Lady Alina Fitzwilliam

My brother becomes a redcoat

Three Wise Men

London

20th September 1804

Fitzwilliam Darcy sat silently in his chosen and rather uncomfortably hard wooden chair in a seedy tavern situated in the other side of London, observing the sombre expression on his cousin's face being replaced by an honest, wide grin as he skimmed through a missive from his sister, Alina.

Whatever she had written must have been supremely amusing as Richard was chuckling still as he folded the letter carefully and tucked it into his coat pocket. The serene, secret smile stuck on his face, he closed his eyes and leant back in his more comfortable cushioned chair, balancing rather precariously on the two hind legs, his face upturned to the heavens as if in gratitude.

'I am honored, Richard,' bit out Darcy, exasperated by his cousin's sudden vow of silence. He had been summoned to this hell hole by an untidily scrawled note upon receiving which he had abandoned all the duties assigned to him by his father and hailed a bloody hackney cab to reach the designated meeting place as soon as possible only to met with unrelenting silence as Richard sat slumped in his chair, staring moodily into the fire and refused to utter a single word. 'Truly honored by the faith you've shown in me by revealing your deepest secrets in my lowly presence. You have trusted me more than any man could be expected to trust a blood relation who has always fulfilled his filial obligations towards you and considers you his dearest friend. I am overwhelmed by your kindness and thus, beg passionately for your handkerchief so I can stem the flow of me happy tears-'

This indignant speech was interrupted by a loud snort from behind them and they both looked back to see Lord Wentworth, their friend and Cambridge fellow, smirking devilishly as he inclined his head in their general direction in greeting.

'Really, Richard,' exclaimed Lord Wentworth as he pulled out a chair and took a seat on their table. 'What could possibly induce you to ask this cranky old man for help?'

'Why must you both compare me to cranky old men and foul tempered old maids whenever we meet?', complained Darcy, childishly. 'I do not believe that I have done anything to merit the infernal titles.'

'Of course, Darcy', agreed Richard, speaking for the first time. 'Your long lectures only have the misfortune of resembling the enlightening sermons of a certain Lady at Rosings' park so you certainly do not deserve either title. Your correct title is Lady Catherine De Bourgh the second.'

Lord Wentworth could not hold in his amusement at this witty comparison and burst out laughing while Darcy's face was deformed by a particularly nasty scowl which might have caused a lesser man to quake in his boots but as Richard had been on its receiving end for the better part of his childhood, it had no effect on him.

'Well gentlemen,'said Lord Wentworth, his face rather becomingly flushed from the hearty bout of laughter, 'Now that we have accomplished the prerequisite of being amused at Darcy's expense, may we proceed to the matter at hand, for which my meeting with a rather fetching bird was rudely interrupted?'

'One of these days you will end up with the French disease and die a painful death, Wentworth,' said Darcy prudishly. He was rather proud of his accomplishment of not succumbing to the allure of the various bits of muslin that lined London's unsavoury streets.

'You might blame your cousin for this, Darcy,' shot back Niklaus, grinning. 'He was the one who bribed one of the light skirts outside to accost me and clutch the lapels of my fine coat rather desperately. I had to pay her in order to get her to release me.'