Page 46

Lucas Lodge - Wickham

“ M iss Elizabeth, what a charming evening this is, and ever the more so for seeing you here tonight.” He said as both ladies looked up at him, schooling his expression into a look of great shock.

“Miss Darcy, what a pleasant surprise it is to see you here. I thought your brother kept you locked up in a tower in London?”

He was pleased to see that Georgiana was very white and would not look him in the eye.

Elizabeth replied, “Good evening Mr Wickham. I believe my sister, Lydia, is looking for you.”

“Indeed.” He half turned to look in the direction she had indicated, and saw that Lydia had in fact followed him across the room, it seemed that there was no stopping her.

“I thought you might like a glass of wine.” He said turning back to Elizabeth and offering her the glass.

“You have missed some wonderful dancing, Lizzy,” Lydia said, and then to Wickham with a very self-satisfied smile, “Kitty remembered, it’s Betsy Bell! Mary is to play it.”

“Well I am very pleased you have been enjoying yourselves, and I believe Mary is about to start.” said Elizabeth with a smile, for she had risen from her seat and taken a step towards him, and she took both glasses of wine from him and stepped away.

Somehow she had ended up blocking his view of Georgiana.

Wickham began to say something when Elizabeth cut him off, “Come now Mr Wickham, you would not want to disappoint Lydia by not dancing with her again, would you?”

Seeing no way out of it, he agreed, only adding with a bright smile. “If you are not otherwise engaged would you dance the next one with me Miss Elizabeth?”

“Thank you, but I am not inclined to dance this evening.” She smiled sweetly at him. Lydia had taken hold of his arm and pulled him away towards the other dancers.

Wickham felt a surge of frustration as Lydia led him away.

Elizabeth had neatly outmanoeuvred him, blocking his attempts to engage with both her and Georgiana.

Her polite refusal and that hint of triumph in her smile irked him.

This suggested she was more aware of his true nature than he had realised, and possibly more aligned with Darcy than he had previously thought.

As Wickham watched Elizabeth’s protective stance near Georgiana, a new understanding dawned on him. The pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t even known existed suddenly fell into place.

He recalled the day he had stumbled upon Elizabeth and Darcy in the woods near Longbourn.

At the time, he had dismissed their intimate conversation as mere coincidence.

But now, seeing Elizabeth’s easy familiarity with Georgiana and her swift defence against his advances, he realised there was more at play.

Could it be possible? The proud, fastidious Darcy, falling for a country gentleman’s daughter?

It seemed absurd, yet it would explain so much.

Darcy’s increased presence in the neighbourhood, his watchful gaze whenever Elizabeth was near, and now, his willingness to expose Georgiana to potential scandal by bringing her here.

This realisation sent Wickham’s mind racing. If Darcy indeed harboured feelings for Elizabeth, it changed everything. His plans to use Georgiana as leverage against Darcy took on new dimensions. Perhaps Elizabeth, not Georgiana, was the key to manipulating Darcy.

As he turned his charm on the younger Bennet sister, Wickham’s mind was already formulating new schemes. Darcy and Elizabeth’s potential relationship wasn’t an obstacle - it was an opportunity. And George Wickham was nothing if not opportunistic.

“Oh, Mr Wickham,” Lydia giggled, pressing herself closer to him. “I thought you’d never ask me to dance again!”

Wickham’s irritation melted away as he turned his attention to the younger Bennet sister. Here was a girl far easier to manipulate.

“My dear Miss Lydia, how could I resist the charms of the prettiest girl in the room?” He winked conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “And between you and me, you’re by far the best dancer here.”

Lydia preened at his words, her cheeks flushing with pleasure. “La! You are such a flatterer, Mr Wickham. But do go on!”

As they took their places for the dance, Wickham’s mind raced. His hand unconsciously moved to his pocket, where he could feel the outline of several unpaid bills. The weight of his debts seemed to press down on him, a constant reminder of his precarious situation.

He recalled the stern faces of his fellow officers, some of whom he owed significant sums from late-night card games.

The memory of the innkeeper’s threatening glares flashed through his mind - he was behind on his bill for the extra drinks and meals beyond his allotted rations.

Even the local shopkeepers were beginning to ask pointed questions about payment for the small luxuries he’d allowed himself.

His eyes lingered on Georgiana, recalling the generous dowry that had once been within his grasp.

Then his gaze shifted to Elizabeth, considering her connections and the potential opportunities they presented.

One thing was certain: his approach needed to change.

Elizabeth was too wary, too protected now.

But there were other ways to get what he wanted.

His eyes drifted to Lydia, giggling nearby. Yes, there were always other ways.

Leaning closer to Lydia, he whispered, “Perhaps later we might slip away for a private walk in the garden? The night air would be so refreshing.”

The suggestion thrilled Lydia, just as he knew it would. She nodded eagerly, already imagining the gossip such an encounter would generate.

As they turned through the figures of the dance, Wickham’s smile never faltered, though his mind was calculating angles and advantages.

Elizabeth’s protection of Georgiana and her apparent knowledge of his past actions made her a potential threat rather than just a missed opportunity.

But one setback did not mean the game was over.

There were still moves to be made, and he was determined to turn this situation to his advantage, one way or another.

* * *

Netherfield - Georgiana

Later that evening as Georgiana was getting ready for bed.

As she sat at her dressing table, Georgiana’s mind wandered back to the moment she’d first spotted Mr Wickham across the room.

The shock of seeing him had been like a physical blow, transporting her instantly back to that summer at Ramsgate.

Her maid was brushing her blonde hair, and Georgiana’s eyes were fixed on her reflection in the mirror. She had been unable to prevent herself from playing the evening over and over again in her mind.

She turned her head to the side and touched one hand to her cheek, unable to decide if she looked older or much as she had the last time she had seen him.

It was strange, she reflected, that in all the uncertainty of the last few months it would affect her so much to see him again.

She had thought that those feelings had died with the belief that he returned her regard and that instead of loving her, he had been using her to get revenge on her brother and gain access to her dowry.

But as all young ladies learn sooner or later, it is not always the case that logic and feelings will agree.

It reminded her of the game she had played when she was a child, that she had tried to give up, but time and time again she had returned to it.

It was simple enough - she was not allowed to hope too much for anything, to plan any event, or it would not happen.

If she allowed her imagination to get carried away then the event would not take place.

She must have started playing this game when she was very young, a Christmas when Fitzwilliam was to come home from Cambridge.

She could not have been more than eight years old, and she had carefully planned every moment.

She had prepared a song that she would play for him, made sure that there would be ginger biscuits for them to eat with their tea.

The book she had picked out for him that she had wanted him to read to her and many other delightful things, when the news came that he had been invited to a friend’s estate. She had cried for two days.

She had clung to the game more than ever when her father had died.

Never allowing herself to hope for a brighter life.

Her brother, as much as she adored and looked up to him, could never replace her dear father.

He had done his best to be her mother, father and older brother, but their home became a very serious, quiet one.

Fitzwilliam was a reserved person by nature, Georgiana had been too scared to make a noise and the servants had tiptoed around the house as if they were walking on eggshells.

She had cried once in front of her brother, when she was much younger.

He had tried to comfort her as best he knew how, but it was the only time she had ever seen him lose his temper and punch a wall.

He cut his hand in the process. She had never forgotten the sight of the blood trickling down onto the plush blue carpet and forming a large brown stain.

And if she looked carefully at his right hand, even to this day, she could make out the scar.

She had been so scared that he would hurt himself once more again, that she had never cried in front of him again.