I Desire Some Confidence With You: Part Two

"Upon thy side against myself I'll fight."

May 24th

For someone who felt he had done right, Fitzwilliam felt exceptionally low. His mind had been made up the minute he saw the tall, fire-headed man poking out of the sea of brown bodices and colored gowns. Juliette tried to slow and calm him on the way over, and it had worked to a certain degree. After the initial outburst, he had reduced his ire to no greater than the general din of the tent field outside. No violence had erupted from him as he thought it might. Tybalt was dressed-down and warned off, sparing any bloody threats that would roll off that scarred face like water off a duck. He took the lashing with a suspicious calm. That might have warranted Fitzwilliam's consideration if Georgiana's reaction had not dominated his thoughts. Since the time he ignored her insistence that Tybalt had done no wrong, Fitzwilliam had not had a word from his sister.

It had not surprised him that she went directly up to her room that night. She arrived home much later than he and Juliette had, surely smarting. Incredibly, Georgiana had appeared to be sitting the afternoon match out. Halfway through, one of her ladies gave up a terrible cry and had to be replaced. Georgiana shot decently, but it was nothing compared to her morning performance. The same could be said for her entire team, and they lost to the Gale squad. Her tenure as captain ended in defeat. Before retiring to bed, Fitzwilliam had tried to talk to his sister, but she refused to speak or unlock her door.

In the morning, the situation had not changed. Fitzwilliam worried. However, because Juliette had told him to give it a day, he did. He left Georgiana alone for an entire day. When asked him for permission to unlock her door, which Georgiana would not give, to deliver a tea tray and fresh water, he forbade it. He glanced only at his mother's empty chair at the supper table, never at his sister's. Juliette's head was undisturbed from where she had lain it on him all night, even after he heard faint, dainty footsteps on the staircase. Fitzwilliam bore an entire day and night of powerlessness.

The unspoken agreement, at least in his mind, was that Georgiana would repay his forbearance by speaking to him on the second day. This had not been the case. He had never been so vexed with his sister in all his life. She made the only concessions - food and water - whose withholding would have justified forcing the issue. Against his reason, he was beginning to think that was by design. Juliette quizzed the maid and reported that Georgiana spoke only five words but seemed otherwise well for someone who lain on her bed for two days.

He knew he oughtn't let her continue in this way, but he understood the urge to lick one's wounds in privacy. He strongly leaned that way himself. Was he not locked up with this thoughts at this moment? Although he wasn't officially refusing all company, was his door that much more open than hers? He had to admit that it was not. Not for the first time, Fitzwilliam wished his mother was at home. She would have known what to do.

Lost in his thoughts late on that second day, he didn't hear the door open. He didn't realize he wasn't alone anymore until he heard two sets of feet - one a lady's and one decidedly not a lady's. "What do you think you're doing here?"

"I am loath to agree with him," Tybalt said, "but-"

"Talking," Juliette called over her shoulder. "You two are talking."

"But, Jule-"

"Just be grateful you don't have to apologize. Both of you." The men stared at the door several moments after she disappeared behind it. Neither was entirely sure what made the implied threat run cold in his blood, but both felt the chill.

The first to realize they were standing about like a pair of idiots, Fitzwilliam broke the ice. "What were you doing in my sister's tent?"

"Peddling snake oil and skin tonics. What did it look like I was doing?"

"Using the tournament to skirt around me and get to my sister."

"If your sister didn't have Verona's most arrogant, overzealous bastard for a brother-"

"You threatened to boil me alive at my wedding."

"And my only regret," Tybalt snapped, "is that I only said it."

Fitzwilliam bit back his reply, holding his breath until the words dissipated. A bilious exchange wouldn't solve this problem. "This isn't about my courting Juliette. This is about Georgiana."

"Who, to my great misfortune, thinks the sun rises and sets on your arse." Dreading the next part, he bit his lip and closed his eyes until he had the stomach for it. "There's no skirting around you because she can't fathom it. If I want her, I have to go through you. I have to go through you." Tybalt's tone itself added that he would have preferred to feast on ground glass instead.

Now, it was Fitzwilliam's turn to be lacking stomach. The possibility had been at the edge of his concerns, waiting to take over once Georgiana was set to rights. Tybalt had smashed the order and thrown it in his face too soon. He struggled to remain calm, but managed to reply calmly. "Not necessarily. You can walk out now. I certainly won't prevent you. If she isn't worth the trouble to you, leave." Would that you would, forever.

"I would go to Hell and back for her."

"Splendid. But first, you'll speak to me."

"Let me see her!"

"No." He took extraordinary, if unexpressed, delight in Tybalt's attempts to withhold his reaction. "I need to speak to her first, and she doesn't want to speak to anyone right now. You'll have to wait."

"I'm leaving for the West Lowlands tomorrow morning." Tybalt shook his head, steeping in aggravation. "Cornwall was supposed to ride out to prevent a riot in one of our villages, but he's tossing his guts up. It could be weeks before I come back."

"Then it will be weeks before you speak to her. She won't see anyone now."

"Perhaps she hasn't cared for her options." When Tybalt caught a deadly look from Fitzwilliam, he added, "She may not want to talk to her beloved brother when she thinks she disappointed him."

"I am not-"

"For God's sake, I said 'she thinks'. Look, I need to talk to her, and I think she could do with talking to me now and not in three weeks. Ask her or have someone ask her. If I make things worse, you can break my legs and banish me from the house."

Fitzwilliam wished to do that now, without waiting for Georgiana's judgment. But, this prolonged period of contemplation had re-opened his mind to his otherworldly experiences. He remembered regretting the thought of his sister sacrificing happiness for duty, that it wasn't enough that she would be clothed, fed, and monied. In the underworld, his regrets had breathed life into a version of himself that he did not like. In the living world, he had to find the middle ground: his sister safe and happy. God knew he could manage safe on his own, but it appeared that happy could require a collective effort. God, help me.

"When you return, we will have a more protracted discussion on the subject of my sister. For tonight only, if Georgiana consents, you may have a few minutes. Juliette may supervise, if she is still speaking to either of us."

There was no escape from the balcony. It led into an anteroom that poured into the main corridor, right by the staircase. If she fled, she wouldn't do it unnoticed. Georgiana had chosen the balcony for just this reason, to hobble her inner coward. Her brother, good and kind as he was, would indulge her for as long as she could hide. She could hide forever in her current state, so fearful of which thought or feeling would break this stalemate, this emptiness, and overwhelm her. After her last unfiltered outburst, she wanted command of herself. She couldn't wait anymore. When Juliette came to ask if she would speak to Tybalt, she took it as a sign. She would go into the fire. First it would be Tybalt, who was somehow the less intimidating option, and then her brother.

Waiting on the balcony for Tybalt to be shown up, Georgiana decided that 'less intimidating' was still intimidating. I can't do this. How can I face him? What he must think of me... flighty, quarrelsome, a coward. I should have led my team. I should have conducted myself better. I should have... should have... oh, God in Heaven, what should I do now? When she heard the door's hinges creak, she tried to smile. Even she could tell she had failed, that she looked more queasy than happy. It was not a good start. Say something, say something...

"You don't look like someone who wants to talk."

"I said I would."

"To Hell with talking," he muttered, "if you don't like it." Speaking to her, finishing that excruciatingly unfinished conversation, had been the center of his thoughts for days. Words had never meant as much as actions to him, but those words, in her sweet voice, meant everything. He would inject his own words, she would finish hers, and there would be the beginning of more happiness than he would ever claim to want.

But she didn't want to talk. He could see that. Any halfwit could see that. She had an eggshell countenance whose fine cracks gave a glimpse into the disorder within. Tybalt knew that distant, unfocused look that shaded her face's every expression. He had seen it before on his grandmother, a proper Capulet tigress, when her capacity for thought and feeling was overwhelmed. Although there were a limited number of comparisons that could be drawn between the two ladies, he believed this was one. And if her team, her brother, and maybe, just maybe, he himself added up to that sort of importance in her heart, it was a heart of which he absolutely needed a larger share.

A scene came to his mind. Vividly, Tybalt remembered his grandparents meeting him and his sisters at the bottom of the staircase at the Manor the night his parents had died. After he told them that the house had burned up with no sign of his mother or father escaping, they sank down on the staircase in their nightclothes. His grandmother had retreated into that glassed-over state, and his grandfather sat beside her, silent, with an arm around her shoulders. There were no hysterics or tears, just sorrow, silence, and patience. Maybe...

Precious minutes passed away in silence.

Say something, stupid girl. "We should discuss what I... what I was going to..." Georgiana curled her fingers into fists, trying to pinch away her doubts.

"Do you want to?"

Her eyes flickered his way; she nearly looked at him. "Isn't that why you came?"

"I came to see you."

Now, her eyes couldn't stay away. Georgiana wanted to ask him why. Why did he want to see her? Why her, a silly creature who made emotional mountains out of molehills? Perhaps her weakness was novel to him. Novelty was not the basis for anything permanent. But then, he certainly must have had to go through her brother. Who would go that far for a curiosity? She wanted to ask, but she couldn't. She just couldn't. "But what I said..."

"I don't remember you saying anything. I tried to pay you a tired compliment, and then your brother came crashing in. If you said anything, I didn't hear it."

"Tybalt, you and I both know that isn't true."

"Hang the truth. It won't make you happy." Her melancholy made his hands itch to pound the source into the dirt and flood it with the blood of her misery. He would kill for her, set the world alight for her and throw the ashes into the sea. And yet, none of that would make her happy. In the future, if there was a future, he would have to learn what could make her happy despite herself. "I think Jule told you I have to go away for a little while. Settle yourself, fix things however you like with your brother, and decide what it would please you for me to remember when I return. We can save talking for then."

A dozen meek protests melted away, for she could see it now. She had to look closely, but she could see the faint hints tension around the edges of this temporary persona. Gentleness and patience did not come naturally to him, but he was working so very hard to make it seem as though it did. For her. He was willing to go against himself and be everything he thought was not - for her. If she had been of better cheer, she might have broken and confessed all her thoughts right then. Yet, she could not help but think that it would be better to save them for a day when she could smile and speak with all the happiness such a task deserved. It couldn't be tonight. "How long will you be away?"

"Two weeks, I hope. No more than three."

"Why do you have to go at all?"

"There has been trouble in one of our villages. It's quite near to several Montague rat-holes. I don't doubt it's some neighboring peasants acting with the blessing of their witless troll of a lord. Typical Montague rubbish, using his peasants to rattle his swo-"

A gentle rap on the door was the agreed-upon signal for the end of the allowed time. Georgiana, freshly aware of herself, pulled herself out of Tybalt's grasp and to her feet. He followed. Both moved as though their shoes were filled with lead. "And why is it you who has to go?"

"Nothing quiets a mob of peasants like a lord or lady turning up." His disdain for the assignment was clear. If his grandfather had not insisted it would be a credit to Juliette's cause, he would have let the village wait for Cornwall's guts to settle. "And who better than me? Should this prove dangerous," he added dryly, "I am eminently dispensable."

"You are not." Something more worth saying crept onto her tongue, but Georgiana swallowed it. "Your sister would tell you as much."

"Then I will have to come back... for my sister." It seems there's something to the idea of not marrying into the same family after all. Your siblings won't pop up at the most inappropriate, inopportune moments poss-

Knock.

"Jule is behind me, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"One minute," he called to his sister. He had been able to forget Juliette was in the anteroom but no longer. She was another reason why it would be better to go now, before he gave his sister any teasing fodder. She could torment him to Hell and back already as it was. If she wrote him letters while he was away, it would probably be for that express purpose. It would be better not to receive any at all; he certainly wouldn't be getting the ones he would want most. "I should go."

"Yes." The two stood so long in silence, each trying to decide what the leave-taking ought to be, that Juliette had to breach the balcony's aura with a louder, sharper knock. Georgiana felt strangely sick to hear it. In the course of daily life, she had certainly gone two or three weeks without seeing many people, her own mother now included. The duration was nothing, surely. The timing and the distance, on the other hand, felt terribly cruel. Say something, silly girl, do something! Do something...

"Promise that you will be careful, Tybalt."

Say something, idiot, say something... "You, uh... you want me to lie to you?"

"Yes!"

"As you wish it, my lady."

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