Chapter 1

Is it not absurd to think that a man ought to follow the rules which dictate social etiquette even when they hinder him from elevating his station in life? Is it not ridiculous to think that such a fellow must obey the stuffy, boring dictates of busy-bodies, even when in pursuit of his own happiness? Surely, there must be leeway in such a case.

Wickham was certain of it.

Shifting in his chair at the small breakfast table, he took in his grubby surroundings. Someday, he would have lavish apartments that satisfied even the most extravagant flourishes of the taste for luxury which he considered only his due. And a cleaning woman to keep things tidy. For now, there was clothing strewn about the floor or draped over the threadbare furniture. Empty wine bottles and dirty dishes from the previous evening's repast still cluttered the table. He squinted at a single ray of early morning sunshine streaming through the bedraggled curtains, which were threadbare and in need of a good washing.

When he had lived on the Pemberley estate as a boy, he had enjoyed all the comforts afforded to one with unlimited means, almost as though he were one of the family. And indeed, the late Mr Darcy had treated him as such. It was only Mr Darcy's son, Fitzwilliam Darcy, who had begrudged him his good fortune. When good old Mr Darcy had died, Fitzwilliam Darcy refused him the living that his father had promised and sent him from the estate. (It was a fact that Wickham had requested, and been granted, the sum of three thousand pounds by that young man in exchange for relinquishing the living, but this he did not choose to remember.)

Thinking over and brooding on the wrongs he had suffered was no uncommon pastime for Wickham. Instead of living in a spacious rectory and receiving that ample living, he could only afford this little rented room. He had been brought low by that perfidious Darcy, denied the life that should have been his all along. But he would make things right. Somehow.

How best to accomplish his ends was the question on his mind as of late. And he thought he had settled on just the plan. Unfortunately, he would need the help of someone who caused him no little disgust, useful as she sometimes was.

The door adjoining the main room opened and Mrs Younge entered. The widow was hardly over thirty, and many of the charms of youth remained to her. She wore a simple day dress well-calculated to display her trim figure. Only the smallest hints of grey touched the shining blonde of her hair.

"What are you doing awake at this hour?" She sauntered over to the table, looked distastefully around the cluttered apartment, and brushed off the only other chair in the room. She sank down as regally as if she were the queen of England taking her throne. With a crooked smile, Wickham thought how apt the comparison was, for Mrs Younge thought herself as important as the queen. Perhaps more so.

"Mrs Younge, I am always up at this hour. Military men rise with the dawn, don't you know?"

"I know you better than you know yourself, Mr Wickham," she said pointedly. "We are, after all, one and the same."

The thought that he was anything like Mrs Younge made him shudder. True, she was a pleasant diversion at times, but he had not the slightest intention of tying their fates together forever. For now, she was useful, but when a better option presented itself, he would not hesitate to leave her behind.

"Must I really return to Pemberley today?" Mrs Younge whined, her voice grating on his ears.

"Yes. You must, at least. I shall ride with you as far as Lambton on my way to accept my new commission. This way, we may more speedily put our plan into motion."

Thankfully, there was much to recommend Mrs Younge as a lady's companion, at least on paper. As a widow, she needed a position to help sustain her, and Miss Darcy was an impressionable young lady in need of company. Having left school nearly a year prior, the girl was lonely. And Mrs Younge would help him accomplish his ends. When Wickham had heard that Mr Darcy was looking for a companion for his sister, he had encouraged Mrs Younge to apply for the position. It was an ideal arrangement for their conspiracy. If all went to plan, he and Georgiana Darcy would be married by the end of the year, if not sooner.

Sooner would be better. His creditors were breathing down his neck, growing increasingly volatile in demanding repayment of the exorbitant amounts he owed all over England. With Georgiana Darcy's dowry, he could pay them all, with plenty left over to spare. They would have a comfortable life together. And even if he did come short of funds later in life, Darcy would not let his sister live in squalor. He would have a virtually inexhaustible amount of funds at his fingertips when he and Georgiana were wed.

Mrs Younge called his attention back to the present. "I know. But I hate to be parted from you. I shall be glad when you are married and settled, so we might be free to enjoy ourselves in true solitude." Mrs Younge's eyes burned with an unholy flame. She was using him as well, he knew, but he would not allow her to gain the upper hand.

"Indeed," was all he said.

A knock sounded on the door, and he sent off Mrs Younge with a nod to hide in the adjoining room until the woman who owned the boarding house could clear the mess from last night's meal and set the breakfast tray in its place.

Mrs Younge poked her head around the door a few minutes after the door was shut behind his prickly landlady. "Is she gone?"

Wickham got up and padded to the door, turning the lock so that they would have no fear of being disturbed. "Yes, she is gone."

Mrs Younge came around the door and joined him again at the table, availing herself of an apricot from a chipped bowl. "This cloak and dagger business grows tiresome. You had better be right that Miss Darcy will be keen to go along with our little plan."

"Have no doubt of it. I, too, tire of the need for secrecy," Wickham replied. Mostly he tired of her presence, but he said nothing to that effect. He needed her too much to break ties with her just yet. Mrs Younge had helped to secure him a means of reentering Miss Darcy's life again after he had been so cruelly thrust out of Pemberley. The late Mr Darcy had loved him and raised him as a son, and he deserved to have the kind of life he had grown accustomed to at Pemberley. Indeed, if Darcy ended as a bachelor, as Wickham hoped he would, he might will Pemberley to his and Georgiana's children someday.

It was all a dream now, but he did not know what other choice he had. Wickham needed money quickly. Without it, escaping his creditors would be no simple task. He might even have to fight on the Continent, or go across the Atlantic to fight in the war against those uppity colonists trying to make their bid for freedom. The thought made him shudder. So far, he had stayed out of any real danger. And he wanted to keep it that way.

Wickham grunted as he poured himself a cup of tea and took a bite of unbuttered toast. "Can I count on you to convince Mr Darcy to send Miss Darcy to Meryton?" he asked, leaning back in the wooden chair. The legs creaked under his weight.

Mrs Younge looked him up and down, giving him a sultry smile. "You doubt my abilities?" She ran her slender finger around the rim of her teacup, watching him closely. It was a habit of hers to watch him like that, even though he had told her time and again that he detested it.

Wickham hated the way her eyes seemed to devour him. Having only lately risen from his sleep, he wore only a pair of loose-fitting trousers and a white cotton shirt gaping open in the front. Mrs Younge's eyes flicked down his body, lingering slightly. Wickham sat up straight, putting the chair legs back down on the dusty floorboards. "I would never doubt your abilities, Mrs Younge. However, your charge's guardian is very vigilant. He may take quite a bit of convincing. But you must not push him too hard. He will become suspicious and turn you out of the house."

"Have more faith in me, my dear Wickham. All will go smoothly to plan."

"It must," Wickham snapped. He would be stationed in Meryton for the winter, and it would be the best way to woo Miss Darcy out from under the eye of her watchful brother.

"I shall not have to say a word, Mr Wickham. I will simply convince Miss Darcy to the agreeableness of the plan, and she will do the convincing. If Mr Darcy is as pliable when it comes to his sister's whims as you say, then it will take little effort."

She sighed and poured herself a cup of tea, stirring in a generous splash of cream and three lumps of sugar. "It is too bad we could not go on with our original plan of taking her away from Ramsgate. It would have been much faster."

Wickham gave a nondescript nod of his head. His first plan would have been rather quicker. Georgiana Darcy had spent the summer at Ramsgate. He would have wooed her there if he had not learned in the nick of time that one of his more urgent creditors was also spending the summer in Ramsgate. Wickham could not risk a demand for repayment that he could not give.

Instead, Mrs Younge would lure Georgiana to a little town in Hertfordshire, the site of his new posting with the militia. From there, the plan could proceed as he had intended. Under Mrs Younge's tender care, he would have ample access to woo Georgiana. Once her heart was spoken for — and, more to the point, her reputation — Darcy could do nothing to stop him.

Of course, after the wedding, he would be free to live the way he pleased again, with no stipulations put on him by Darcy or anyone else. Georgiana Darcy had a dowry of ￡30,000. That was more than enough to live comfortably on for the rest of his life.

"Do not you agree, Mr Wickham?" Mrs Younge asked. "Surely it would have been better to enact our plan at Ramsgate." She sat there, watching him with her cat-like eyes. Sometimes he felt as if she could see into his soul.

"Not at all, my dear. I believe there will be several material advantages to wooing Miss Darcy in Meryton." More importantly, he need have no fear of meeting any creditors in Meryton. Until he had secured Miss Darcy's dowry, avoiding the gentleman who had lately taken up residence in Ramsgate was a matter of prime importance.

Gentleman was a generous description, for the man had a fearsome temper.

"I suppose you are correct. Meryton is as good a place as any for you to work your charm upon her without the threat of Mr Darcy interrupting your delicate work." She leaned back against the chair in a rather abandoned attitude, seemly unconscious of how very unladylike the pose appeared. "I know well how your charms disable a lady's good sense. You will have to take care when Mr Darcy visits, though."

He had used his charm and wit on Mrs Younge, once. With a private smile, Wickham thought that if it worked half so well on Georgiana Darcy, her dowry was already his. "I shall make an excuse of being called away with militia business when he is present. Or for most of the time, that is. It will be for the best if we rarely meet in company."

"It will be a dreadful bore to spend the winter in such a dull and rustic place," Mrs Younge whined. "But I suppose that will afford us some privacy, hmm?"

He gritted his teeth against a biting reply, ignoring her second question. "It will be well worth it once we have Georgiana's dowry. A lifetime of luxury is worth suffering a few months of discomfort."

"But we shall not be able to meet like this again until after you are married. Unless you intend to sneak into our rented apartments?" she suggested. A certain gleam in her eyes suggested that Mrs Younge did not find the prospect at all displeasing. "It sounds very exciting."

"T'would not be wise for us to meet in such intimate circumstances until after I am wed." Wickham was secretly glad for the reprieve from Mrs Younge's company. Miss Darcy's fresh young face and innocent smiles would be a pleasant change. Mrs Younge had been acquainted with his darker side for a long time, for they had met many years ago. She had been a young married woman when he was coming into adolescence, had acted as a teacher for some years, and after her husband had passed, had become a more intimate friend.

Georgiana, on the other hand, did not know his true nature. With luck, she would still look at him with admiration, buoyed by his station in the militia and the fond memories they shared as children. He might persuade her to think they had grown up together, emphasising their shared youth at Pemberley rather than the fact that he had already been nearly a man grown when she was born. He had often amused her when she was a child. With luck, those fond memories might lead to a quick engagement. Once they were wed, it would be too late for any regrets. As his wife, Georgiana would be fully under his control. Mrs Younge seemed to suppose that this would mean she would move in some weeks later and become his wife in all but name. Wickham had not chosen to disabuse her of the notion.

"Yes, I suppose you are right," she answered. She held up her teacup as if to toast him. "To the future, then."

Mr Wickham inwardly rejoiced that Mrs Younge was as trusting as Miss Darcy in her faith in him. It was rather amusing, the way the woman could join him in manipulating a young girl and still suspect nothing of his schemes for her. As soon as she proved to be no longer useful, he would have no qualms about turning her out. "To the future," he said, grinning boyishly. Yes, by this time next spring, he would have everything his heart desired.