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Nobody was more surprised than Colonel Fitzwilliam at the engagement of Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet.
He was happy for his cousin, of course. He loved Darcy like a brother. He liked Miss Elizabeth very well indeed. He was pleased by the advantages both would receive by this union: for his part, a lively wife who would soften his manner and make him better-liked in town, and for hers, the consequence and elevated society she deserved. Although by birth there was a disparity, it was surmountable, and the equality of their minds was far more important for experiencing a pleasant day-to-day life together. In sum, it was a good match, by his estimation.
And yet… he was there, in Kent. He saw them together for three weeks. If someone had told him, the day they drove back to London with a storm cloud over his cousin's head, that that same cousin would become engaged to Elizabeth Bennet before the year was out, he would have declared it impossible. No other word would have described it. Simply impossible.
Fitzwilliam may not be serious and upright like Darcy, but that did not mean he was not sharp or capable of tact. From the moment Darcy stood to attention at the mention of Elizabeth being at Hunsford, he knew there was something worth keeping an eye on. He also knew, with a certainty he rarely experienced so absolutely, not to ever, ever talk about her to him. There was always something in the glint of Darcy's eye whenever she was concerned that warned him away from any such idea.
He sat by in silence as Darcy first rushed to call on her within half-an-hour of learning she was nearby and then refused to join any of his other calls over the next few days. He did not tease Darcy for the way he followed her with his eyes on Easter Sunday at Rosings and abandoned their aunt to talk with her at the pianoforte, nor the way he lit up when she teased him there, nor his frequent calls and walks out from that moment on, not even when Darcy extended their stay. He watched and waited to see if his cousin's pride would permit him to pursue someone he was so clearly in love with, yet who was so inferior in family and connections, and could never decide afterwards whether he was surprised or not when nothing came of it in the end.
Because he had watched Elizabeth, too, and as obvious as it was that Darcy was in love with her, it was equally apparent it was unrequited. He was uncertain whether Darcy knew it himself or not. She did not smile or speak to Darcy beyond the minimum politeness required. She did not look at him unless he spoke, and often looked displeased when he drew near. It was a stark contrast to her manner with the colonel himself, whom she sought out and spoke to with liveliness. One day, when an opportunity arose, he broke his plan of non-involvement out of pity for his poor cousin and tried to tell her a flattering story about him, and scolded himself afterwards when it had instead made things worse. Elizabeth had obviously taken the side of Bingley's jilted lady, and he cursed aloud when it occurred to him later that perhaps she knew the woman, perhaps this had all happened in Hertfordshire. Elizabeth's dislike was thereby complete.
On the other hand, what woman could refuse Darcy if asked, especially one who would be so elevated by the marriage? Who would continue to nurture personal grudges after discovering her power over him? It would require more independence and spirit than prudence, and he did not know Elizabeth well enough to say which would win out if it came to a head. Her refusing or accepting Darcy seemed equally likely to him.
So either Darcy asked and was refused, or he decided not to act at all, but either way he had left Kent unattached and Fitzwilliam had left with the certainty of never hearing her name again. Their lives proceeded as normal until Darcy's letter suddenly came to him in the autumn announcing their engagement. Fitzwilliam had the good fortune to have a few days’ lead on their family and society at large finding out, which allowed him to have all these thoughts, work through his surprise and confusion, and be ready to defend the match for Darcy's sake.
And he did defend them ferociously. Elizabeth's family may be unknown in town, but they were old and prominent in their part of Hertfordshire, he explained. The uncles? Both in respectable lines of work, despite not being gentlemen themselves. Her dowry? It was enough to satisfy Darcy, which was all there was to know. The lady herself? She was everything charming, sure to fit right in.
Despite his resolution, every time he had these conversations, the colonel would experience a little flicker, a shadow of doubt in the most private recess of his mind. Elizabeth did not like Darcy. That was the last he had known on the subject. Although it was possible—likely—she chose comfort over love, could that satisfy Darcy? Would he discover his love for her was unequal? Would the knowledge eat him alive and lead to misery, or could he live with it? Or, did she somehow change her mind and think better of him now—and if so, how? When? Georgiana spoke of Elizabeth with great enthusiasm, slight though their acquaintance was, and told him stories from the lady's visit to Derbyshire. But what did Georgiana really know? A sixteen-year-old girl who wanted to marry for love would assume the same of everybody.
He sometimes wondered if he ought to write to his cousin, but always decided against it. There was nothing to gain by expressing his concerns about a marriage that would take place regardless. After all, Darcy received enough questions about his choice already. What he needed was Fitzwilliam’s support.
Colonel Fitzwilliam escorted Georgiana to Hertfordshire to stay at Netherfield for several days before the wedding and was not really reassured at his reunion with the couple when he spent the day at Longbourn. They were completely proper together. Polite, respectful, dull. Elizabeth showed more emotion at seeing him again than at her own betrothed. Darcy kissed her hand when they left Longbourn and rode back to Netherfield with a small smile on his face. Fitzwilliam hoped there was something he was missing.
The next day he called with his cousins again and this time endured the combined attentions of both Mrs Bennet and her sister, Mrs Phillips, attentions Darcy seemed to be no stranger to. When Darcy began making that face Fitzwilliam knew so well, the cold withdrawal that usually accompanied curt responses and gave offense, Elizabeth noticed it too, and with an anxious look suggested a walk out in the garden.
Elizabeth and Darcy went one direction, Georgiana and Miss Kitty another, and Bingley and Miss Bennet stayed indoors. Fitzwilliam was happy to strike out on his own away from the two pairs, but was not disappointed to chance upon the engaged couple several minutes later, just in time to see them duck behind a large tree. He would not have found them if he had not watched them go there. And it was out of his concern for Darcy that he rapidly turned his steps in a direction that would allow him a view of them while concealing his presence from their notice behind a tree of his own.
Not that he truly needed concealment. They paid no mind at all to their surroundings. Before his eyes, to his utter amazement, he watched as the staid and proper Mr Darcy of Pemberley leaned back against the tree and opened his arms, where Elizabeth went very willingly. She wrapped her arms around his waist under his overcoat, which he wrapped around her back, and she tucked her head under his chin. They stayed like that for a couple of minutes. She had a contented smile on her face that Darcy would not have been able to see around her bonnet.
Eventually she pulled back just enough to stand on her toes and whisper in his ear. He grinned and said something back. Fitzwilliam could not hear a word, but he watched their ensuing conversation in fascination. In time her arms left his waist and she clasped her hands behind his neck while his fingers ran idly up and down her sides. When their conversation ended she laid her head on his shoulder for one last moment, and then stepped away, saying something and pointing at the path they had abandoned, presumably suggesting they be seen walking again. Darcy took her gloved hand and kissed it, but when he went to release it she tightened her grip and gave his hand a tug. She tipped her face upwards with a beguiling smile. With a look that could only be described as besotted, Darcy stepped forward and accepted her clear invitation, kissing her in a way that was obviously not their first.
That was the moment Fitzwilliam remembered himself and realised how inappropriate, how intrusive he had been, watching them for many minutes longer than he needed to be convinced Elizabeth loved Darcy as much as he loved her. He still did not understand how or when her opinion had altered, but the fact of it was now incontrovertible in his mind. He averted his gaze and hastened back the way he had come while they were thus distracted, taking a path he believed would let him approach the couple as they walked again. When he did come across them several minutes later he was not surprised by the way they greeted him calmly, her hand barely touching the crook of his arm and a suitable space between them as they strolled. Later that evening Darcy wore the same little smile for the return drive to Netherfield. This time, the colonel understood it perfectly.
After the wedding, when he was back in town, Fitzwilliam continued to receive the same questions about the new Mrs Darcy and her family as before. He answered them exactly the same. But now, there was a gladness in his heart and not a moment of hesitation when he said, “They will be very happy together.”