Colonel Fitzwilliam's Challenge Read online

  Before Richard could answer, Miss Mauvier spoke. “He said that my brother is a decent man, even though he is French. He blamed the deteriorating morality in England on the arrival of so many French, and he said that his life would be much easier with us gone.”

  Her words snapped like the crack of a whip, and Richard flinched. Repeated from her mouth, his words sounded infinitely worse than he had meant them.

  Addressing Aunt Beatrice, he said, “I fear that what she says is true. In a display of the worst kind of insensitivity, I gave offense. For that, I deeply apologize and will resolve to better my opinion of that particular nation. Not all French are my adversary. It is unjust to punish a whole race for the sins of a few.”

  He hoped for some response from Miss Mauvier, but none came. A heavy silence filled the carriage until Aunt Beatrice tapped her cane against the floor.

  "You do get straight to the point, Nephew. I like that. Normally, men in your profession seek a fight, not peace. I think my young friend is not accustomed to dealing with gentleman such as yourself." She tapped Miss Mauvier against the knee with her cane.

  Clenching her jaw so tightly that Richard could see the muscles tense into her temples, Miss Mauvier said, “You are quite right, Maman.” Locking eyes with Richard, she continued, “I apologize for being rude, but I did not want to disappoint you in your opinion of my race.”

  “And what opinion is that, if I may be so bold?” asked Richard, intrigued at how she managed to apologize and attack in the same comment.

  “You have made it perfectly clear that you hold no special regard for the French, and I feel it is unjust for anyone to be judged solely on his nationality.” She looked him straight in the eye. Even when the coach jostled, she never wavered.

  The sun outside warmed the interior of the coach and Richard wished he could take off his coat. His flippant comment made to Anne was certainly coming back to torment him. He could not help it that it was a Frenchman wreaking havoc on the continent and luring England into war. Napoleon’s selfish ambition had cost thousands of young men and innocent civilians their lives, and if reports were to be trusted, he was continuing his march across Europe in an attempt to conquer Russia. Richard had seen enough of the kind of suffering he had witnessed in Portugal. His deepest desire was that the war would end, so that he could settle down, without a worry that he might be sent across the channel again to replace a fallen friend.

  “Yes, I regret saying that my life would be easier without the French, implying that the country is full of troublemakers. It is only that I wish there to be peace and hold in disregard the individuals who make that impossible.” Before he could apologize, she cut in.

  “It is because of people like you, who group everyone together as if we all fit in the same mold, that such prejudices run rampant. Has an Englishman never made a mistake or acted unfairly on a large scale? What about the struggles in the New Land?” Her cheeks reddened.

  Richard was not about to get into a political debate. He avoided the subject as a general rule. It only brought discord and outed volatile opinions which ruined even the longest-standing friendships.

  “I do not deny that I would trust an Englishman before I would a Frenchman. Perhaps it is a casualty of my profession, but I do not trust foreigners as readily as I do a good ol’ Englishman.”

  Miss Mauvier raised her eyebrow. “So, you admit it. You are partial. Do you not believe that the actions and attitudes of the individual bear more weight than the country in which he or she happened to be born?”

  It was unpleasant to feel misjudged. “Of course. The problem is that in some situations there is not sufficient time to learn what one’s motives are. I must judge on instinct, and I have not been led astray thus far. I speak only of my experience in the military. I have many friends who bear your nationality, and I trust them because I have had sufficient time to know them. Is it not natural to place more trust in what you know?”

  “Naturally, so long as most of your close friends are what you call a ‘good ‘ol Englishman.’ Am I right?”

  Aunt Beatrice broke in, her voice stern, “Adélaïde, that is enough. In some matters, we must agree to disagree. Just as the colonel is unaware of your past, you are unaware of his. Were you to have more understanding, I daresay you would not be arguing as you are presently. I will not listen to more on this subject.” She gave Richard a significant look, and he correctly took her warning to include himself.

  Richard, for a moment during their verbal battle, had decided not to apologize. Such a stubborn woman would not appreciate it. But, after some minutes of silence where his conscience condemned his pride, his resolve returned.

  “Miss Mauvier, my comment was thoughtless and insensitive. I regret that I offended you, and I want to apologize for causing you to feel anything other than rejoicing on the day of your brother’s wedding. I am sorry.”

  She looked at him like he had spoken in an unknown language. He began to wonder if he must repeat his apology but hoped he would not have to. The words had not been easy to utter.

  Finally, she spoke. “You, a man of military rank, the son of an earl, apologized to me? Are you not afraid that others would see that as a weakness?”

  The question would have seemed like another attack but for her look of disbelief and the softness of her voice.

  “No. It is much more difficult to apologize than to act as if my words and actions have no effect on others. I believe that the difficult path is the one which reaps more benefit in the end. At the least, my conscience is at peace.”

  Miss Mauvier relaxed her arms by her side for the first time since they had entered the coach. “Humility is an admirable quality too few gentlemen cultivate. I accept your apology, Colonel, and I, in turn, will apologize for my harsh words.”

  “They are forgotten, though you did have some valid points. Now, let us talk about the weather. It is a much safer topic.”

  Aunt Beatrice approved immediately.

  The rest of their sojourn was confined to polite topics of conversation under the diligent eye of Aunt Beatrice.

  Richard studied the young woman sitting in front of him when circumstances favored him to do so. Miss Mauvier was beautiful. Her hair, masterfully piled up in a mass of thick twists and braids, was the color of the coffee he drank every morning. Her skin, pale like the ivory handle on his pocket knife, make her red lips and bright green eyes stand out in sharp contrast. As for the rest of her, well, it is enough to say that Richard had noticed her figure in the parlor at Rosings before he had had the pleasure of seeing her lovely face.

  As they neared London, Richard grew more determined to win her favor. Not to fall in love, mind. He could not afford to marry without a dowry, and a woman alone in trade, with no family except a brother, would not have thousands of pounds set aside for such a thing. But, it was very important to him that she think well of him. There was no harm in that.

  The sun dropped below the tall buildings as they entered town, shining between the small gaps between houses. Richard was pleased to see that Aunt Beatrice’s residence was not far from his family’s home at Grosvenor Square.

  The coach stopped in front of a gray stone townhouse that appeared uninhabited next to its neighbors’, with their colorful flower boxes and painted adornments around the windows and doors.

  Helping the ladies out of the coach, and watching Aunt Beatrice walk in the direction of the gray, lifeless house, he decided to ask Mother to invite their elderly, near destitute, relative over for tea. Or, better yet, for dinner.

  Seeing them safely to the door, Richard took his leave. “Aunt Beatrice, Miss Mauvier, it has been a pleasure.”

  “Would you like my coach to take you the rest of the way home?” asked Aunt Beatrice.

  “Thank you for your kind offer, but I will ride Charming home. I have much to think on.”

  With one final bow, he took his horse by the reins and mounted, the image of Miss Mauvier’s curious face fresh in his mind. H
e chuckled as the distance between them grew.

  Chapter 3

  Adélaïde watched Colonel Fitzwilliam’s figure retreat, amazed at how many emotions she had felt in the short time spent in his company. He had been charming, polite, and a general favorite amongst his relatives and friends at Rosings— not to mention how striking he looked in his well-fit uniform. He was not what she would call a handsome man, but there was something about him which made him stand out in a crowd. Aside from his favoritism toward all things British, she admitted to herself that his charisma had won her over. She would not mind meeting him again— casually, of course.

  Maman sat in her favorite chair in her parlor, the one near the window, with a doily of crocheted lace covering where the seat was sunk in. Since Adélaïde was a girl, that lace had been there, covering the same indented stuffing. It looked like a target for the posterior then, and it looked like one now.

  “Why were you rude to Colonel Fitzwilliam? He is a second son, and you know very well that second sons are destined to the army. It is their unfortunate lot, but he does seem to make the most of it. I thought his manners were pleasant… unlike yours.”

  “I noticed how quick you were to request that he call you Aunt. I suspect your motives, Maman.” Adélaïde lifted her chin and waited for an answer.

  Maman chortled. “Of course, I have my reasons. Nay, reason, for there is only one, but it is a good one in my opinion. The colonel seems to be the favorite nephew of my sworn enemy.”

  Sitting in the empty chair next to Maman, she said, “You think about Lady Catherine far too much. If you would devote more time to cultivating healthy relations amongst the family you can no longer ignore rather than separating yourself so completely from Lady Catherine, I think you would only stand to benefit.”

  Maman emphasized her shush with a waving of her still gloved hand. “You sound just like my Anne.”

  At the mention of her niece, Maman looked about the barren room and let her eyes rest on some of the miniature paintings Anne had fixed on a previously empty wall. Adélaïde watched Maman shrivel in her chair, heaving a loud sigh.

  “I will miss her, Adélaïde. Before Anne came, I did not know how lonely I was. Now that she is gone…” She let her words trail off as she looked about the room, as if Anne could be found if she looked closely enough.

  Adélaïde would have hugged Maman, but she was afraid the display would loosen the tears in her own eyes. She would miss Anne as well. They had become friends over the course of the summer. But, most of all, she would miss Luc. She had never been away from her big brother since they had escaped.

  Sniffing, she straightened her spine. What a silly girl! She was a grown woman with a successful business, and friends who encouraged her. She had no time for this sentimental, weak nonsense.

  “They will only be away for a month, then we shall continue as we always have. Nothing will have changed.”

  Maman snorted in her chair. “You think nothing will change? As their lives become further entwined in each other, they will have less time for the likes of us. You will see.”

  Adélaïde’s heart squeezed in her chest. She knew it to be true. It was as it should be between a husband and his wife, but it hurt all the same. Putting on a brave front to hide her ache, Adélaïde said, “I welcome the freedom. I am an independent woman with a career, and my days are so fully occupied that I have no time to pay heed to emotions that would only slow me down.”

  Maman sat back in her chair with a grin. “And this said by the young lady who advised me to spend more time cultivating better relationships with my family. Say what you will, my dear, but I know that you miss them too. I just wish that Lewis had stayed with us while they are away.”

  Adélaïde stiffened. “Maman! You must not use his real name! Not even in the privacy of your own home. We agreed to call him Sir Francis even when in private conversation amongst ourselves.”

  Maman bunched her cheeks up and pursed her lips. “Yes, that was a mistake. The rest of the family must not know his true identity. Maybe it is best that he gets out of town. A property outside of a small coastal town is what my brother was looking for, somewhere close to Anne so that they might visit, but out of the way enough to protect his secret.”

  “I had always thought it odd that Anne chose to come to town when she should have gone to her family. The Matlocks are lovely people; they would have helped her. Of course, they were not in town and, had she stayed with them, she never would have found out the truth about her father. And she never would have met Luc.” The more reasons she gave, the less odd it seemed.

  “Yes, it all started when she refused Darcy. Imagine that! If I were twenty years younger, I would have stood in line with all the other wishful thinkers so that he might notice me.”

  Adélaïde laughed. Maman would need to take away much more than only twenty years. Perhaps fifty.

  “Did you notice Mrs. Darcy’s dress? The trim was so delicately stitched on the bodice, the silk did not bunch. The lace overlay was a perfect touch against the shimmer of the fabric. I thought the green was the color of a forest and complimented her chocolate brown hair and calmed the tone of her tanned skin.” Adélaïde had noticed every detail of the dresses present at her brother’s wedding. It was her passion.

  “The lady herself was every bit as wonderful as her dress. I think she and Darcy make a marvelous match. Now, people will think it is your turn to marry. Are you prepared for their comments?”

  Adélaïde groaned. The last thing she needed in her life was a complicated romance, for romance was always complicated. “How did you manage, Maman?”

  The elderly woman’s eyes crinkled up at the corners. “I like it that you call me that now.”

  Adélaïde opened her mouth to justify using the endearing term, but Maman held her hand up. “No, please do not change it. I much prefer it to Miss Beatrice, or worse still, Miss de Bourgh,” her voice gagged at the name. “I have always thought of you as a daughter, and it brings me pleasure to hear you address me so in my old age.”

  Relaxing, Adélaïde asked, “Do you ever regret not marrying?”

  “No,” the answer came fast and firm. “My father arranged for me to live a comfortable life, and I could not stand the thought of a man becoming owner of all that was mine, so I did what I had to do at the time. I secluded myself. After Lewis— pardon me— Francis left, I did not feel that I could keep his secret if I stayed out in society. So, I kept to myself more than before. There was no one on the earth at that time that I loved more than my brother, so it was a sacrifice I easily made. Now, though, it seems a bit drastic.” She looked down at her wrinkled hands before turning her attention to the tea tray brought into the room.

  Adélaïde was relieved. Cake always cheered Maman up, and she was itching to get back to her dress shop. Her life.

  “I do not desire to marry. Like you, I do not like the idea of a man taking over all I have worked so hard for because it would insult his sensibilities to have a working wife. I love what I do, and do not feel I should have to give it up for anybody.”

  “What if you found someone who would support you in your career?” asked Maman.

  “Does such a man exist?” retorted Adélaïde. “Other than my brother, I do not know of any gentleman who would allow me to continue as I do.”

  “Good thing you have your girls to keep you company. Otherwise, you might be lonely at times,” said Maman, once again searching for something in the room she could not find. Adélaïde determined to call often, so that Maman’s loneliness might not cause her too much misery.

  “Yes. They have become as close as sisters to me. Mary, who has only been with us for a month, has adapted very well. She is a quick learner, and has mastered the skills I have taught her in record time.”

  “She has the benefit of youth. She is, what, twelve years of age?”

  “She is, yet sometimes, she seems much older than her real age. Of course, there are moments where she acts every
bit of her immaturity, but Mary is a good girl. She will do fine.”

  Adélaïde drained her teacup, and set it down delicately on the saucer. “I will call on you tomorrow, Maman. For now, I must return to the shop. Being gone for almost two full days has made me anxious.”

  “Call any time you like. You are always welcome.”

  Kissing Maman on the cheek, Adélaïde left for her home, blending into the crowds strolling by the shops and houses until she arrived to her dress shop.

  The familiar smells of the bakery nearby, the lively conversations of passersby, the rolling wheels and clopping hooves of horses and carriages, the soft summer breeze caressing her face and hands as she walked up to her shop culminated in the welcoming jingle of her front door. She walked over to the far wall which led to the workroom, letting her fingers glide over the silks, satins, cottons, velvets, and muslins stacked up in a burst of color on a shelf lining the length of the wall.

  Any anxiety or worry she might have felt melted away in her oasis. This was her home.

  First things first, she must wash up and change out of her traveling clothes.

  Chapter 4

  Adélaïde went upstairs to the apartment she and her brother shared with all the expectation and comfort entering one’s home offered.

  Immediately going to her room to change into something more practical to work in than the gown she had donned after Luc’s wedding, she finally allowed herself to relax. A four-post bed with an abundance of fluffed pillows in every texture available in her shop downstairs beckoned to her. Turning so that she faced her door, she fell backward into its softness, letting it hug her in its welcome. Throwing her arms up over her head, she smiled in contentment and peace. It was good to be home.

  The smooth satin of her lilac dress complimented the purples and greens in the floral coverlet on top of her bed. Immediately, the image of an embroidered design came so clearly to her mind, she snatched the sketching paper beside her bed and drew it before the details faded from her memory. A few minutes later, she came out of her creative haze and looked at the creation on the paper in front of her. She knew which of her customers it would suit best.