Page 24

With a sigh, Wickham tried to adjust his position against the rough bark of the tree where he was sitting on the forest floor.

He took his frustration out on a handful of fallen leaves.

He felt anger bubbling up inside as he cursed, unable to comprehend that he had committed to five years of service in the militia.

He had signed papers when he joined, but never assumed they would be so serious about his sticking around.

When he had brought up the fact that he was tiring of it all with Lieutenant Denny, Denny warned him against trying to leave before his five years were up.

Wickham opened a bottle of whiskey, the taste of the cool liquid burning down his throat as he took a swig.

Denny explained they once caught someone trying to slink out of camp and they flogged him. It was a punishable offense to leave without permission during a time of war. They labeled it as desertion, and they hung people for that.

As someone who had avoided punishment for his crimes for most of his life, this brought him up short.

He took a deep gulp of his drink, thinking about the outcome of his actions.

He would either need to leave the country soon after he fled this drudgery, or he would have to stick with it.

But how would he stick around without the luxuries he deserved in his life?

It was all that prude Darcy’s fault. He destroyed more leaves in retribution, and more whiskey numbed his frustration.

Wickham was sure he was born to enjoy a life of luxurious comfort, even though his father was a steward.

His looks and demeanor gave him the right to live his life how he wanted.

He deserved nicer clothes, even if he couldn’t afford them.

He did not need anyone to draw attention to the lies and inconsistencies in the stories that he told the women he was hoping to charm.

If things had gone as they should have, he would have been tremendously wealthy by now.

He simply wanted what he deserved. But right now, he was happy to drink his whiskey and plot.

Kiernan paused in his imaginings to ask Elizabeth a question.

“So William came to England and took over just because he won the fight against England’s King Harold and killed him?

” He was loving the bloodier parts of history.

His walk that day was full of imaginary sword fights and grandiose battles.

Branch in hand, he ran around the rocky terrain, vaulting off of moss-covered rocks and around the trunks of ancient trees.

Elizabeth was ambling toward the peak of Oakham Mount, yet Kiernan was bouncing to the summit.

“He felt he had a right to the throne as well. He was the one who had the Domesday Book created,” Elizabeth explained.

She drew crisp fall air into her lungs. She relished the earthy scent and its curative power.

The beautiful vista of trees dressed in all their autumn splendor.

The wind whispered through the leaves and sent them dancing to the forest floor. It was all a balm to her wounded soul.

“I don’t understand why he thought that if he was from France. How could he think an English king could be from another country?” He hopped over a fallen log, only to have his foot slip on the decaying forest matter.

“Oh goodness, please do not fall.” Elizabeth reached out to steady him. “As we get closer to the top, the edges of the path become steeper. What would I tell your family if you fell?”

“I will be careful,” Kiernan reassured her, but it did not seem to stop his enthusiastic exploration.

“The first King George was not from England. He was from Hanover, Germany. Do you remember the name of his son?” Elizabeth gathered her skirts and climbed up and over another log that must have come down in the last rainstorm.

“That’s an easy one—George, and he named his son George. The regent is the fourth George.” Climbing a boulder to see how far they had left, he spotted two figures in the distance. “Miss Elizabeth, there are some people up ahead.”

Elizabeth shaded her eyes and looked in the direction he pointed further up the trail. “Can you tell who it is from there?”

Something about the scene before Kiernan made him uneasy. “I think it’s a soldier. It is someone wearing a red coat. The other person must be Mr. Darcy on Crumpet. I recognize Crumpet from here,” Kiernan whispered.

The sound of someone passing on the nearby path startled Wickham out of his doze.

After another swig of his whiskey, he grumbled with anger when he finished it after the second mouthful.

Wickham tossed the bottle further into the woods and grumbled about everything conspiring against him.

With unsteady movements, he rose and looked through the trees, trying to figure out the source of the sounds that had awoken him.

He had to be careful, especially as the world seemed to spin and refuse to focus when he moved too quickly.

It seemed to be someone on a big dark horse, definitely not a soldier in a red coat.

No red coat meant he was safe. There was some reason that he was afraid of the redcoats.

The realization that it was Darcy on that great dark horse of his struck him like a bolt of lightning and seemed to burn off some of the alcohol.

The world liked him. It had just brought him a gift—a world without that annoying Darcy in it.

Wickham stared in confusion at the layer of crushed leaves on his trousers but ignored that issue for the moment.

He reached for the pistol that he always carried.

It only took a few attempts to pull it free.

It held a single shot, and he had often found it useful.

He lurched after Darcy, his alcohol-infused mind muddled, trying to concoct a plan to get Darcy out of his life permanently.

Darcy was not going fast on his horse and seemed to take in the view.

The addle-brained fool. The next time Darcy stopped to look out over the vista before him, Wickham decided he would act. This was going to be fun.

Kiernan helped Miss Elizabeth up onto the higher ground so that she could observe what was happening.

As Elizabeth gazed at the scene before her, she felt the peace she had gained that morning bleed away.

Mr. Darcy did not seem to realize that Lieutenant Wickham was behind him.

Wickham seemed to move through the trees to get closer.

The narrow part of the path was not much further on, and he could not stay hidden for much longer. If Wickham was going to do something, it would have to be soon, which meant that she would have to hurry.

She knew what she had to do, and with a stern look, she told Kiernan to stay where he was.

She clambered down from the rock, the rough surface of the stone scraping against her skin as she started to track Wickham.

When he took aim with the weapon in his hand, Elizabeth knew she had to do something.

She knew she did not have the strength to stop him with force, so Elizabeth would have to use cunning.

“Lieutenant Wickham, I had not expected to see you on my walk. Are you enjoying the fresh autumn day?” Looking over his shoulder, it reassured her to notice that Mr. Darcy had heard her and was heading over.

“Why are you here? I was doing something and now you are here,” Wickham drunkenly exclaimed. It had taken all of his concentration to hold the pistol steady, and now the impertinent one was here. The one who withstood his charms.

Elizabeth started inching her way up the path, trying to get closer to where Darcy was.

Lieutenant Wickham had been drinking, and he was certainly not to be trusted.

“I was walking up the path and saw your red coat. It would have been rude not to say hello.” The path toward Darcy was rockier than she remembered.

She needed to be careful of how she placed her feet.

Wickham’s thoughts were in a jumble, and he knew he was forgetting something.

“What are you doing here? You did not believe me. Why did you not believe me? Everyone believes me.” He followed Miss Elizabeth’s retreating form with a wavering shuffle and tried to remember what he had been doing before she distracted him.

“Believe you, Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth realized that the man before her was not in his right mind. The weapon in his hand was waving wildly as he spoke, and he was making little sense. She hoped Kiernan had stayed where he was.

“The story has worked so many times, and sympathy leads to so much fun. Why do you not believe me? I practiced!” Wickham moaned.

He scratched his head with his gun barrel and moaned about his confusion.

He was supposed to complete a task. As he trailed the woman out of the trees, he had trouble staying on his feet.

She was afraid to look for Darcy and risk angering Wickham, which would probably be worse than this odd confusion. “I am sorry that I must have disappointed you, Lieutenant Wickham.” Elizabeth showed her sorrow for him and took a few steps back, attempting to get closer to Darcy.

“No, that is a lie! You are a liar. You laughed at me with your sister, the plain one who should have fallen for me too!” He stomped angrily up to her, his voice echoing through the air with his frustration.

“I am sorry. That was not nice of me at all,” Elizabeth all but squeaked as she tried to stay out of his range.

“No, it was not. I was doing something before. I think you distracted me.” He swiped at her and caught her wrist with his free hand. In his aggravation, he shook her and tried to think, but her loud yelping was making it hard to focus. “You need to keep your mouth shut. I am trying to remember.”