An Unequalled Affection

Part 10

To be saved the trouble of shooting Charles Bingley - or being wounded by him - ought to have improved Richard's mood. The decision to duel at all had been foolhardy, even he could acknowledge that now, although he was not about to repent for his part in it. I could not do nothing. The man goaded me into action. A small, barely discernible voice that might have belonged to his conscience pricked at him. You need not have chosen this action.

He ran a hand over his face, stifling a yawn and trying to focus on the words of the report that blurred before his gaze. Time moved like molasses for him today and with every tick of the clock on his mantel, he prayed his work would soon be over so he might be free to call at Longbourn and better assess the damage caused that morning.

There had been no word from Elizabeth and it had been in her Richard had put the whole of his hopes for the future, praying she would somehow make things right. He was not sure why he sought her help. She might just as easily care to help Bingley, as everyone else seemed poised to do. Richard wondered if he was truly so dreadful a prospect that everyone about him seemed to anticipate his failure and future misery. Perhaps I am deserving of it, he thought. If the only supporter he could find was George Wickham, perhaps that was indication enough that his campaign was fruitless and ought to be abandoned.

And yet how can I give it up? How could he abandon Jane Bennet, the one bright pinprick of light he had discovered when he least expected to.

A knock at the door prompted him back to the present and he raised his gaze as a servant scurried in, depositing a handful of letters, before bowing himself hastily out again. Richard winced, recalling the sharp words he had delivered to the poor wretch upon his arrival back at the barracks that morning. His mood had settled somewhat by now. He bore at least as much reproach towards himself as he would launch at others, but there would be no way to explain away his conduct nor any apology that could be made. He would do his best to remain quiet, exert no further expectations on his staff and await the end of the day.

Turning to his correspondence, he flipped through the stack of small, sealed letters, giving those he deemed to have regimental significance his first attention. There was nothing of consequence in the first two he read, but when his eyes lit on the third, his stomach turned. It was Forster's vaguely familiar hand, he thought, confirming his suspicion by glancing at the man's signature before anything else. With a long inhale he read the whole, feeling a strange sense of disquiet as he digested his colleague's plan to return to Meryton earlier than planned and so relieving Richard of the need to remain. It will likely be another week, no more, so you may begin to consider where to go next. Things are stable here and our superiors suggest no need of trading me for you, but there are doubtless other outposts that would benefit from your wisdom and experience...

Richard glowered. These might be true of his military career, but he had displayed a scant degree of wisdom or experience in his personal life in recent days.

With annoyance and the feeling that, yet again, Providence had seen fit to toy with his future, he tossed the letter aside, meaning to attend to it and pen a reply when he had time to consider just what such a letter might say. He turned instead to another note whose author he could not place, although the neat penmanship struck him as familiar. The hand was not his cousin's, although he had fleetingly imagined - fleetingly hoped - he might find within a letter of apology from his cousin. Alas, Darcy had no desire to restore their relationship. He remained silent. As shall I, Colonel Fitzwilliam thought, darkly. He would not extend an olive branch to the cousin that had so openly and deliberately wronged him.

He skimmed the letter, his heart catching in his throat when he recognised the words, if not the writing. Slowing down, he returned to the start and read again, feeling a heavy sadness settle over him as he read the note he knew he ought not to be surprised to have received.

As a result of what I witnessed this morning, I think the only right thing to do is to ask you to release me from the obligation of our engagement. I hope you understand.

He crumpled the letter into a ball, not wanting or caring to read any more of Jane's reasons. I cannot bear it. He had acted as he did in the vain hope it would keep Jane by his side and in so doing he had lost her completely. In a fit of rage and disappointment, he tossed the letter towards the fireplace, but in his anger his aim was off: the balled-up note bounced free, rolling across the floor just in time for the door to open and a second gentleman to enter, far less cowed by Richard in whatever mood he chanced to find him.

"Good afternoon, Fitzwilliam!"

How was it, Richard wondered, that George Wickham somehow managed to seem entirely human after their morning's adventure? As was most often the case, the man's obnoxious joviality served merely to irritate Richard further.

"What makes it good, pray?"

"You and are I are still here, alive and well and entirely unharmed." Wickham's smile broadened even as his voice dropped to a low whisper. Closing the door behind him, he took a step closer to Richard's desk, brandishing a letter as if it were a badge of honour. "You owe me a favour and I am here to collect, which will settle both our consciences."

Richard's brow sank still further and he strove to conceal his annoyance, only too aware of Wickham's propensity for reading a man's secrets from the lines in his face.

"I thought us even." He choked out.

"That was before you asked for my assistance in a duel." Wickham bowed, dropping the letter on his superior's desk.

"A duel that did not happen," Richard insisted. "In which case -"

His eyes caught a line of the letter Wickham had handed him and he stopped, his glance flickering upwards.

"What is this?

"A letter of recommendation." Wickham settled comfortably into the chair opposite Richard's desk, stretching out his long legs and making himself entirely at ease. "You are effusive in your praise, although I warrant such accolades are not undeserved on my part." His smile grew. "I would never dream of penning them myself, of course." He nodded at Richard. "All it requires is your seal and signature."

Scowling, Richard read on, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the numbered points that conjured a picture of a fabled hero and not the reality of shiftless, selfish, manipulative George Wickham.

"And what do you mean to do with this?" he asked, reaching for his pen but unwilling to put his name to anything until he knew what it would be used for.

"I have decided Meryton no longer holds any attraction for me," Wickham said, evasively. "It is time for me to move on to pastures new and this is my ticket to do just that." He grew serious all at once and Richard realised the wisdom of his coming now, with such a prize as this. "Nothing is keeping me here. I wager the same might be said of you, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Merely sign that, and I shall disappear from your life forever leaving you free to do precisely as you please." He grinned, humorous and light-hearted to the last. "Might I advise a spot of travel? This town seems to have delivered nothing but heartache to you. Best to shake its dust from your feet and move on."

"Would that I could," Richard muttered, his eyes darting to Colonel Forster's note and realising that Wickham was unaware how prophetic his advice might yet prove to be.