Page 120 of Ashes and Understanding
Fitzwilliam chuckled. “We were not entirely without mischief. There was the time he and I climbed onto the roof of the Matlock estate to prove we could see the Irish Sea—”
“You could not.”
“We could not. And we nearly broke our necks proving it. But for the most part, Darcy was not a child given to recklessness.”
She frowned. “Because of his illness?”
“Because of his father,” Fitzwilliam said quietly. “You know about the illness, of course. His mother had not been dead a year, and her passing took away any ounce of compassion known at Pemberley. My uncle was a rather hard man.”
“I see,” she murmured.
“His first Christmas home after having been at school, he played outside with Georgiana. They came inside when his lungs seized up, and he was in the foyer coughing like nothing I had ever heard—we were visiting, you see. My father was attempting to help him, and several servants hovered around. Uncle Darcy came into the room, saw the scene, and rather than being alarmed for his son, he—” Fitzwilliam paused. “He blamed him. Said it was a performance. Said he was weak. Every time Darcycoughed after that, he tried harder to hide it. To bear it in silence. It only made him worse.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened. “How horrible.”
Fitzwilliam appeared to not hear her; he was lost in his memories. “After that, Darcy was sent away to school, and he only returned home in the summers when it was warm. Each winter, my uncle refused to let him come home for the holidays—he did not want his malady disturbing the house—or rather, himself.” Fitzwilliam’s mouth tightened. “So instead, Darcy was sent to stay with us in London.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached. “That must have been difficult.”
“It was. He would never say so, of course. But I could see how much it hurt. One afternoon, just after a walk, he had a bad fit—he went into the drawing room, thinking it was empty. But my mother was there, seated in the corner. She called his name and tried to reach him—wanted to help—but the sound of his deep, wracking attack upset her nerves too much. She has always been delicate, and… she swooned.”
“Oh no,” Elizabeth groaned softly.
“He was still coughing too violently to do anything. He managed to make it to the bellpull and ring for a servant. When a maid finally arrived, his body was still wracked with the coughing fit, leaving him unable to do anything but gesture towards my mother. He could barely breathe, let alone explain.”
Her hand tightened slightly in his grip as the clasped hands to spin.
“My mother was mortified once she recovered. She tried to reassure him that it was not his fault—she even wrote to him afterward—but I do not think he ever really let it go. He blamedhimself. He always did. I will never forget the look on Darcy’s face when I joined them in that room: mortified, silent.”
They danced in silence for a few steps, her heart breaking a little more with each beat.
“I never knew.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I knew he never would himself, but as you are to be married, it is important that you know,” Fitzwilliam said simply. “But it is part of him. The reason he holds the world at such a distance. The reason he does not speak unless he has something worth saying. You are one of the few to cross that wall. I am very glad he has you now.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “Then I must be very careful not to wound him.”
Fitzwilliam smiled gently. “He is stronger than you think. But thank you. For loving him.”
“I will take good care of his heart.”
Any reply was swallowed in the gentle applause of the crowd at the end of the set. He took her arm and began to guide her towards her father. “Are you ready to do what must be done?” he asked gently.
Elizabeth nodded, though her voice trembled. “Yes. But if anything goes wrong—if this all fails—you must promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Tell him I loved him. That it was not his fault. He will blame himself—I know he will—but he must not. Not for this.”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes softened. “Audentes Fortuna adiuvat.”Fortune favors the brave.
Elizabeth smiled, blinking quickly to keep the tears from falling. “Ave, imperator; morituri te salutant.”Hail, Emperor; those who are about to die salute you.
He gaped at her. “You speak Latin? And have read Suetonius.”
“I had a very curious childhood.”
He shook his head in amazement. “You and Darcy are well matched indeed.”
