While the families were enjoying London—except for Elizabeth when excessive shopping was involved—the London papers were distributed throughout the country as was the norm. They arrived in Yorkshire on Friday morning and Cornwall by late Friday.
If she was still the person she had been when Caroline Bingley read of the engagement of her brother’s other friend, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, to Lady Elizabeth Carrington-Bennet, she would have had a tantrum for the ages. As she was now, the news hardly caused her to react at all. The only thing she wondered was whether Charles would attend the wedding.
Thanks to the shock she had received when she was about to be sent to Bedlam, Caroline Bingley no longer worshipped at the altar of the false gods of societal advancement and raising her rank.
Since she had turned away from her obsessions, Caroline had at last found contentment in her life. She was very close to Aunt Hilderbrand and Uncle John now. The same could be said for her four cousins, especially Angela. Her relationship with Charles was good, and better still, Louisa had come to see her, and when she had decided that the changes were genuine, she had allowed Caroline back into her life.
She knew not what the future held for her, but of one thing Caroline Maleficent Bingley was certain was that, it was a much brighter future than it had been when she had been deluding herself about high society.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
On Saturday morning, George Wickham did what he always did: he read the society pages in Tuesday’s newspapers which had just arrived in the town near where his regiment was encamped.
“Bloody hell!” Wickham exclaimed loudly when he read the notice. “No, no, no,” he lamented as he read about the engagement of that damned foundling to none other than William Darcy. He looked up and saw many patrons in the inn’s public dining area staring at him. “Just some bad news,” he explained as he left the inn.
He had thought he had time to perfect a plan to carry her away to Gretna Green. Now, he needed to improvise; he would not allow a prize to be snatched from him again. Karen had done something wrong during her interview and made it worse by shopping on him. Later, he had read the article where a clerk, who had helped prepare the settlement for Fitzwilliam and the older foundling, had revealed that the dowry was around seventy thousand pounds. That was an amount which would set him up for life, and Wickham was not willing to allow it to be stolen from him.
There was nothing for it. He needed to leave the militia and ride north. The facts that his contract would not allow him to resign his commission for another year, he owned no horse, or was very low on funds were not limiting issues for Wickham. He had heard something about desertion in the time of war being punishable with death, but he was sure that only applied to the regulars, not the militia.
He knew that Saturday night all his brother officers who were not on duty would be at a soirée at the commanding major’s residence. Wickham had intended to be there, but now, the event presented an opportunity.
Once he was certain all the officers were either on duty or at the gathering, he slipped into their quarters and relieved them of any purses or items of value he found. He then made his way to the regiment’s stables and put on his most imperious look as he approached the two privates on duty. “Major Tremain has ordered me to ride to the Lord Lieutenant of Devonshire with an important dispatch.” Wickham tapped the leather pouch slung over his shoulder, the one containing the loot he had stolen from the other officers. “I need the best horse; the major told me to take his own stallion, Samson, so I would arrive there swiftly.”
“But, Lieutenant, Major said no one may ride ‘is ‘orse,” the one private said.
“I have my orders, but if you would like to disturb Major Tremain while he relaxes so you may verify the truth of my orders, go ahead. I will wait while you waste time,” Wickham bluffed. He was relying on the fact the major lost his temper quickly if disobeyed, and these soldiers knew it.
The man who had spoken looked at the other, who shrugged. Neither of them wanted to face Major Tremain’s wrath. They led the bay stallion out of his box and saddled him.
Soon, Wickham was galloping away in the direction of Devonshire. However, once he was out of sight and away from the town, he turned north.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
Wickham had not paid attention to much his late father taught him, but he had paid heed about how to care for a horse and how much he could push one and still be safe. As such, it took him eight days to reach London. It had been about three hundred miles to ride, and he had ridden less than fifty miles each day. So he would not look suspicious; he had remained for the two Sabbaths at inns, as would be expected of a fine upstanding gent like Lieutenant Lucas was. Since deserting the militia, he had taken his father’s name as his family name to throw potential pursuers off his track.
In addition, which had also added time to his journey, he kept off the mainly travelled roads to London.
Between the blunt he had relieved from the officers in the regiment and the sale of the various items he had taken, like fob-watches and rings, he had more than enough money to rent a room at an inn in Seven Dials. He did not know what happened to Karen’s boarding house, but Wickham was aware that was not an option for him. For all he knew, the house on Edward Street was still being watched, which was why he was in this run-down inn.
He had thought of discarding his uniform and selling the horse, but he did not, as they might yet be useful to him.
He set about disguising himself, so he could unobtrusively watch Holder House. What he saw told him that the foundling chit was always well guarded and, more often than not, that prig William Darcy was with her.
When he succeeded, there would be two advantages. He would gain more money than he ever dreamed of owning, and he would hurt the Darcys, who deserved no less. That would be the sweetest of revenge for abandoning him so that he would not receive what was due him.
It was now the end of March, and Wickham noticed the house was being prepared to be closed up. He was certain he had not been observed as he watched, so he felt rather confident. One day, hebumpedinto a maid from Holder House.
“You work for my friends, the Carringtons, do you not?” Wickham said in his best toff accent, playing the part of a gentleman.
“Aye, Sir, I do,” the maid said as she bobbed a curtsy.
“It is a coincidence. I was on my way to call on them,” Wickham lied. “It has been too long since I saw them.”
“Then you be wastin’ your time, Sir. The family ain’t takin’ callers as they be on their way to ‘Ertfordshire later today,” she reported.
“I suppose I will have to wait until they return.” Wickham bowed and left.
He made his way back to his accommodations in Seven Dials and left the inn. Heforgotto pay for the last sennight he had been in residence. He knew where the estate was that the family owned in Hertfordshire, and he would soon find a place to watch it.
