Epilog

Afghanistan, January 1842

James Ladbroke had joined a regiment of the foot just like his uncle. His experiences had been nothing like what his uncle had. To be stationed in India and working to support the British East India Company seemed less romantic, less heroic than in serving under Wellington, than in determining the fate of the world in an epic battle like Waterloo.

He loved his uncle perhaps more than his own father. Once he had reached his majority, Uncle Ned had shared those details about war that he had carefully edited during his childhood. Told him, taking hours to do so, of the fight at Waterloo, of his early days on the Peninsula, of his years of service to King and country. He spoke, though, more of those other battles, those times when the victory was not certain, when the troops did not yell huzzah at the end. Uncle Ned had been at Badajoz in 1812 when the bodies had been piled deep and blood ran like rivers, yet still Wellington, then only an Earl, had been there and wept at the losses. Ned spoke of Ordal, it seemed to forever haunt him, that defeat. James' commander was nothing like Wellington. Uncle Ned had never reported directly to Wellington but to work under him must have been such an honor, an inspiration

James kept walking, trudging through the snow; the cold and numbness of his legs not bothering him anymore and he wondered if frostbite had taken his toes. General Elphinstone had surrendered yesterday to Akbar Khan's men and he wondered if they had slaughtered him, the tribesmen, just as they had slaughtered the soldiers who had deserted yesterday and tried to retreat back to Kabul. 4,500 men plus 12,000 camp followers and retainers had set out had six days ago; James thought they might number 200 now, but the cold and the guerilla attacks kept picking off the men heading from Kabul to Jalalabad.

So few of them had muskets or ammunition. There were swords among them. James had two Mughal daggers tucked into his waistband. He had planned on giving them to Uncle Ned's sons the next time he saw them but now he was uncertain of such a meeting. He thought of Jemimah and wondered how her painting was coming along. He tried not to think of Amelia, but he supposed at this moment, at the end of all things, when there was no hope, that it was an appropriate time to consider her.

Mr. Darcy had objected to the marriage but his passing over a year ago meant there was hope for him and Amelia. Aunt Elizabeth was certain the new head of the family would sanction the match and Amelia was past her majority. Mr. Darcy had always wished for her to marry Francis, Lord Radbourne. He had wanted her to be a Countess. But Amelia loved him, had loved him since they were small.

It had brought him to tears to read Uncle Ned's letter that he was to be married at last. After more than twenty years with Aunt Elizabeth he was still a besotted fool and the tears, Ned's own tears, on the letter as he wrote to his nephew were a testament to that fact. He might be a fifty-eight year old bridegroom but he was the happiest man alive. Their children, daughters and sons stood up with them and James had been sorry he had missed it. His sister Sophia had written that everyone wept except Uncle Everard, their own father and their brother John—Men! She had declared.

He still had Uncle Ned's old boot knife and he leaned down to pull it out and a musket ball careened off the rocks where his head had been. The men around him flattened themselves and waited. No one attempted to fire back; no one wasted ammunition at invisible targets. Dumb luck, surviving war was dumb luck—case in point he had reached for that knife out of sentiment and it had saved his life just then. But would sentiment and luck truly allow him to survive to see his family or Amelia again? They had only made it one third of the way to Jalalabad and had almost been wiped out. Would the tribesmen slaughter the army entirely or take prisoners?

There were no other signs of attack so their weary and frigid company of men began moving again through the pass and attempted, once again, to reach Jalalabad.

A/N:

I think, perhaps, only I love my Fitzwilliam. As Jane Austen said of Emma, he is a character only an author can love. Some of you appreciate his soul; a lot of you hate me for messing with Lizzy and Darcy.

I did not set out to mess with one of the great love stories. In my old age I find myself looking back at the small times I made decisions that then seem to have a big impact and wanted to craft a story about those choices, some big: does she marry Darcy? Some that seem small: Darcy gets mad and takes himself out riding after they argue to check on his property, see how the ill Mr. Hunt is doing and a small indiscretion becomes a much larger issue.

I had wanted it to be complicated, to attempt to write about real people, with flaws but I did not want there to be one bad guy, that all the blame fell on one single person; all three of them came together to create their situation. Do we need to really apportion blame? Elizabeth had, in part, talked herself into being in love with Darcy rather than acknowledging her love for Fitzwilliam. She had, in her spiritedness, railed against Darcy because he could not find and rescue Lydia again despite his arguing he felt out of his element in that situation but she did not listen and he fled that day. A few people asked why did she not speak to Darcy when they began to be distant but it is difficult to notice when that first happens until you almost get to that cliff edge. I have a friend who is a social worker who works with battered women (not that Elizabeth was a battered wife) but who says it is such a common thread that you do not notice that something is wrong or different until it is profoundly wrong or different.

Elizabeth was not brought back from her illness because of love; at least not the saved by a man type. Her daughter saved her. Nor did she stray because her husband did first; she chose to do so, before she knew about his indiscretion. She also made her own little life on her own in the end before deciding on a new life with Fitzwilliam. I guess this story is as much about her as it was about Fitzwilliam.

The Colonel should have stayed away; I think then Darcy and Elizabeth would have been able to work things out. That was his biggest flaw, but he was guardian to Georgiana, invited to Pemberley by his cousin and seemed to not be able to make decisions despite being a man of action on the battlefield. But his love for Elizabeth likely saved Lydia and George's life; would Lydia have had to turn to prostitution in the Netherlands or marry a foreigner? How are we to know.

I saw Darcy's attraction to Elizabeth as a case of opposites attract and have seen so many marriages where this has been the factor that killed it. To see some trait in an OTHER that you might value because you lack it or are attracted to it but that it does not work. He liked her wit and playfulness but it a way it was his undoing. I have had friends who called the weddings off weeks or even days before with a 'mea culpa' or weddings that went through with divorces afterwards and the "we were too dissimilar," and "not enough in common to stay together," and those who are married for years seem to be two tandem horses, paired so well together with similar interests.

I took my prompt to write a story about Colonel Fitzwilliam by reviewing Austen for clues about him and found myself noting what Elizabeth had said and felt about him.

"talked so agreeably…of traveling and staying at home, of new books and music, that Elizabeth had never been half so well entertained in that room before; and they conversed with so much spirit…"

"It was plain to them all that Colonel Fitzwilliam came because he had pleasure in their society, a persuasion which of course recommended him still more; and Elizabeth was reminded by her own satisfaction in being with him, as well as by his evident admiration of her…"

"Colonel Fitzwilliam had made it clear that he had no intentions at all, and, agreeable as he was, she did not mean to be unhappy about him."

Elizabeth has an admiration for the Colonel, even if she is persuaded against it for various reasons. There was an attraction there—first impressions were favorable; they had seemed compatible from the start.

I then mulled on the old opposites attract idea, so well-used in literature. But that does not mean that they can turn out well. Sometimes what is interesting and exciting about another person, can become grating and jarring over time. That cute little thing you fall in love with becomes that item you then always bring up in arguments with your spouse. Regarding Elizabeth's thoughts on Darcy:

"His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes."

"…she threw a retrospective glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full of contradictions and varieties…"

She did not immediately value Darcy; they were not immediately compatible. And she seemed far more logical about how she came to loving Darcy rather than noting how she felt.

And this was just a particular perspective to their relationship; there are other ways of seeing how Darcy and Elizabeth fall in love and stay in love. This was a tragedy and not a Disney-themed story.

And it evolved from there.

One last thought. Once there are children involved I do not think any one of them would chose to have done it differently. Not one parent, no matter how bitter the custody battle, ever regrets the circumstances of her or his child's birth. So I do not think Elizabeth or Darcy would regret Amelia or Ralph's birth. Before I had kids I quibbled with the movie "Peggy Sue got Married," but get it now.

Because nothing is ever original, there is a little Cyrano de Bergerac and Macbeth in there. I quoted or paraphrased the Bible and Tolkien and, of course, Austen.

I did a lot of reading on Regency life at the time and peppered my story with that. The funeral process, the bawdy masquerades, a lot of toast and tea. (Okay maybe that was in reading too much Saki—Edwardian short story writer).

I liked as a source as well as . I used both for my funeral and general background research. I found an article about a contemporary Regency gentleman (though an older man with grown children) who did slit his throat when his wife died which gave me the idea for Richard Fitzwilliam on Naomi Clifford's site.

And the Regency Redingote site had a great article about women at funerals (Victorian: no; Regency, was an 'it depends: service, yes, graveside, no'). I cannot recall which gave me the idea about the brawl breaking out at the midnight funeral, which was another contemporary Regency story—some Duke's grand funeral ending in fisticuffs by the hired and drunk mourners.

All of my battles are actual battles and I spent weeks reading about Waterloo for all that it was three pages once condensed. And what I said about Ordal was true; it was the last French victory on the Peninsula.

I read The Napoleonic Wars: the Rise and Fall of an Empire by Gregory Fremont-Barnes for background regarding the entire period, plus related web searches. It gave me a great context about the Peninsula War and Waterloo.

I did find an interesting website about women at Waterloo and a mention of a woman who had, like Lydia, her leg taken by a musket ball which gave me the idea for Lydia's injury, as well as the mention of all the other nameless women who were never recorded but worked on the day of, carting the wounded and the dead. I am not sure if I would be like Georgiana and could never have considered being there or if I am like Lydia and would have wanted to be near my man and have helped out.

I based the Colonel's service on the 27th Regiment of the Foot which had a company that fought in all of the battles that I had the Colonel in, though it was a different companies so I have stretched the historical record a little there. It was primarily an Irish regiment which inspired me to make Walsh Irish.

Regarding James Ladbroke's fate: Google 'Elphinstone's army.' One man made it to Jalalabad. Depending on which source you find, between seven and twelve soldiers lived to tell about it after being taken hostage by the Afghanis. It changed the way the army was deployed, commissions were given after that.

The picture is a portrait of Stamford Raffles, founder of Singapore, he is someone else worth looking up.

Think of your own life and choices. What about that time you stayed out late with friends; walked home a different way; was late driving down that road: all those little choices we make that can be small yet could have had a big impact. Did you meet someone or miss meeting someone? did you miss, by minutes, being in a car wreck?

Or the big decisions: you got into your college or program of choice, or you quit your job. Did you miss staying somewhere and meeting the love of your life or perhaps quitting your job and getting that next one was the best thing that ever happened?