“I do not care what you think she is capable of. You must listen to me, and do exactly as I say,” Wickham said. This woman was infuriating. The sooner he could rid himself of her, the better. “What was so important that you said we had to meet?” He asked. He had only so long before he would be missed back at their temporary barracks.
“I simply wondered when you were going to show yourself in Meryton.” She swirled her forefinger around the edge of the tiny glass cup. “And I’ve missed you. You know they rent rooms at this establishment, besides offering fine spirits.”
Her eyes glittered with a lustiness that stirred his blood. But he had to stay focused. He gave a slight shake of his head. “No, thank you. Not until after Georgiana and I are securely wed.”
“Shame,” she said, then shrugged as if it made no difference. He suddenly wondered if she was having her desires fulfilled elsewhere while they were apart. The thought at once relieved and frustrated him. What if she got the idea in her head to go after Darcy herself, to cut him out as a middleman? The thought was infuriating.
“I told you we might be delayed. You should not have taken her to the assembly until you were sure that the militia had arrived in Meryton.” Wickham said through clenched teeth. He balled his hands into fists. It would be a foolhardy risk to take, striking a woman in public, but she was walking a fine line.
“How should I know if the militia had arrived or not? You refused to write to me and tell me what was going on,” Mrs Younge accused him. “Besides, it has worked to our advantage in a way. No one in Meryton will speak with her, save for the Bennets.”
“Who are the Bennets?”
“One of the principal families of Meryton. The father is an old codger, a country gentleman with an entailed estate and five daughters.” She let the last sink in for a moment. “I thought perhaps the second eldest would throw off our plans to keep Georgiana isolated. But I will soon take care of her. I have plans to convince Mr Darcy that she is after his fortune and only befriending his poor sister to that end.”
“Brilliant,” Mr Wickham said. “I want her to feel that she can trust no one but me. Is that understood?” He glanced over his shoulder again and caught the eye of the barkeep. He stopped wiping the well-oiled bar, cocking his head to the side as if a spark of recognition had lit in his mind. Wickham turned quickly away. “Have you started trying to convince Georgiana that her brother does not have her best interests at heart?”
Mrs Younge took a last sip from her glass and stood. She put the cloak’s hood over her head, hiding most of her face in the shadowy folds. “Patience, my good sir. Patience. You must trust me to have all well in hand.” She placed her hand on his shoulder, lingering there far longer than was appropriate. If they were seen by any who knew them, they would be done for. And Mrs Younge was not the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He had no intention of entering into any marriage that would not enrich him. “Write soon, my love,” she whispered.
And as quick as the last hint of daylight disappearing over the horizon, she was gone.
Wickham shuddered, brushing off his shoulder where Mrs Younge’s hand had rested. Then he got up and left the unsavoury establishment by the back door. Soon enough, he would be in Meryton, ready to enact his part of the plan.
Chapter 8
Elizabeth looked up from her book as her mother came into the parlour. She mumbled to herself, lifting the basket of sewing on the side table near the iron settee, then shuffled over to the mantle. “Where did I put that blessed thing —”
“What are you looking for, Mama?”
Her mother looked up sharply, surprised. Likely, she had not even seen Elizabeth when she came in. “Oh, Lizzy, my dear. I am looking for my brooch. The one with the butterfly on it. Have you seen it?”
“I believe you wore it on your green Sunday dress, did you not?” Elizabeth asked. “Have you asked Maria?” The maid was ever losing things, her head in the clouds as she sang her country songs to while away the days.
“Oh, yes. I shall ask the maid if she saw it in the laundry. Thank you, dear.” Her mother turned to leave, but Elizabeth stopped her before she cleared the doorway.
“Mama?”
“Yes, dear?” Her mother asked breathlessly. Her eyes darted impatiently down the corridor toward the kitchens, in which the laundry was also housed.
“May I invite Miss Darcy and Mrs Younge to supper? I have been so enjoying the young woman’s company.” Elizabeth chose not to voice the other reason for the request. She did not think Miss Darcy had received many invitations since coming to Meryton. If any.
“What a splendid idea. Yes, of course, my dear. And invite her brother, as well. I believe he has come to our humble village as well?” Her mother’s eyes looked hungry, as if there were an opportunity awaiting her in the suggestion. “It would not do to snub him and risk losing their good opinion of us. The Darcys are an upstanding family, by all that we’ve been told.”
“I do not want to invite them for our own ends, Mama. From all Miss Darcy has said of her brother, I am sure he will be good company.” Elizabeth could not deny that she was looking forward to meeting the gentleman. “In any case, thank you, Mama. I shall write the invitation now.”
“Very good. Now, what was I doing when I came in here —” Her mother turned two circles around herself as if that would help her memory. She turned back to Elizabeth and pursed her lips. “Lizzy?”
“You were looking for your butterfly brooch. And we decided it must be in the laundry.”
“Oh, yes, thank you, dear.” She walked away, humming softly to herself.
Elizabeth shook her head, retrieved her book, and went up to her room to draft the invitation. When she arrived, her oldest sister was sitting on the window seat, neatly embroideringa handkerchief. Jane looked up and smiled, then went back to her task. “What are you doing up here at this time of day? I thought you would be out walking the fields and reading to your heart’s content.”
“I was reading in the parlour. But I’ve just asked Mama if we might invite the Darcys and Mrs Younge to supper. She has agreed.” Elizabeth set her book on the edge of the desk and sat down to draft the letter. “You should go into the garden and sit in Papa’s rocking chair to do that. There is no telling how much longer we’ll be gifted with these mild days.”
“I prefer my spot here by the window. I can enjoy the sunshine without the wind blowing my sewing away,” Jane said. The needle darted nimbly through the cloth, carrying bright silk behind it, as Jane continued talking without looking up. “Who will be included in the invitation?”
Elizabeth gave an impish grin. “Are you asking after our dear Mrs Younge?” she asked.
