"You are not actually going to lock me into my chambers until I concede the error of my ways?" Cecily asked sceptically, their aunt's strongly vocalised advice ringing in both cousins' ears. Darcy rubbed his forehead.
"Don't be ridiculous," he replied shortly. "Some of Lady Catherine's delusions are more -- delusional -- than others."
"Eloquent as ever, Fitzwilliam." She smiled warmly at him. "What are we to do?"
"We are going to talk." He paused. "Do you know if the Collinses have returned to Hunsford?"
"They meant to return by yesterday," said Cecily. "I daresay Mr Collins was devastated to have missed my aunt."
"His devotion is certainly unparalleled." Then, striving for subtlety, he asked, "This marriage, did you hear if it was one of Bingley's sisters?"
"Oh, Mr Collins is Mrs Bingley's cousin, isn't he?" She laughed lightly. "I had completely forgotten. I hope for Mr Bingley's sake there isn't much likeness between them. He seemed a nice man, although we never had much to do with one another."
"Yes," he said patiently. "No doubt you frightened him, along with every other eligible man of our acquaintance . . . so it was one of his sisters?"
"Yes. A Miss Mary Bennet. Apparently she married a clerk of her uncle's. Did you know that Mrs Bennet's family is all in trade?"
"Mr Bingley's sisters would scarcely let anyone forget it," he replied levelly, exhaling slowly. A certain tightness in his chest relaxed. You are a fool, Fitzwilliam Darcy, he scolded himself; after everything that has occurred between you, you cannot possibly expect her to cherish any tender sentiments for you -- for that matter, to have ever had tender sentiments in the first place! This newest variation on a very old theme failed, as had everything else, to restore him to his senses. For a brief moment, he was giddy enough to laugh.
"Mr Bingley's sisters? But their father -- even their brother has only just acquired an estate for himself -- I always knew I disliked them."
"Yes, I know," he returned, his headache receding a little. "Rosemary used to call them the harpies. That pretty well summarises it. Now, Cecily -- " He forced his mind down proper paths, and gestured for her to follow him to the library -- "I need to know whatever you can tell me about this love affair of yours."
He allowed the halting, hesitant, un-Cecily-like words to wash over and through him. James Hammond. What was this man like, who inspired such passion and devotion in his vivacious, beautiful cousin? Darcy dredged up the fleeting image of a nondescript young man, brown-haired and blue-eyed, with quiet, assuming manners, who had treated him with such admiring deference, and yet no trace of Mr Collins' nonsensical obsequiousness, that he was never quite certain what to do or say to him.
"I told him that I didn't care that he was poor, that he had no connections to speak of, that my family would probably cast me off when we married." She looked at him guilelessly.
"Well, my doubts as to whether you're a true Fitzwilliam have been eternally put to rest," he said with a faint smile. "Cecily, did you actually say that?"
She smiled radiantly. "Of course. Fitzwilliam, I wanted him to know how much I love him -- not to ever wonder and doubt -- that no matter how much I love my family, that I'm willing to face scorn and ridicule and being lost to all of you -- for him. I could have any man I like, and I chose him." She added, "Of course, I didn't say it quite like that -- I was more tactful."
"How tactful can you be, when saying such a thing?" he asked curiously.
"Not very," she confessed, with an impish, conspiratorial smile. "He didn't mind. In fact, he looked at me very soulfully and intensely and said that he adored me. Just like that -- 'Cecilia, I adore you. I want you to know that.' And then he kissed me." She sighed rapturously. (Darcy wondered what it was that made women confide the details of their private lives in him.) "It was the first time -- that he kissed me on his own, I mean. He didn't say so, but I know he doesn't really care that I'll make a dreadful curate's wife. I have a great many very bad habits, you know."
Darcy stared at her for a moment, then looked away. "I think you will make a very good curate's wife," he said after a moment.
"Do you really think so?" she asked earnestly. "I mean to try very hard." Then she stopped, her dark eyes widening. "Oh Fitzwilliam! You're not going to try and persuade me out of it?"
He smiled again, rather tiredly. "My dear Cecily -- no, I never had any intentions of that."
"But you told Aunt Cat -- "
"I did not tell her I intended to persuade you out of it; but if I had not implied it, she would never have left you here and doubtless would have done precisely as she advised me -- locked in a room and lectured you for hours on end."
Cecily wrinkled her nose. "Lady Catherine is a -- "
"Do not say it," he said softly. "Remember that you are a lady, and that she is your aunt. She has given you all that she is to offer; it is not a great deal, to be sure, if one insists upon quantifying affection, but she is sincere and she is only trying to make you happy."
"Sympathy for Lady Catherine? I would never have expected it, from you."
"I have been thinking a great deal about mother, as of late," he replied quietly, resting his chin in his hands and gazing off into the distance. "In some ways, she was very like my aunt. Mother had a sweetness about her that prevented her from giving offence in the manner that Lady Catherine does, but her advice was very much the same -- liberally bestowed, unwelcome, and sincere."
Cecily, looking at him intently, said, "You miss her."
With an uncharacteristically violent motion, he stood up and whirled away, facing a little away from her, his arms crossed. "For heavens' sake, Cecily, she was my mother, of course I miss her!" His temper gone as quickly as it had come, he glanced into his cousin's surprised face, and said, "I am sorry, I should not have -- I am very sorry. I don't know what has come over me lately." He raised one trembling hand to his brow, and let it drop again. "I have wished -- the most ridiculous things, lately. I would like to talk to her."
He would never dream of telling her, or anyone, that not long ago, as he carefully watched the two children under his care, the strangest desire had washed over him, to be five again, able to crawl into his mother's lap and sob into her neck. A peculiar gripping unhappiness seemed to have come over him. Perhaps it was the imminence of losing Stephen; he could not say, all he knew for certain was that bizarre longing for a mother's comfort.
"A unique choice," Cecily said, taking her usual path and speaking lightly of serious matters. "Most men would choose their father."
"No doubt he found women as bewildering as I do. I'm afraid he, or any man, would be of limited assistance."
"Women?" She stared. "Why should you care about women? Don't you dare tell me Anne. She couldn't be more like you if she was a little boy."
He bit his lip and looked down. "I was not completely honest with you earlier -- when I alluded to love, and Rosemary."
She brightened instantly. "It wasn't Rosemary, was it?"
"She is not Rosemary, no."
"I thought it strange," she said eagerly, "because I knew it wasn't a love match and so I couldn't imagine what made you bring Rosemary into it, although of course you loved her in a way and then you lost her."
"You have such a way of bringing cheer into any situation."
"Don't be sarcastic, Fitzwilliam. Do I know her?"
Darcy hesitated, then slowly shook his head. "No. You would not have met."
"Someone terribly unsuitable, then?" she inquired, not without sympathy. "She must not have moved in our eminently respectable circles. Part of a dreadfully fast set?"
He could not but laugh at the idea. "No, not at all -- she, her family -- she is a connection of my friends, the Gardiners."
She turned white. "Oh, no. I'm sure they are very nice people," she hastened to add, "but -- oh, goodness. Fitzwilliam. Come here."
He approached her cautiously and stood in bemusement as she stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around him for no apparent reason.
"There," she said, stepping back and gazing at him serenely. "Don't you feel better now?"
Oddly enough, her unconventional offering rather improved his spirits, little as he usually cared for tactile affection. "Yes, a little. Thank you."
"You looked like you needed a hug," she said. "Of course, you usually do -- but you really looked like it that time. Now, tell me, why were you upset with me, really?"
"I envy you, Cecilia," he said quietly. "Your Mr Hammond loves you a great deal; but even more, he loves you as you are. That is very rare, I think."
She blinked, then sniffled a little. He handed her a handkerchief. "You shouldn't say things like that, I hate crying," she mumbled. "He's wonderful, Fitzwilliam. The most perfect man -- " She sniffled again.
"Not perfect, perhaps, but undoubtedly perfect for you." He hesitated, then gently clasped her free hand. "Wipe your eyes, dear; we have a wedding to arrange, and not very much time. I must go to town for a few days, and you need to go with the children to Aincourt."
"Aincourt?" she repeated blankly. "Whatever for?"
He smiled patiently. "Trust me, please. Do you wish to be married or not?"
"I do." She flung her arms around him again.
---
Mizzy: I'm glad you like him. I'm trying to make him lovable, I confess, because there are so many Darcys around that are not only unpleasant to be around but just plain unpleasant. Pre-Hunsford Darcy Defenders Unite! I'm glad you liked that . . . he could hardly say before Lady C, 'Oh, I'm madly in love with Elizabeth Bennet, just by the way.' Well, we'll see about it . . . thanks and you're welcome.
Bhavana: Well, not crazy, just ... eccentric. Bless his heart indeed! No, Lady C and Lady W scarcely meet, as Lady W lives in Derbyshire and Lady C in Kent and seldom do their paths cross. No, they don't do it every chance they meet -- this is a "private" scene (there are no servants, etc, just family members -- that's when the fur flies). Okay. Actually, nobody really knows what she was doing there . . . but really, Lord W finally told her that if she didn't mend her ways, he was going to have her put in the dower house, keep Stephen from her, etc etc. She believes Darcy is responsible so showed up to threaten him to stop interfering . . . but got sidetracked. That's just the way it happened -- people are perverse sometimes. Glad you like it. Well, I wouldn't say everyone's missing Elizabeth . . . Lord W couldn't care less, Georgiana is only an acquaintance, Cecily never met her, obviously the kids don't know her, Lady C -- well, the less said there the better . . . Darcy's the only one, actually, as far as I can tell.
Teresa: Glad you liked it. There's only one dowager, actually. Lady W is the dowager Lady W; that is, there is another Lady W (Georgiana), so therefore she is the dowager Lady W; Lady C is the one and only Lady C. Cecily I love, of course. She is very brave, and pretends she's not frightened when she is . . . in this chapter, she's terrified of being cut off by her family. I hope Georgiana's flight to Pemberley and even Lord W's general frazzedlyness make more sense now. And of course Cecily. It won't be four years before they meet again, I promise! I'm glad it's getting more interesting . . . stuff is actually happening, of course, which changes things. Oh, you're welcome. Well, Darcy is of course not "real" but he is, IMO, "realistic." Actually, when I researched certain fictional characters with enough well-defined characteristics to "type" them, Darcy was one of them -- his "type" is IIRC under 1 of the population, which might explain why he seems so . . . rare. But I have known people (okay, about two, but still) like that. This is why I love him and why I get dissatisfied with many fanfic Darcys. Yet again, I'm going to be so egocentric as to quote myself, because this summarises my issues with the fanon!Darcy as compared to Austen's (okay, I was feeling very snarky, but it's still essentially true: "what is Darcy smoking? Either he's on drugs, wildly schizophrenic, possessed, or channelling the spirit of Edward Rochester, because this utter non-expletive words fail me here and the Darcy described as clever, fastidious, and well-bred (emphasis on "clever"), who wrote that famous letter, would not deign to acknowledge the other's presence should they happen to meet. Unless all the meetings are going on Darcy's mind, in which case he's obviously losing the battle against the little green men."