The Wedding Night of Antony Fitzwilliam and Lady Eleanor

A rerun of the trials and tribulations of Antony, Lord Stepton, Mr. Darcy’s cousin, were so well received that I am doing another: the marriage of Antony to Lady Eleanor Henley. Again, this post appeared somewhere else, but I’m not sure where. Enjoy! 

In Pride and Prejudice, we learn that Colonel Fitzwilliam is the younger son of an earl. But what about his brother, the heir? I have decided that the colonel’s brother has already succeeded to the title, and like so many titled gentlemen, he is a rake, a gambler, and a seducer. In my stories, Antony is married to the Evil Eleanor and is thoroughly unhappy in his marriage, but he also has a heart of gold. 

The Marriage of Antony, Lord Fitzwilliam, to Lady Eleanor Henley

Antony's Wedding Negotiations

Antony (far left) during marriage negotiations

As Lord Fitzwilliam climbed the stairs to the nursery of his London townhouse, he thought about the two little girls who were waiting for their dear Papa to tuck them in. He was always at his best when his children were on parole from their mother, the Evil Eleanor, Queen of Darkness, now residing at Briarwood in Kent. But as long as Lady Eleanor haunted the halls of the ancestral seat of the Earls of Stepton, he would call London home.

After dismissing his daughters’ nurse with a wave of his hand and a finger to his lips, he tiptoed to their shared bed. Looking at the lovely Sophia and Amelia, with their long, golden tresses cascading over their pillows, he noted how kind Nature had been to his children. They had inherited their father’s blond hair, cornflower blue eyes, and adorable dimples, and from their mother, they had inherited… Surely, they have something from Eleanor, Antony thought as he studied his children. But when nothing came to mind, he decided that after they had fallen asleep, he would look at their feet to see if they had any extra toes.

Looking at his darlings, Antony’s mind drifted back to the birth of his older daughter, Sophia. When the doctor had sent word that Eleanor had been safely delivered of a baby girl, he was thrilled, and when he saw the child was fully human, he was delighted beyond measure.

“Well done, Eleanor,” he said, congratulating his wife who, despite having been in labor for several hours, looked very much in the pink. But then the midwife had told him that Lady Fitzwilliam “had dropped the child as easily as a heifer in a meadow.”

“She’s a girl!” Eleanor shouted. “That does not help us. We must start again.”

“No, no, no!” Antony responded, vigorously shaking his head. “I’m not a bit old fashion in that regard. In my book, daughters are equal with sons.”

“Don’t be stupid. Daughters cannot inherit. We must have an heir.”

“But I do have an heir—two in fact. I am perfectly content to have my brother inherit the title, and if anything should happen to Richard, there is always Darcy. My goodness! Is there anyone more capable of being the Earl of Stepton than Fitzwilliam Darcy? He practically wrote the book on being the ideal gentleman.”

“You always think about yourself.”

“How so, my dear! When I am dead, you will be the dowager countess. No one can take that away from you.”

“But they can take away my home. Your brother will throw me out of the house.”

“I am sure Richard will allow you to stay at Briarwood,” Antony lied. “He doesn’t dislike you as much as you think, and Darcy doesn’t know you well enough to know better.” 

“I can give you a dozen examples of widows who were put out of the house before their husbands’ bodies had begun to rot in their graves.” 

“Must you be quite so descriptive, Eleanor? After all, you are speaking of my body.” 

“You won’t know the difference, but I shall,” she answered, her voice escalating. “No, you must come to me as soon as I am able. I must have a son.” 

“Well, if we must, we must,” Antony said resolved to his plight. “But do take your time. No rush. Shall we say, same time next year?” 

* * *

“Papa, will you tell us a story?” Amelia, who was missing her two-front teeth, lisped, thus rescuing her father from his unhappy thoughts. 

“Of course, my darling girl. What shall it be? The tale of a princess who is waiting for her prince charming to rescue her from the evil queen who had imprisoned her in a haunted castle?” 

“What does the castle look like?” Amelia eagerly asked. 

“Oh, it is even bigger than Dover Castle and has crenellated towers, arrow slits, and cannon ports. It would also have a drawbridge and a moat filled with vicious sea monsters the evil queen has personally captured. And we must have a knight in shining armor to storm the castle in order to save the aforementioned princess.” 

“Oh, yes, Papa. A story about a princess,” Amelia chirped. But her older sister, by two years, had another idea. 

“Please tell us about how you and Mama met,” nine-year-old Sophia pleaded. 

“So you like scary stories, do you?” 

The two girls laughed and informed their father that a scary story had monsters or dragons or werewolves in it. 

“You left out witches and succubi,” their father added. 

“But Mama is not a witch,” Amelia said, giggling. “And she isn’t a suckbye either,” Sophia chimed in.” 

“Your naiveté is adorable,” he answered, pinching their chins. 

“Papa, I am serious,” Sophia pressed. “Although we have asked many, many times, you have never told us of your courtship.” 

Although his children did not consider the courtship of Eleanor Henley and Antony Fitzwilliam to be a fright tale, he knew better, and he had the scars from a decade of marriage to the long-nailed Eleanor to prove it. And to think the tortuous journey that was their marriage had began with an Atlantic storm. 

The title of Earl of Stepton had been bestowed on the Fitzwilliams by Elizabeth, Regina Gloriana, in 1598 after the Anglo-Irish Fitzwilliams had distinguished themselves in service to the crown in Ireland. In addition to properties in the Irish province of Munster, they had been awarded Briarwood, a vast estate in Kent formerly occupied by a nobleman who had annoyed Elizabeth’s father, and when someone irked Henry VIII, it usually ended up with that person parting with his properties and his head. 

The current manor house had replaced a Tudor mansion that had been burnt to the ground by marauding Cromwell Roundheads bent on destroying anything belonging to the Fitzwilliams, staunch monarchists, and, hopefully, some of the Fitzwilliams as well. However, fleet of foot, the family had fled to France where they waited and waited and waited for the restoration of the monarchy. When they were finally able to return to England during the glory years of Charles II, a Jacobean monstrosity had risen from the ashes of the burnt Briarwood. 

Fortunately, the house was as interesting as it was ugly, making it the perfect place for two boys with vivid imaginations to grow up. There was nothing that Antony and his younger brother Richard enjoyed more than exploring the dark recesses of the 100-year-old mansion. There was even a dungeon. Granted, it was not very big and had never actually been used; nonetheless, it was terribly inviting to the two young lads. And the boys loved the house as much as an owner loved an ugly, but loyal, dog. 

The youth of the Fitzwilliam sons was very nearly ideal. But as the elder son and heir neared his majority, clouds appeared in the Kentish sky. It was in Antony’s 20th year that a ferocious storm barreled in from the Channel creating a swath of destruction in the shire, including extensive damage to an addition to the manor house that had been erected by the late and unlamented Roger, Lord Fitzwilliam, a mere twenty years earlier. Because it was the nicest, newest, and most modern part of the manor house, the apartments of Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam were to be found there. And the storm did find it. Tearing tiles off the roof, breaking windows, and for good measure, uprooting an oak tree that had been planted when the first of the Stuarts were on the throne and depositing it in the east wing. 

At the time, Antony considered it to be merely a bad piece of luck—for his parents—his suite of rooms having been spared. He had no idea it would prove to be his undoing as well. 

* * *

“Antony, do stop crying,” his mother said, handing him yet another handkerchief. “You are the future Earl of Stepton. Please act like it.” 

“But I don’t want to marry Eleanor,” Antony said, sniveling. “She doesn’t love me.” 

“Oh, pish posh! What does love have to do with marriage?” his mother tsked. “I find that you have very strange ideas concerning this subject. When people of rank discuss marriage, they are speaking of dynastic concerns.” 

“No, they are not speaking of dynastic concerns; they are speaking of money. Specifically, in my case, Lord Henley’s money that you will use to repair the east wing. Your eye is on Eleanor’s dowry—not my happiness.” 

“If you would only use your head, you will see that in selecting Eleanor your father has chosen well. Lord Henley’s daughter will bring a huge dowry to the marriage, and you will never have to worry about money ever again. I am convinced your chance of happiness with Eleanor is as fair as most people can boast upon entering the marriage state.” 

“Never have to worry about money? How stupid do you think I am, Mama? I know it is your intention to rebuild the east wing of Briarwood with Eleanor’s dowry. By the time the repairs are completed, you will have spent it all, and I shall never see so much as a brass farthing.” 

“You exaggerate the cost of the repairs, and don’t forget Lord Henley is providing his daughter with a considerable allowance.” 

“Yes, yes. I do know that, and I know why. Lord Henley will pay any amount of money to get Eleanor out of the house. I heard him tell Lord Corman that if the Henleys were still Catholics, he would have packed his daughter off to a cloistered convent in France years ago. She is that unpleasant. Besides, Eleanor does not love me. She doesn’t even like me.” 

“Like, love, what does it matter?” 

“To my mind, quite a lot. You seem intent on denying me something you and Papa have.” Silence. “I know you do not love Papa, but you do like him. Don’t you?” 

Lady Marianne went quiet. “Hmmm. It has been awhile since I have thought on the subject.” After further consideration, she concluded: “Your father is in no way disagreeable. But that is beside the point. We are speaking of you.” 

“Actually, we were addressing the repairs at Briarwood.” 

“Antony, in these matters, Eleanor is as good as any other heiress.” 

“I disagree. What about the cats and the other missing pets?” 

“Those are merely malicious rumors started by ignorant, superstitious people.” 

“It was Eleanor’s brother who told me! And you and I both know there is always an element of truth in every rumor. Besides, I don’t find her attractive in any way. I can’t think how I would…” 

“Are you implying you don’t know about the birds and the bees?” Lady Marianne asked aghast. “Hasn’t your father had ‘the talk’ with you?” Antony, who was staring at his hands, did not answer. “Well, if you don’t know about the birds and bees, surely you know about the stallion and the mares. The rooster and the hens. And that awful terrier your father loved that was forever mounting the hunting dogs. You know, Antony, it is not terribly complicated. The man…” 

“I know what is required!” Antony shouted. The thought of his mother discussing the mechanics of sex was almost as terrifying as the thought of marrying the awful Eleanor. “But all parts must be functioning in order to complete the exercise. When I think of Eleanor, absolutely nothing happens. I have tried. Believe me, I have tried.” 

“Oh, is that all? Your problem is easily solved. Think of someone else. I always do.” 

“You and Papa still…? I hadn’t thought.” 

“As rare as a hen’s tooth, but occasionally…” 

“Please no details,” Antony said, covering his ears. 

Despite tears and protests, it was soon apparent that his mother would not intervene with his father on his behalf; therefore, nothing could prevent the unholy union of Antony Fitzwilliam and Eleanor Henley. 

* * *

His fate now sealed, Antony waited at the altar with his brother, Colonel Fitzwilliam of His Majesty’s army, who was there for the purpose of keeping his brother upright since he had been drinking since before dawn. 

When the minister appeared, Antony approached him with the full intention of telling him that he could not possibly promise to “love and honor” Eleanor because he would be telling lies in a sacred place. Therefore, it was the reverend’s duty, as a man of God, to call a halt to the ceremony. But Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam had anticipated their son and had employed the services of a vicar who was as deaf as a post—a defect Antony failed to detect until his brother pointed to the ear trumpet hanging from the man’s sash. 

Fearing a scene in which Antony would seek sanctuary in the church, Lady Marianne cued the church organist to begin playing and waved wildly at Lord Henley to get his daughter to the altar post haste, and with that, the service began: 

Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the time of man’s innocency, and therefore is not by any to be taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men’s carnal lusts, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which Matrimony was ordained. Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace. 

“Reverend, excuse me, if I may interrupt,” Antony said, stepping forward and reaching for the ear trumpet. “I would appreciate if you would define ‘just cause’ for me.” But that was all Antony was able to say before his father was by his side whispering words like “ashamed, cowardly, desperate,” none of which had any impact on his son. It was only “disinherited” and “loss of title” that hit their mark. 

Eleanor did not so much recite her vows as spit them out, and her promise “to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part” was followed by a cackle and a clap of thunder. When Richard, as ring bearer, removed the wedding ring from his pocket and tried to place it in his brother’s hand, Antony shoved his hands deep into his pockets and held tight to its lining. But Lady Susan, Eleanor’s mother, was a quick thinker. After removing her own band, she placed it on the third finger of her daughter’s left hand and motioned for the parson to speed it up. 

For as much as Antony and Eleanor have consented together in holy Wedlock… 

“Sir, I have not…” 

…and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to the other… 

“But I haven’t said anything. My father cannot answer for me,” Antony pleaded. 

…and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands… 

“I haven’t touched her!” 

“…I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. 

After emerging from the old stone church, the newlyweds were met by the dreary, rain-streaked faces of Briarwood’s bedraggled tenants. They had only come for fear that Lord Fitzwilliam would raise their rent if they did not put in an appearance. Besides, they loved their pets. 

While on the road to Briarwood, a driving rain played tattoos on the bonnet of the carriage, and as Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam pulled up to the manor house, a bolt of lightning struck near to the stone mansion, striking a walnut tree and rending it in two. 

“Too bad it missed the house,” Antony thought as they stepped out of the carriage. “I might have been spared the marriage bed.” 

* * *

Antony's Wedding Night

Antony and Eleanor after a night of feasting

Please tell us all about your wedding day,” Antony’s elder daughter pleaded while tugging on her distracted father’s sleeve. “Did Mama wear a white dress and a veil?” Although years from her own debut, Sophia delighted in viewing magazines showing the current styles then being worn in London, and it seemed as if every ball gown was in either ivory or white. 

Antony had to think. Although he was pretty sure Eleanor had worn black, in order to put smiles on his cherubs’ faces, he told them that their mother had, indeed, worn white. 

“How many people came to the wedding breakfast?” Sophia prodded. 

Did we have a wedding breakfast? We must have. Of yes, Eleanor’s mother was there delighting in my discomfort while her father was making arrangements for the removal of Eleanor’s cauldron and book of spells from her bedchamber. 

“Too many guests to count,” Antony lied. “It was so crowded that when I tried to leave, I couldn’t get out the door. Of course, that was because of Eleanor’s beefy brothers blocking my way. 

“But why would you want to leave your wedding breakfast?” Sophia asked. 

“For a bit of fresh air, my sweets,” and to look for a noble steed to carry me far, far away

“I thought you said it was raining very hard that day, Papa,” Amelia asked with a puzzled look. 

“Buckets, dear. It was raining buckets. Even the heavens wept. Now, it is getting very late, so I shall read you a story and then we must blow out the candles.” 

* * * 

As he made his way to his study and a bottle of excellent French brandy, Antony’s mind turned to memories of his wedding night—the worst night of his life. 

After seeing the bride to her bedchamber, the groom had entered his own and immediately went to the window to make his escape, but with gale-force winds blowing, the window would not open, even when both he and his valet pushed against it. He then eyed the furniture. If he placed the desk in front of the connecting door to Eleanor’s chamber, she would not be able to get in, and “in” she must get because he would not go to her. But the damn thing was too heavy and would not budge. 

“Of course, Eleanor gets the easily portable French furniture while I’m stuck with oak!” Antony protested to his manservant, and then he looked at his valet. The man was only a few inches shorter than he was, and in the dark, who would know? 

“Jacobs, have you ever been with a woman—I mean, in the Biblical sense?” 

“I would hope so, sir. I was married for twelve years and have two sons.” 

“Of course, I forgot you were a widower.” 

“My sons, Tom and Ben, work in the stables, Milord.” 

“Yes, yes, yes, I know, Jacobs. No need to get testy about a momentary lapse.” 

“Sir, if you’re worried about doing the deed…” 

“Yes? In my place, you might…” 

“Sir?” 

“Never mind. What were you going to say?” 

“If my memory holds, the first time it was quickly done.” 

“But how does one prepare when one does not like one’s wife—theoretically speaking?” 

“I would advise that person to think of someone they did like. Perhaps, an actress from the theater might serve.” 

“Oh, that’s an excellent suggestion, Jacobs,” Antony said, thinking of the lovely siren in the crowd scene of Let Them Eat Cake. What was the name of that saucy sans culotte who had sent him her embroidered handkerchief and a barely literate note? Claudette. Yes, her name was Claudette. And the delightful dimple in the gorgeous face of that devilish dish appeared before him and just ahead of Eleanor banging on his door. 

“What is taking you so long, Antony? I’m tired, and I want to go to sleep.” 

“Please do, my dear,” Antony said, addressing the closed door. “You have had a busy day. Don’t stay up on my account.” 

“Antony, get in here. Now!” 

* * *

“Antony, are you a man or a boy?” Eleanor asked her husband who sat on the bed clinging to the bedpost. 

“What if I answered I was a boy? Would it make any difference?” 

“A difference in what?” 

“In our staying married,” he said, a full day of drinking evident in his slurred speech. “Eleanor, you really don’t like me. Why ever did you agree to this?” 

“Because I want to be a countess.” 

“But you are the daughter of a count, and as such, are addressed as Lady Eleanor. That will not change.” 

“It is not the same. I have no power as the daughter of an earl. But as a countess, I shall have a great deal of power—especially over you,” she said, eyeing the slight form of her husband. “Now are we going to do this or not?” 

“Not!” Antony said through gritted teeth. “I shall never make you happy. I promise you that.” 

“Happiness is an illusion.” 

“No, it is not!” Antony protested. “My brother and sisters make me happy. My dogs make me happy. I truly experience happiness when I am on Paris, my noble steed. I know it is a foreign concept to you, Eleanor, but it does exist.” 

“Are you going to get undressed or are we going to debate intangibles?” 

“Debate. We should most definitely debate the merits of this marriage. As long as it is not consummated, we can still have the marriage annulled. Before you say anything,” Antony said, holding up his hand to hush Eleanor, he reminded her that with her own words, she had condemned him for being forever trapped in his youth. “You want a man for a husband, don’t you?” 

Eleanor approached, and with her one blue eye and one brown eye, she stared at Antony in disbelief. “You don’t seriously think I would entertain the idea of an annulment! I would be the laughingstock of England.” 

“Better a laughingstock than to be forever miserable. Don’t you see that if our marriage is annulled, you might be happy, too?” 

“I have had enough of your nonsense. Get in bed, Antony,” Eleanor said, prying her husband’s fingers from the post. “I am losing my patience.” 

“No!” 

“You are a perfect idiot? You do know that, don’t you?” Antony nodded. “Your job is to have carnal knowledge of my body. My job is to provide you with an heir and a spare. Once that is done, you can go to hell for all I care.” 

“I can’t do it. I really can’t. I can’t just stuff it in you know.” 

“You are even stupider than I thought,” Eleanor hissed. “Think of someone else.” With that she started to disrobe. 

“Eleanor, for purposes of modesty, please allow me to blow out the candles.” 

“I am not shy about such things.” 

“I was talking about me.” 

Finally, Antony succumbed, if not to his wife’s charms, then to her strength. After the marriage was consummated, he lay in the dark and said a prayer in gratitude—for Claudette. 

* * *

After the deed was done, Antony returned to his bedchamber. Because he could not sleep, he stepped out onto the balcony. As he waited for the dawn of, hopefully, a better day, he thought of the misery he would experience as the husband of a woman who despised him. But out in the distance, beyond the grey skies, he saw two bursts of light, and in that moment, the rain stopped and the sun appeared, revealing a path to a beautiful garden. 

Antony immediately made his way to the sun-lit path and his own little slice of Eden. While looking on the scene, he understood that he was being presented with a gift, and he was filled with the knowledge that he would father two children, both daughters, who would bring him much happiness. 

“Thank you,” Antony said, addressing the heavens. “In this happy place, two flowers of extraordinary beauty will bloom and grow, and I shall know love—the very best kind of love—the unconditional love of my children.” 

THE END

I would love to hear your comments.

Would you like to try a mystery? I have lowered the price to $3.99 on Dying to Write, Murder at a Jane Austen Conference – A Patrick Shea Mystery. It’s JAFF v. Jane Austen purists. A fun read if I do say so myself.

46 comments

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    • Kathy Wallace on February 4, 2015 at 1:15 am
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    Poor man! That was horrible…funny, but HORRIBLE. Loved it.

      • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 11:56 am
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      I imagine that poor Antony was not the only member of the aristocracy enduring a horrible marriage, but it does make it fun to write him. Thanks for commenting.

  1. I appreciated the humor and wit of Antony even as I pitied the poor man. He’s a wonderful original character, Mary!

      • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 11:56 am
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      Thanks, Sophia Rose. I have to say that I enjoy writing him more than anyone else. He’s so delightfully bad.

    • Deborah on February 4, 2015 at 5:30 am
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    Poor, Antony. To be married to such a harridan….I like his daughters, described as ‘2 bright burst of light’. This seems such an apt description. You so humorously described the poor man’s nightmare, I couldn’t help but chuckle. The deaf priest, Eleanor’s mother putting the ring on her finger, Eleanor forcing him….Thanks for such a fun, horrible post, Mary. 🙂

      • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 11:57 am
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      You’re welcome Deborah. I know I’ve done my job when “horrible” is a compliment. 🙂

    • junewilliams7 on February 4, 2015 at 5:58 am
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    Oh, poor man…. why couldn’t a tree hit Eleanor! And such greedy parents, so eager for Eleanor’s dowry. I’m glad the little girls aren’t like their mama.

      • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 11:58 am
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      Hi June. Always good to hear from you. Yes, everyone was greedy, and poor Antony paid the price.

    • Maggie Griscom on February 4, 2015 at 7:25 am
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    Oh the reality of 19th century marriage. Money and linage were what it was about.. Jane Austen wrote it well as Darcy struggled between love and duty, but fortunately he was his own master. Poor Antony, being the heir was not as wonderful as it should have been. After the consummation he at least had the knowledge that something wonderful could still happen. As we in the South say…Bless his heart.

      • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 11:58 am
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      Yes, “bless Antony’s heart.” My daughter is living in VA now, and she’s starting to say it. Wonderful phrase.

    • Mari on February 4, 2015 at 8:07 am
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    I always love reading about Antony; he is hilarious and an extremely likable character. His wise cracks and sarcasms leave me almost in tears from laughing so hard. We really have got to give this poor man a happy ending of some kind. This was a delight to find in my inbox. Please consider a full length story about Antony and the Queen of Darkness. And then have her elope with Wickham. That would certainly rid him of her, and she couldn’t marry Wickham, so he couldn’t profit from it. He deserves to be saddled with an evil harpy. It would only be fair.

      • Kathy L Berlin on February 4, 2015 at 9:52 am
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      That would be a lovely twist, but only after Antony has his two daughters. Then there would be the divorce that would be just pay back from him for his sufferings. The twist could be that it happens before Lydia is compromised and that Darcy is overwhelmed by the shame in HIS family. An epilogue on the life of the two who fled to the continent would be wonderful. Can you just imagine?

      • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 12:00 pm
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      That WOULD be a good resolution. If I do write a longer story, it’s highly likely that Eleanor is going to meet with an accident. thanks for commenting.

    • Kathy L Berlin on February 4, 2015 at 9:47 am
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    Hysterically funny and incredibly sad. I am happy that he finds happiness later with another (with a charming accent..)

      • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 12:01 pm
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      Poor Antony! He should have it all, but he’s not happy, except where his daughters are concerned. I do need to give him a happy ending.

    • Hollis on February 4, 2015 at 11:09 am
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    I loved it! It was absolutely delicious. I am glad he has somewhat redeemed himself in Darcy’s eyes in later books.

      • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 12:02 pm
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      I think Antony is all good on the inside, but he loves gossip, which is why Darcy doesn’t trust him. But he does redeem himself in A Wife for Mr. Darcy and Mr. Darcy’s Bite. So glad you like him. Thanks for commenting.

  2. I love Antony. Thanks for sharing this. It would be interesting to read the story of their daughters. Hint, hint.

      • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 12:02 pm
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      Susan, If I have another P&P story in me, it will be about Antony. He really does need a happy ending.

    • HelenJC on February 4, 2015 at 11:39 am
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    Oh, I love this. I was chuckling and cringing all the way through. Poor Antony. He deserves his own full length story.

      • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 12:03 pm
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      I LOVE writing Antony. He might yet get his own story. Thanks for commenting.

    • Carol Perrin on February 4, 2015 at 11:44 am
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    Hysterical. Poor man. Glad that he at least has his daughters. Great read.

      • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 12:04 pm
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      Thanks, Carol. So glad you enjoyed my bad boy.

    • Sheila L. M. on February 4, 2015 at 12:09 pm
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    I have to agree with all the others. Antony does add a lot of interest and humor to your stories. I would love to hear how his two daughters turned out. Hopefully, the mother does NOT have a lot of influence in their lives. Sad to read of this forced marriage but we do know then and even now in some cultures it is the practice. But I do have a sense of relief that the daughters were a compensation for having Eleanor for a wife. Well done.

      • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 2:38 pm
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      Thansk, Sheila. You just have to think of Diana and Charles to know how badly these things can turn out. But Antony is basically a kind soul with a sense of humor. He’ll survive. Thanks for commenting. Mary

    • RMorrel on February 4, 2015 at 12:59 pm
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    This was absolutely magnificant and so very funny. Thank you for sharing it.

      • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 2:39 pm
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      Thank you for letting me know you enjoyed my story.

    • Michelle H on February 4, 2015 at 2:04 pm
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    Oh my. I just put all of your works up to the top of my wish list. Obviously, Antony shows up in your other stories and I cannot wait to read more of him.

    There’s nothing more swoon worthy than a man who dotes on his daughters…or sons for that matter. But it’s extra charming when he’s obviously enchanted by ‘his darlings.’

    Great writing. Thank you for this short story!!! I too hope it becomes part of a larger book someday.

    1. Thanks so much, Michelle. Glad you enjoyed the story. Antony has an important role in A Wife for Mr. Darcy and a lesser role in Mr. Darcy’s Bite. In case you missed it, here is the link to Antony attending Elizabeth and Darcy’s first ball: https://austenvariations.com/the-fitzwilliam-brothers-at-the-pemberley-ball-by-mary-simonsen/

    • Carole in Canada on February 4, 2015 at 2:52 pm
    • Reply

    I had tears in my eyes at the end. So optimistic and thankful is Antony for his daughters. So funny his descriptions of Eleanor the wicked witch, Queen of Darkness. I think he would go mad if he didn’t have a sense of humour! Thank you and yes, I think we would all love a happy ending story just for him!

    1. A happy ending might just happen as I am very fond of Antony.

  3. Thanks for the short story on Antony. I have felt sorry for him in your other stories, yet he has demonstrated redeeming qualities at the same time.

    Have really enjoyed your detective stories.

      • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 6:14 pm
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      Thanks, Patty. So glad you enjoyed the stories, and I’m thrilled that you are enjoying my detective stories. I’ve started to write #5. It’s much more difficult getting the word out, but I’m getting there.

        • Sheila L. M. on February 4, 2015 at 6:23 pm
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        Oh, Mary, excited to know I can read more about your detective. Hope something is cooking in the romance department for him in this new book.

          • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 7:36 pm
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          Sheila, In the romance department, Patrick might actually luck out. So glad you like my character.

    • Kathy on February 4, 2015 at 9:09 pm
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    Yay! You made my day. I love Antony and his stories are always both funny and poignant. I think part of the hilarity is his exaggerations about Eleanor as the Queen of Darkness (and comments about his delighted surprise when his children are born human). But besides her being somewhat a heartless and status-conscious lady, my impression is that Eleanor is just indifferent to him, and so it’s touching that Antony adores his daughters. More Antony please!

      • Mary Simonsen on February 4, 2015 at 11:09 pm
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      I think you hit the nail on the head. Antony likes to be the focal point of everything, so when Eleanor basically ignores him, he acts out. Even as the author, I’m not sure just how evil Eleanor really is. Thanks for your comments.

  4. I adore your Sir Antony, Mary! I don’t think I’ve read this piece before! Love how you gave us a bit of history about his relationship and marriage. With reading stories that often portray happy love matches from this time period, it is a good reminder to see that not all were love matches and that being unhappy in marriage can have such a big impact on your life. Poor Antony!

      • Mary Simonsen on February 5, 2015 at 12:55 pm
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      Thanks, Meredith. I have to say I enjoy writing Antony more than any other character. He just will not play by the rules.

    • Anji on February 5, 2015 at 3:52 pm
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    Lovely, funny little story, Mary. Antony was one of the more memorable characters in Mr. Darcy’s Bite (loved those books, btw). He’s totally irrepressible, isn’t he? I can see why you love writing him. Are you thinking of telling his whole story in a full length novel?

      • Mary Simonsen on February 5, 2015 at 3:57 pm
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      Thanks, Anji, for your kind words. I’m taking a holiday from JA, but if I write another story, it just might be about Antony. 😉

    • BeckyC on February 6, 2015 at 9:53 am
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    Oh my. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It explains a lot! I might have more sympathy in stories that portray him as a selfish jerk. Wonderful, Mary!
    Ps Are you working on more Patrick Shea?

      • Mary Simonsen on February 6, 2015 at 11:35 am
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      Poor Antony. He is a jerk in the way that rich people can be oblivious to what is so obvious to the rest of the world, but he does have a kind heart. Re Patrick – Yes, I have started #5. It will be awhile, but I’ll be sure to let you know. Thanks for asking.

    • TLeighF on February 7, 2015 at 10:51 pm
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    That was so funny! I could really feel Anthony’s fear and pain through it all, but I was also chuckling quite a bit with the descriptions and what was running through his mind. I love that he dotes on his daughters (having two of my own to dote on), and that he doesn’t try to poison them against their mother. That is a sign of true love of his daughters. Thanks for sharing and I look forward to reading more about Anthony in the future!

      • Mary Simonsen on February 8, 2015 at 1:31 pm
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      Thanks, Leigh. Yes, Antony is a good father, and despite his faults, a kind person. So glad you enjoy him b/c I enjoy writing him.

    • Roxey on February 16, 2015 at 11:29 pm
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    I’m so glad he thinks girls are equal and he loves his daughters!!!
    Be well!

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