Chapter Five

Lydia had managed to slip away from Kitty and Maria Lucas while they were admiring items in the milliner's shop. She only had a few minutes to find Wickham before the other girls sought her out. He had not been at his lodgings with Denny, so Lydia guessed he would be at his favorite pub, the Drowsy Pig.

She hesitated outside the door. A pub was hardly the best place for a girl; she had been warned repeatedly not to visit one alone. But, she reasoned, there is no choice. And I have never viewed the inside of a pub. Squaring her shoulders, Lydia strolled inside. She squinted around the dim interior until she found Wickham, occupying a corner table and nursing a pint.

As she claimed the seat opposite him, Wickham scowled. "We must not be seen together. Get you gone!"

Her hand inched across the table until it grasped his. "We did not have an opportunity to finish what we started last night." She produced the coy smile that seemed so effective with him.

He jerked his hand out of reach again. What was the matter? "Did you tell anyone I was with you last night?" he whispered.

"Of course not!" Lydia was indignant. "I can keep a secret…most of the time…Well, more than half the time."

Wickham rolled his eyes. "You must not tell anyone. It is vitally important!"

Oh, she had something he wanted. Lydia knew how to play this game. "What will you give me?" She gave a toss of her head.

His eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

"I do not want to marry Mr. Darcy."

"Are you a fool? Do you know how much he is worth?"

Lydia shrugged. "I do not care two figs about that. You are a lot more fun. I want you." She batted her lashes at him.

For a moment a look of panic crossed Wickham's face, but it was quickly replaced by his usual easy humor—and Lydia was unsure if she had seen it at all. "Of course you do. Darcy is as interesting as dirt."

She leaned forward so he could see down the front of her dress. Men were fools about that sort of thing. Sure enough, Wickham's eyes were drawn to the sight; he licked his lips. "Will you be my hero and rescue me from Mr. Darcy?"

"Certainly." His voice had that dazed quality she so enjoyed. "But-but, not immediately. It will take some time for me to…organize everything. In the meantime, you may enjoy being Darcy's fiancée," Wickham said to her bosom.

"I do not want to wait." She pouted.

Wickham's eyes sparkled. "His family is loaded with jewelry."

Hmm. Now that was intriguing. "Very well, I will wait if you insist."

"It is necessary." He regarded her with heavily lidded eyes. "But that does not mean we cannot enjoy ourselves now and then."

One corner of her mouth curled up. "What did you have in mind?"

"There is this secluded spot right behind the pub…"

She ran her tongue over her lips—something else men liked. "Please, show me."

Life was good, Wickham decided. Life was very, very good. The previous night he had escaped Netherfield's library without being observed, and he had ensured the Bennet girl's silence about his identity.

Of course, the best part of last night—Wickham laughed whenever he thought of it—was that Darcy had been blamed for seducing the girl! Wickham could not have conceived of a better revenge on the man. So proud and haughty, convinced of his own superiority! Wickham almost wished he had orchestrated the circumstances himself; then he could have arranged to see Darcy's face when he was trapped into proposing to the empty-headed chit. They would make a proper pair! Darcy with the stick up his arse, and Lydia Bennet with all the self-restraint of a dog in heat.

Wickham had experienced a moment of panic when Lydia had found him at the pub, but the place had been dim and mostly empty, so he doubted anyone had seen them together. Of course, he had no intention of following through on his almost-promise to Lydia that he would rescue her from Darcy. She had next to no dowry! But if she believed he would run away with her, at least she would keep his secret. What a shame her friends had arrived at the pub before they reached the most fun part of their tryst. Thankfully, they had not seen Wickham, but he really could have used a good roll in the hay.

Wickham's own schemes were progressing nicely as well. Mary King seemed quite taken with his tales of brave militia service. Another week of wooing her and she should be ready to run off to Gretna Green. Then he could quit the militia with its tedious regulations and unreasonable expectations; they expected far too much labor from him.

There was one thing, and it was more of a puzzlement than a genuine obstacle. He felt in his pocket for the note he had received this morning from Sir William Lucas. Wickham had been introduced to the man, but they had never had a private conversation. Why would the man summon Wickham to Lucas Lodge?

However, Wickham had no reason to avoid the man, and the visit might be to his advantage. Thus, after a long, cold ride, he knocked on the door of Lucas Lodge. A footman opened the door, took his coat, and ushered him into a book-lined room which must have been Sir William's study.

Behind the large oak desk, Sir William greeted Wickham and invited him to sit. Then he fell silent, steadily regarding Wickham from behind steepled fingers.

Finally, the silence irritated Wickham. "Sir William? Did you have a matter you wished to discuss?"

"Yes, Mr. Wickham." Sir William rubbed his hand over his mostly bald head. "I had a very interesting experience last night." He paused for Wickham's reaction.

"Oh?" Wickham could not imagine how this related to him.

"Yes." Sir William laid his hands flat on the desk before him. "I grew too warm in the Netherfield ballroom—too much dancing, I suppose." Wickham nodded agreeably, attempting to forget the sight of Sir William dancing; it was a bit like watching a cow do a jig. "So I retreated outside—to Netherfield's back garden, as a matter of fact."

Wickham froze.

"And I came across a most peculiar sight. There is a door at the back of Netherfield, almost hidden in shadows, but I happen to know that it leads to the library. I saw a man slip out of the door and steal his way around to the front of the house where he could rejoin the festivities."

"Did you?" Wickham examined his nails with studied disinterest. Perhaps Sir William was not certain of the man's identity.

"The moon was bright, and I caught a good glimpse of the man's face." Sir William paused, but Wickham said nothing. "It was you."

Wickham blustered. "How could you possibly know that—?"

Sir William chuckled. "Oh, it was you, no doubt about it. I did not realize the import of what I had witnessed until I returned to the ball and learned that Mr. Darcy had been forced to propose to a certain young lady he encountered in the library."

Wickham said nothing, but he could feel the back of his neck growing hot. He licked his suddenly dry lips. Sir William wanted something from him. Hopefully not money, since he had precious little of it.

"I think Bennet would be quite interested to know the actual identity of the man who accompanied his daughter last night. The Bennets were so very good at bringing Darcy up to scratch. What would they do with the man who actually had debauched their daughter—and then fled the scene?"

Sweat had broken out on Wickham's brow, but he dared not mop it with his handkerchief and demonstrate his anxiety.

Sir William settled back into his chair, an amiable smile on his face. "I can imagine it now: Mrs. Bennet shrieking and fainting. Lydia Bennet giggling and squealing. And Mr. Bennet glaring at you through his spectacles before returning to his study." Sir William paused briefly to allow the images to settle into Wickham's mind. "Of course, the Bennet girl would confirm your identity; you would be engaged before you knew it!"

Wickham could not prevent a wince. Lydia was pretty enough and fun for a romp in the hay—not that he had romped very much the night before. But she was also demanding and so damned chatty. An hour of her incessant chatter the previous night had Wickham contemplating suicide—or murder. He could not survive a lifetime with her.

Sir William's hand toyed with a letter opener on the desk. "Of course, Mr. Darcy would be the most interested in this information. It would help him escape the engagement. He would be highly motivated to see you engaged to Miss Lydia."

"What do you want from me?"

The other man smiled. "I am pleased we understand each other. You see, I have a problem with which you can help me." Wickham nodded warily. "I have a daughter, Charlotte, who is eight and twenty." Wickham did not hide his wince. A woman was close to being on the shelf by that age. "An unfortunate cold prevented her from attending the ball last night." Sir William cleared his throat. She is the daughter of my first wife. And my second wife would…like to see her out of the house."

Wickham frowned, shifting uneasily in his seat. "I will not marry your daughter simply to—"

The other man interrupted. "You will be well compensated. She has a generous dowry. In addition, I will pay off your creditors in Meryton."

Now the conversation was growing more interesting! Wickham raised an eyebrow. "How generous?"

Sir William wrote a sum on a slip of paper and slid it across the desk to Wickham, who read it eagerly. It was not as much as Mary King's dowry, but it was not a paltry sum. And success with Mary King was hardly certain while Lucas's daughter was guaranteed. On the other hand, Miss Lucas probably had a face like a horse and a disposition to match; she was still unwed for a reason. Miss King at least was pretty despite the freckles.

"I should take some time to consider…"

Lucas's features hardened. "I want your agreement now, Wickham, or I will go straight to Bennet and tell him all I know."

Wickham ran his hands through his hair. Hellfire! His mind worked furiously to find a way out of this trap, but it was futile. Lydia Bennet brought almost no dowry, so Miss Lucas was infinitely preferable, no matter which barnyard animal she resembled. Wickham sighed. "Very well, I will marry your daughter."

Sir William gave him a wide grin. "Capital! Capital! Return tomorrow, and I will arrange for you to meet Charlotte; you may make the proposal then."

Why must the blasted man move so quickly? Would a couple of days at this point make Charlotte Lucas any less withered? But Wickham could not afford to anger the man. "My pleasure." He smiled through gritted teeth.

He would see how unpalatable Charlotte Lucas was; if the picture was particularly grim…well, he would find some way to escape the marriage.