George Wickham
Netherfield, Hertfordshire
Netherfield was quite pretty at night, with all its windows a-glow. Truly, Bingley must have been spending an absolute fortune on candles, the idiot. George Wickham stood below, staring up at the grand structure, and wondered which room might be the young Mr. Darcy's. He scanned the windows with a sneering gaze and took another swig of whiskey from the bottle he'd secreted along on the carriage ride. Truly, he wondered how young Mr. Darcy fared, and if he was afraid.
He should be afraid, Wickham thought darkly. The rumors of the elder Mr. Darcy's plans for the inheritance had not gone unheard by Mr. Wickham, and he had every intention of exploiting the old man's affection for him and his derision for his flesh-and-blood son. How the two had fallen out, Wickham would never know, but it was certainly to his entire benefit that they had.
Now Mr. Darcy, the younger, was on the edge of losing Pemberley, all of his connections, his precious London club, in favor of those grand items being passed on to Mr. Wickham himself.
Wickham could scarcely contain his glee. It had only taken a few well-placed words about Fitzwilliam Darcy's inclination for the most unnatural of desires in the right ears, and the whips of scandal and intrigue had found themselves in the elder Mr. Darcy's hands within a month.
Foolish old man planned to marry his son off to settle an old score with a friend, the aging and doddering Mr. Bennet… well, Wickham had a plan for that as well. Again, make sure the girls were either ineligible due to prior engagement, or that they were entirely unsuitable through ruining. He had known that Mr. Darcy would want his son to marry the beautiful and quiet Jane Bennet, but she would be shortly off the market and in the hands of Mr. Collins or Mr. Bingley, whichever lucky sod got to her first.
Before then, he intended to elope with the delightful Miss Elizabeth, and make her his wife… and the elder Mr. Darcy had promised him a princely wedding gift since he was so thrilled that his good friend's daughter and good friend's son would be wed.
That left only pitiful Miss Mary for Mr. Darcy to wed, and she was too bookish. Either the younger Mr. Darcy would refuse out right, or Mr. Wickham would see to it that she was ruined or wed to some country clod. Perhaps Mr. Collins even if Bingley took Miss Jane Bennet first. It would only take a few nudges, and a few coins in the right hands, once he had his purse full again with wedding gifts from Miss Elizabeth's grateful parents and the money promised from elder Mr. Darcy.
Wickham took another long, slow glug of whiskey and looked up at Netherfield's glowing windows again.
The last girl, Miss Catherine, was barely out, and as good as a child. Wickham knew Fitzwilliam. He would never bed a girl so young, and was unlikely to accept her as a wife.
No, young Mr. Darcy was well and truly hemmed in, and yet he did not know it. Wickham looked to see him destroyed, and paid back for the sins that Darcy had done to him when they had grown together as boys… before Darcy had taken off to school and forgotten his good friend, his long time friend, back in Pemberley.
Wickham sneered at Netherfield's walls. His plan was falling into place, and he would not be stopped until he saw Darcy drummed out of good society, and he, Wickham, installed in Darcy's place.
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