Jane regarded her as if she expected some witticism, not an unreasonable assumption. “What do you mean, Lizzy?”
“Why, only that Colonel Fitzwilliamisa gentleman, while Mr. Bingley has not yet attained that status.”
“Yes, I suppose you are correct. But that is not all. Colonel Fitzwilliam shows a gravity that I never saw in Mr. Bingley, a sense of purpose that is most pleasing.”
“That is a reason to trust in him more than Mr. Bingley.IfColonel Fitzwilliam declines to pursue you, I cannot imagine he will slip away in the dead of night for parts unknown.”
“Which fills me with some hope—I do not think it is unwarranted in this situation.”
“With that, I must agree,” replied Elizabeth.
Later, when Jane had gone to bed, Elizabeth thought about what her sister had said, the day in company, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s pleasing attentions to her sister, and where they might lead. In particular, she recalled a conversation with the colonel, one of the few times the man had not been attending her sister. Though Elizabeth had not mentioned it to Jane, it remained in her mind as she tried to determine what she thought of it.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Colonel Fitzwilliam had said, while Jane was assisting the Gardiner children in one of their games, “I hope you are enjoying the day.”
“It is Christmas, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” replied Elizabeth. “If one cannot enjoy this day of all days, I must assume that person’s heart is made of stone.”
The colonel offered an agreeable nod. “Yes, I suppose so. Now, if you do not mind, I have been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you.”
“Oh?” asked Elizabeth. “If you will pardon me, I thought you had much more to say to my sister than to me.”
“I shall not trifle with your intelligence and claim I donotfind your sisterveryagreeable.” Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned. “But I hope that I am not a man who would ignore a young lady of whom I think highly because I am enamored of a pretty face.”
“Then you confess it,” pressed Elizabeth, showing him all the mischief she possessed.
“Without disguise,” replied the colonel easily. “I cannot yet say where it will lead, but I assure you that I am not Bingley. I will not pay her attention for two months and then disappear.”
The colonel leaned forward in the attitude of offering a secret and said: “I could not do so even if I wanted, for the army would track me down and drag me back to the peninsula.”
Elizabeth turned serious for a moment. “Do you think that is likely?”
“Unknown at present,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. “My convalescence will consume at least two or three more months, if not more. As the new commander of my regiment has, by now, gained the trust of the men, it is not wise to alter the command structure in the middle of a campaign. Thus, I suspect I will be assigned a new regiment when I am again fit for duty, though what that will mean formy future I do not know.”
It was at that moment that Elizabeth understood the true quality of this man. Having been injured in battle, it would be understandable if he had no wish to return to his profession, and his position as the son of an earl meant that option was open to him, particularly given his mother’s obvious interest in him avoiding danger in the future. Colonel Fitzwilliam, however, did not appear fearful or even concerned by the possibility. That, of course, presented its own challenges, and Elizabeth did not refrain from stating her concern.
“That is worrisome, colonel,” whispered she.
The colonel appeared to understand her meaning—he continued to regard her, but he did not speak, allowing her to explain herself.
“If you capture Jane’s heart, she must endure the possibility of your returning to duty and the danger it entails.”
“Trust me, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam, no trace of the amiable gentleman remaining, “I have thought of that myself. However, at some time or another, this interminable war with France will end. If I remain in my position, the end of the war will mean that I can retire with half pay, which will help our future situation. It is a conundrum, for I have no desire to leave my future wife a widow, but it is still my profession.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” murmured Elizabeth.
With a nod, the colonel changed the subject. “That is not what I wished to speak about, Miss Elizabeth, for I deem it is yet premature. What I wish to discuss is your dealings with my cousin.”
“Mr. Darcy?” asked Elizabeth. When he nodded, she said: “Have we not already spoken of him?”
“We have, but I sense you have not told me all.” Colonel Fitzwilliam offered a shrug. “With my cousin, I am well acquainted, Miss Elizabeth, so I can guess something of his activities here. Yet, the antipathy you seem to hold for him does not match his usual behavior, even considering Wickham’s loathsome tales. Will you not tell me what he has done to offend you?”
“Is there any reason to do so?” asked Elizabeth.
“There is, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam, “so that I may box his ears the next time I see him.”
The notion struck Elizabeth as diverting, and she laughed along with him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jane watching them, and while others might worry about even a sister trying to steal her man, Jane was not that sort of woman. She smiled at them, then turned back to the two young Gardiner children with whom she wasplaying.
“Then I shall tell you, Colonel, though I warn you to brace yourself. Mr. Darcy behaved abominably when he was here.”
