Chapter 4
What deuced luck! Wickham fought the urge to plant his friend Denny a facer. But he couldn’t blame Denny—not really. The man had no idea of the animosity between Wickham and Darcy.
With dismay, Wickham realised this adventure might be over before it started. Unless he turned the situation to his favour. But how?
He rid himself of Denny by saying he needed new boots. The widow had been willing to buy his uniform, but she hadn’t splurged on accessories.
Perhaps that was why he’d indulged in tupping her maid Minnie one last time. It had been careless, especially as a footman had seen them emerging from a closet. But that mattered not to Wickham. That chapter of his life was over.
The widow’s miserliness meant his gloves and boots were sadly worn. He would have to remedy that.
So when he saw Bingley’s sisters go into the haberdasher’s, he took advantage of the situation. With luck, he might learn more from them.
Bingley. Wickham hated the very sound of that name. It ought to mean a sort of ball one hit with a mallet for sport. I say, smash that bingley my way, will you?
Bingley was to blame for the rift between Wickham and Darcy. True, their friendship had steadily faltered during their years at Cambridge. But after Darcy met Bingley, he would have nothing more to do with Wickham.
Darcy’s presence near Meryton presented a serious obstacle. Wickham remembered his fears when the elopement scheme had been discovered. Darcy might have called him out to preserve Georgiana’s honour. Thankfully, cooler heads had prevailed.
Yet Darcy would no doubt delight in ruining Wickham’s plans to court Jane Bennet.
Through the shop window, Wickham spotted Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. They were moving towards the back of the store. He hastened inside.
Looking about, he sought a strategic spot. He wanted to overhear their words whilst remaining out of sight. A tall display of men’s hats did the trick.
Fortunately, the sisters seemed to have a garrulous nature. He couldn’t catch every word. Yet he did hear proposal and marriage and future Mrs. Darcy whispered between them.
Could Miss Bingley be promised to Darcy? Or perhaps they expected an imminent engagement. A cunning smile crossed Wickham’s lips.
Had he stumbled into a situation that would set him up for life, whilst ruining Darcy’s happiness?
Wickham had once heard that Caroline Bingley was worth twenty thousand pounds. Jane Bennet’s five thousand paled in comparison. Yet Darcy was bound to interfere in Wickham’s attempt to win either of them. No, Wickham would have to resort to subterfuge.
Which suited him just fine.
Wickham removed himself from his hiding place. Caroline caught sight of him, and their eyes met across the room. Her gaze betrayed interest, which he was used to. He was a handsome devil, if he did say so himself.
He lazily looked her up and down. Though not in the first bloom of youth, she was quite pretty. It was a wonder no man had snatched her up yet. Though if she’d set her cap on Darcy, she might have discouraged her other suitors.
She waved her fan in a coquettish manner. Even if she was promised to Darcy, she seemed to have dalliance on her mind. Wickham would be happy to oblige.
Once the ladies had gone, Wickham approached the greying proprietor. They came to terms over a pair of white kid gloves. Wickham could afford to be extravagant, as he was buying on credit. He would be gone from this sleepy town before the bill came due.
He exited and turned towards the barracks. A voice from the alley next to the shop stopped him. “Well, don’t ya look fine in yer regimentals.”
Wickham spun around at the sound. How had Minnie found him? He’d been careful to leave no trace during his escape to Hertfordshire—or so he’d thought.
His impulse was to throttle her. But he didn’t actually want to risk hanging. No, he’d have to find a better way to rid himself of her.
His gaze wandered up and down her person. She was wearing street clothes, not the crisp maid’s uniform he was used to seeing her in. Her blonde hair was tucked into a red cap that brought out the rosy bloom in her cheeks.
The memory of those tresses cascading over his body brought heat to his skin still. She was petite and pretty, a bit thicker in the middle now. But not so much that anyone unfamiliar with her body would recognise her condition.
“I lost my place ’cause of you,” she continued, her tone matter-of-fact. He’d been drawn to her for her clear head. Nothing romantic about his Minnie.
She was the reason he’d stayed with the widow for as long as he had.
A noblewoman past her prime, Lady Powell had been a demanding lover.
It had been his habit to slink out of her bed in the early hours of morning, just as Minnie was starting the fires.
A quick tup with Minnie in a broom closet was payment for his services to her mistress the night before.
Minnie had been useful, and her body exquisite, but now she was a liability. She knew too much.
He gave her a sweet smile. “What a surprise, dear girl!”
“I reckon it is. The way you left without a word, this must be a bloody shock. The biddy found out about the two of us, and dismissed me without a reference.”
“You’ll land on your feet,” he replied. “Cats always do.”
“This cat has claws. I reckon old Marsden would pay to know where you skipped off to. And I could use the blunt, now that I’ve a brat coming.”
Wickham had suspected as much. “Who’s the lucky father—the second footman? The butcher’s boy?”
“It’s yours, of course.”
He laughed at that. “If you followed me hoping I’d take responsibility for another man’s bastard, think again.”
She glared at him, eyes dark with malice.
He tapped his forefinger to his chin, considering his options. “But I won’t abandon you altogether. Perhaps we could help each other. I’ll write you a reference, and sign my friend Mrs. Younge’s name to it. In return, I need a favour from you.”
∞∞∞
Caroline ordered tea in the drawing room the following afternoon. Her brother paced distractedly whilst Louisa spoke with Hurst. Darcy brooded in the corner, looking intensely at nothing in particular.
Caroline thought she’d go mad if she stayed in this house much longer.
Her one stroke of good fortune?—Eliza Bennet remained upstairs with her sister. The termagant’s presence disquieted Darcy. And Caroline relied on Darcy’s predictability to mould him to her will.
The new maid brought some cucumber sandwiches to go with the tea and coffee. Minnie was filling in during the Miss Bennets’ visit. Unlike the rest of the staff, the girl had worked in London in her previous position. Caroline liked the polish and efficiency she showed.
“Charles, do sit,” Caroline admonished her brother as she prepared his tea with milk and no sugar.
She handed him the porcelain cup as he reluctantly found a chair.
Adopting a cheerful tone, she said, “I forgot to mention—I met a friend of yours from Cambridge yesterday. He’s a new officer in the militia. ”
Bingley leant forward in interest. “Capital! Who would that be?”
She announced with a smile, “Mr. George Wickham.”
Darcy let out a strangled cough. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Wickham is here?”
Caroline’s stomach tensed. This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. Darcy had assessed her brother’s friends at university to ensure their suitability. Yet Darcy didn’t seem to approve of this Wickham character.
Bingley eyed him warily, then turned back to Caroline. “You’ve been misled. I knew of Wickham, but I never met him. He wasn’t the sort I would—”
“The man is a scoundrel,” Darcy said bluntly. “If you value your reputation, Miss Bingley, you’ll stay away from him.”
Caroline tensed. She didn’t much like Darcy telling her what to do. But of course, she must appear docile.
“Good heavens!” she cried. “In that case, I’ll have nothing to do with him. Do you know the man well?” she asked Darcy.
“His father was the steward at Pemberley when we were boys.”
Caroline frowned. How could a steward’s son serve as a militia officer? “I confess, I’m surprised. He was introduced as a friend of Mr. Denny, whose uncle is a viscount.”
“Wickham has a talent for making friends,” Darcy explained. “Whether he can keep them is a different matter.”
Surprised by this turn of events, Caroline walked to Meryton with Louisa after the meal. She spotted Wickham regaling some officers with a humorous tale. More than one doubled over with laughter. She wished she’d been close enough to hear the joke.
As she passed, she dropped a handkerchief. Wickham picked it up and handed it to her, their gloved fingers brushing together.
A jolt of electricity shot through her. His eyes raked her body as they had that day at the haberdasher’s. Her skin heated.
Giving him a backward glance, she continued with Louisa to the lending library. Country life had grown so wearisome, Caroline had resorted to reading to occupy her time. She was in a back corner, paging through a book, when Wickham approached.
Darcy’s warning echoed in her head. But Caroline was tired of being good. She was ready for an adventure, and she was sure Wickham could give her a fine one.
She looked about. The tall shelves hid them from sight. “Why, Mr. Wickham,” she whispered, “you’ve been a naughty boy.”
“How so?” he asked, speaking into her ear. His breath sent a tickle through her that curled her toes.
“My brother tells me the two of you were never introduced.”
“Perhaps not. We knew of each other—had mutual friends. Darcy, for instance.”
She straightened her posture and gave him a level look. Then, she replied primly, “Darcy claims you’re no friend. He warned me you’re a scoundrel.”
“Does that worry you?”
She slid a finger down his lapel. “Not as much as it should.”
Their eyes met in a scorching gaze that melted her skin. He pressed his lips to hers, a gentle exploration. When she didn’t resist, he deepened the kiss. He tasted of whisky and smoke. She liked the combination.