Chapter Text
Ceremony was the bane of his existence, Darcy mused as he readied himself for yet another command performance of attending upon others. At least this occasion was for a good cause - a benefit auction for maimed sailors at the winter palace.
Darcy hadn’t planned on going, but his good friend Bingley – out of commission with a lingering cold – had scrawled a note pleading for him to keep an eye on his sister Caroline, who had volunteered to be one of the display models for the event. And to no one's surprise, she had been among the fortunate few selected by the Vice Lord of the Admiralty.
The evening of, Darcy made his way to the scene of the gala, and instead of waiting in the long lineup of carriages, he exited and gave his coachman instructions to carry on, and walked the final block in the damp cold, wrapping the scarf around his neck for warmth.
Once inside and relieved of his outerwear, he scanned and quickly located Miss Caroline, surrounded by a knot of gentlemen, admiring the single strand pearl necklace that she was showcasing, turning this way and that, cheerfully engaging all with ready banter.
Their eyes met and she shot him a quick grin from across the room to let him know that he had been spotted, and then turned her attention back to her admirers.
He started over to her, only to have her wave him off when he came near.
The other gentlemen turned and examined him with amusement at her abrupt dismissal.
Seeing this, she took it upon herself to explain to them exactly who that said gentleman was, and his willingness to act as her chaperone in her brother’s stead.
Duly impressed, the men nodded their approval of such an august personage, and promptly forgot all about him, as they basked in her teases and smiles.
So Darcy made the rounds, renewing acquaintances with fellows he had known from Oxford, and more often than not, being introduced to their wives.
All too soon, the inevitable question came from one of the newlyweds: when are you going to get married, Darcy?
But he was ready for it.
When I am able to find the unique among the uncommon, he retorted with stoic solemnity.
He sees the man's new bride frown and narrow her eyes at his answer.
But I can see that your quest has ended, sir. Darcy quickly adds. I wish you both every happiness.
He bows to take his leave of them, and is gratified to see the newlyweds beaming at each other.
He moves on, and goes to a secluded corner where he can keep an unobtrusive eye on his friend’s sister.
Lately it seemed that every time he opened his mouth, he gave unwitting offense, he mused. Better to stay silent.
***
“If you don’t marry her, I will” a loud voice booms from nearby, causing others to look over.
Cousin! When did you get back? Darcy exclaims, both surprised and delighted to see the familiar figure in uniform.
Never mind that, Colonel Fitzwilliam answers impatiently. Who is she?
Keep your voice down, Darcy rejoins sharply. Are you drunk?
I might have tossed back a few after I delivered my dispatches, Colonel Fitzwilliam admits unabashedly.
Who is she? He asks again.
Bingley’s younger sister, Darcy allows in a confidential tone.
Her dowry? Colonel Fitzwilliam asks.
Twenty thousand pounds, Darcy answers.
I’m in love! Colonel Fitzwilliam bellows, his face and arms uplifted to the vaulted ceiling.
Those nearby look over at him in amusement.
Well, are you going to introduce me to her? Colonel Fitzwilliam asks.
Another time – when you are sober, Darcy answers curtly, frowning.
As if she sensed that they were talking about her, Caroline took that moment to smile at them, before turning her attention once more to her admirers.
That’s all the encouragement I need, Colonel Fitzwilliam exclaims, and makes a beeline toward her.