It was more by chance than design that Richard found himself walking beside Mary towards Meryton. He had, of course, fully intended to design it if necessary but by happy coincidence, Mr Bingley and Jane walked with determination at the head of the group, and Elizabeth, in desiring to speak with them walked after them. Darcy had let out one short sigh but then fallen into step beside her, and the four were engaged in a lively conversation of which Richard could hear only the occasional word or phrase. He happily accompanied Mary, and she continued to speak of the delights of Meryton as if it were quite unlike any other town in all of England. A slow smile crept over his face as he deduced, correctly, that it was anxiety rather than any personal enthusiasm for Meryton that gave energy to her words, and he allowed her to run on for some minutes before she paused for breath and evidently struggled to think of any more to say.
"Well, Miss Mary! That is a very thorough account of what lies before us in Meryton."
"Oh!" She smiled. "Well, it gives a little idea at least. I imagine you have seen many more interesting places on your travels."
"Yes, if you count mountains and the backs of other soldiers' heads as interesting." He laughed. "I am sure Meryton will be a very welcome change, for I was last in London and am eager for a little quieter pace of living before I move on to Kent which is, I am afraid to confess, quite deadly quiet by comparison."
"I have never been to Kent," Mary said, shyly. "Although I have on occasion visited London. My aunt and uncle live there."
"Oh?" He hoped she might take his question for a prompt and offer some description of her relatives and what part of London they resided in, that he could see if they had any connections in common. She merely nodded, and he was compelled to ask the question outright.
"And what part of London do this aunt and uncle Bennet live?"
"Gardiner," Mary corrected. "Their name is Gardiner. And they live -" she darted a glance up the road towards her sisters and looked back at him as if daring a challenge. "They live in Gracechurch Street."
Richard ran through his knowledge of London society and understood, almost immediately, the motive for her glance towards her sisters. Gracechurch Street was not the most elegant part of the city. In fact, Richard had been there often, although naturally without his own cousin's company.
"I know it well," he said, smoothly. After a moment's silence, he ventured to speak a little more. "If I may be so brave, Miss Mary, I must invite you not to draw a direct comparison between my cousin and I. I value Darcy highly, we are cousins after all and have been good friends all our lives, but our lives and our circumstances are quite different."
Mary looked at him, curiously.
"I am not as wealthy as he, nor possess the properties he does. As you may have gathered by my title, it was down to me to earn my fortune, and I have, albeit a modest one, by comparison to my two friends up yonder."
"You speak as if that were something to be ashamed of!"
"It is not - and I am not, but I am eager that you understand my circumstances, because -"
"Mr Darcy?"
The shout from some distance down the street caught Richard's ear and prevented him from finishing his words, but before he had time to rue the stranger who disturbed them, he saw his cousin's back stiffen.
"It cannot be -" Bingley muttered.
Darcy glanced over his shoulder, and Richard understood the look in a moment. As the man drew nearer he recognised him, and his own blood began to boil. George Wickham. He had heard the man was in Meryton but never dreamed their paths might cross.
"Good morning! What a party you are!"
"Good morning," Darcy replied, stiffly. "I see you are alone."
"Will you not introduce me to your friends?" Wickham asked, with a smile as he watched Darcy uncomfortably acquiesce to his manners.
"Mr George Wickham, this is Miss Jane Bennet, Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary Bennet."
"Delighted," Wickham said, with a deep bow.
"And you remember Charles Bingley and my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam."
Darcy had put an emphasis on Richard's title and he, like his cousin, was gratified to see Wickham flinch, his expression dropping almost imperceptibly.
"Colonel Fitzwilliam." Wickham nodded. "It has been quite some time."
"Indeed it has, Mr Wickham. I hear that you are part of the regiment here at Meryton." He fixed him with a glare. "That is headed by Colonel Forster, is it not?"
"That's right."
"He is a good man. I am well acquainted with him."
"Oh?"
Richard could see the sheen of desperation that settled over Wickham's forehead.
"Well, I will not delay you further, gentlemen," he said, with a hurried bow. "Good morning, ladies."
The party stood to one side to allow Wickham to pass, and Richard could almost have laughed to see the careful way he continued on his path. How it contrasted with the jaunty way he had approached, determined to undermine Darcy's happiness and instead having his own precarious position rendered still more unsteady by Richard's presence. He still intended to alert Colonel Foster to the past behaviour of his newest recruit. There would be no mentioning of names, no detail, merely an acknowledgement that their paths had crossed, and a suggestion that Forster keep a tight watch on Wickham, for the man had a reputation as a scoundrel. It would not undo the damage he had wrought on poor Georgiana, or on Darcy, who had been bound by honour and by old Mr Darcy's promise of care to see Wickham well, but it might encourage the man to keep his head down and behave better in future. Richard sighed. He doubted Wickham would be capable of behaving well in future. How many opportunities had he already had for learning his lesson, and yet he persisted?
"I did not realise you had other friends in Meryton, Colonel Fitzwilliam," Mary said, shyly. "I fear you surprised him by your presence."
"I fear I did!" Colonel Fitzwilliam asserted, as the party began to walk once more. "And I further wager he was not as happy to see me as a true friend might have been. But Wickham is scarcely worth our conversation, Miss Mary. Come, I wish to hear more of music. You recall my complete illiteracy when it comes to compositions. I do hope to impress my aunt and cousin upon my visit to Rosings, so perhaps you would be kind enough to educate me. What was the piece that Miss Bingley played last evening, for instance, when we danced? It was not so fast, nor so technically difficult, I am sure, as the pieces you chose."
This gentle compliment caused Mary's whole face to light up, and Richard scoured his memory for more he could say in praise of Mary's musical accomplishments, for it was not even a falsehood on his part to admire her playing. Truly she was talented, and he had sought to take an interest in music he had never had before in hopes he might have reason to use his newfound knowledge and please her.
Mary chattered happily about the pieces, both her own and those that Caroline had played, how they were suited for dancing because of their lively pace and the easily followed beats that instructed, without the need of words, the dancers when to move.
"I see it is strategy, at its finest," he marvelled, with a grin, and dropped his voice. "For do not think I did not notice the slow, romantic piece you played the first time your sister and Mr Bingley danced. You would play your part in encouraging a particular style of dance, of conversation between partners by your choice of music."
Mary's cheeks flamed.
"I would not say that -"
"Such modesty. Yet you certainly observe more than you admit to, I am sure. For instance, you understood almost immediately how I would feel coming into so close-knit a society as this after so many months away and have made every effort to see me settled, even when it requires you to speak rather more than you might personally choose." He smiled, warmly. "It is appreciated, Miss Mary. You are a very generous person, and I am glad to call you my friend. At least, I hope I may be so bold as to call you my friend?"
He held his breath, wondering if in her answer Mary might crush the hopes that had begun to lodge with ever more fervency in his chest. His relief was palpable, then, when she murmured, so softly that he might have missed it entirely, had he not had his eyes fixed on her features.
"Yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Of course, you may!"