An Unequalled Affection

Part 3

Ordinarily, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam cared little for the administrative duties afforded him by his position, but today he relished the chance to lose himself in paperwork for an hour. He recalled little of the content of the reports he wrote and even less of those he read, but activity occupied both body and mind to some degree and enabled hours to pass without his notice.

At last he looked up, long after he was due to remain at his desk. The skies had darkened around him, the fire in its grate burnt down to embers, and his stomach growled, reminding him that more than one meal had entirely passed him by. With a reluctant sigh, he swept up his hat and made for the door. Food was a necessity, especially if he was to face Bingley at first light. He scowled, recalling he had not yet secured himself a second. His mind ran idly through possibilities, before coming to rest once more on George Wickham. There was rarely a man he would trust less with his life than Wickham but as he was already half-cognizant of the matter that had led to this duel he was Richard's last best hope of a second that was truly on his side. Besides, he reasoned, Wickham's fought at least three duels and lived, if the rumblings of gossip amongst the men are to be believed. Anyone who argued that women gossiped more than men had spent no time around a barracks, where their exploits were discussed at leisure, mocked or marvelled at in their absence and more often than not to their face. He had no doubt Wickham himself was the source of anything flattering he had heard about him but even with this measure of understanding applied to Wickham's true character, he thought it likely that he was an able rifleman and had skilfully survived being called out on more occasions than Richard ever cared to know about.

Likely his skill with a weapon was at least partly responsible for Darcy's reluctance to face him across the duelling ground over Georgiana. Richard remembered, with a shudder, that when news broke of the doomed romance between his cousin and friend, Darcy had sought his assistance. I am on your side, Richard had said, his own anger blinding him to any role he had played in this disaster. I should like to shoot the man myself. He smiled grimly. How the tables had turned. Now he was the one calling out a friend of Darcy's, and, contrary to history, Darcy had sided with the friend.

"Sir!"

Two bright, energetic recruits saluted Richard as they passed him along a corridor but he barely noticed, weaving his way to the mess hall and wondering where he might find Wickham at this hour. Consulting his watch, he corrected his steps, forgoing the barracks altogether for the nearby inn where he and Wickham had most frequently exchanged words of late. True to his suspicions, Wickham was there, full of bravado as he engaged in a card game that was no doubt half-run on a bluff.

"You win!" Wickham's opponent fairly spat the words, throwing his cards down with irritations. "Though I'll wager you don't deserve to."

"Wager?" Wickham chuckled, sweeping the pot toward himself and counting his winnings with an avaricious smile. "You've not fared so well at that this evening, Briggs. Hold your tongue, lest I take that from you too!" He glanced up, sensing movement, and his gaze met Richard's.

"What-ho, Colonel! Just a small game between friends."

Briggs scowled, and Wickham moderated his tone and his words.

"Colleagues. You'll join us?"

"Thank you, no." Richard's voice was strained after many hours of silence and he swallowed, trying again and praying his degree of discomfort was not evident to the entire crowd of men that surrounded them. "I wished a word, Wickham, if you can be spared."

"Aye, take him away," Briggs muttered, turning towards the crowd. "Any honest man amongst you fancy a game?"

A nerve twitched in Wickham's neck but if he was tempted to address this complaint he ignored the urge, pocketing the last of his winnings and standing.

"Here, Briggs, don't be sour." He grinned, flicking one stray coin back towards his former opponent. "I'll start the pot in your favour and call us square. Colonel?"

He turned to Richard, ignoring the flurry of muttered invective that hit his back, and steered Richard towards the bar, ordering them both ale before Richard had the chance to speak.

"And a meal, please," Richard added, knowing that despite his lack of appetite he must eat and thinking a simple bowl of soupy stew would suffice as good as anything else.

"Make it two," Wickham said, jerking his head towards a quiet corner table. "We'll be over yonder." He winked at the barmaid, sliding another coin towards her and Richard could hardly resist commenting.

"You are generous this evening."

"I can afford to be." Wickham grinned. "When Briggs was kind enough to lose his vast fortune to me."

Richard nodded but said nothing, sinking heavily into one of two chairs at the table Wickham had indicated. He nursed his glass but drank none of it and Wickham had steadily swallowed down a third of his own before he remarked upon it.

"What ill news has you so downhearted? It cannot be so bad on the continent, can it?"

Richard had been so preoccupied with his affairs that the mention of the war brought him up short and he glanced at Wickham in surprise.

"My unit is to be deployed soon." Wickham's gaze flickered with something that might have been fear. "And such proximity to where the real action is turns one to thinking. I find myself suddenly interested in the progress of the war if I shall be sent to take part in it."

"You'll be safe enough," Richard growled. He had penned those very orders that afternoon, although he could scarcely remember a word of them. "None from this regiment are for the front. Belgium, most likely." He grinned, bitterly. "Though I'll deny having said as much, should you breathe a word of that before you get your orders."

Wickham let out a low, comfortable sigh, his momentary anxiety easing at the promise of avoiding future danger.

"If you did not seek me out to share secrets, what is the reason for your visit?" Wickham saluted him with his glass. "Not that I do not appreciate being singled out for praise by my betters."

"I wish for your assistance," Richard said, grimly. "You promised it once, and I am afraid the hour is now upon us." He swallowed. "Or in a short time, it will be. I have challenged Charles Bingley to a duel, and I need a second." He fixed Wickham with an unflinching look and was grateful when his friend did not look away. "Will you be the man, George?"

"Against Charles Bingley?" Wickham took another long sip of his ale, requesting a second when the barmaid appeared with their meals. "You prefer me to your cousin?"

"I do. And even if I did not, Darcy has made his allegiances and they are not in my favour."

Wickham's expression clouded.

"You do realise Darcy is unlikely to speak to me. There's little chance we can resolve this between us, as seconds."

"Your point?" Richard took a mouthful of his meal and realised just how hungry he had grown, swallowing bite after bite as he waited for Wickham's words.

"Likely as not this will end in a duel. Are you sure that is what you want?"

"I have no choice," Richard said, his eyes narrowing in anger. "Charles Bingley seeks to undermine my only chance at happiness and if no one else will speak in my defence I shall speak for myself. I'll not lose Jane so easily." The hand that held his spoon shook, making the metal clatter noisily against the edge of his bowl and he clamped his fingers tighter around it, determination making the tremor cease. "I can't."

"Very well." Wickham was serious now, more so than Richard could ever recall seeing him before. "Where and what hour?"