A month later, George Wickham whistled a pretty dancing tune as he walked down a country lane one fine summer afternoon. His mind was fixed on the important question which had continuously recurred since he had met Fitz's wife.
To seduce or not to seduce. That was the question. Whether t'was nobler in the mind to suffer his desire for delectable Elizabeth Darcy. Or should he take sword to woman, and by thrusting her body, risk the sword of her jealous husband?
Wickham smiled at his own fancy. How did the rest of Hamlet's speech go? Oh never mind. He finished the air he had been whistling and began to hum the tune to a bawdy drinking song, about a woman who happily begged man after man for his favors. The trees had fully grown out in heavy green for the summer, and a long line of oaks shaded the road. He hoped to meet Mrs. Darcy after one of her absurd, obsessive visits to attend on the sickly, beastly plebs.
Elizabeth was sparkling, naive and easily charmed. Her bright eyes went right to his loins, and he wanted to corrupt her innocence. He thought she was nearly in love with him already. Certainly what she'd really meant with that confession was that she was desperate for a man's touch. And he was the best looking man about, even if Fitz was taller.
Wickham became hard just thinking about her sweet smile and those deep brown eyes. Her curves. When he rode to the brothel he frequented several towns distant, he always asked for a brown haired girl and called her Elizabeth during the act. Excellent sport, but the real girl would be even better.
However, it was obvious Fitz was in love with her. The Mohammedans must have cut Fitz's whole manhood off. That was the only possible reason he was not tupping that delicious object every night.
Elizabeth would be a very good tumble. He imagined his lips against her neck and that pretty bosom unclothed and bouncing. She had such a passionate nature and had never been satisfied by her glowering husband.
Fitz glowered better than Wickham would have ever imagined when he was Stanley's annoying smaller brother.
At Bath Wickham had talked with a man present at the trial. Twenty times. Sir Clement had already been dead, but Darcy stabbed the man's body twenty times before the doctor and Richard pulled him off.
Wickham had laughed at the time. He never could have imagined that a passionless dullard like Fitz would kill a baronet in a duel over a woman. And with swords no less.
Prison must have changed him.
It wasn't funny anymore.
Wickham's dreams erotique about Elizabeth mixed with those where he was stabbed by Fitz during a duel. A thin sword punching many, many little holes in his body. The vivid imagined sensation had so far kept his attraction to Mrs. Darcy, ah, soft.
Asking "to seduce, or not to seduce" perhaps also asked "to be, or not to be".
Wickham saw Elizabeth standing inside the kitchen garden of one of the model brick cottages in the village, talking to a farmer's wife. The wind made her neat curves clad in a blowsy dress stand out. She was delectable. Wickham licked his lips and slowed his pace to enjoy the view of her figure.
He hoped that she would be done speaking to the lesser creature by the time he reached them.
That clergymen were supposed to associate and look with compassion upon the poor was why he wished the law was as little work as the clergy. Only judges spent much time with the ruffians, and Wickham thought he might like being a judge very well indeed. He would sit with one of those big powdered wigs on his head, and listen solemnly before, with a benignant smile, encouraging the jury to show mercy.
Damn Fitz.
He had a beautiful wife he didn't use, and he never gambled for real stakes.
Wickham had no idea how he could find the funds to pay back Mr. Corbin, now that he couldn't win money off Stanley. Why did the damn fool need to kill himself with his carriage? Couldn't he have thought about someone besides himself?
The farmer's wife thanked Elizabeth profusely as Wickham ambled up to the pair. Her hands were scabbed and ugly. So was her face. If he wasn't able to force his curate to deal with the dirty people, Wickham would do away with himself.
Wickham smiled and said charming things to Mrs. Brown when Elizabeth and the woman turned to him. He could not bring himself to dirty his gloves by directly touching Mrs. Brown. They were worth more than she was.
Afterwards he took Elizabeth's arm to walk with her. She headed back to Pemberley and they chatted amiably. Wickham's mind had been on money since the most recent message demanding an installment arrived from Mr. Corbin. So he asked, with a little pique, "Can you easily afford to give so much to charity cases? While your beauty shines forth no matter what you wear, I know that dress was made in Lambton, not London."
Elizabeth turned to him and pouted prettily. By Jove, he wanted to kiss that mouth. He lost himself watching how her face moved, and when Elizabeth ceased speaking, Wickham said, "Forgive me, I did not hear you."
She laughed and pushed him on the arm. More flirtatious behavior. She was begging him to take her. "I said, I spend almost none of my pin money."
"Oh. Why not?"
Elizabeth slammed one hand against the other. "I won't be that money obsessed woman they think I am. I won't."
"No one could think you are."
She rolled her eyes.
Yes. So Mrs. Darcy was generally believed to be a fortune hunter. He'd expected her to be one and said the opposite when he met her because rogues generally liked to believe they were fooling the public. "You still should not give away all of your pin money to charity. You might enjoy better dresses."
"I do not care, and neither does Fitzwilliam. Besides I certainly am not giving all the money away, I could not in such a constrained community."
"But you—"
"Fitzwilliam assigned me an absurd settlement and income at my marriage. A bank account with three thousand was filled up for expenses associated with the beginning of my marriage, and I receive six hundred a quarter more. I've spent maybe a hundred fifty on myself and given away another hundred fifty. I only help when there is genuine need among the tenants, and that is not so common as to absorb the money. I believe there is now more than four thousand pounds in my accounts."
"You have access to four thousand?" Wickham's eyes popped wide. She could pay off that foolish loan he'd received from that money lender. Mr. Corbin was the sort of man who occasionally had ruffians beat — or even murder — late payers pour encourager les autres.
Wickham really didn't want to be beaten or murdered.
"It is ridiculous. I do not understand how a creature could spend so much money. But Pemberley is far richer than either I or Darcy spend. I'd return the money to the general accounts, but it would not be spent there either. We probably shall add to the landholdings in another year or so."
"Four thousand pounds."
"Have you turned hard of hearing?" Elizabeth laughed again. "Oh, I am arrived. I must hurry in, as I am to go riding with Fitzwilliam this afternoon and want to consult with Mrs. Reynolds about a servant matter first. Have you seen the pretty mare he bought for me? I am not afraid of it at all. Au revoir."
Elizabeth hurried off, her hips swinging unconsciously to and fro, and she entered the house by the front door. Wickham turned away, and then when he found a bench in the garden, he slumped down.
He needed to get the money from her.
Wickham had not realized how much he'd depended on Stanley's generosity until his friend was gone. He spent almost twice what the parsonage brought in, and now he had no sense what to do. Despite owing Mr. Corbin so much for his losses in Bath when he drank himself into a stupor after Stanley died, he'd only taken on extra debts since his return to Pemberley.
He'd found a few economies and released one of his servants and he'd stopped drinking good alcohol when he dined in. His cook had been released. But those were home matters. The big cost was his carriage and the grooms and horses. Following that was his clothes.
He would not dress like…like Fitz. He also would not drive around some slow gig with one horse like some dowdy country parson.
There was no help for it.
Elizabeth was so sweet and kind that he could easily get her to give him this money she found so burdensome. Strange girl. But if Darcy discovered that she gave him money, he would certainly assume Wickham had been conducting an affaire with Mrs. Darcy. He should seduce her and enjoy it.
Oh, by God it would feel so good.
She was going to ride out with Darcy today, but next time he saw her on a walk alone, he'd find a way. Besides with how much she smiled at him, she'd probably been disappointed that he hadn't yet seduced her. After all she certainly didn't hold a tendre for Darcy. She'd admitted she just married him to escape that baronet Fitz killed.
She was so wild with her endless walks. It would be easy to find opportunities to take her without raising additional suspicion.
It was actually a good thing Stanley died. He could probably get even more money out of Elizabeth than he had out of Stanley, and, much as he loved cards, he loved the lasses more.
He just needed to be ready to flee if Darcy found out. He was not going to duel that madman