An Old Accustomed Feast: Part Three

"Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy."

December 25th

Fitzwilliam was relieved to sit down to supper. Supper meant Juliette was halfway to taking her first breath of the evening. No logic or inconsistency, down to the clothes on his back, affected her fright. To his last argument, she said the light fabric would make him easier to find - there ended the matter. Georgiana also looked in need of a deep breath after a sudden mood shift. If they weren't spending the night at the Manor, he would have been looking for an early end to the night.

Juliette was equally glad to sit down. All night, she had felt torn between two courses of action. Her heart told her to simply chain herself to Fitzwilliam until the last guest was gone. Her head told her that an assassin might become suspicious and act in desperation. As a compromise, she went through her duties with one eye on him at all times.

Both were also relieved to simply be in the other's company. They were on the cusp of a single-digit wait for their wedding. Being closer to the date only made them more anxious for it. Even the gregarious bride was almost sick of the idea of the wedding festivities. She was now much more enamored with the holiday that would immediately follow it.

"Tell me again about the sea." Juliette had never seen the open ocean with her own eyes. Though everyone, including Fitzwilliam, told her it was much more worth seeing in the warmer months, she had insisted on the seaside for their holiday.

"In January? Choppy and gray, even when the sun shows itself. The sand is grimy, and the water will freeze your blood in an instant." Though this was all true, he smiled. The seashore in winter was sure to only be the first of a thousand adventures. "You would like it better in the summer."

"Then we'll make a second trip in the summer." Beaming with mischief, she leaned up and whispered into his ear.

After a dazed pause, Fitzwilliam muttered, "Two trips it is."

Minutes later, the discussion at the entire table had turned to rumors of mercenaries marching toward the Fae kingdom. The entire party was buzzing with such speculation. The appearance of Queen Mab in Verona fueled both sides of the argument. Some said her kingdom was about to fall and she was in Verona to seek asylum. Others insisted that she had come to petition for help and still others that she had come to demand it. Thanks to Puck, the truth of it was known to everyone at the table, but they had their fun tearing apart the various theories.

A low voice burrowed through the friendly din. "Nephew, a private word, if you would?"

Fitzwilliam stiffened. While wondering why his uncle hadn't yet approached him, he had hoped that perhaps some miracle would turn up to fix the matter. No miracles here. He nodded his assent and turned to Juliette. "Dearest, I'll be just a minute."

"No, I'm going with you." She was pushing back from the table before the last word crossed her lips.

"I beg your pardon, Lady Juliette, but this is private business between my nephew and myself."

Knowing what she now did about Lord Fitzwilliam, she didn't want to leave her fiancé alone with him. The snake was not particularly dangerous, but he could be desperate. "His business is my business."

But Fitzwilliam didn't want to have this argument in front of Juliette. He could see the rage licking up in the corner of his uncle's eyes. Andrew would explode, and Fitzwilliam intended to return the favor if necessary. He didn't want Juliette to see him this way. "Dearest, give me five minutes." He brushed her hand and smiled. "I'll be just down the corridor."

Juliette glanced at her brother quickly; he only had an unhelpful shrug for her. Trying to draw confidence, she stared into Fitzwilliam's eyes. She didn't know whether to love or hate the calm she found there, but she borrowed it. "One second more and I will come after you, Fitzwilliam."

"Thank you." He stopped himself from saying he loved her. Somehow, it felt ghoulish.

The moment Andrew and Fitzwilliam were out of earshot of the shut door, the older man transformed from a nobleman into a feral animal. He shoved his nephew against the wall and clenched his fists. "Who the hell do you think you are!"

Fitzwilliam brushed the wrinkles out of his coat. "I suppose you received the papers, then."

"Papers? Papers? You're filing a goddamn suit against me!"

"Of course I am. Unless you're hiding a treasure chest on your person, you've broken our agreement. You were to raise fifteen thousand by today."

Andrew wanted to snap that he had, but he held his tongue. He had spent what he'd raised on a bargain-priced property in the Lowlands. The further removed he became from the deal-making, the less seriously Andrew had taken his nephew's threats. Never had he imagined that he would be served papers with his eggs on Christmas morning. "I couldn't do it that quickly without raising questions. I need more time."

Just as I expected. The further Fitzwilliam was from the confrontation, the less he had believed that his uncle intended to make good on their agreement. When the time drew close and an acquaintance mentioned that temptingly-priced land, Fitzwilliam had gently nudged the gentleman toward his noble uncle. Andrew Fitzwilliam was now the owner of flood-prone, rocky farmland, and Fitzwilliam Darcy now knew for certain what his uncle's word was worth. "You do still have until midnight, of course."

"How generous," Andrew sneered. "You are resolved to disgrace our family over a few scraps of gold!"

"Our family, is it? What kind of uncle have you been since you lost your chance to steal from Georgiana? You didn't even have the goodness to keep Lord Nowell's backward son away from her."

"Is that what's shoved up your ass now? For God's sake, go blame my wife. The silly woman would pair off the entire country if she could."

Fitzwilliam's eyes narrowed. "That's what you have to say for yourself? You blame your cowardice upon your wife? Your expectant wife?"

"I did nothing for or against it. I merely thought you might not be so stupid as to reject the best offer you'll ever get for the girl. If you betrothed can't secure the title, you'll have gained nothing but a lady whose mother and sister are both who- AH!"

"One more word and I'll break your teeth instead of your nose!"

Though he had thrown few punches in his life, he knew a satisfying one when he felt it tingling in his knuckles. Fitzwilliam could smell the wine seeping out of his uncle, and he felt but a twinge of guilt for striking a drunk under the roaring surge of anger. "I am utterly ashamed of myself for ever thinking to help you preserve your good name!" And he had done more than his uncle knew in the moment. The papers for the suit had not yet been filed, and the messenger had been but a trusted servant. "My family does not exist to serve yours. You will not get away with cheating me, and you will never insult Georgiana or Juliette or even Aunt Maria in my presence again! Try my patience and you will lose far more than your dignity." After shoving his uncle back to the floor one last time, Fitzwilliam climbed off. "Is that understood, uncle?"

Andrew had learned little but that his nephew was surprisingly strong. While the blood leaked out of his nose, he tried to regain the upper hand. "I told you what happened to the last men who crossed me, brat. Don't test me. As long as I am alive, be assured that this suit will never be heard."

"The Crown Court reconvenes in three days. Come up with the fifteen thousand by then or the suit will be heard whether you are alive or not." It was all up to brinkmanship now. Fitzwilliam no more wanted the humiliation of a legal suit than his uncle did, but exposing that sensitivity had been a mistake. Tonight, he had to walk away wearing cold ire like armor and trust that his self-preserving rat of an uncle would come crawling soon. God, I hope this works.

As Fitzwilliam went back in to supper, another man emerged from the dining hall. Adrian Albion had been sick the last week, and the close quarters at supper had put him into a daze. At his wife's suggestion, he was going for a quick stroll through the empty hallways. He didn't pay much mind to the man with the upturned head who disappeared through a side door. He had plenty to think about on his own, such as the perfect baby boy waiting for him at home. He needed no other distractions.

But fate did not always consult necessity.

Mercutio swallowed hard. "Adrian, I know what this looks like, but-"

"Shut up, both of you." Adrian's sniffles had blown up into a full headache in one moment. His family traditionally tried to stay out of all noble feuds, most especially the Capulet-Montague mess. Personally, while he was friendly enough with a few Capulets, he considered the Montague brothers to be true friends. That friendship had just put him into an impossible spot. "What are you two nimrods doing here?"

"I swear to God, we're not here to cause trouble."

"Sure, and I live on the moon. You two need to get the hell out of here now."

Romeo snorted. "Look who's taking sides."

Hearing heavy footfalls behind him, Adrian grabbed the brothers and turned them so their backs faced the open corridor. "I'm not taking sides. I know I would be climbing the drapes for some fun after all that mourning, but this is a lousy idea. Their guards all have their back up about something." He was still angry over the forced surrender of his dagger at the gate. "They will catch you, and then you're going to still be in bed at New Year with broken ribs."

Romeo shrugged Adrian off. "They couldn't even stop us getting in here." It remained unknown whether the Montagues' guards would have looked too closely at a couple of extra torch-bearers. "Do you think we're afraid of them?"

"You're too stupid to be afraid of what you ought to be." Before Mercutio could jump in again, Adrian continued, "Just trust me when I say you don't want to be caught here tonight. Whatever it is you're doing, it's not worth it." He believed he knew them well enough to trust they hadn't come to burn down Capulet Manor; he didn't want to know anything more. "I'll give you a couple of minutes of cover. You two better take this chance to run." After a glance at each man, he added, "And next time, try a little harder with the disguises. All the loose hair in the world isn't going to hide that nose, Merc."

Mercutio turned on his brother almost immediately. "I can't believe you talked me into this," he whispered spitefully. "This is the stupidest idea you've ever had."

"You didn't think it was so stupid yesterday."

"I had too much to drink yesterday." He shook his head. "I'm sick of corpses, and I'm not interested in being one, either. If she's disappointed, so be it."

"Good God, Merc, when did you go lily-livered? It will take ten minutes once we're set, and we'll be home before anyone else knows we were ever here. Adrian's not going to give us up."

It was a rare day when Mercutio was scolded by his younger brother, and it was rarer still that Mercutio wondered if he might be right. Perhaps all the rust of mourning had left him a little weak. "Let's find somewhere to wait for them all to finish supper. We can decide what to do then, when they're not breathing down our necks. Come on."

Next Post: "These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope, they do not point on me."