Page 124 of Companions of Their Youth
Fitzwilliam ran a hand through his hair, visibly unsettled. “Well, I will not lie, that is a blow to the mind. George Wickham of all people. But I cannot say I am disgusted—not about his preferences, at least. Shocked, yes. But I have known many kinds of men in the service.”
Darcy looked over in surprise. “You have?”
The colonel nodded slowly. “Yes. Quiet sorts, who kept to themselves and never looked twice at the barmaids. Others who were… not so shy. And a few who were open about it, as much as they dared be. Some of them were good soldiers. Brave. Loyal. Kept their heads when others lost theirs. One or two even saved my life.”
Darcy looked skeptical. “But surely—”
“Listen,” Fitzwilliam interrupted gently, “I have also served with so-called ‘upright’ men—pillars of English manhood—who did unspeakable things. Men who raped and pillaged when given the chance, who beat prisoners for sport or looted churches while quoting scripture. Some of them liked women. Some of them liked men. Some liked both, indiscriminately.”
His voice darkened. “There were monsters of every kind. What mattered to me, in the thick of it, was character. And that has very little to do with where a man lays his head at night.”
Darcy rubbed his hands over his face, weariness tugging at every muscle. “So you are saying that Wickham—”
“I am saying,” Fitzwilliam cut in, “that Wickham is a scoundrel not because of whom he desires, but because he lies, he manipulates, and he tried to seduce your fifteen-year-old sister. That is enough for me to hate him. I do not need to add his preference for men to the list.”
Darcy was silent for a long moment, his brow furrowed.
“You truly think that?” he asked at last.
“I do.”
The firelight flickered between them.
Darcy turned away, pacing to the window. “I still do not understand, Richard,” he said softly. “What does any of this have to do with Elizabeth refusing my courtship?”
Fitzwilliam looked at him as if he had grown another head. “Darcy, for a clever man, you are staggeringly obtuse when it comes to the fairer sex. Think. She said she could not trust you not to sever her from her family. Clearly, she was not speaking in theory.”
Darcy blinked.
“Darcy,” the colonel said flatly, “if she knows about Wickham, and she knows how you reacted to him, then clearly she is afraid.”
“Afraid ofme?”
“Afraid of what you mightdoif the same truth came out about someone she loves.” Fitzwilliam raised his brows meaningfully. “Think. She told you she could not bind herself to a man who might cut her off from her own family. And she said you would do that. Why?”
Realization began to dawn—slowly, like frost creeping across a windowpane.
“You do not think…” His voice faltered. “Her father?”
Richard shook his head. “Unlikely. A man might share something like that with his wife—but not his daughter, not in that age. But a brother? A twin?” He raised his brows. “That seems more plausible.”
Darcy leaned forward, head in his hands. “She said… she said I would never understand what a woman gives up when shemarries. Her freedom. Her family. I thought she was speaking in general terms, but now—”
“You were asking her to take a leap,” the colonel said softly, “while standing on a cliff she knew might crumble.”
Darcy leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight. “But I would never—if it were her family, I would—”
“Would what?” Fitzwilliam interrupted. “Would you allow a known sodomite to dine with your wife and children? Be welcome at Pemberley? Be entrusted with your heir? Because that is the standard she is measuring you against.”
Darcy was silent.
Fitzwilliam’s voice was gentler when he next spoke. “As I said, I have served beside many men, Cousin. Some who loved their wives dearly and were monsters in other ways. Some quiet fellows who never looked twice at a woman. And a few who—well, who found solace in each other’s company. But on the battlefield, what mattered was courage, honor, and loyalty. That was the measure of a man—not who he shared his bed with when the world went dark.”
Darcy closed his eyes.
Fitzwilliam’s voice softened. “This is not about theology, or politics, or what the law says. This is about trust. About whether the woman you love believes you are safe enough to entrust her family to.”
The weight of it landed like stone on Darcy’s heart. He stared into the fire for a long time, not speaking.
