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His First Phrase

Where Fitzwilliam learns to talk...


"You look ugly," was Fitzwilliam Darcy's first phrase, when he was two.

"AWWW…" cooed everyone around him, and they tried to squeeze his cheeks.

"You look ugly," he said again, to the only lady who didn't try to maul his face. The lady sniffed, huffed, and adjusted her enormous feathered hat.

"Anne!" she called out imperiously. "Your son is insulting me!"

Darcy's mother appeared from the side, and apologized profusely to her sister, who was still glaring at Darcy as though he would bite.

"I'm terribly sorry, Catherine, I'll make sure he doesn't do it again."

She waggled a finger in Darcy's face. He wondered what finger tasted like. Opening his mouth…

Lady Anne Darcy pulled her finger out of the way just in time, as her son bit down. Hard.

"You look ugly," he said again, and tried to crawl onto the cross lady's lap.

"ANNE!" Catherine de Bourgh bellowed. "I want your son off! Now!"

Darcy looked at the cross lady. Every time he said that phrase, she seemed to do something interesting. Maybe he could make her go even redder. Maybe she would explode! He liked that idea.

"You look ugly," he said with a beautiful winsome smile, and all the other ladies in the room sighed.

"What an angelic child…"

"If only I was thirty years younger…"

"ANNE!"

Catherine looked more than angry now. Her face was purple, and her eyes were glinting dangerously.

"GET. YOUR. SON. AWAY. FROM. ME!" she bellowed, and the feathers on her hat quivered in her anger.

Darcy giggled, as his mother hurried over, and tried to pick him up.

"You look ugly," he said once more, and he hid behind his cousin Anne, who promptly started to wail, drool dribbling attractively out of her mouth.

"Your son made Anne cry!" Lady Catherine yelled, and some plaster fell down from the ceiling.

"Argh!"

The ladies all ran for cover, both from Lady Catherine's rage, and the plaster falling down in beautiful flakes.

"Crying?" Anne Darcy asked in bewilderment. "I'm not crying?"

"I mean my DAUGHTER ANNE, NOT MY SISTER!"

"Oh," said Anne Darcy sheepishly. "I'm terribly sorry Catherine."

"WELL DO SOMETHING!"

Anne ran towards her son, hands spread wide, and a smile on her face.

"Come to mamma! Come to mamma! Fitzy Witsy! Come to mamma!"

Darcy looked up to see his mother flying towards him with her arms spread wide. She looked like an eagle, and Darcy loved eagles. He held his arms out too, and let his mother scoop him up, away from Anne, who had crawled under the pianoforte, to hide from her frightening cousin. From this high up, Darcy noticed that that lady who was scowling was still there. Her hat was covered with feathers, and Darcy loved feathers, just as much as he loved eagles.

"You look ugly!" he said delightedly, and reached out his arms to grasp the coveted objects.

"ARGH!" screamed Lady Catherine. "My hat!"

"WAAAA!" said Anne de Bourgh, and hid deeper under the pianoforte.

"FITZWILLIAM!" cried Anne Darcy in exasperation, as she tried to take the feathers out of her son's hand.

"AWWW…." said all the other ladies, who'd rushed back in at the sound of all the commotion.

"What's happened here?" said a confused Mr Darcy, as he entered the room to find plaster everywhere, a cross Lady Catherine with a featherless hat, his wife looking harassed, Anne de Bourgh wailing from somewhere he couldn't see, and about ten ladies patting his son's cheeks.

Darcy giggled. It seemed that insults were more fun that he'd ever realised before. He'd keep it in mind for the future.


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