A Continued Affection

Part 34

Wickham had sought sanctuary in the courtyard. The last thing he had expected or wished to, see was Darcy and Elizabeth walking arm in arm and looking at each other as if there were no other people in the world but them. His stomach lurched and he turned away, taking a long drag on his pipe and grimacing at the taste of the cheap tobacco he had scrounged from a stranger.

If this is what making amends feels like, I am not sure I care for it, he thought, rolling his eyes heavenward and tracing the outline of the moon against the darkened sky. Whispered laughter forced him to retreat further into the bushes that lined the courtyard and he watched couple after couple take a secret stroll away from the curious audience of revellers. This was no place to be a single man. Taking the last draw of is tobacco and rather relishing the burning, bitter smoke, he extinguished it and made for the door, grateful that Elizabeth and Darcy had continued their journey past him and he might escape unseen. He had not enjoyed hearing himself discussed, and whilst part of him had relished the thought of leaping on them from the shadows and pleading his case, that had been quickly and quietly overruled. What did he care if Darcy did not trust him or even like him very much? He had spent a lifetime earning Fitzwilliam Darcy's disapproval. He had grown used to that.

"Oh, Mr Wickham!"

He had barely crossed the threshold of the assembly room, weaving past crowds of bystanders, when he was recognised and hailed from a table, at which sat Mr and Mrs Bennet and another couple who must be their London family. He thought he could deduce a likeness between Mrs Bennet and the man who was her cousin. In no mood to make polite conversation with married couples, he merely saluted her with a smile and wave and kept moving. He was not entirely sure where he was going but he grew increasingly aware, as he moved, of the admiring glances young ladies sent in his direction. He slowed his pace. Why not dance a spell? It would be easy enough to charm a young lady or two into dancing with him. His spirit was bruised from hearing himself and his past so frankly discussed by those who did not like him. He could do with a little comfort.

"No," he told himself, quietly but firmly, thinking that to hear the word aloud might make it easier to obey. He continued his progress, skirting the crowds of dancers and pinning a vague smile on his face that might work to deter any interested young ladies without dismissing them altogether. He was in no position to burn bridges, particularly not pretty, silk-clad ones.

"Wickham."

This time it was not a lady that hailed him but the low, warning voice of a gentleman. He stopped, gathering a slow, fortifying breath before turning to face Colonel Fitzwilliam with a smile he hoped was believable.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam. Enjoying your evening?"

"Better than you seem to be," Colonel Fitzwilliam replied, taking in Wickham at a glance and somehow seeing past the veneer of contentment Wickham sought to project. His eyes narrowed. "Where have you been?"

"Taking the air," Wickham said, with a defiant nod. He brandished his pipe as proof of his words and his gaze grew challenging. "I suppose you will find some cause to dispute that, too, but you have none."

"You may do whatever you wish," Colonel Fitzwilliam retorted, folding his arms across his chest. "You always do, anyway."

Wickham met his gaze, determined not to be cowed by the man he had sought help from only a few days previously.

"I wrote to Colonel Forster," Fitzwilliam continued, and this was enough to make Wickham falter. Only for a moment. The merest flicker of his gaze, but Colonel Fitzwilliam noticed it and the corners of his lips etched upwards in the tiniest of smiles. Wickham resisted the urge to lash out at him by twirling his pipe stem in one hand. He waited a moment until he could be sure to speak calmly.

"And?"

"And nothing." Fitzwilliam shrugged. "It is up to him who he chooses to promote, who he chooses to send where. I merely said that I know nothing of you in a professional capacity and cannot advise him to promote or dismiss you, either way."

"So you have not helped me," Wickham said at last, his breath escaping him in a sigh. "No letter at all would have been better than that." He swallowed a curse. He had been a fool, seeking Colonel Fitzwilliam's help. It had been a step towards making amends for his past, and in seeking out Darcy's cousin he had, it seemed, put paid to his future, too.

Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled but the expression was not kind.

"Did you expect me to lie? I could not in good conscience give a good reference to your character, whatever changes you claim to have made now." His eyes narrowed. "What did you say to Miss Bennet?"

This betrayal of interest caught Wickham by surprise. Here, at last, he might tip the conversation in his favour and at least win something that felt like a victory of the arrogant, upstanding colonel.

"What business is that of yours? I assure you your name did not cross my lips."

Colonel Fitzwilliam's smile fell and Wickham congratulated himself on this silent victory.

"Now, if you do not mind, Colonel, I shall be on my way. Surely a great many young ladies are lining up to dance with one such as you this evening." He glanced around, feigning surprise at the absence of a crowd. "Or perhaps not. Either way, I trust you will enjoy yourself. I certainly mean to."

He stalked off, not giving Colonel Fitzwilliam the satisfaction of looking back, even though it meant he could not see whether his childish barb had landed. He imagined Colonel Fitzwilliam often fell a low second to the gentlemen he associated with. As the second son, his brother had been the one ladies circled. Alone, or in the regiment, he might be a fair prospect, but compared to Darcy, he trailed behind in appearance, manner, wealth, status... Wickham smiled. It was too easy to pick a man's Achilles heel and exploit it.

I wanted to change. I thought I could. But if the world will not accept the new me, why bother? I may as well stick to what I am good at.

He had almost reached the door, pausing there and considering his options. There was a good deal of people here, rich and less-rich, but all of them with more capital to their name than he had. Why not linger a while and see if he could profit from this thus-far unfortunate evening?

He surveyed the crowd quietly, his mind intent on finding his quarry, so that he did not notice a young lady approaching him, carefully but steadily, until she was standing directly beside him. He did not notice her then, either, until she spoke, and her low voice sounded inches away from his ear.

"Good evening, George."