An Unlikely Acquaintance

Part 11

Colonel Fitzwilliam hurried back to the barracks, his pace increasing with his anxiety as he, at last, drew within sight of the square building. He was not late, not really, but he was still so new in the post that he did not wish to do anything to taint him in the eyes of the men who were to be under his employ for the next several weeks.

He had only taken this role as a favour, but it was one thing to manage a regiment at Christmas, when the majority are cheerful and contented, or away from the barracks on leave. Now life was resuming at a pace and Richard wished to leave the regiment in as good or better state than he had found them in.

Which did not include sliding in late to greet the assembled troops, who were waiting with every impression of patience in the square.

"Stand at ease, men," he said, as he met them, praying his voice did not betray his breathlessness. He glanced down the rows of soldiers, pleased by their attention to detail. Each one's uniform was spic and span and worn well and each man that stood before him appeared hale and hearty. Except...

Richard's eyes narrowed as they came to rest on one tall figure, who had looked down the moment Richard had arrived, his own eyes fixed ferociously on his boots. He had recognised Colonel Fitzwilliam as easily as Richard now recognised him. I would have recognised him anywhere, he thought bitterly, his heart sinking. George Wickham.

A hundred questions burned at the back of his mind about how George Wickham, of all people, came to be stationed as part of this particular regiment at this particular time, but he swallowed them all, somehow managing to deliver the speech he had laboured over writing the previous evening. He outlined his plans for the regiment, how long he would likely be in post and what his expectations were, although he did not hear a single word of it. Its delivery seemed to have been a success, though. Several of the younger, more impressionable recruits were turned to him with interest, their desire to please etched into their youthful features.

There was an occasional scowl of resentment, quickly settled before he could remark upon it, but on the whole, he was pleased that of all the regiments in England, this was the one he had come to command, for a little time anyway. Even if it does contain George Wickham, which mystery he was poised to uncover.

"That is all. I thank you for your time and your attention. Drills begin in a quarter-hour, but you are at leisure until then." He dismissed them with a nod, reaching out a hand to keep Wickham from escaping with his comrades. "A word, Recruit?"

Wickham's antipathy was evident, but he obediently remained rooted to the spot, shooting a wry smile in answer to the silent question of his departing friends.

At last, they were alone and Richard felt safe to release his hold on Wickham, certain that whatever the man might do, fleeing from his superior in broad daylight, in full view of his fellow recruits was unlikely.

"George Wickham."

"Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam," Wickham said his name with a flourish, offering an extravagant bow that made Richard's lips draw together in a line. He could not abide mockery from one such as Wickham.

"How came you to be here?"

"I might ask you the same question." Wickham's smile faltered for a moment, the only hint of the discomfort he felt. "It is a promotion for you, I suppose. I must offer my congratulations."

"I say rather an obedience to my duty. Colonel Forster asked me to take on the regiment for a while as he is otherwise engaged. I could no more refuse than you can now refuse to do my bidding." He smiled grimly. How the tables had turned.

"I see, so you are to make an example of me and tell my misdeeds all over Meryton again." Wickham's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Well, if that is your plan allow me to remind you, Colonel, that I am cognisant of your past misdeeds and may be forced to share one or two."

Richard froze, his heart turned to stone. How had he forgotten the past he had shared with George Wickham, long before he had turned his snake-like eyes to Georgiana. We were friends! Richard recoiled, amazed to remember a time when he had looked on George Wickham with anything other than loathing.

"We understand one another." Wickham was watching Richard very carefully, drawing his conclusions from Colonel Fitzwilliam's rigid stance and silence. "I shall keep your secrets, Richard, if you continue to keep mine. Your cousin -"

Richard sucked in a breath, surprised that Wickham would dare to mention Georgiana to him now.

"Darcy managed to coexist with me quite peacefully while he was here." He smiled, and despite the objective handsomeness of his features, the expression did not improve him, exaggerating the coldness that had always been visible in his pale eyes. "I advise you to do the same."

Of course, Richard thought. The cousin to whom Wickham referred was not Georgiana but Darcy.

"You saw one another then?"

"Oh, indeed!" Wickham brightened, cheered by the knowledge that he had captured Richard's curiosity and happy to tell this particular tale. "We have friends in common, it seems." His smile grew cold. "At least I continue to have friends. Darcy, it seems, has thoroughly burnt his bridges with folk in Meryton." He brightened. "I dare say he does not conceive of returning. Well, Richard, shall we help one another?"

Richard realised, then, that Wickham had stretched out his hand, eager to shake on the unspoken agreement between them. Seeing no better option, Richard complied, certain he would come to regret ever reaching anything approaching a deal with the man before him.