George Wickham sauntered into the entrance hall of the house he had known for nearly all of his life. But that was over now, George Darcy was dead, and Wickham was determined to make his own way in the world – away from the influences and desires of the Darcy family. He did not, however, have the Darcy family money and it was for this reason and this reason alone, that he had travelled up from town, leaving his creditors and scoundrels chasing after him. Inside it was overwhelmingly loud after the silence of the cold ride from Derby - the excitement of guests, the laughter of children, the music playing, the clink of glasses – the Darcys always did know how to throw a party, and the Twelfth Night ball had always been his most favourite part of Christmas.

"Welcome back to Pemberley, Mr Wickham."

He turned to see Fitz, now the master of all he surveyed, standing before him in a years old evening coat, his cravat fastened a little too high. Always awkward, the vast wealth that he had inherited had not served to make Fitzwilliam Darcy anymore convivial in company, he had heard as much in the saloons and drawing rooms of London where his own easy charm had served him very well indeed.

"Mr Darcy, thank you for the invitation."

Fitz visibly ruffled, he had not seen Wickham since they had returned from the continent – the expedition that they had embarked upon as part of their grand tour, paid for, of course, by his own most excellent father, who had always wanted more for the boy who was his namesake. He had shielded his father from the worst of Wickham's wickedness - the trail of ruined young girls, the numerous babes abandoned, the debts that he paid from his own purse – but it was when George Darcy was dying, asking for his godson, that Fitz was unable to hide George Wickham's cruelty. Ignoring every plea, every letter, even a direct call from Uncle Fitzwilliam, the only notification that Fitz received was that Wickham would be in touch once the will had been read to collect his dues. Any brotherly affection that he had carried for George Wickham had died that day, following his father to the grave, and now all Fitz could see when he looked at the handsome gentleman was a carrion crow determined to pick on the bones of the dead.

"It was Georgiana who sent the invite, George. You know how she cares for you."

Wickham turned, a smile upon his lips as he spotted Georgiana waving to him from across the room. She bounded over and threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"George, you have come back!"

"I have indeed, Georgiana. How big you have grown now? I imagine you are the same height now as Lady Wyndham."

"Lady Violet Wyndham? Have you made her acquaintance?"

"The very same! We move in similar circles and I have had the pleasure of that lady's company more than once."

Georgiana looked at her brother expectantly, urging him to say something, but he didn't, and she frowned, before continuing.

"Fitz, we should get George some refreshment after his journey," she took Wickham by the arm, "come with me, there are lots of people I wish you to meet."

Fitz knew the pleasure that George Wickham had taken in Lady Wyndham's company, had seen the evidence splashed over the society pages, the sad look on her husband's face each time he appeared in public. As he watched his childhood friend walk into the crowd with his sister, he felt a sense of dread and horror wash over him. He didn't know why, but there was something different about Wickham now, something he feared. Following them he saw him laugh with Georgiana, subtly removing a ringlet of hair from her face, calling over to Caroline Bingley with whom he was already acquainted. This was not right. Louisa saw his expression, caught his eye, summoned him to the bottom of the stairs with a worried look on her face.

"The scoundrel Wickham," she hissed, " what is he doing here?"

"Georgiana sent the invitation; I was unaware of it."

Louisa sought his eye with look of concern upon her face, "but does she not know what kind of creature he is?"

Fitz looked over to where his sister, Wickham and Caroline Bingley were standing in conversation, the women laughing, the jewels adorning Caroline's neck catching the light, the diamond clip that was their mother's sparkling in Georgiana's hair. Bingley pushed past them, making his way over, nodding his acquaintance to Wickham as he passed by.

"My god, Darcy, what made you invite a rogue such as Wickham to your assembly? You need to advise your guests to pay close attention to their wives!"

Fitz sighed, Louisa shot her brother a look of annoyances, "it was Georgiana who sent the invite," she said, "she is not of an age to know the devilish things that man is capable of."

"You sound as if he has thoroughly offended you, sister! Damn long way to travel though for a ball."

"He is here for another reason," Fitz said, "naught to do with the ball, although I anticipate he would not want to offend or upset my sister. No, he is here because the reading of my father's will is due to take place this Tuesday week."

"So, Wickham has come for what is due to him," Louisa said, "how very thoughtful of him."

"And will he have a room here at Pemberley?" Charles wasn't sure how he felt about having such a gentleman under the same roof as his sisters overnight.

"Of course not," Fitz shook his head, "his family reside in a cottage in the grounds and he can stay there."

"Good," smiled Charles, his attention drawn to Miss Purcell who was walking down the stairs towards him, "you must excuse me, I have neglected my dancing partner for far too long this evening."

Sarah appeared at his side. She was a short plump girl with a pretty smile and a headful of curls, she was also in possession of a more than ample bosom that she adorned with pretty jewels, that hung tantalisingly low. Fitz could see exactly what his friend saw in the charming Miss Purcell, however, he most sincerely hoped that the only thing he was promising her was an invitation to the opera or playhouse. Sarah Purcell was the youngest daughter of a recently impoverished landowning gentleman from the neighbouring county and, as such, was searching for wealthy husband who would be able to rescue her father from his current business situation. Bingley was always of the temperament to think with his heart rather than his head, Fitz was concerned that he would end up getting himself bound into a less than desirable situation – always led by pretty smiles and polite conversations.

"My poor brother, he's bound to end up engaged before the year out."

"Knowing Charles he probably won't be aware that the event has even occurred," Fitz smiled.

Louisa plastered on her smile, "Mr Wickham," she announced, proffering her hand as Wickham and Georgiana walked towards them, "how delightful to see you once again."

Taking her hand, he kissed it softly, a snake lip smile on his lips, "Miss Bingley, the pleasure is all mine. Is it true that I hear you are to be wed?"

"Louisa, are you getting married?" Georgiana said, looking quickly at her brother.

"Yes, you have heard correctly," Louisa was all smiles, but Fitz knew it was all a show. "The gentleman in question is a Mr Hurst from Gateshead."

"A Mr Hurst from Gateshead? He sound positively wonderful, you are going to be so happy, Louisa."

"Hear that, Darcy," Wickham jostled, "the agreeable and talented Miss Bingley had been snapped up by a very lucky gentleman, I suppose you are half green with envy."

"Not at all," he said, gulping down his anger with port. "Georgiana, I would like this next dance with you, would you oblige?"

Wickham ruffled, Georgiana glanced at him, then back to her brother, "I am happy to dance, Fitz, but George wanted me to take him to see the lake."

"Mr Wickham can see the lake tomorrow, Georgiana," Louisa interrupted with a trill to her voice, "why it is freezing outside, and supper is nearly ready to be served."

Georgiana look up with an unsure expression on her face, "Miss Bingley is right, George. We will get a better look at the lake tomorrow." She passed her the small pink reticule and taking her brother's hand, walked over to the dancefloor. "Come Fitz, my dancing skills are much improved, and I want to show off!"

"That was very clever of you, Miss Bingley," he said, "stealing away my young companion like that."

"Stealing her away? Why, George, she is the arms of her brother – look, how she smiles."

Looking at Fitz happily dancing with his sister, she could tell that Wickham was seething. She did not know of his intent with Georgiana Darcy, but she suspected it was less than honourable. Louisa Bingley saw through Wickham, saw through his smiles and his charm and his flirtations. He had left a trail of devastation in his wake, and she was determined that no other women of her acquaintance would fall foul of it.