“Good God, Fitz, what are you doing here and in that!” Darcy laughed at the disapproval on Richard’s face as his cousin opened the cab’s door and set out the steps himself. How good it was to laugh again! “Here, get your hat, for pity’s sake, and make sure you dust it off!”

“Do not offend my driver, if you please!” Darcy warned him with a wink. “He is an uncommon brave one and stands by his word.” He turned to the man and pressed thrice his fare in his hand as he looked him squarely in the eye. “I am very grateful to him.”

“T’anks, gov’ner…ah, sir.” The man flushed and, ducking his head while he backed away, clambered up into his seat and drove off.

Darcy turned to see his cousin staring at him in utter disbelief. Clapping him on the shoulder, he said, “Come, I have found Wickham and need your help. Where can we talk?”

A few minutes later, they stood in the doorway of a public house favored by a large number of His Majesty’s officers, most of whom looked curiously at Darcy after stepping aside and nodding to his companion. “Not many civilians brave enough to part the ‘Red Sea,’ ” Richard explained as he ushered his cousin to a snug table in the corner. “They are wondering who you are. Now, tell me how the Devil you found the scabby miscreant before I did!”

Darcy shook his head. “Another time, perhaps. I need your help in something else in which you are particularly knowledgeable.” Richard grinned slyly at him. “What? No! I refer, my dear Cuz, to your military knowledge.”

Richard sat back complacently. “Say on! What do you wish to know?”

“What does a lieutenancy cost?”

“A lieutenancy? It would depend upon the unit and where it is stationed. Anywhere between five hundred and nine hundred pounds.” His brow wrinkled. “Why do you — Hold there!” The colonel came forward in his chair and pinned Darcy with a look of horror. “You do not mean it for Wickham!”

“In one crack!” Darcy’s lips turned up in amusement at his cousin’s expression. “I will never understand why D’Arcy calls you a slow-top!”

“Because he is an idiot! But that is not to the point.” Richard’s eyes narrowed, and he tapped a finger on the table between them. “You mean to purchase Wickham a lieutenancy. Wickham — the blackguard who almost ruined —” He stopped and bit his lip, then continued. “Who has thrown every good you have done him in your teeth, who owes money to every tradesman and an apology to every young woman’s father between here and Derbyshire.” Richard’s face grew more flushed with each charge. “What has he done that he should abandon his militia regiment and you reward him with a career in the army? Lieutenant!” He snorted. “Let him start at the bottom and learn discipline and respect if he is wild for the army!”

“I cannot tell you; it is not mine to reveal the particulars,” Darcy reminded his cousin, who sat back in frustration, shaking his head. He relented. “You must know that I do not do this with Wickham’s welfare as my object. He has…” Darcy paused and frowned. “Damn if he has not compromised another young woman, but this time, she is from a respectable but modestly situated family with whom I have some acquaintance. There is nothing for it but that they must marry, and you know as well as I that George is in no position to support a wife. It is for the young woman and her family that I do this.” He traced one of the dark rings on the table left by innumerable pints. “Perhaps, if I had been less proud, I might have had some success in making Wickham’s character understood before ever he endangered one of their daughters.”

Richard eyed his cousin steadily as he stroked his chin, examining him, Darcy knew, for any weakness on which he could work. “All right, all right!” He finally surrendered, throwing up his hands. “You are set upon this — of which there is much more than meets the eye — and there will be no moving you! What do you want me to do?”

“Find a commission stationed here in England but in an obscure unit, preferably a place that offers few inducements to mischief.”

Richard’s eyebrows rose. “Bury him, you mean!” He snorted. “Well, your idea sounds better now than it did at first, I must say. Officers wishing to sell out of a stagnant unit in the middle of nowhere should not be difficult to locate. Perhaps I will be lucky and find one with a martinet commander who devoutly believes that tormenting his staff is how to make men of them.” He laughed wickedly. “I shall send round a list to Erewile House.”

“I need it sooner rather than later.” Darcy rose, as did his cousin.

“Yes, sir!” Richard saluted him smartly, then leaned forward to whisper, “But if word should get out that I had any hand in foisting that wretch on the army, I shall have no mercy on you, Cuz.”

Later that evening a packet carrying Richard’s scrawl was laid upon Darcy’s desk. “The communication from Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir,” Witcher announced quietly at the door, then crossed the room at Darcy’s nod.

“Thank you, Witcher. That will be all.” He reached for the packet and began to break the seal.

Rather than leave, his butler looked pointedly at the tray at his master’s elbow. “Nothing to your liking, sir?”

“No, it is very well.” Darcy looked at the artfully arranged repast with dismay. “In the midst of all this” — he indicated his littered desk — “I forgot it was there.”

“Shall I remove it, sir?” From Witcher’s tone and his own long experience, Darcy knew that sending the food back without touching it would cause undue concern belowstairs.

“No, no, leave it here. Now that this has come,” he answered, waving the packet, “I shall feel more at leisure. Thank your good wife, Witcher.”

“Yes, sir.” The man sighed with relief. “Just so, sir.”

The seal broken, Darcy laid out the pages on his desk and reached for one of his housekeeper’s lemon biscuits. A half hour later, he drew forward paper and pen and began his purchase of a commission for George Wickham, Esquire, in the regiment from among those in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s list that lay the farthest distance from Hertfordshire and Polite Society.


The next morning, following his cousin’s instructions, Darcy presented his application to the proper authorities and within an hour was in possession of assurances that, when all the military wheels had ground, his request for a commission in the —— th Regiment, stationed in Newcastle, would be granted.

Upon returning to Erewile House, he embarked upon the singularly uncomfortable task of apprising his secretary that certain changes in his financial arrangements would be necessary. For the first time in their long association, Darcy saw Hinchcliffe actually start and stare. “Mr. Darcy,” he croaked, unable to find his full voice, “you cannot understand what you are saying! To raise that amount above the normal requirements of your interests would involve considerable shifting of assets and inevitable loss. Sir, I respectfully submit that you reconsider! Perhaps there are other ways such a sum —”

Darcy shook his head. “Not in so quickly a manner, I fear, and time is my adversary.” Seeing the concern in the older man’s eyes, he continued, “Do not fear that I have done something rash or unprincipled, Hinchcliffe. I have not turned gamester, nor am I the victim of blackmail. Rather I have hope that these funds will do some good…right a wrong, at least.” He stopped and tapped the desk between them. “I put it into your hands, Hinchcliffe,” he said to the man who had taught and guided him in all his financial affairs since his father’s death, “and have every confidence in your decisions. Proceed with what you think best: I will countersign without requiring explanation or justification.”

“As you wish, sir.” His secretary rose and looked down upon him, his reserve recovered but his concern still apparent to one who had grown up under his tutelage. “But hope, the kind of which you speak, rarely returns principal, let alone interest, sir.”

“Yet, if we have any humanity in us, we must continue to invest; must we not?” He spoke softly but with a sudden, heartfelt conviction.

Hinchcliffe inclined his head and then, for the first time in both their lives, made him a full bow. “Your father would be very proud, sir, very proud.” So saying, his secretary turned from the surprise and flush of appreciation on Darcy’s face and left the room, shoulders set to do financial battle with the world in his master’s interest. Hinchcliffe’s words, Darcy knew, had not been lightly spoken. Accompanied by his bow, they were the first tokens of a deep and genuine esteem that his secretary had ever offered him. Oh, the man had always been exceedingly polite and patient, even when, at their first meeting, when he was twelve years old, Darcy had bowled over the young, new secretary in the hall outside this very door. Your father would be very proud. Darcy’s eyes traveled to the small portrait of his sire on the wall and nodded his acceptance. “Yes, thank you, I believe he would.”


With the financial pledges he had made Wickham set into motion, it was incumbent upon Darcy that he speak with Wickham again before he could present it all as a fait accompli to Elizabeth’s relatives in London. Entering once more into a rough hired cab, he believed himself prepared for any dodges or demands that might arise. Wickham was ever one to surprise his fellows with erratic actions, depending on their sheer audacity to confound his adversaries. But such tricks were become old to as long an acquaintance as lay between them. This time Wickham had ever so much more to lose; and Darcy, a host of allies that could pin him down whichever way he might jump.

Darcy arrived at the inn just before three. Ducking his head to enter the public room, he spied his “shadow” watching for him from the doorway leading to the stairs. With a toss of his head upward and a broad wink, the boy silently informed Darcy that the pair was still to be found above. Casually placing a guinea on a nearby table, Darcy acknowledged with gratitude the urchin’s information and was rewarded with a look of surprise that, he imagined, rarely crossed the world-weary child’s face.