An Unexpected Ally

Part 12

Darcy watched Elizabeth and Mary walk away, swallowing a bitter sense of disappointment that their interaction had been so brief. Go after them, a voice in his head urged him. Ask them...

Ask them what? He could hardly launch into a detailed discussion of the engagement between his cousin and their sister, not even if that was the very thing he longed to do. He had hoped, upon coming back to Hertfordshire, that he might be able to win Elizabeth to his side, gain her help and support in discovering what was going on between his cousin and Jane Bennet.

Do I need help in knowing that? He sighed. It was painfully obvious to anyone who witnessed more than a moment's interaction between the pair that they were hopelessly, irrevocably in love. At least, Richard was. Darcy knew his cousin well enough to see that his feelings were genuine. It might have been heartening, to see the ordinarily brash and self-reliant Colonel Fitzwilliam so enamoured. Indeed, Georgiana had rejoiced at the news, spinning some fantastical future where Colonel Fitzwilliam and his new bride might be persuaded to settle close to Pemberley, and waxing lyrical that it was about time Richard built for himself the home his own family had always denied him.

But what of Charles? Darcy regretted his role in all of this. If he had not supported Caroline - intentionally or otherwise - in her scheme to spirit Charles away to London in hopes he would forget his blossoming affection for Jane Bennet, then perhaps he would be the one whose sights were fixed on marriage. Netherfield would be a home for the prospective couple, and Richard's heart and future would be entirely altered. And safe from harm. This was the crux of Darcy's problem, then. It was why he had not yet written to Charles, despite his having been in Hertfordshire several days and knowing that his friend would be eagerly awaiting his note. How can I tell him that all his suspicions are true? That she is happy with another...with my cousin?

Darcy began to walk again, thinking with gratitude of the one letter he had been able to write and send with a clear conscience. He had told Georgiana in no uncertain terms that Richard was a changed man: soon to married and brimming over with happiness. He had the letter still about his person, for he had wanted to include some treat with it. A pretty new hair-ribbon, perhaps, or a notion that might perk up a bonnet. He wished Georgiana might be with him now, and Mrs Bennet's questions only fuelled his own. How would he ever manage to keep her from coming once the date of the wedding was fixed?

Perhaps I do not need to, he mused. Richard was in charge of the regiment still. If Wickham could be got rid of then Georgiana's visit might be able to take place safely in his absence.

He picked up his pace, thinking that he would call at the barracks right then and see if he could persuade his cousin to take a short break from his work. He had scarcely seen him alone, and whilst he did not seem to mind being in company with the Bennets as much as he had done once, he rather missed the freedom of being able to speak and act just as he pleased with only Richard for company.

As he reached the barracks he slowed, spotting two soldiers on duty at the front of the building. One he did not know but the other he recognised almost immediately, his lips turning down in a scowl. Speak of the devil and behold he will appear! he thought, grimly, even though he had not spoken of Wickham at all. The fellow seems to be conjured even by my thoughts of late. He straightened his flawless cravat and continued along his path, determined that the presence of his old foe would not deter him from calling on his cousin. The arrival of a third soldier halted his progress, though, and when he recognised Richard, he drew to a halt, his lips quirking at the thought he might witness Wickham's public dressing-down.

He could not hear the conversation and he almost leaned closer, as if that might render the trio not too distant to be overheard. Wickham did not seem dismayed, nor Richard particularly critical. He smiled! Yes, his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, was smiling and talking with George Wickham as if the two were not enemies but colleagues. Friends!

Darcy's blood ran cold in his veins. This was betrayal, pure and simple. Worse, even, than the original act of Wickham attempting to seduce Georgiana. He had been acting as he always did - for profit or pleasure or his own merry wishes. Richard had known that - had witnessed it all, and the aftermath as Georgiana recovered. How could he now bear to associate with Wickham at all, let alone smile and laugh with the fellow as if none of the past had happened?

He remained pinned in place for a moment, waiting, hoping, he might see some change come over his cousin. It is an act, surely. Politeness for the sake of their witness. But the third soldier retreated, sent on some errand or to accomplish some task and Richard did not immediately turn on Wickham. Nothing changed in his manner at all. Wickham's laugh carried on the morning breeze to Darcy's ears and he could bear no more. He turned on his heel and stalked away, snatching his letter to Georgiana and tearing it to shreds as he walked, letting the scraps of paper fall where they may. He would not send this letter: he would not dare. How can I risk bringing Georgiana here, when even her cousin has forgiven George Wickham his misdeeds and will stand by and allow him to commit them all over again?

His breath came sharply as he walked, from agitation rather than exertion, and he had rounded a corner before he relaxed, safe in the knowledge he would not be seen. Yanking his hat off his head, he massaged away the beginnings of a crippling headache and wondered when he had become so estranged from the cousin he had always thought of as a friend.

What loyalty do I owe him now? He clearly bears me none.

A tiny spark of conscience urged him back, suggested that he did not know for certain what he had witnessed, and surely there would be an explanation if only Richard could be offered the chance to give it.

I have heard explanations enough from Wickham concerning his misdeeds, he thought, grimly. I do not need to hear my cousin come to his defence. No, Richard Fitzwilliam may be my cousin, but he is no longer my friend. And that being the case, I need no longer feel torn in my support of Charles Bingley. He would write to Charles, then, and tell him all that had transpired. Richard and Jane might be engaged, but they were not yet married. And did Charles not deserve as much of a chance at happiness as Richard? I owe him that much, when I am the one that helped cause the separation to begin with.