For the Love of a Bennet Chapter 5

Arriving in Brighton courtesy of the speed and comfort of his family’s money, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam steeled himself for a distinct diminishment in his lifestyle. Colonel Farrington had long been relieved of his post, and Richard expected his arrival would signal an end to looser military standards. If for no other reason than to set an example to the young officers, he would lead with the credibility and respect his medals commanded. He would become a man utterly foreign to his closest family members.

No sooner had his boots touched down in front of Russell House, did he begin to bark orders at the poor cadet standing at attention.

“What is your name, Private?”

“Davies, sir. Cadet Davies!” The whelp barely old enough to carry a saddle squeaked as his voice cracked mid-sentence.

“And were you told to stand upon this spot, Cadet Davies?”

“Yes. Yes, sir,” he quickly corrected himself.

“Ah, and by whom?” Colonel Fitzwilliam stood so close to Cadet Davies that sweat beaded upon the lad’s forehead as he fretted over his answer. 

“By me! And it’s too damn early in the morning for all of this shouting!” A man leaned out of Russell House in a state of undress with his red coat unbuttoned halfway down.

Cadet Davies let out a sigh of relief as Colonel Fitzwilliam stood and waited for the mysterious soldier to come down the stairs and salute him properly. As he stared the man down, the other officer tilted his head as if to question Richard’s seriousness. When Richard stood still as a statue, the other man murmured some more curse words under his breath as he struggled to right his uniform and simultaneously stamp his left boot into proper position.

Finally, the man stood before Colonel Fitzwilliam and saluted. “Captain Joshua Shawcroft, sir. Permission to show you to your quarters, sir.”

Hiding his smirk, Richard dismissed the sickly Cadet Davies, and when the boy showed promise by offering his limited strength to the coachman, Colonel Fitzwilliam followed the good Captain Shawcroft inside. Once there, Captain Shawcroft gave his superior’s shoulder a good shove.

“What was that all about? Embarrassing me in front of my cadet,” Captain Shawcroft waved his fingers at a few scantily dressed ladies in the parlor, a small cotillion remaining from the night before.

“How long did you make that lad stand out there?” Richard asked, as his eyes took in the utterly derelict breakdown in military discipline around him. Another officer, scarcely dressed with his roger dangling for the world to see, chased a giggling brunette towards the back of the house. 

The house itself had long since lost the luster of the wealthy businessman who had built it. Twenty years had not improved the decor, and the furnishings were particularly shabby. When not used as officer quarters, the house was likely one of ill-repute, a profession that was highly accepted in the home village of the Prince Regent’s dalliances with his mistresses.

“It was good for him,” Captain Shawcroft pronounced as he lit a cigar. “You were supposed to arrive next week,” he scolded.

“I come when I am summoned. The Major General was quite insistent that I come at my earliest convenience.”

“And who do you think suggested your talents to the Major General?” Captain Joshua Shawcroft, the heir to Baron Winmarleigh, expressed his displeasure that a friend from his childhood could be so dimwitted as to think his military skill brought him to the blessed assignment of soldiering by the seaside. “I pulled my charm, and wit, into making sure your name was summoned amongst the long list of lackeys vying for the position.”

“But there’s much to clean up, Farrington—”

“Was a great bore!” called voices in unison from down the hall, and Richard Fitzwilliam looked incredulously at his friend from Eton College.

Captain Shawcroft shrugged, then loosened the top buttons on his coat again, shooing away a young woman trying to offer her company for a bit of coin. “We had to get rid of him.”

Stunned that a company could frame an innocent man for their depraved distractions, Colonel Fitzwilliam suddenly felt rather in danger himself. Perhaps his initial supposition of the assignment was remiss, and he would be wise to listen to Captain Shawcroft’s expectations of his new commander before expressing his unwillingness to cooperate.

“As I am grossly misinformed, perhaps you should explain to me my post.” Colonel Fitzwilliam took the cigar from Shawcroft’s mouth and invited the shunned woman to climb upon his lap as he took a seat in the largest chair in the makeshift parlor. 

Shawcroft grinned.

“It’s simple really. In the afternoon we sport with the horses, yell at the men, and spend our evenings as we jolly-well please,” he explained, pouring the colonel a drink.

Richard accepted the liquid courage as he endured the haphazard seduction of the young woman, not even remotely distracting his person. Still, he played along until he could remove them both to a bedroom and let the poor girl sleep.

“And there’s no obstacle to your plan? I had heard Preston Barracks was to become a premier training ground. Impress the Regent,” he said, watching a shadow fall over Shawcroft’s self-congratulatory smirk.

“One obstacle. A ragtag militia. But I’m certain you can convince their colonel over to our way of thinking.”

“Most assuredly, what’s the unit?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked as he held the cigar in his lips and delicately traced the woman’s exposed shoulder, making her shiver at his gentleness that contrasted so greatly with the rough grasps of the other men. “Give me the roster and I shall see if any of the names are those I can work upon,” Richard said, in such a serious tone that Shawcroft didn’t argue with him. As the Captain sulked off to fetch the dispatches and marked letters for the commander of the unit, Richard took the opportunity to make an ally.

Quietly, Richard whispered to the young woman she would be safe with him, and when he motioned he was ready, for her to show him to the bedroom assigned to Shawcroft. She smiled, eager to be of use to someone, and performed obediently as Shawcroft reappeared with a roll of papers with official seals and markings. Richard snatched the intelligence and winked at his co-conspirator. Wiggling her hips as she walked, Richard took a long puff of the cigar as both men watched her saunter. Then he handed the habit over to its original owner.

“I find that I am rather fatigued after my journey,” he remarked, downing his drink.

Thinking himself secure in a new ally, Captain Shawcroft raised the holler of celebration for their new commander and was joined by the handful of men awakened from their drunken stupors. He ceased his cheers of jubilation for Colonel Fitzwilliam when he spied the woman leading him up to the best room of the house: his room. Captain Shawcroft dashed up the stairs to the laughter of many strewn about the hallways and landings, only to have the door slammed shut and locked before he could stop them. 

Pounding on the door with a flat hand, he again cursed his old schoolmate. But if the Colonel needed a rest from his troubles, then Captain Shawcroft could work on a more permanent arrangement for the new arrival. One that didn’t require the sacrifice of his room.