Chapter 2

The paper in Wickham's hands shook slightly as he read the announcement he had expected to come. Slowly he closed it, folded it, and placed it on the table before him. He propped his chin in one hand and proceeded to debate what exactly he was going to do about it. His cool demeanour hid the hot anger that burned inside. Retribution was something Wickham liked to put on slow burn, if not do without entirely. Practicality wise he wasn't sure how raft sinking worked and he had rescued the drowning victim anyway. This was just one of those rare occasions where he was reluctant to let go of an impossible task. In addition he was still left with the tricky question of what to do with the knowledge. In this morning's paper that he had started to read at luncheon (having missed breakfast) was the announcement of the marriage of one Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley to one Miss Charlotte Bingley. To tell Amanda or not, that was the question.

The decision was made in a split second as Miss Price walked in and he slipped the paper down the side of his chair.

"Morning," he nodded to her and received her smiled morning in return.

She sat down and proceeded to eat.

They had been staying with his friend for some weeks now, and it was nearing the time where etiquette demanded that they leave. The only problem Wickham had was trying to think of where to go next.

Well, to be honest that wouldn't be so very much of a problem if he didn't have Miss Price with him, but he did – and they weren't married – so he couldn't order only a single room. Nor could he afford to buy a house. The Wickham magic was failing him.

"What are you thinking about Wickham?"

He glanced up from his cold ham to see her studying him intently. He could almost see her brain reading him, picking up on the slightest signs of distress.

"Just how beautiful you look today Miss Price," he replied automatically. She glared at him. He grinned and took a sip of his coffee.

"Don't give me that bull George."

He raised his eyebrows at her over the cup, glad that the host, nor any other guests, were present at the table. She was looking all fired up, frowning at him, verging on angry. He put the coffee cup down.

"Miss Price, I can assure you that nothing that concerns me this morning needs concern you."

She stared at him unflinchingly, studying his face.

"You haven't been sleeping well have you? I knew it." She folded her arms unmoving. "I want to know what's keeping you awake."

Wickham rubbed his eyes wearily with one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, keeping his eyes shut.

"Merely our movements within the next few days Miss Price," he said in exasperation.

"Oh," she uttered in surprise and fell silent.

Now she would be worrying about it too, he cursed inwardly. He should have invented some story about a thwarted conquest or something. That would have been more in keeping with his alleged character, but she would have known it wasn't that – and he had no desire to lie to her…

"Have you seen the paper?"

…except about that.

"Only when I read it," he responded, drinking more coffee. Amanda sighed in annoyance and finished off her plate.

"No need to stand on ceremony is there Wickham," she stated, getting up. He glanced at her, thoroughly looked her up and down in the gorgeous dress he knew she'd look good in, and met her eyes again.

"Not at all Miss Price."

He spotted the faintest flush on her cheeks as she left in a semi-indignant storm at his wandering eyes. Wickham smiled into his coffee, a small private one just for himself, almost hoping that she was starting to like it.

Amanda stood in front of her mirror and stared at her glazed reflection. Behind her on the bed lay the newspaper, spread open on the page about the marriage…and she felt nothing. No tears, no rage, no annoyance…just blank. It felt like a decade ago that whole fiasco had occurred. How long had it actually been? A month maybe? A month since they all abandoned her, threw her aside, never inquired after her. It felt like they were all a distance away, people she didn't really know anymore…or maybe she had just stopped caring.

The curious elusiveness of yesterday's paper had made her suspicious, starting with Wickham's evasive comment that implied that he had no idea where it was, and carrying on to her being unable to find one anywhere, finally ending with her catching sight of one jutting out of a bin. The more she had been unable to find one, the more she had been determined to discover what it said.

Now she knew why the distinct lack of them and suspected Wickham's hand behind it all.

There was a knock at the door.

Speak of the devil.

She yelled him to come in, even though it was most inappropriate.

Wickham entered and his eyes immediately fell on the newspaper. He flicked them to her back, not quickly enough as she watched him in the reflection. Amanda turned to face him, mind trying to work out how to confront him about it.

"Miss Price – I know what we shall do," Wickham announced jovially.

"Its not elope is it?" she asked sardonically and was rewarded with his face lighting up teasingly.

"Nothing so exciting," he responded, "I had not thought of it myself," – except he had, along with simply kidnapping her to the border if she wasn't inclined to agree – "but if you insist Miss Price I suppose I shall have to comply."

She smiled at him, "Wickham, you are a total bastard. Get on with it."

He grinned back and extracted a letter from his jacket pocket, waving it in front of her nose tauntingly.

"This letter, Miss Price, is from an old lady I know very well – in this letter she states that she is indeed in want of a companion, which is what I asked her in my letter, and you are to start post-haste."

Amanda blinked in bewilderment. "What?"

Wickham sighed dramatically and offered her the piece of paper, his face becoming serious. "It is not forever Miss Price, it is just temporary. It will give you a place to stay while I think of the next move. Besides, I should probably report to my superior officer sometime so he knows that I haven't done a bunk."

He watched her read the letter slowly, his eyes apologising.

"What would I have to do?" Amanda asked, pulling a face.

"Keep her company," Wickham shrugged. "You will like her. She is like you. Full of spunk." He smiled. "She will not mind your abrasive tone and impoliteness. She will more than likely quite enjoy it. She has frightened off all her quieter companions."

Amanda nodded in acceptance, like he knew she would, because she was like him, and would do what it took and endure the bad.

"Will you come to see me?" she asked quietly.

Wickham's heart jumped but he didn't show it.

"I don't know Miss Price," he teased, "I might need some incentives."

She didn't laugh this time, or glare, she just looked at him. He couldn't stand the intensity.

"I would like you to come," she told him firmly – and then smiled, "after all – one unwelcome face is better than no familiar faces."

The overwhelming feeling that rushed through him prompted action and without thinking he took her hand and kissed her palm. He heard her gasp and looked into her eyes, her hand still held in his own, his eyes brimming over with every emotion.

"Why didn't you tell me about their marriage George?"

And everything came to a screeching halt. He dropped her hand and took a step back.

No use pretending he didn't know what she was talking about.

"I thought it might upset you," he confessed within easy range of the door. "It might not have helped you."

"Helped me do what George?" she asked in an almost…dangerous tone. She couldn't be mad. If she'd been mad she would have yelled at him immediately.

"Helped you move on," he answered.

He couldn't remember being this serious with anyone in his entire life like he had been with Amanda.

"Is it important for me to?"

He narrowed his eyes at her own unblinking ones, challenging.

"Yes Miss Price, I believe it is," he almost snapped. When did this become an interrogation?

She looked at the floor and said one word. "Why?"

Ice felt like it was spreading through his veins as he stared at her. His tone became cold as he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Why indeed Miss Price? Why indeed?" he bowed sharply to her and strode out the room.

Amanda's head snapped up and she followed him quickly. "George wait!"

He halted in the corridor and faced her impassively.

"No Miss Price it is none of my concern. If you wish to waste your life pining after some proud fool who never deserved you and couldn't see what he had so he tossed you away like rubbish rather than cling to you like he should have then who am I to stand in your way?"

With that he turned and walked away.

Amanda remained in the corridor in a state of unease.

"Why is it important to you?" she whispered before casting her eyes heavenward. "So that's what you wanted to say was it Amanda? Well no bloody good now." She stomped back into her room and shut the door, her eyes falling on the discarded letter. She exhaled heavily. "Happy face," she muttered and proceeded to pack, her mind wandering inexorably to the kiss on her pal. She paused and looked at the spot in bewilderment. "What are you playing at George?" she glanced at her door. "Do you mean it or is it all part of a game?"

Wickham endeavoured not to see Miss Price for the rest of the day, but when he did not see her at luncheon on the next he made enquiries.

"Oh, Miss Price has already left. She took her leave last night and left early this morning. She requested the use of the carriage. She said the two of you had made arrangements and not to worry if you didn't look like you knew what I was talking about."

The host smiled as Wickham slowly let it sink in that she must've gone to the address on the letter like the spunky girl she was…or she was just running away from him. No goodbye after all they'd been through. That stung a bit.

"She left a note for you I believe," the host added and Wickham immediately went off in search of it.

The handwriting of 'George' was atrociously unconventional, just like her. He broke the wafer and quickly read the short few lines, uttering a bark of laughter.

'Wickham, you had better come visit me or I shall tell everyone in England that you are secretly a nice guy and are really very good at gambling. Amanda.'

Wickham folded up the note and slipped it in his jacket pocket before striding off to order a carriage to take him back to his superior in Meryton.