To make matters worse, Darcy had been in communication with Wickham’s commanding general. All officers were warned not to gamble with Lt. Wickham or their promotions might be in jeopardy. Wickham was effectively cut out from all entertainments an officer traditionally enjoyed.
For three years, he lived thus. Then, in remembrance of the third anniversary of Lydia and Wickham’s wedding, a promotion to captain was purchased by Darcy. Not only did this event bring additional income to the Wickham family, it finally gave the head of the household the chance to retaliate against his benefactor.
Wickham had befriended the paymaster. When the promotion became final, Wickham arranged for four pounds a month to be withheld from transfer to Smyth & Smyth. His friend charged one part in four for the courtesy, but Wickham gladly paid the fee, and his pockets were heavier by three pounds.
That in itself was cause to celebrate. The reason Captain Wickham was in such high spirits that night was in anticipation of his sister, Kitty’s, wedding. Not that he gave two farthings for the girl, but Lydia had received passage to attend with the children. George Wickham would be a bachelor for at least a month, if not two.
Wickham moved to a table in the corner. He looked around the pub and spotted a new barmaid. He thought her a tasty morsel. She was young—and he always fancied the young ones—pert, and well padded.
Ripe for a tumble, she is, or my name is not George Wickham. The captain put down his glass and was about to call her over when he heard a voice he recognized.
“George! George Wickham, as I live and breathe!”
Wickham, startled, looked about. His eyes settled on a young major of infantry. “Denny? Is that you?”
“Ha! Yes, it is, George! Good to see you, old man,” cried Major Archibald Denny, Wickham’s comrade from the ——shire militia.
“Sit down, sit down! Look at you! You have come up in the world.” Wickham, presuming the barmaid was lost for the evening, focused all his attention on his old friend.
“So have you,” said Denny. “Captain of Infantry! Are you posted to the regiment here?”
“Yes—three years. Just got promoted.”
“Then my arrival is well timed indeed. Allow me to offer you joy for your promotion, sir! Barkeep! A bottle, sir! What are you drinking?”
“Whisky. ’Tis the only tolerable drink in the house.”
“Whisky, then! And be quick about it!”
The bottle of tolerable whisky was soon procured, and the two old brothers-in-arms drank and surveyed each other.
Wickham broke the silence first. “A major, Denny! You have done well for yourself.”
“Thankee, George. I was lucky. I earned a competency promotion to captain, and a death vacancy promoted me to major.”
Wickham, refilling his glass, studied the flashings on Denny’s tunic. “You are not with the militia,” he observed.
“No, staff officer with the General Staff in London.” Denny nursed his drink.
Wickham, in spite of himself, was impressed. “What brings you to Newcastle?”
“I had to consult with your general here.” He took a sip and placed his glass down as he said, “So how are you faring, George?”
Wickham looked away. “Same as always.” He took a pull at his drink and smiled. “The new recruits cannot find their arse with both hands.”
Denny laughed. For a while, they spoke of old times, and then Denny said, “You married Lydia Bennet, I remember. How is the family?”
Wickham took a long swallow of his drink. “Everyone was well, the last time I saw them.” At Denny’s questioning look, Wickham added, “They are to Hertfordshire for Lydia’s sister’s wedding next month,” as he reached for the bottle.
“Everyone? You have children now, I take it?”
Wickham’s hand could barely contain his belch. “Yes—two girls. Two whining, screaming girls. Three if you count their mother! Ha!” He took another drink. “Lydia’s expanding again, so maybe this time a boy, eh? Drink up—let us drink to the Wickham heir!” The captain drained his glass. “I tell you, Denny, I just look at her and—boom!” He clapped his hands as he shook his head drunkenly.
Denny barely touched his drink. “There is no need to speak like that. She is your wife. She is a good woman—”
“Oh, she is good.” Wickham suddenly stopped and looked at his companion through an alcoholic haze. “What do ya mean by that?” he slurred. “Why ya so interested in Lydia?” Wickham lurched to his unsteady feet, slamming his glass down on the table. “Just what do ya mean by your attentions to my wife?” he roared.
Denny blanched. “George, sit down,” he urged. “Be still, man; you are making a spectacle of yourself.” He stood to encourage the other man. “Come, sir, all is well. You know I have the greatest admiration for you and your entire family. We are friends, George! Come, have a drink.” Denny poured the last of the whisky into Wickham’s glass and put the drink into the other man’s hand. Raising his own glass, Denny said, “Here is to you, George. To friendship!”
Mollified, Wickham returned, “Friendship!” drained the glass, and fell backwards, oversetting his chair, completely intoxicated.
Denny walked over to ascertain his companion’s condition. Feeling no pain tonight, but I cannot speak for his head in the morning. Denny rounded up a couple of soldiers and had Captain George Wickham carried home to sleep off his carousing in his own bed. Denny stood by the bed as the servant tucked the master in.
George, George, George—shall you never change? he asked silently as he looked at his friend. Denny looked around the cottage. It was small but fairly neat. The maid did what she could but had little help.
He thought back to Wickham’s outburst and colored. It was true he had admired Lydia Bennet three years ago, and he was sorry that she had chosen to go off with Wickham, but Denny thought himself resigned to their union long ago. Could his true feelings be so transparent?
In vain, Denny fought the thought that came to his mind: Lydia deserves better than this.
Chapter 8
Austria
It was now Lady Caroline Buford’s decided opinion that sea travel was unpleasant and unrefined. It was not so much the accommodations; even Caroline knew that warships were not designed for ladies’ travel. Their food was tolerable, for the short voyage assured that the passengers would not need to partake of the more common rations given to mariners, such as rotten mutton, weevil-infested biscuits, and suspect water. The passage across the Channel was uneventful, given calm seas. No, what Caroline did not like was that the beds aboard could not accommodate two.
It had been quite a change for the former Miss Bingley. Prior to her marriage, she could hardly imagine sharing her bed with a man. Now she could hardly bear not to do so. She found it a great comfort to awaken with her husband’s arm holding her close, and his even breathing was pleasurable. As for the nights, she could only blush. She felt sure she enjoyed those times far more than propriety subscribed, but it did not signify, as Sir John seemed to be delighted with her.