The Colonel and a Cup of Cider

Richard Fitzwilliam alternated patting his gloved hands together and swinging his arms as he walked quickly along one of the garden paths near the house at Netherfield. Slivers of light from the windows spilled out onto the walkway, adding to the illumination from the moon which shone down through a clear sky. At present, Richard would have preferred looking up and seeing a blanket of clouds instead of the stars that filled the expanse above him with their wavering silver light. Clouds instead of stars would likely make his trek around the garden a small bit warmer.

“Are you coming in soon,” Fitzwilliam Darcy said, coming up beside his cousin. “It is cold out here.”

“Is it? I was unaware,” Richard said wryly as he smacked his hands together once again. It was no use, they were refusing to warm no matter how he abused them.

“Georgiana is concerned.”

Richard sighed. Darcy’s concern he could ignore, but that of Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, he could not. “Very well, I will return to the house, but not through the front. I would like to sneak up to my room and warm myself before having to endure any more prattle in the drawing room.”

“They have set up the tables for cards,” Darcy offered.

Richard shrugged. Cards would, at least, limit the conversation to those with whom he sat instead of the party at large. With any luck, he would be able to claim a spot in a group without Caroline Bingley. “I suppose I can tolerate a game or two.”

“Mrs. Nichols mentioned mulled cider.”

“Indeed?” Richard’s brows rose in interest. Cider — fresh, mulled, mixed with brandy — nearly anyway a person could think of to prepare and serve it was a favourite of Richard Fitzwilliam.

“I thought that might make your returning to the society of the drawing room more palatable,” Darcy said with a chuckle.

“Now, if there were a gingerbread or two to accompany it,” Richard said with a smile.

Darcy laughed. “I cannot guarantee that as I have not been informed of all the delicacies to be found in the kitchen at Netherfield.”

The two men slipped into the house through the servants’ door and wound their way up the narrow staircase, hugging the wall as closely as they could to allow room for the servants, who scurried about their duties, making their way up and down the stairs.

“You have made it safely to your room,” Darcy said, entering behind his cousin and removing his great coat, which he draped over the chair by the fire.

“You may leave,” Richard said as he tossed his own coat and gloves on the end of his bed.

Darcy scowled at him. “Will you appear below?”

“Yes.”

Darcy gathered his coat and moved to the door. “If you do not appear in ten minutes, I will be forced to come extract you from your room myself.”

“I will be down as soon as my fingers and toes thaw.” And his mind was prepared to be in the same room with Caroline without being distracted by her copper-coloured hair, green eyes, and lithe figure.  If only he could focus on her faults.  But he could not.