On an ordinary evening, very little kept George Wickham from the solace of sleep. To lie awake rueing past misdeeds was not a circumstance he was used to, nor one he particularly enjoyed.
Rolling over, he stared up into the blackness, trying to ignore the sound of a dozen other men sleeping. It was a long way from ideal, this life he had signed himself up for, yet at the point of joining the regiment, he had seen little other option. His last source of income had dried up, and the very last person he had pleaded for sanctuary from had offered him no quarter, telling him in no uncertain terms that it was long past time he made something of himself.
How he regretted not doing so sooner! Even a penniless parsonage would make for a more comfortable night's rest than the draughty, Spartan barracks. And a quieter one! he thought, ignoring the sound of snoring that came from more than one of the bunks near his.
Folding one arm so that it lay behind his head, he allowed his eyes to drift closed and instantly forced them open again. He had not bargained on the images his mind would choose to taunt him with, in the absence of anything else to look at. Even shadowy blackness was better than the colourful recollections of the last time his path crossed Sidney Egerton's.
He let out a long, weary sigh.
Sidney Egerton. If ever there was a man he had truly done wrong to, who deserved to bear a grudge against him, it was Sidney Egerton. The man had been nothing but friendly to him, and, having not one but two handsome, charming sisters, it had been no hardship to spend time with them, both in London and outside of it. He had pushed the boundaries with Joanna, of course, and was bound to be found out, but he had almost fully orchestrated his escape, one that would extricate himself from the promise of a marriage he had never fully vocalised, and do no lasting harm to either party. She would be heartbroken for a while, but young ladies soon rallied, and he did not think so very highly of himself to imagine he could not be replaced in her affections by another, in time.
If her dowry were a little healthier I might have been persuaded to go through with it, he thought now. It was not true, perhaps, but it offered him some comfort in the darkness of the night that he had not acted entirely out of boredom and self-interest. We cannot all marry as we choose, if we have no wealth of our own to support it.
Here, his mind led him inexorably to another. Darcy was here too, in Hertfordshire. Providence was nothing if not a humourist. She saw fit to chase Wickham from the coast to London, his debtors had turned against him in record time, and he sought refuge in Hertfordshire, only to have not one but two reminders of past indiscretions arrive to taunt him further. Egerton, he could forget, provided the man stayed far out of sight. He winced, for even the turn of phrase was like a hot dagger of guilt in him. Egerton was blind, and he had not known it! How could he? He had thought it likely the man injured in their last encounter but had he any notion how seriously he would, of course, stayed to see him to safety.
I may be many things I am not proud of, but I am no murderer. Nor an attempted murderer, either. He stared forcefully into the darkness, trying to imagine that this was the fate his old friend now lived with every day. To see without seeing, and worse, kept from doing all that he most loved to do. There would be no riding for Egerton now. No travelling to and fro or entirely pleasing himself with what he might do on any given day.
Well, in that we are alike, he thought, with a grim smile. Wickham's liberty had been curtailed by a lack of funds and a limiting of possibilities. It was this that had prompted him to give Darcy's name in place of his own, that fateful first time he and Egerton were introduced. The problem had come, of course, when they grew to know one another better and he was forced to continue the charade of being precisely who he claimed to be.
He felt a tiny glimmer of amusement at the thought of what conversations must have first transpired between Egerton and the real Mr Darcy, but that soon gave way to guilt once more, and with a groan, Wickham rolled over, burying his face in his pillows as if that might somehow force the memories from making themselves known.
My life is a series of calamities! he thought. I had thought this might be my chance to begin again, to start over, and yet it seems there is no escape from the past. I cannot go back and change what I have done, but now I must forever live under the shadow of it!
Georgiana had been his chance to make things right. He had known who she was upon their first meeting, of course, although she had been slower to recognise him. For once it stood him in good stead that Darcy was so aloof. He had kept the worst of Wickham's indiscretions from his sister's knowledge, so when he claimed a "friendship" with her brother she accepted the claim at face value, and took great delight in speaking of shared connections, reminiscing freely with him over the places they both recalled from childhood.
It had been a dream he had rather enjoyed, for Georgiana was sweet and kind, and it cheered Wickham to be thought well of. Darcy was forever waiting for him to make a mistake or lecturing him for having made one. With Georgiana, there was no such trouble. She admired him and listened quite admiringly to any one of a hundred stories he trotted out for her express benefit.
She did not understand the game the way many young ladies did, who smiled and petted and teased, and quite before he realised it he was partway to being in love with her. This was quandary itself, for he knew there was no way he could pursue a genuine relationship with her without Darcy getting wind of the affair and riding in to put a stop to it. For once, once only, Wickham had wanted to live in the dream a little longer…and with Georgiana's dowry, they might manage to build some kind of a life together where they might have been happy.
It all came to nothing, of course, and Wickham regretted how close to ruination he had brought her. But she had a brother to defend her, and would doubtless rally. Wickham was left with almost crushing guilt over the way he had lived up to now. Things I could not change, even if I wanted to! Time does not permit me to go back and undo the things I have done or do them differently.
The first hints of light appeared in a chink in the rough drapes, and he abandoned every further attempt at sleep. It had eluded him thus far, and if it dared to find him now he felt certain his dreams would not be kind. Turning onto his side, he rose to sit on the edge of his narrow bunk and rubbed a hand over his face.
He would not be able to go on with his life until he made some attempt to remedy what was past. Georgiana was lost to him. He did not think he could bear to see her again and be confronted with her sweet face and even temperament and know that he had hurt her. He was selfish but he was not cruel, at least he did not like to think he was. Darcy, too, would be as likely to shoot him as to listen to a word he said. He grimaced. No, any apology he might offer Darcy would fall on deaf ears, disbelieved and held against him as another attempt at manipulation. Too much had passed between them for Darcy ever to believe Wickham capable of change. I must show him, then. I must act well to others, and allow him to witness me changed before I dare speak to him in person.
There was one other person he could go to, one family to whom he could begin to pay penance. Egerton was in Hertfordshire, and he had thought it a cruel trick of Providence. Now, perhaps, he must acknowledge his being here was the very opportunity Wickham needed. Egerton was the person he had hurt worst, and Egerton was the first he could go to to make amends.
I shall go soon, Wickham thought, his spirits lifting a little despite the challenge he knew paying such a visit would be. The dawn inspired him, encouraging him to his daily tasks. I cannot repair his sight, but perhaps I can at least begin to repair his opinion of me. It was not much of a salve to the conscience he had spent too many years ignoring, but it was a step in the right direction, and Wickham had taken precious few of those before now. He shuffled towards the wash-room, determined to begin now and arrive early to his day's duties, as evidence of the change he was making. His superiors would hardly believe it.