduct himself with the manners befitting a formal tea; never once did he spill his tea or send Georgiana into hysterics by sneaking a frog into the teapot like George sometimes did. After their father passed away and Fitzwilliam changed from brother figure to that of a father, it was Richard who became her source of constancy. He remained her confidante and the one who could always make her smile or laugh at herself, even at her lowest moments. Following the affair at Ramsgate, Georgiana began to appreciate these qualities of her cousin even more. She had never felt such shame or degradation as when Wickham’s true nature was revealed to her and she began to see the disastrous consequences of her foolhardy actions. Even more so than the possible scorn she would face from society, Georgiana feared losing the love and good opinion of her brother Fitzwilliam and the affection of her cousin. Despite her fears, Fitzwilliam never lost his love for his sister, becoming even more solicitous and attentive than before. However, when Georgiana looked at her brother, she could not help but be reminded of the worry and shame she had brought him by her foolish actions. During Richard’s visits she could somehow forget her heartache and shame.

When Richard was sent away to the Americas when the war broke out, Georgiana thought her heart would break again due to her longing for him. Two long years he had been away. During that time Georgiana had grown and matured, leaving behind her girlish ways to become a woman. With the support of Elizabeth and her aunt, Lady Matlock, she had been presented at court and thrived during her first season. She was admired and sought after by some of the most eligible bachelors of the ton. However, none of them, even the wealthiest and most titled of her suitors could fill the space Richard had long occupied in her heart. Her brother and sister could not understand why she refused her first offers of marriage and courtship. Georgiana did not think that they would be able to understand that she was saving herself in the hope that Richard would return and offer for her.

Georgiana now thought herself a fool of the highest order. All of her hopes and dreams had been for naught. Instead of returning from the war and asking for her hand, Richard was wooing one whom Georgian had thought of as a dear friend. Georgiana knew not with whom she should be more angry: herself for believing that Richard had loved her as more than a little sister or Mary for capturing his affections in her stead.

As the Darcy family Christmas Eve celebrations were put on hold due to the illness of both Colonel Fitzwilliam and young master William, the family of Pemberley resumed their celebrations on the evening of Christmas. Dr. Roberts pronounced Col. Fitzwilliam well enough to join the family for the evening repast, provided that he was kept warm and bundled. Declining the family’s invitation to join their Christmas celebrations, Dr. Roberts left them to rejoin his family in Lambton for what was left of the Christmas season. Mr. Darcy ensured that the doctor was paid handsomely for his services and sent him home with an assortment of rich foodstuffs as an offering of thanks to his wife for sacrificing her husband to them during the holiday.

The Christmas meal was a festive time for the entire household. Everyone dressed with particular care, including young William who looked forward to the opportunity of joining the adults at the evening meal and being allowed to stay awake well past his normal bedtime. April attended to her mistress with a particular sense of glee that evening as she was given free reign to make Mary as pretty as she desired. Comfortable with transitioning from her mourning attire, Mary was easily persuaded to retire her grey and black gowns for the lovely green gown that April had laid out for her, as well as a becoming necklace with an emerald pendant. April adorned her locs with gold pins, leaving a few of the thin dark ropes to hang about her face. Mary could not help but smile at the pleasing picture reflected in the mirror once April’s work was complete. She wondered if Richard would be pleased as well.

As the dinner hour struck, Mary left her chambers to make her way towards the dining room. As was her custom, Mary first went to Georgiana’s room so that they could make their way down together. After waiting for several minutes, Mary became concerned that they would be late for dinner, which would not do. Mary knocked lightly on Georgiana’s door and was surprised when Georgiana’s maid answered and informed her that Georgiana had already departed. Mary wondered at this, as they had always gone down to dinner together. Resolving to worry about it no more, Mary made her way down to the dining room alone. Perhaps Georgiana had just been anxious to meet the family for the Christmas dinner. Mary was certainly anxious to meet one particular gentleman again.

Mary entered the sitting room to find that the entire family had already gathered for the Christmas meal. Everyone looked well in their holiday attire; even little William was taking extra care to behave as a proper gentleman in his fancy coat. Mary spied Georgiana sitting off to the side of the family and made to smile at her friend in greeting. She looked lovely in her pale blue gown. Mary was astonished to find that her friendly smile was not returned. Upon seeing her, Georgiana paled slightly before casting her eyes down towards her lap. Mary’s thoughts on this strange behavior was interrupted by Mr. Darcy’s greeting.

“Wonderful, we are all assembled,” Darcy stated as he moved towards her. He gave Mary a brotherly kiss on the cheek, pronouncing her to be the picture of loveliness. Mary’s cheeks grew warm at this unexpected display, and she cast her eyes downward in embarrassment.

“I find myself in complete agreement,” the Colonel offered as he walked over to join them. “I am sure that I have never seen three lovelier ladies in all of England!” His eyes rested on Mary alone as he said this, a disarming smile on his face.

Mary met the Colonel’s gaze with a warm smile of her own, heat diffusing her cheeks once again. For one that had recently been so ill, Fitzwilliam was in remarkably good looks. Mary had thought that she was not the sort of girl to have her head turned by a red coat, but she could not help but look on Fitzwilliam in his regimentals with admiration. She had never seen a man who looked more handsome.

Mary had not realized she had been staring until she was called to her self by Elizabeth’s discrete cough. Elizabeth suppressed a grin at Mary’s startled reaction before pronouncing that they all retire to dinner. Little William offered his mother his arm, which she laughingly accepted, grasping his little hand in hers. Finding himself supplanted by a younger man, Darcy offered his arm to Georgiana. This left Fitzwilliam with the happy task of offering his arm to Mary, which was accepted with great pleasure.

Darcy watched the scene with some anxiety, noticing the look of happiness on the face of Mary as she placed her gloved hand on the Colonel’s arm, which was affectionately covered by his own hand. Fitzwilliam, who had not ceased staring at Mary like some moonstruck fob since she entered the room, looked down upon her with a look of satisfaction and contentment that unnerved Darcy. As he escorted his sister to dinner, Darcy resolved to pay particular attention to the pair during the course of the evening’s events.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was pleased to be seated next to Miss Farthington during dinner. She looked particularly well in a fetching green gown with a pleasingly low cut neckline. Fitzwilliam found it particularly difficult during dinner to keep his eyes from slowly venturing towards the décolletage of his dinner mate given the events of that morning. Luckily, Mary seemed to be unaware of his attentions to that particular region of her figure. In order to help cool his ardor, he made sure to engage his young cousins in conversation. Georgiana was unusually quiet during the meal, answering Fitzwilliam’s attempts at conversation in noncommittal phrases. When it was clear that conversation on that score would be fruitless, he turned to chat with William, who sat across from him between his mother and aunt. His wee cousin looked particularly well, as if recent dour events had never occurred. The Colonel took great delight in causing the young boy to dissolve into giggles by sharing colorful stories of his and Darcy’s boyhood.

However, his greatest delight came from conversing with the young lady beside him. When he did not have the good fortune of monopolizing her attentions, he watched her as she conversed with others, committing every turn of her face to memory. He looked forward to the day when he had a superior claim to her looks and smiles. Fitzwilliam would have regarded the meal as perfectly enjoyable but for Georgiana’s silence and the dark looks sent him by his cousin Darcy. Fitzwilliam did not wonder at the meaning of these, although it did serve to damper his hopes that Elizabeth had succeeded in altering Darcy’s opinion on his suit.

After the meal, the entire family retired to the drawing room for more celebrations. The room was decorated in greenery and red ribbons, with a large Yule log burning in the fireplace. Despite the recent events that caused the celebrations to be put on hold, Mrs. Reynolds had been adamant about having the Yule log lit on Christmas Eve as tradition required. As was the custom, the festivities began with the reading of the Christmas story by Darcy. He sat in a large chair with the family Bible and a well-bundled William in his lap. The others gathered on various couches to listen. Fitzwilliam was sure to secure a seat beside Mary for the telling, who dotingly covered his legs with a warm throw.

Following the Christmas story, the family exchanged gifts. Little William looked forward to this portion of the festivities most of all. His eyes grew as wide as saucers as he began to unwrap the small pile of presents that was set before him. The full extent of his mirth was unleashed as he unwrapped a smart wooden shield painted in bright colors of orange and red along with a toy sword. William launched himself into his father’s arms repeating his most earnest thanks as he hugged him tightly. Darcy returned the boys embrace while laughing cheerfully. While he strove to impart to his son the importance of maintaining a gentlemanly comportment, Darcy could not help but be amused at his son’s unsuppressed joy. Elizabeth laughed at the sight, and bent low to receive her kiss of thanks as well.

“We felt that no knight could be without his sword and shield,” Elizabeth explained as she ruffled her son’s dark curls, “How else are you to protect your kingdom from dragons and fell beasts?”

To accompany his sword and shield, his cousin Fitzwilliam presented young William with his own mount. Well, to be more precise, it was merely a stick horse, but from William’s delight in the object, it was clear that the young boy would not quibble over such a distinction.

“Now, all that remains is for you to be knighted by your Queen,” Mr. Darcy announced, to the amusement of all. Mary watched with delight as the little boy knelt before his mother to be knighted with the wooden sword. Upon officially being dubbed Sir Little Bits of Pemberley, William leapt from his position on the floor to claim his knightly accoutrements and to begin his duty. As William rode his horse about the sitting room, the other members of the household exchanged gifts among themselves.

Mary sat and wistfully watched the scene unfold before her. In all of the excitement and anxiety of the past few days she did not have much time to think upon the import of the season. This was her first Christmas without her father. Those celebrations spent with him had not been so different from this celebration. She would share a meal with her father, one that she had cooked with her own hands as the servants were all given the day off to spend with their own families. As cooking was not an activity she was often privy to, the meals were simple, yet hearty. A roasted chicken with vegetables and fresh bread followed by a pie was the extent of their meal. Afterwards they would sing carols together and exchange simple gifts by the fire. While Lord Farthington possessed great wealth, he was careful not to spoil his daughter with an abundance of fine gifts.

The gifts Mary received this year were very fine. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy gifted her with a new ruby broach and ear fobs as well as a fine set of drawing papers and charcoals. Having noted her drawings in her journal, Mr. Darcy thought she might like to develop her skills with a drawing master once they returned to London. Mary accepted these gifts with great delight. Her own gifts to her guardians were simple in comparison. To Elizabeth, Mary gave a comb inlaid with mother of pearl that she had found in a shop in Lambton. To Mr. Darcy, Mary gave a leather bound book on the Napoleonic wars. These gifts were received with great delight as neither had expected to receive any gifts from their charge.

Georgiana quietly presented Mary with her present of silk bookmarkers. Mary was delighted with the gift as it was just what she needed. Her thanks were accepted coolly, her tight hug of gratitude unreturned. Mary knew not what to make of this. Her gift of music to Georgiana was accepted with equal coolness. Mary continued to be confused by the behavior of her friend and resolved to discover the cause of her peculiar behavior as soon as they had a moment alone.

Mary’s contemplations on Georgiana’s behavior were interrupted by Colonel Fitzwilliam’s quiet approach. Mary greeted his interruption with a warm smile. She observed that both of his hands were held behind his back and he wore a sly grin.

“Can you guess what I have hidden behind my back, princess?” he queried once he reached her.

“A gift for me, perhaps?” Mary answered, answering his grin with one of her own.

“I marvel at your perceptiveness,” he replied laughingly as he brought a small wrapped box from behind his back. He gave the room a quick cursory glance to ensure they were not being observed before holding the box out to her. As she reached out to accept it, Fitzwilliam caught her hand and pulled her closer to him. “I would ask one favor of you, Mary,” he whispered to her, “I would that you refrain from opening this small token until we meet tonight in the solarium a quarter hour after all have retired. Say that you will meet me?”

Mary bit her lip before nodding her agreement. This was met with a wide smile on Fitzwilliam’s part. After maneuvering themselves towards a corner where their conversation would be less observed, Mary presented him with his present, which required no waiting on his part.

“I knew not what to give to you,” Mary began as she handed Fitzwilliam a wrapped parcel. She nearly faltered at the darkened look of passion she saw in his eyes. “However, I could not see your use for baubles or ornamental things. So, I felt that I would give you that which I really desired to give. I hope it is to your liking.”

Fitzwilliam carefully unwrapped the parcel to find a small book of Shakespeare’s sonnets. He noticed that there was a piece of paper jutting out just beyond the pages of the book. He opened the tome and noted where the paper was placed. Fitzwilliam’s heart swelled at the discovery. Closing the tome, Fitzwilliam brought Mary’s hand to his lips and lightly brushed the back of it with a gentle kiss.

“I thank you, Miss Farthington,” Fitzwilliam said loud enough to be overheard. “It is just the gift that I desired.”

Mary smiled warmly before indicating that it would be best to rejoin the others. Elizabeth watched their return with great interest, her joy at the obvious intimacy between the two written on her features. Darcy, however, watched the proceedings with a wary feeling. It was growing more apparent to him that his earlier discussion with his cousin had gone unheeded and that his cousin had taken to wooing Mary under his very door against his wishes. However, what he found even more troubling was Mary’s growing regard for Fitzwilliam. Unlike some women of his acquaintance, her feelings could be plainly read upon her features. All night her features plainly betrayed her deepening infatuation with Fitzwilliam. Darcy knew that if certain steps were not taken soon, the pain he had hoped to shield her from would be unavoidable.

After the exchanging of gifts, the family sang Christmas carols and hymns while partaking of hot-spiced wine and mince meat pies. Georgiana, however, retired soon after the singing began begging fatigue. Elizabeth raised a speculative eyebrow at the pronouncement, exchanging a worried glance with Darcy. Georgiana’s sullen spirits had not gone unnoticed by her sister. Elizabeth made a note to speak with Georgiana at a later time. It was not until late in the evening when the rest of the household made to retire. Little William had long ago fallen asleep in his mother’s lap, one small hand still clutching a half eaten ginger spice cookie. Despite the events that marked the beginning of their yuletide, all felt that it had been a fine Christmas indeed.

Mary fingered the ribbon of the small gift box as she sat waiting impatiently for the clock to note the time of her intended rendezvous with Fitzwilliam. Excitement and anticipation knotted within her stomach. She was eager to know what was contained within the small box and even more eager to meet with Fitzwilliam in private. She wondered what he had thought of her gift. At first she thought she had been too brazen in her choice of gift. Mary had folded within the pages of the book of poetry a portrait of herself drawn by her own hand. She wondered if Fitzwilliam had realized the import of the sonnet where she had chosen to place her portrait. Looking again at the box she held in her hand, an earnest hope began to grow within her breast as to what the box contained. Mary eyed the clock on her mantle once more. Much to her displeasure, only five minutes had passed by. Oh! How tortuous the final ten minutes would be!

Fitzwilliam left his chambers and made his way towards the solarium not five minutes after he had retired to his room. No one had seen him on his journey to the solarium. Most of the candles in the halls had been snuffed out necessitating that he bring a candelabra to light his way. Coming to the solarium, Fitzwilliam made to light a few candles in the room before thinking better of it. The moon was shining particularly bright that evening providing sufficient illumination to light Mary’s path once she arrived as well as adding a pleasing atmosphere to the room. Fitzwilliam made his way towards the small fountain in the centre of the room and placed the candelabra on the marble bench there. Fitzwilliam drew in a deep breath which he exhaled smoothly as he turned to look about the room. Yes, this would do perfectly, he thought.

Fitzwilliam sat to collect his thoughts. He was surprised at how nervous he felt as the minutes passed until Mary would come to him. He felt that he had no cause to fear her rejection. She had made her feelings abundantly clear in her gift to him. Still, he found his hands shaking slightly as he eyed his pocket watch. In the distance, Fitzwilliam heard the door to the solarium open. He shot to his feet, nearly causing the candelabra to topple in his haste. Fitzwilliam let out a brief curse as he set the candelabra to rights. A small giggle alerted him to the fact that his clumsiness had not gone unnoticed.

“I do not see what is so humorous, Miss. Farthington,” Fitzwilliam scowled as he faced a grinning Mary. “I could have set myself aflame, and I assure you, that would be no laughing matter.”

Mary made to school her features into a look of contrition. “Forgive me, Colonel Fitzwilliam. You are quite right. It would indeed be a pity to scorch such a lovely red coat.”

Fitzwilliam smiled at this, his attempt at looking dour abandoned. “Did you have any trouble coming here? Were you seen?”

“No. Everyone was quite tired after the festivities. I did have to give April some excuse for my absence. However, she would tell no one.”

“Good,” Fitzwilliam replied before giving her a quick kiss on the lips. He took her hand into his own and gently led her towards a window. “Is it not a beautiful night, Mary?”

Mary turned her gaze from Fitzwilliam’s face to look out the window. The moon was high and exceedingly bright, making the snow covered grounds of Pemberley shine as if someone had sprinkled it with crushed diamonds. It was indeed a beautiful evening. Mary stepped closer to Fitzwilliam and leaned her head back on his shoulder as she voiced her agreement. They remained silent for several minutes looking out over Pemberley and at their image reflected in the glass.

“Do you remember what took place on this spot, Princess?” Fitzwilliam queried, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” Mary answered, a smile tugging at her lips. “This is where we shared our first kiss,” Mary turned towards him, her eyes shining in expectation.

Fitzwilliam cupped her cheek in his hand and slightly dipped his head towards her, placing a lingering kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“Not a week ago I met you here and revealed part of my heart to you. Tonight I wish to show you all,” Fitzwilliam whispered against her cheek, his breath heating her skin. “That morning I told you that I most desired to ask you one particular question but for having won your heart. Do I have it, Princess?”

“It is your own, Richard,” Mary whispered in reply, her eyes never leaving his.

At this, Fitzwilliam claimed her lips again, this time kissing her mouth hungrily. They remained thus for several long moments before breaking apart.

Fitzwilliam rested his forehead upon her own, his voice breathy for want of air, “Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not true which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove,” Fitzwilliam paused to kiss away two tears that slid down Mary’s cheeks. “O no! It is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken. It is the start to every wandering bark, whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks,” he paused again to kiss each, “within his bending sickle’s compass come. Love alters not within his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

Once he had finished reciting the Bard’s words, Mary reached for him and claimed his lips again. Fitzwilliam laughed as the kiss ended, surprised by her initiative. Fitzwilliam lead Mary to the bench where both the candelabra and the unopened gift box sat. After carefully placing the candelabra on the ground, which caused Mary to snicker softly, Fitzwilliam bid Mary to sit and open the box. Mary complied with gusto. Upon opening the box, Mary discovered an even smaller box tucked within. She looked at Fitzwilliam quizzically, to be answered with a grin and wag of the eyebrows. Mary smiled at his antics before opening the smaller box to reveal a small velvet covered box that left no doubt over what could be found inside. Mary opened the box to find a pair or drop pearl earrings. Mary’s expectant smile faded.

Seeing her disappointment, Fitzwilliam caught her chin and gently urged her to look at him. “Are they not to your liking, Princess? I know that they are not the most grand earrings, but they were the best that Lambton had to offer given a soldier’s salary.”

“No…I mean yes, they are quite lovely Fitzwilliam,” Mary smiled at him in an effort to reassure him. “They are quite beautiful indeed. I could not be more pleased with your gift. Thank you, Richard.”

Fitzwilliam smiled at her, sensing her disappointment and understanding its source. How he would have loved to have gifted her with quite a different sort of jewelry. But for his promise to Elizabeth, he would be down upon his knee at this very moment.

“I wanted to give you these as a sign of my affection for you. I also hoped that you would do me the honor of wearing them at the Twelfth Night Ball where I hope to have the honor of your hand for the first.”

Mary smiled at this request, closing the small velvet box. “I would be delighted, Fitzwilliam.”

Fitzwilliam answered her acceptance with a kiss upon the lips before standing from the bench.

“The hour grows late, Princess. Perhaps we should make our way back to the family wing?”

“I think it would be best if we left separately, Richard.” Mary answered, her voice shaking slightly. “You go first and I shall follow after a time.”

“Of course,” Fitzwilliam replied as he took her hand and kissed it. “Merry Christmas, Miss. Farthington.”

“Merry Christmas, Col. Fitzwilliam.