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“Lydia, behave!” Elizabeth exclaimed as she pinched her sister’s arm.

“Ow! I will tell Mamma what you did,” Lydia threatened. Once in the past, Lydia had pinched Lizzy, and thanks to Lizzy returning the pinch with far more force, it had been the last time Lydia had done anything physical to her second eldest sister. All she could do was appeal to Mamma, but she knew that Papa would intercede on Lizzy’s behalf, so it only left her the threat and the hope it would work, even if it had never been effective before.

Before Cousin Lydia could commit any further outrage, William noticed two good-looking horses being ridden towards them. One was an almost black stallion save for a white blaze on his nose and white socks on his forelegs. He guessed it was eighteen to nineteen hands high. The other he estimated was less than seventeen hands and more than likely a gelding. Based on their relative heights above the saddle, William could see that the rider of the stallion was a few inches taller than the man next to him.

He watched as the man on the gelding spurred his horse forward and dismounted near the group. The other man was sitting stock still; his eyes locked onto something or someone with a look of pure fury on his face. William turned and saw that the man on the horse had his eyes locked onto the man who had been introduced as Mr Wickham.

That man had turned white with fear. When he saw the man on the horse was not approaching, some of Mr Wickham’s colour returned, and he gave a mocking salute. The man on the stallion wheeled his horse and kicked it into a canter in the direction from whence he had come.

It was then that William noticed that Cousin Elizabeth had been watching the interaction between the two men as he had. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Cousin Jane speak.

“Thank you, Mr Bingley; as you can see, I am well again. There is no trace of the illness which kept me at Netherfield Park,” Jane said in reply to Mr Bingley’s enquiry about her health. “Mr Bingley, it seems that Mr Darcy is returning to Netherfield Park.” She cocked her head towards the back of the retreating man.

“You are as pretty as ever, Miss Bennet. I will be bringing the invitation to the ball on the morrow. Until then, I bid all of you farewell,” Bingley said as he bowed over the angel’s hand.

“You will invite the officers, will you not, Mr Bingley?” Lydia demanded.

“Lydia!” chorused the three eldest Bennet sisters.

“Yes, all of the officers will be invited,” Bingley responded. He remounted his gelding, doffed his beaver and began to ride after his friend.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

‘What is that prig Darcy doing here?’ Wickham asked himself silently. ‘Will he inform Fitzwilliam where I am? No, he will not because he knows that all it will take are some whispers from me about that little mouse Georgiana and her reputation will be in tatters. I am safe here. That is why the bastard did not confront me and rode away the way he did.’ Then, Wickham realised something. ‘The bit of fluff named Miss Elizabeth saw the way I reacted to seeing the prig. I will have to make sure I spin a tale that explains what she saw and make the nodcock the villain of the piece. Then, I will suggest she blacken Darcy’s name in the area.

‘That will make the proud man quit the town!’

Wickham was still smarting because his plan to elope with Georgiana Darcy, claim her dowry of thirty thousand pounds, and revenge himself on Darcy had been thwarted by the bloody man arriving in Ramsgate two days earlier than he had been expected. The bad luck of it!

He would have tried to parlay his knowledge of the almost elopement into a way to force Darcy to pay him what he was due, but Richard Fitzwilliam’s name had been invoked. Fitzwilliam was someone of whom Wickham was truly petrified.

Ever since the time they had been boys, the cousins had been eleven and Wickham ten, Fitzwilliam had thrashed Wickham when he had been caught trying to put a bur under Darcy’s saddle. How was it fair that because of an accident of birth he had nothing and the prig was fantastically wealthy? All of the time he had dedicated to charming old Mr Darcy had been for nought! It had been a waste of time and effort. Rather than a satellite estate or, failing that, a significant amount of blunt, the old man had only left him one thousand pounds in his will along with a recommendation to the Kympton living when it came open, conditioned on if he took orders! George Wickham was meant for more, not making sermons!

Yes, he had given up all claim to the living in return for three thousand pounds. However, it was not his fault the cards had been against him, and he had lost the four thousand pounds and had run up debts for two thousand more in just over three years. How dare the prig refuse to pay him more when Wickham tried to claim the living after the incumbent died?

To punish Darcy, Wickham had enlisted Karen Younge to assist in executing his perfect plan in Ramsgate. Nothing had come of it, no dowry and no revenge!

Now, to escape his creditors in London, Wickham had agreed to join the Derbyshire Militia. Thankfully Denny had believed Wickham’s tale about the reputed debts he had left in Lambton. It was fortuitous the man was not aware of Wickham’s actions in other locales. The wages were not nearly enough, but there was a town full of naïve merchants who would extend credit to officers without thinking, not to mention all the maidenly flowers he could pluck.

He was sure Miss Lydia, who he had just met, was a lightskirt, but he would have to be careful with the daughter of a gentleman. He would not mind plucking Miss Elizabeth. He estimated she would not be an easy seduction, but that made it all the sweeter.

He snapped out of his reverie and turned his attention back to the Bennet chits and the parson standing with them.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

Darcy had needed to use all of his vaunted self-control not to jump off Zeus and wrap his hands around Wickham’s scrawny neck. As satisfying as that would have felt, as a gentleman, it was not something in which he could allow himself to indulge.

What made it worse was that the dissipated wastrel was standing next to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Of course, she was not good enough for a Darcy of Pemberley, but that did not mean that he wanted her to be importuned by a libertine like Wickham. She had looked as beautiful as she ever had, and that just reignited the battle between his heart and his head. Wickham’s closeness to her had only made that battle worse.

As soon as he turned Zeus onto the lane leading to Bingley’s leased estate, Darcy wanted to give his stallion his head and gallop the nearly two miles to Netherfield Park. He suddenly realised that he had left Bingley behind. He pulled his horse up and waited to see if Bingley had followed him.

It was not many minutes to wait before his friend came cantering into view.

“Darce, I was speaking to my angel, and you disappeared. Is there aught wrong?” Bingley queried as he drew his bay gelding up next to Darcy’s mount.

“You have my apologies, Bingley. I could not remain in company with you once I had seen that profligate, Wickham, in the group. Trust me when I tell you that it was better for everyone that I withdrew,” Darcy stated.

“Wickham. You mean the one whose late father was Pemberley’s steward?” Bingley verified.