A morning visit with Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam

“Mr. Darcy, sir.”

“Yes, Mrs. Reynolds.”

“Sorry to disturb your breakfast – oh, good morning Colonel Fitzwilliam. I was unaware you were breakfasting here…at Pemberley…today…again –.”

“Morning, Mrs. Reynolds, let myself in. I wonder, are there any more coddled eggs in the kitchens? And some ham perhaps. A good roast wouldn’t be turned away…”

Darcy lowered his newssheet. “Fitzwilliam, haven’t you your own food, your own residence…your own kitchens? Why am I continuously feeding you here?”

“Well, what an incredibly thoughtless thing to say. I am shocked, Darcy, horribly affronted, wounded deeply – oh, and, by the way, if you’ve more scones down there, Mrs. Reynolds, you may as well bring those up as well. Wouldn’t want your cook’s excellent excess gone to waste.”

Darcy sighed then turned to his housekeeper. “Bring him fruit and two slices of bread with jam; he’s had enough meat, eggs and pie to sink a boat already. Mrs. Reynolds, what was it you wanted?”

“There was a woman here to see you…”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Darcy, Darcy, Darcy – such scandalous behavior…”

“Ignore my cousin, Mrs. Reynolds; proceed.”

“As I was saying, there was a woman here to see you, that American – Karen V. Masikowsky, or Wasyhooski, or something like that; the one who wrote the book about you and Colonel Fitzwilliam – ‘Darcy and Fitzwilliam; A Tale of a Gentleman and an Officer.’

Fitzwilliam slammed his knife and fork onto the table. “Oh gad, not her again! She pestered me last time until I thought I’d lose my mind, Darcy…”

“…what mind…?”

“… stalking my wife, questioning my servants…”

“What does she want, Mrs. Reynolds?”

“…I swear I even saw her sifting through my trash. In fact, I definitely saw a rather chubby foot sticking straight out from the compost heap last September. Must have been her. Hope it was her…”

“Well, Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, apparently she’s written another book, sir, this one about you and the Colonel and events that happened during the next twenty years of your marriages.”

“Oh, will you look at the time. I’d better be off.”

“Sit down, Fitzwilliam.”

“Kind of you to ask me to stay, Darcy; however, I really should be going. I need to shave and then I’m to meet my estate manager, or the bishop, or my solicitor…”

“Which is it?”

“Take your choice. I just don’t wish to be in the same room with that woman! Only heaven knows what she’s dug up…no pun intended regarding the compost heap incident…”

“Come now. She could not have discovered anything that scandalous, Fitzwilliam.”

“Do you remember the past twenty years?”

“Show her in, Mrs. Reynolds.”

“Are you mad, Darcy?”

“Evidently so, you’re still here.”

“I am afraid she’s already left the premises, sir. Last I saw of her she was bouncing up and down the driveway and cackling like a crazy woman. I think she’s a pea short of a casserole, sir, if I may be so bold.” Mrs. Reynolds placed a book upon the table then and produced a short missive from her apron pocket. “She left these behind, a copy of her new book, 'Sons and Daughters', and a note.”

Darcy opened the note ~~

Here is my latest book, “Sons and Daughters” a sequel to my Pride and Prejudice sequel, “Darcy and Fitzwilliam” ~~

“Rather peculiar woman if you ask me.” Fitzwilliam picked up the book, turned it over. “Pretty cover, not as nice as the first, but still, quite pleasurable. What else does she say Darcy?”

Darcy proceeded to read aloud ~~

Your story is now a Family Saga, you see. I feel it began with “Pride and Prejudice” then continued with “Darcy and Fitzwilliam”, and now goes forward again with “Sons and Daughters”. “Sons and Daughters” begins five years after the end of my first book and follows you and the Colonel for the next twenty years, examines your choices as fathers, the sacrifices you made for your families, describes your children’s infancies, adolescence, their young adulthood and finally their maturing into adults in their own right. I hope you enjoy. There shall be more, but for now, I am your obedient servant, Karen V. Wasylowski~~

“More? God help us!” Fitzwilliam had opened the book to a random page and began reading. It wasn’t long before a hoot of laughter escaped him. “Well, I do hate to admit it, but this is quite funny! Remember the incident with the children when they found my trunk in the attic, the one with my war mementos, those rather bawdy ink drawings from France? Listen to this, Darcy.” Fitzwilliam then began to read a short excerpt from Sons and Daughters …

“What ever possessed you to retain these pictures?”

“They’re works of art, Darcy! Very valuable.”

“Oh, yes, I can sense the influence of Botticelli here, what would he call this, Venus Reclining in Barracks?”

“Don’t look so smug. You don’t understand, you’ve never been to war, brat. Alone, dispirited, terrified, and forced to live in appalling deprivation…”

“Your mistress secured a villa for you both throughout much of the Portuguese Campaign and, when in France, you stayed at the Palace. Please spare me the – oh, good heavens. Is that his foot?”

“Give me those. Oh, I say, Darcy, I actually met this woman in Paris. She was very pleasant.”

“I spoke with George, explained to him all about procreation. He was bored to tears but then inquired about the upcoming horse race that Tattersall’s is sponsoring, said he needed other thoughts to distract him from the horrors he had witnessed in the attic. The child is becoming a first rate manipulator.”

“Did it work? Are you taking him?”

“Yes, of course I am. Guilt is a wonderful incentive. Did you speak with your children?”

“Good gracious no! I’m certain the boys would do better learning the way we learned, behind the barns or peeking in windows…”

“You are pathetic.”

“Never claimed to be otherwise. Sweet St. Timothy’s shin bone, Darcy, did you see this one?”

“I have not the same prurient tastes as you…ooh, let me see that. Good God! Is that Barlow?”