Page 157 of Mr. Darcy Comes to Town

“I am charming!” Wickham snarled. His fury spiked. Without thought to the consequences, he drew back his right arm and punched Fitzwilliam in the jaw. He shouted, “And I am not a coward!”

The force of Wickham’s strike flung the colonel to the cobblestones. Wickham pounced, but before he could fall onto Fitzwilliam and give him the beating of his life, Denny and Chamberlayne clasped him about his upper arms and dragged him away.

“You struck a superior officer!” Denny panted. “A superior officer! What were you thinking?”

“He was not thinking,” Chamberlayne said grimly.

“Let me go,” Wickham quietly growled as he struggled in their grips. “I will not punch him again,” he lied, knowing full well he meant to thrash the man the minute they released him.

“Not until you have control of yourself,” Chamberlayne replied. He stared around them. “We have drawn quite a crowd. There will be no hushing this up.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir,” a man said, hurrying through the crowd to the colonel’s side. A corporal, he reached a hand down. Fitzwilliam grasped it and regained his footing.

“Thank you, Corporal Laman,” Fitzwilliam said. He tugged his coat back into place but ignored the dirt on his clothing. He lifted his chin and stared stonily at Wickham. “I am placing you under charge, Mr. Wickham. Corporal Laman and these two militia corporals—your batmen I presume—will escort you to the local lock-up where you will be confined until your court-martial.”

Denny and Chamberlayne both breathed in sharply.

“Sir, leniency, I beg of you,” Chamberlayne petitioned. “A court-martial will likely mean that Wickham will be cashiered out of the militia. He will not be allowed to sell his commission. He will be destitute.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam stared at him, then at Denny, and lastly at Wickham, whose blood had run cold at the threat of court-martial.

“Sir,” Wickham said woodenly, straightening. His friends did not release him. He bowed his shoulders and said, “I most humbly apologize for my insubordination and throw myself on your mercy. If you will allow it, I will sell out and join the regulars.” He waited several long minutes while Fitzwilliam gazed at him so directly that Wickham dared not look away.

Finally, Fitzwilliam spoke. “A northern regiment will be acceptable. If you do not follow through with your promise, I will file charges against you.” He waved at Denny and Chamberlayne, and then at the two batmen. “I have more than enough witnesses to your ungentlemanly conduct.”

Wickham swallowed. “I will return to Brighton at once and speak to my colonel.”

“See that you do,” Fitzwilliam ordered. “I will look for your name on the regular’s lists.”

Wickham saluted. “Sir.”

The colonel stepped to one side, and Wickham felt his eyes upon them as they left, their shoulders tight. The cart trundle after them, followed by the two militia corporals serving as their batmen.

Wickham wished that Darcy’s cousin would go to hell, but he dared not do or say anything further. He wondered if this result had been what Fitzwilliam had been hoping for. Bloody bastard. Being cashiered would mean utter ruination. As he thought about the change from the militia to the regulars, he realized he would have money left over from his sell out. Several hundred pounds, at least. Cheered by that realization, Wickham felt his spirits rise. There may be something better for me in the regulars. I have heard that the 1st battalion of the Northumberland 5th Regiment of Foot is resting in Devon and Somerset this winter, looking for recruits. I may be able to use my charm to good advantage there. They are a northern regiment but not stuck in the north. That location would suit me to the ground. I will use my charm to good effect in Bath, or in a coastal resort. I can still improve my situation in spite of Darcy’s machinations!

*

After reassuring her exterior animals, Lizzy entered Longbourn through the orangery doors, dismissing their farm manager with her thanks. She gave Harry a treat and praise before she left to find her father. In the entrance hall, she found Mary pacing.

“Have you seen Papa?” Lizzy asked. Mary jumped. “I did not mean to startle you.”

Mary waved away her apology. She folded her arms tightly about herself and stared at the outer door.

“What is the matter, Mary?” Lizzy asked, closing the distance between them. “What worries you so?”

In a whisper, Mary said, “Papa is in the front garden…with Oscar.”

“Oh, I see,” Lizzy said, smiling a little. “What did Papa say when you told him about Oscar?”

Mary covered her pale cheeks with her palms. “He told me he had known which way the wind blew for years.”

“Truly?” Lizzy chuckled. “I am still occasionally surprised by our father’s perspicacity. So often it seems as though his thoughts remain firmly fixed upon his books.” Lizzy put an arm around her sister’s shoulder. “Everything will be well. I promise you they will.”

“You have no power to promise anything of the sort, Lizzy,” Mary stated numbly.

“I suppose that is true. But Papa wishes his daughters to be happy in their married state. As long as we do not choose bounders, he will approve of our choices. Oscar has always been a fine individual. He is kind and attentive, hard-working and intelligent. There is nothing in his character for Papa to disapprove.”

“There is a lack of money,” Mary pointed out.