Chapter Fifteen

November 20, 1811

Meryton

Wickham

Wickham set his master plan in motion as soon as he left Mrs. Phillips's house. She was a merry matron who would provide a few free meals while he stayed in the small market town. He had also charmed the Bennet sisters too, which meant they might invite him to dine at their estate. Such invitations were essential; he did not expect the militia rations to be palatable, and purchasing meals daily was too expensive. He could not incur too many debts, either; there was only so much his patroness would do for him. His funds needed to be used sparingly, so that his plans could be enacted when he was ready.

Wickham whistled as he strolled, watching for the Bingley carriage. He had it on good authority that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were coming to the shops to gather last-minute supplies for their grand ball the next day. He had wasted no time charming a maid from Netherfield Park on his first day in Meryton—the same maid that accompanied the spoiled sisters whenever they visited town. Apparently, luck was on his side.

Wickham noticed the Bingley carriage outside a shop and watched as two elegant ladies entered the establishment. His investigations had revealed which lady was Miss Bingley, and he recognized her as she gestured to the maid to hold the door to the shop open. She is a comely woman. That is in my favor, he mused. Stooping, he casually picked up several stones and pocketed them. He leaned against a building, partially hidden behind a stack of crates, and waited.

The ladies left the shop and started to cross the street toward him; the maid trailing them with her arms full of packages. A horse approached from down the road, and Wickham took his chance. He threw one of the stones in his pocket as hard as he could at the horse, hitting the beast on its flank.

The horse reared immediately, throwing its rider before it started galloping toward the ladies. The maid shrieked and backed up to the kerb. Mrs. Hurst hiked up her skirts and ran, leaving Miss Bingley frozen in horror, directly in the horse's path.

It could not have played out any better. Wickham charged into the street and looped his arm around Miss Bingley's waist, pulling her out of the path of the charging stallion. She fell against him as he pulled her back until they were both safely on the boardwalk outside the haberdashery. He released her and stepped away but kept a hand on her elbow as if to steady her should she fall.

A gasp escaped her lips, followed by a sob. She shook his arm off and buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving as the reality of what had happened overwhelmed her. Wickham affected an air of concern, waiting for the rest of Miss Bingley's party to approach.

"Sir!" the other sister called, striding quickly across the street. "Sir, thank you so much! Caroline, are you well? Are you hurt?"

"I hate this place!" Miss Bingley cried from behind her hands. "Such a wild, ferocious beast! Why, it could have killed me!" She fell into her sister's arms, sobbing loudly and, if Wickham was worth his salt, insincerely. To his ears, her cries sounded fake. A woman after my own heart, he thought, smirking internally.

"Are you well, madam?" he asked gently, layering charm and concern into his question.

"I shall be," she sniffed, dropping her hands and pulling out of her sister's embrace.

"I am sorry you were so frightened," he said smoothly. "May I escort you ladies to the tearoom just there? It would help if you drank a soothing glass of tea."

"You are very kind," the older sister said. "May I have your name, sir, since we have met in such an unconventional way?"

"Wickham," he said, bowing low. "Lieutenant George Wickham, at your service. I have recently taken a commission in the militia while I wait for my inheritance. It is in trust until I am thirty." He hoped she would believe that. Who kept an inheritance in a trust until the heir reached thirty?

Miss Bingley's eyes lit up with interest. Mercenary wench.

"I am Mrs. Lousia Hurst. This is my sister, Miss Caroline Bingley. We reside at Netherfield Park with our brother."

"Oh," Wickham said, letting nervousness color his tone. He shifted uneasily, adding credence to his display of dishonest sentiments. He needed to craft such machinations carefully, especially when attempting to deceive someone with equal avarice to his own.

"Is there something wrong with that?" Miss Bingley asked caustically. She crossed her arms and gave him a challenging look. Suspicion radiated from her, and he could sense the distrust she exuded.

Wickham glanced around. "It might be best if we continued our conversation somewhere more private," he said, lowering his voice softly.

Intrigue returned to Miss Bingley's eyes. Good . He offered an arm to each of the ladies, but Miss Bingley sniffed and took her sister's arm instead. Wickham shrugged and followed.

The trio sent the maid back to the carriage and made their way to the tearoom. They requested a private parlor at the back of the shop, far from the bustle of the other patrons. The ladies quickly ordered tea and cakes from the proprietor and even deigned to ask Wickham for his preference. Once settled with a warm beverage, he began his tale of woe.

It was one of the many stratagems he used to garner sympathy or woo a woman, and it worked every time. He started with his connection to the Darcys, revealing that Darcy's father was his godfather. But he wanted to add more embellishments to his story.

"I would not wish you to think I hold anything against the great house where you reside," he began. "During my brief time in Hertfordshire, I have heard that Netherfield Park is an expansive and wonderful estate. You are fortunate to dwell in the largest house in the area. However, I have discovered I am acquainted with one occupant of the estate and, he resents me fiercely."

Miss Bingley was quick to offer her suppositions. "You mean Mr. Darcy."

Wickham resisted the urge to grin, but he refrained, offering a strained smile instead. He fashioned it to show his hurt and frustration, and making a respectable show of attempting good cheer, he let it fade. He deliberately stooped his shoulders in dejection and took a sip of tea.

His efforts were not in vain. "Will you not tell us of your troubles?" Miss Bingley asked. Her voice was sympathetic and understanding. Perfect.

"I would not wish to impose…" he trailed off.

"I would know to what manner of man my brother has extended his hospitality," Miss Bingley said imperiously. One might think the lady a duchess rather than the daughter of a tradesman.

Wickham pretended to consider, his brow furrowing in concentration as he regarded the weak brew in his cup. After a moment of hesitation, he spoke. "To do my duty and protect the fair ladies of Netherfield Park, I will tell all." He took another sip before continuing.

"You see," he said, leaning in, "my connection to the family is of a more personal nature. It is long forgotten by most that Mr. Darcy senior had a younger brother who was not the most honorable of men. Though I do not wish to offend your feminine delicacy, I will be forthright with my words: I am his natural child, and my father's brother arranged for my mother to marry his steward, Mr. Wickham—the man whose name I bear."

He paused before continuing. "Given my close family connection, I was much favored at the ‘big house.' My uncle granted me a gentleman's education befitting his brother's child. Mr. Darcy senior lavished me with all the love of a father, much to the annoyance and jealousy of his son. That discontent festered and grew as we attended, first Eton and then Cambridge. By the time we finished university, my cousin's resentment was fixed and there was nothing I could do to secure his favorable opinion again."

Wickham paused and took another drink from his cup, wishing for a moment that it contained something stronger. He looked up at the ladies. "In his will, my uncle bequeathed me the property that belonged to my birth father. This property was returned to the Pemberley estate after his untimely death before I was born. It is a pretty piece of land in Kent and brings in some four thousand a year. The younger Darcy was furious. Sadly, my cousin has done everything in his power to deny me my inheritance. He can legally withhold it until I have a profitable profession or until I reach the age of thirty years."

"How dreadful!" Mrs. Hurst cried. "He is worse than we had heard!"

"Yes, the rumors in London are alarming," Miss Bingley said with relish. "He has ruined several women simply by paying them particular attention. It is also said he has lost his fortune. That is the likely reason he has withheld yours. Surely, he must be attempting to funnel your money into his estate."

"I fear you may be correct," Wickham said. "Unfortunately, I do not have the funds to pursue legal action."

"There is a hole in your story, sir. There was a shrewd look in her eyes. How is it you do not have a profession? You must be nearing thirty years of age. Forgive me, but unless you can answer this satisfactorily, I must declare you a liar."

Mrs. Hurst glared at her. "How can you be so unfeeling?" she asked Miss Bingley. "The man has suffered at the hands of Mr. Darcy, much like so many others!"

Miss Bingley ignored her sister and watched Wickham, waiting for his reply. The lady was playing right into his hands, and he once again donned a distressed expression.

"My uncle provided just such a profession," he said sadly. "In his will, I was also left with the preferment of a living that was in his power to grant once I had taken orders. I began training at the seminary before his death, after his son had completed university. Unfortunately, I was… unable to complete my education and never received my ordination."

"I must assume that you mean Mr. Darcy prevented you from doing so," Miss Bingley said.

"He did," Wickham confirmed. "The living fell vacant three years ago. Because of my trials, I could not take my place, and he gave it to another. My cousin has been thorough in his efforts to see me destitute. I worry that when I inherit my estate, it will be bankrupt, and I will not have the funds to see to its care."

"Yes, word of Mr. Darcy's financial woes has circulated in London for months," Mrs. Hurst said. Suddenly, she gasped, grabbing Miss Bingley's arm. "Caro!" she cried. "You suspected he was at Netherfield Park to court you. You may be correct!"

"He has done nothing to earn my regard," Miss Bingley protested. "I have no interest in a reprobate who seeks to destroy the lives of others. I would not have him even if he begged on his knees."

" Think , sister! You are not yet of age," Mrs. Hurst reasoned. "Charles may force you, especially if it meant getting you out of the way so he can marry Miss Bennet. We have made no secret of our disapproval, and he will not want his potential bride to be uncomfortable in her own home."

Miss Bingley's eyes widened comically. Wickham found it difficult to contain his amusement. The ladies had played right into his hands.

"What am I to do?" she whimpered. "Charles will ruin me! If he marries that penniless chit from Longbourn, I shall never marry well. And if he forces me to marry Darcy, my situation will be equally bad. The doors of society will be closed to me forever!"

Wickham smothered a smile and sighed inwardly. It was too easy. It almost stole his pleasure at the victory. Almost.

He pasted an earnest look on his face. "The matter is simple, Miss Bingley," Mr. Wickham said. "You and I must beat Mr. Darcy and your brother at their own game."

"And how do you suppose I should do that?" Miss Bingley snapped. "It is not as if eligible men are in great supply here."

Miss Bingley narrowed her eyes at him, and Wickham could see the suspicion there. He shifted nervously, worried he may have spoken too soon.

Wickham humbly conveyed, "While I am aware of my status as a natural child, it is plausible that our marriage could facilitate the earlier acquisition of my fortune. Surely, with my position in the militia and a wife at my side, we can convince the solicitors that I have met the terms of the will.

Miss Bingley's back was ramrod straight, and she set her teacup and saucer on the tray before folding her hands in her lap. "I have only just met you," she said crisply. She looked away from him and tilted her chin up arrogantly. What a haughty, handsome woman! Wickham could not help but admire how artfully she applied her illusion of gentility.

He sighed dramatically. "I know," Wickham said. "And what a meeting it was! I shall never forget it; even should you decide against me." I could never forget such a carefully crafted masterpiece of manipulation.

He expected her next protest, considering what he knew of the ambitious lady. "You cannot give me what I want," Miss Bingley insisted.

He shifted to the edge of his seat, leaning toward her. "And what is it you want?" Wickham asked, his voice low and husky. He donned a look he had practiced in the mirror often. It was a look designed to make ladies weak in the knees, and it had not failed him yet.

She leaned away slightly, appearing unaffected. Miss Bingley did not fool him; she licked her lips and her breath quickened. "I wish to move in the first circles," she said imperiously, doubtlessly struggling to hide her flustered state. "Your fortune will do little good at opening the doors I wish to enter."

He pretended affront. "I am not entirely without connections," Wickham said defensively. "I am acquainted with the Earl and Countess of Matlock, and Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Kent. Neither are blood relations, of course, but they are as close to family as I can claim. Do not forget that I went to school with many viscounts and heirs to vast estates. Those doors remain closed only because I cannot afford to open them— yet ."

Miss Bingley regarded him carefully, and Wickham thought he saw a flash of indecision and speculation in her gaze.

"I shall consider the matter and give you my answer at the ball on Tuesday," she said finally. "That will give me enough time to decide if I am open to a courtship."

Mrs. Hurst was gaping at her sister in disbelief but said nothing.

Wickham suppressed the triumphant grin that threatened to appear, adopting a hopeful expression instead. He bowed his head in acknowledgment. "I shall await your decision, my lady," he replied.

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst stood to depart, leaving Wickham to settle the bill. He grimaced as he paid, silentlycursing the expense. The cost of the tea and private parlor was exorbitant, especially considering the mediocre fare. He knew he needed to be cautious with his spending; courting such a high-in-the-instep lady would undoubtedly be expensive. It was fortunate he had other dining options, for his funds might run short sooner than expected.

~

The following days were plagued by relentless rain and mud. Unfortunately for Wickham, Colonel Forster deemed the weather ideal for training. Each night, he went to bed cold and aching from the day's exertions. Militia life was detestable, and he eagerly awaited the end of the charade he had concocted. His patroness had promised to assist him when it came time to relinquish his commission, and he intended to hold her to that.

The sun finally returned on Monday, the day before the ball, and Wickham spent his leisure visiting the prominent households of the neighborhood. In each house, he enjoyed tea and pastries, and the company of many pretty ladies.

Wickham returned to his rooms well-fed and much happier than he had been in the past several days and spent the evening gambling with fellow officers while plotting his next move. If Miss Bingley decided against him, he would resort to less pleasant methods—for her, at least. He had employed such tactics before with the ladies who caught Darcy's attention in London, and he had no qualms doing so again. Those ladies were far wealthier than Miss Bingley, with parents who possessed enough connections to find another man to marry their ruined daughter, rather than the poor son of a steward. Miss Bingley was not defenseless, but her irritation with her brother would push her into Wickham's arms and, hopefully, agree to marry him. He preferred a willing woman. If he had to ruin her, he doubted her brother would bother to find someone to marry her and would insist on Wickham doing so. That prig Darcy would never countenance marrying a spoiled woman.

The next night, Wickham readied for the ball, straightening his cravat and arranging his hair to look artfully and attractively tousled without appearing deliberate. As he readied himself, the reminder of his lack of funds nagged at him, making him eager for the day he would have a valet to order around. Finally satisfied with his appearance, he joined several other officers in a waiting wagon and set off toward the festivities.

Lanterns illuminated Netherfield Park, and the warm glow from the windows invited everyone inside. Wickham joined the throng entering the building and stood in the reception line to greet their host and hostess. From his vantage point, he could make out Mr. Bingley, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, and finally Miss Bingley. He kept his greeting with Mr. Bingley as brief as possible, hoping the man was unaware of his connection to the Darcys. Mr. Hurst, appearing far from sober, only nodded at him. His wife, though suspicious, greeted him cordially. At last, he reached his quarry.

"Miss Bingley," he said smoothly, bowing over her hand. "You look enchanting."

She was a handsome woman, he mused, his gaze raking over her in appreciation. The ice blue silk gown hugged her figure perfectly and shimmered with each movement. Jewels sparkled in her hair—Wickham mentally calculated their worth.

She granted him a charming, sincere smile. "It is a pleasure to see you, sir," Miss Bingley said warmly.

He leaned toward her, close enough to smell her perfume. Lilac, if he judged accurately. "I hope you saved a set for me," he said, lowering his voice.

"My third set is unclaimed," she replied. "It is a slower dance."

Ah, so she wished to speak. Very good.

"How unfortunate that others have claimed your other dances," Wickham lamented. "I would have enjoyed partnering you for another set."

She grimaced. "Our mutual friend claimed one at the last minute," she sniffed.

Ha! Darcy, dance? That would be a sight. The man detested the activity. Miss Bingley must certainly be the object of his affections if he has singled her out, he thought to himself.

"I shall look forward to our dance, then," Wickham said. "I know it will be the best set of the night."

He moved off into the ballroom, mingling with his fellow officers, hoping he could hide from Darcy for a while. Discreetly, he observed the guests. A loud laugh drew his attention across the crowded room; he followed the noise to its source. Lydia Bennet was standing with a local gentleman, her brash laughter attracting both scornful and indulgent looks from those around her. She would be a lot of fun in other circumstances, he mused. Lively spirits provided amusement, but Wickham had a specific purpose that evening, and chasing a bit of muslin was not advisable just then.

He spotted Darcy near the beverage table, conversing with a group of local gentlemen. His former friend lingered there until the chords of the first set played and claimed Mrs. Hurst for a dance.

Odd choice, Wickham mused. Darcy, doing his duty, gave notice to his friend's sisters, but why not partner with Miss Bingley instead? Given her antipathy toward him, perhaps Darcy knew she would refuse him and thus did not bother to secure the auspicious first set.

Miss Bingley danced with her brother-in-law, a displeased expression on her countenance. She glanced frostily at her brother, who danced with Miss Bennet. A rare beauty, Wickham lamented that it was not her he needed to separate from Darcy. She appeared enthralled with Bingley, anyway—Wickham's charms would find no purchase there.

He chose not to dance the first set, instead watching the dancers perform. Darcy and Mrs. Hurst exchanged only a few words. Her face was carefully polite—her partner's was equally so. It amused Wickham how quickly Mrs. Hurst let go of Darcy's hands when the dance called for a separation. When the set ended, the lady looked relieved.

Darcy danced the second set with Miss Bingley. He gallantly bowed to her and offered his hand when he came to claim her. Miss Bingley's expression revealed her distaste, and she granted him only the tips of her fingers as he escorted her to the floor. The fast-paced song left little room for conversation. She said nothing throughout the entire set, even when the steps of the dance offered an opportunity to speak, and Wickham felt gratified to see his adversary uncomfortable. After the second set, there was a brief break while a musician replaced a string on his instrument. Then, at long last, the third set was called.

Wickham approached Miss Bingley. She was standing with her sister, looking vexed as she lamented her misfortunes. He touched her elbow, effectively silencing her, and offered his victim a broad smile. "I believe this is our set," he said, extending his hand toward her. Miss Bingley grasped it, and he squeezed her fingers gently before guiding her to the center of the ballroom. The dance was called, and the musicians struck a chord.

The dance was stately, slow enough for extended conversation. Wickham felt pleased to be paired with such a handsome partner and looked forward to plying her with compliments and pretty words.

"You have not danced this evening," Miss Bingley remarked as they moved down the line. Wickham smirked as he made a turn away from her in the dance. Ha. She noticed.

Ever the performer, he donned an expression of admiration, his eyes twinkling as he gazed at her face. "I could not bring myself to ask another," he said charmingly.

She blushed, as he hoped she would. "Then you will single out no other lady tonight? You imagine I ought to be flattered?" She feigned indifference, but Wickham knew his words affected her. Few women had ever resisted his careful flattery, and those who had were often of a certain age.

Miss Bingley was not a stupid creature and if Wickham pretended that he was unaware of his manifold attractions, she would see through his deception. He met her words with a reply that mixed both pride and humility into something he knew Miss Bingley would recognize. "I am not ignorant of my own attractions," Wickham said with confident assurance. "I could have the hand of any lady in attendance, should I wish it, but I simply have no desire to dance with another." He purposefully designed his words to prick her jealousy and increase her admiration.

Miss Bingley raised her eyebrows, regarding him with a haughty and hungry gaze. "I concede your point. Those of my sex would naturally covet such a countenance. Now, regarding our discussion the other day, I have given it much consideration. While I am not ready to enter a courtship, I will permit us to become better acquainted. However, I do not wish Mr. Darcy to know you are singling me out, as he might do something rash. Therefore, we must meet in secret. There is a little walled garden away from the house. Be there tomorrow afternoon at two."

Wickham nodded, and they fell into silence. He kept his gaze firmly on Miss Bingley as they danced, though his curiosity begged him to look around for Darcy so that he might gauge his reaction. He worked to convey feelings of admiration and desire as he stared into Miss Bingley's eyes. When the dance parted them, his hand lingered on her until the last possible moment before he released it, and he glanced regretfully at her until the dance joined them again. Throughout the set, Miss Bingley's cheeks were flushed, and Wickham felt satisfaction that his efforts had yielded such promising results.

When their dance ended, he bid her farewell and departed, opting to leave with a few officers that preferred to play cards in the tavern rather than dance. Miss Bingley seemed disappointed that he was leaving with them instead of remaining in her company, but he reassured her with a few pretty words about keeping their attachment from prying eyes, and that pacified her.

He was sorry to miss the delicious dinner being served, but he needed to increase his funds to court Miss Bingley successfully. He relied on her ignorance of inheritance laws to keep her from discovering his ruse. Though the lady was intelligent, one misstep could unravel his entire plot.