“Thank you, Captain, they did,” Wickham replied. It was all well and good to say so to some Dutchman, but Wickham would not compliment the men to their faces; he needed to maintain discipline.
“But the waste in powder and balls!” The Dutch officer shook his head. “How can you English afford it?”
Wickham said nothing. While he had no personal experience of war, those who did claimed the live-fire exercises improved the infantrymen’s marksmanship, which had proven invaluable in the Peninsular campaign. Wickham was simply following orders.
The Dutch officer changed the subject. “Are you attending tomorrow night’s ball, Captain?” Many of London society had followed the army to Brussels, and entertainments were necessary to break the monotony.
“No, I shall not be able to make it, old boy.”
In reality, Wickham’s commanding colonel, put on his guard about Wickham by a well-timed letter received from Pemberley before embarking to the Continent, had made Captain Wickham Officer of the Day on the day of the ball. In fact, Captain Wickham was to have the honor of being Officer of the Day
Buford sat moodily in the public rooms of his lodgings, nursing a before-dinner glass of wine. He was feeling very sorry for himself.
The front door opened to reveal Colonel Fitzwilliam walking in, obviously after a tiresome day. “Buford, my good man, pour me a glass—quick!” Buford did so and Richard took a sip. “Ah… at least there is something to be said for this misbegotten place!”
“Rough time of it, Fitz?”
“Argh, ever seen to the unloading of a bloody horse regiment?” He paused for a moment as Buford gave him a knowing look. “Oh, yes, of course you have. Well then, how can you ask how my day went?” he cried.
Buford smiled. Richard’s antics took his mind off his troubles. “Thank you for seeing that my equipment made it over.”
“No trouble, old man. Glad to have been of service. Your wife was very keen that I should give the matter my utmost consideration.”
Buford then realized that his wife had received his letter. But that still did not explain why there had been no answer. He changed the subject.
“Brandon should be here any moment.”
“Excellent—what is for dinner?”
“Beef stew in red wine with onions and mushrooms,
“Any beer to go with that?” asked Colonel Brandon as he strode to the table. “I am famished!”
“Sit down, Brandon, and welcome!” cried Fitzwilliam. “I am glad you could accept our invitation. I have not seen any trace of you since I got here. Staff work keeping you occupied?”
“Yes.” Brandon lifted his newly arrived beer. “To us, gentlemen—three colonels of His Majesty’s cavalry! To hell with glory, let us go home!”
“To home!” the others replied.
“Colonel Brandon?” asked a voice from behind.
Brandon turned to see who had addressed him. “Ah, Denny! Will you not have a seat?”
“Oh no, sir, I am just delivering a packet from headquarters.” The major handed him the papers.
“Have a seat, Major,” said Buford. He had gotten to know Denny during his short time on the staff.
Denny eyed Fitzwilliam, who had turned his face away from him. Finally, after another entreaty from Buford, Denny sat across from Fitzwilliam.
Brandon poured him a glass. “To your health.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Denny said as he sipped his wine.
“Beau’s been keeping you busy, Denny?” Buford used another nickname for their commander-in-chief. Wellington was well known for his sartorial splendor.
“Yes, sir—the ——th Regiment just came in. I must see that—”
“The ——th Regiment from Newcastle?” Richard cut the major off.
“Yes, Colonel.” Major Denny looked warily at Fitzwilliam. “Assigned to the reserve corps.”
“I see.”
Brandon began again. “I hope you like the stew—”
“Seen Wickham lately, Denny?” demanded Richard.
“No, sir. I have not seen Captain Wickham since he disembarked at Antwerp.”
“I am surprised, Major—you being such good friends,” Richard said savagely. The other two officers looked on in bewilderment.
Denny set down his glass. “Excuse me, gentlemen, uh… I just recalled a previous engagement. Perhaps another time.” He rose to leave.
“Denny, I—” cried Buford, but he was interrupted by Brandon.
“Of course, Major. Do not let us detain you. I will see you tomorrow.” Brandon rose and pointedly shook Denny’s hand. Buford rose and did likewise. Fitzwilliam simply sat and glared at the major. Finally, Denny left the boardinghouse.
“What the devil was that about, Fitz?” demanded Buford. “Denny is a very good fellow. There is no need to treat him like that.”
“If you really knew him, you would treat him no other way, Buford,” he said as he sipped his wine. Richard Fitzwilliam was not a vindictive man. It was not usually in his nature to hold grudges. But the happy-go-lucky visage he presented to the world hid the deep feelings of devotion he held to those few he loved. He would allow no one to harm his family or his closest friends. Chief among those he would protect with his life were Anne de Bourgh and Georgiana Darcy. George Wickham’s failed seduction of Georgiana and her subsequent melancholy had affected him more than anyone knew, including himself. He would never forgive Wickham—or anyone he suspected of helping him.
Buford was preparing to respond when Brandon restrained him with a touch of his arm. “It is something personal, I take it, Fitz. We would not dream of inquiring. Let us just drop the matter and enjoy our fellowship and our meal.”
Fitzwilliam nodded but did not closely attend. He was too busy thinking over the information he had just received.
Anne de Bourgh sat at her writing table in her suite of rooms, penning her latest secret dispatch to Richard via their co-conspirator, Georgiana Darcy. She hummed happily as she wrote; thoughts of Richard were a welcome distraction from the situation at Rosings.
For the last month since Anne received her life-altering letter from Colonel Fitzwilliam, the household was in a state of undeclared war. Anne had categorically refused to travel with her mother to Bath or to leave her suite of rooms to greet any visitor to Rosings other than family or the Collinses.
Lady Catherine, for her part, refused to talk to Anne or even acknowledge Anne’s existence when they were in company together. Messages were sent in writing through Mrs. Parks, the housekeeper, who had continued to take possession of and responsibility for the post, much to Lady Catherine’s displeasure. Lady Catherine also refused to allow Anne use of any of Rosings’s carriages under threat of dismissal for any groom who might come to the aid of Miss de Bourgh. Anne was reduced to walking the gardens or woods with Charlotte Collins.
Anne had just finished her letter. Only happy subjects were mentioned; Mrs. Jenkinson had been quite insistent upon that. “
