“Not for me, I’m out,” Denny grumbled and rose from the table.
Wickham was torn. He fingered the small quantity of coins still lining his pockets—the last of the week’s pay. It wouldn’t go far. A hot meal, perhaps a drink. It was just enough to bid for another rubber and hope his luck turned, but not without a fourth player.
“May I join your table?” a familiar voice rumbled over his shoulder. With a sinking feeling, Wickham turned slowly. His old boyhood companion stood behind him. Well, perhaps “companion” was too charitable a term.
Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed politely to the assembled party, giving no particular sign of recognition to Wickham. His quivers of apprehension grew more intense. Fitzwilliam could have only one reason for seeking him out and then pretending not to know him.
Carter signalled his agreeability, and the colonel drew up a chair. The officers around the table each regarded the senior officer from the Regulars with deference and curiosity. Fitzwilliam’s expression was perfectly relaxed as Carter dealt the hand, turning up spades as trump. Wickham watched the colonel narrowly as he picked up his cards, but Fitzwilliam never showed a flicker of interest in his partner beyond what the game required.
They took the first trick, then a second, but Carter took the third and fourth. Wickham frowned. His hand was full of low-ranking cards. Fitzwilliam did not seem to have such poor luck. With a few strategic plays, very soon, they were in the lead. Saunderson gleefully took a few, but in the end, Fitzwilliam’s pile of tricks taken was the largest.
Carter dealt again, the faintest trace of a frown on his face. Wickham allowed himself an inward smirk. Carter and Denney were perhaps his best friends these days, but he had never yet been able to best either of them at cards for more than a hand or two. He knew from long experience that Fitzwilliam was nearly a wizard at the game, and for once, the man was on his side.
A third hand went to Fitzwilliam and Wickham, and the latter, examining his pockets, found that he had regained what he had lost this night. With a significant glance at the back door of the alehouse, the colonel rose to excuse himself. Carter and Saunderson saluted him properly but were not sorry to see him go. A man too lucky or too skilled at cards wore out his welcome rather quickly.
Wickham waited a full minute, pretending to deliberate on another hand, before he, too, stood. He lingered over a mug of ale at the counter, then slowly sauntered out the front door. He considered darting quickly into the shadows, disappearing into the night, but he had no ability to leave town on such short notice. Fitzwilliam would surely find him. The man was too resourceful. He had apparently already gone to the trouble of tracking him down once and would do so again in a far less mannerly fashion.
With a sigh, he jingled the winnings in his pocket then tiptoed around to the back of the alehouse. Grimacing, he stepped around rotting crates of vegetables and stinking puddles made up of more than mud. He did not see Fitzwilliam. He stood a moment, looking about him.
“I see you’re broke again.” A chuckle came from the shadows. “It’s comforting, don’t you think, that some things never change.”
Wickham spun, pulse thudding. “What are you doing here, Fitzwilliam? I’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve no reason to be harassing me!”
“Oh, dear me, George, you sound so very guilty! By the way, that’sColonelto you now,Lieutenant.”Fitzwilliam tipped a two-fingered salute with a pointed gleam in his eye. “Looks to me like you’re one of His Majesty’s finest these days, and… well, well, I outrank you.”
Wickham adopted a cocky stance, chin lifted. “You didn’t come here to talk about my commission. What do you want?”
Fitzwilliam smiled broadly, acknowledging the truth with a cheery gesture of an ale mug clutched in his left hand. “Why, to catch up on old times, of course! You know, George, it’s been far too long. Let me see, when was the last time we bumped into each other? Oh, yes! I remember now….” His face waxed reminiscent as he let his words hang.
Wickham paled a little. Fitzwilliam had always been protective of Georgiana Darcy, with a vehemence that was second only to her own brother and not nearly so tightly controlled. Darcy might be powerful, but Fitzwilliam was dangerous, and he had incurred the wrath of both. That, however, was six months ago, and he had not been near the coddled little heiress since. What could the colonel want with him now?
He stiffened, going on the offensive. “Still Darcy’s lapdog, I see. I never did figure out why a clever, gifted fellow like you would be at the beck and call of a spoiled puppy like him. Do you ever think it unfair that he landed with all the money while men like us must labour and struggle in deprivation and danger?”
“Oh, believe me, friend, I have had my share of thoughts.”
Still wary but growing a little less apprehensive, Wickham wondered if there was a chink in the colonel’s normally impervious armour. Was there some glimmer of malcontent with the favoured cousin, the poor second son of an earl? “Have you never wished for a tenth of his income?” he tested. “What a man like you could do with a living such as that! No more need to suffer the hardships of military life. Do you not deserve it? You’re twice the man he is!”
“Don’t I know it!” Fitzwilliam’s eyes twinkled strangely. “Yet there is that pesky matter of inheritance, and the next of kin is fairly set in stone.”
Wickham drew himself straighter, suddenly suspicious.
“I hear,” Fitzwilliam changed the subject, “that there is a considerable fortune to be made in America if a man should have it in him to go. Much opportunity, they say. Fur, gold, tobacco….”
Wickham set his jaw, beginning to understand. “You’re threatening me?”
“Oh, George, how black and white of you. I speak of opportunity! You may take it as you wish. Of course, passage is a problem. I understand it is not inexpensive to travel so far, and berths on the better vessels are not to be had cheaply. You could resign from the militia... indeed, you would have to do so and disengage properly, as we are at war currently, and I would hate to see you before a tribunal as a deserter.”
Richard shook his head, chuckling, but fixing Wickham with a piercing gaze. “Odd, those Americans. They’ve no love lost for the Crown, but they’ll turn in a deserter in a heartbeat. Ah, well. Do you know, I would go to America myself, but my poor dear mother has not been well of late, and I must be a dutiful son. However, a man with no ties to bind him….”
“I won’t go to America just to please Darcy! He’ll just have to deal with me. I’ve steered clear of him and that chit of a sister. He may own others, but he does not ownme!”
Fitzwilliam bristled at the insults against both himself and Georgiana. It took every ounce of his well-rehearsed self-control not to beat Wickham senseless where he stood. As it was, he simply shrugged, hoping his façade did not slip before the practised eyes of Wickham.
“Oh, well, a good chance lost, I say. I am afraid I haven’t time to dally any longer. I am due for drinks with a dear old friend. Let us have no more unpleasantness, shall we? Here, would you care to finish this ale? It’s practically full yet, but it would be rude to show up half in my cups already. Bad form, and all of that. As Colonel Forster offered to buy the first round, I expect I’ll have to buy a second, and so on. Cheerio.”
The colonel passed his foaming mug to Wickham, who only took it in utter astonishment. Fitzwilliam and his own commanding officer old friends? He had not considered that danger. Frowning down into the froth, his hackles rose. What could Fitzwilliam have secreted in that ale? Poison was not the man’s style, but there was no sense in taking chances for a drink given only in patronizing jest. Disgusted, he flung the liquid out on the ground.
Instead of a gentle splash, he heard the heavy clinking sound of coins.What the devil….Dropping to a squat, his questing fingers searched out the cold metal. Even in the darkness, the faces glinted brightly at him in the light of the moon. He had no trouble being certain that he had collected them all. Squinting, he held one up to examine it in the dim light.A guinea! Twelve of them!
