It was not a lie. Every charm of youth and privilege was hers, not to mention those shining blonde locks and her clear blue eyes. Miss Darcy embodied innocence and grace. He would have to take care not to forget himself. She was also far too devoted to that brother of hers.
Wickham smoothed down his pristinely pressed red uniform coat and went to work. If he was going to transfer that loyalty from her brother to himself, he would have to tread carefully. Not to mention exhibit as much charm as the young woman could take. Wickham made a point of looking her up and down. “Yes, you have grown up.”
“Mr Wickham,” Miss Darcy said with a pretty blush. “You flatter me.”
“It is true. I have not seen you in what, six years? Seven? You have turned into a graceful young woman. Your parentswould be very proud, and I am sure your brother must be as well.”
“Do you keep in contact with my brother, Mr Wickham? Forgive me, but he has never mentioned you among his correspondents.”
“No, I am afraid not. We parted ways a long time ago, so I could pursue my education. And now that I am in the armed forces and move about so often, it is difficult to keep up with correspondence. Sometimes the letters are delayed so long, or even lost, that I cannot keep everyone I might count among my friends abreast of my news.” Wickham said with a shrug as they entered the drawing room.
A cheery fire was burning, and he led Miss Darcy over to the settee so she could warm herself by the fire. He stood across from her near the hearth, appreciative of the low-cut neckline of Miss Darcy’s gown. No doubt Mrs Younge had suggested it for his benefit. Or his demise. He was not sure which.
“I am told by Mrs Younge that you play the pianoforte like an angel, Miss Darcy. Perhaps after supper you might delight us with a few selections?” Wickham went on, ignoring Mrs Younge’s knowing look.
“I am sure Mrs Younge is too good to me, Mr Wickham,” Miss Darcy replied. “I am certainly no angel. However, I would be happy to acquiesce. I find no greater joy in this world than playing music.”
He certainly hoped she was no angel, for it would be of material advantage in convincing her to go along with his plans. It might take some time to convince her of his undying love and thus steal her away to Gretna Green. But he would do whatever it took. Once Georgiana was securely his wife, Darcy would givehim everything he asked for, if only to make sure Georgiana could live in the style to which she was accustomed. It was the style to which he would be accustomed, if there were any justice in the world.
“Will you play one for us now, while we await supper?” Mr Wickham asked.
“Oh, no, that is not the way of things, is it, Mrs Younge?” Miss Darcy asked, looking alarmed.
Wickham’s heart sank. A rule-follower then. It would have been so much simpler if she cared little for social conventions and etiquette. He would have to break those conventions down slowly. “Oh, I do not think it will hurt, will it, Mrs Younge? After all, music helps with digestion, I am told.”
“Does it?” Miss Darcy asked. She looked down in embarrassment, no doubt at discussing a topic as coarse as digestion in mixed company.
“Yes, indeed it does,” Mrs Younge agreed. She winked at him when Miss Darcy was not looking.
Miss Darcy nodded, then went to the piano. She was gullible, then. That was good. He walked up behind her and stood very close, looking over her shoulder as her fingers danced expertly over the keys. Wickham made a point to lean very close to her ear, nearly close enough to touch. “You play very well, Miss Darcy. Who would have thought that your father purchasing that pianoforte for you all those years ago would amount to this?”
He sensed her tension as her whole being came alive at his whispered words. How he loved the moment when a young woman first fell under his power. Yes, Miss Darcy would fall easy prey indeed.
During supper, he made a point of praising her lavishly.
“Miss Darcy, the menu is impeccable. How did you know roast lamb was my favourite?”
“I did not know. But Mrs Younge suggested you might enjoy it. I am glad it meets with your approval.” Miss Darcy smiled sweetly and took another sip of her watered wine.
“Has Miss Darcy told you of her drawings, Mr Wickham? She is a very talented artist, as well as a musician.” Mrs Younge chimed in. She raised her glass of wine and toasted Miss Darcy. “She also writes poetry and speaks three different languages, including Latin.”
“Mrs Younge, please,” Miss Darcy breathed. “Mr Wickham does not care for all that.”
“Indeed, I do. In my travels with the militia, it comes in very handy to have someone along who knows several languages. One never knows when we might be sent abroad.” Wickham sipped his wine and looked with satisfaction again as Miss Darcy blushed. “Do you enjoy travelling, Miss Darcy?”
“I have not had the occasion to travel very often, sir, no. I am sure I would enjoy it someday, though. My brother has spoken of taking a European tour when I am older.”
“You would love France, if not for this war. And Italy, I daresay. There is a cathedral there that has the most astounding acoustics. If you were to play your pianoforte there, I would think I had died and gone to heaven.”
Miss Darcy only looked down at her plate demurely and went on eating in small, precise bites. He glanced at Mrs Younge, suggesting with a raised eyebrow that she ought to turn the conversation.
“Mr Wickham, have you not recently been to Scotland? I believe I heard your friend Mr Denny speaking of it,” Mrs Younge said.
Wickham frowned at her until Miss Darcy looked up at him. “Ahh, yes. To visit an ailing friend. Unfortunately, he was wounded while he was stationed there.”
“In Scotland?” Miss Darcy asked, her eyes growing wide. “Is it not a very wild place?”
“It is,” Wickham replied. “But there is beauty in wild things, is there not?” He imbued the words with a suggestive purr. “The people run around there without shoes. Indeed, sometimes with nary a stitch on.”
