Wickham adjusted his hold on his walking stick, as his nervousness became more apparent with each minute that passed. Seagulls littered the grass close to him and pecked in search of the morsels left by park visitors. One waddled next to Wickham and defecated. Lord, I hate birds. Where is that woman? As if he commanded it, the church bell of the local abbey rang, signaling the half hour. They are late. Wilhelmina promised him she and Georgiana would coincidentally run into him at the park at two and a quarter. Fifteen more minutes and then I leave. Wilhelmina can think of an alternative place since she missed this one. Preferably one with a cleaner setting. Wickham wrinkled his nose at the smell of moist grass and dung.  

From his perch on the wood bench, he glanced to the north of the path and stood. The abrupt movement knocked his hat askew, and he opted to hold it in his hand instead. At the park’s iron gate entrance, was Wilhelmina and a blonde young woman. Wickham dusted his britches, straightened his cravat, and started down the walkway toward the ladies. Each step of his boots on the wet cobblestone made a disgusting squelch and only served to further dampen his mood.

As he neared them, he observed Georgiana. She was a great deal taller than he last recalled and her face had lost the childish roundness he associated with her. Wickham grimaced, realizing Wilhelmina’s remarks about the girl held true. She had formed into a pretty thing, but he couldn’t help the sickness that settled in his stomach. 

Wilhelmina, contrary to her companion, cut a commanding figure. Right now she was Mrs. Younge, the severe widow-turned-governess. Her arm was looped with Gerogiana’s. To anyone else, it appeared as an affectionate gesture, but Wickham knew better. It was a way to ensure her prey remained in sight. If Wilhelmina clutches the poor dear any harder, her appendage will separate from her body.

His own muscles tensed at their display and he had to force himself to loosen his limbs. Alright old boy. Smile and flirt with the ladies. Wickham conjured a cheery countenance and prayed the naïve lamb didn’t notice his stiffness.

For someone who hadn’t laid eyes on him in years, Georgiana recognized him without prevail. Her mouth opened, closed, and then she turned her head to whisper to Wilhelmina, no doubt to comment on his appearance. As an unwed gentlewoman, she could never speak to him first, therefore he bore the weight of beginning the conversation. 

“Good afternoon! What a wonderful day for a stroll. I don’t wish to be presumptuous in introducing myself, but I have few friends in the area to offer introductions. George Wickham at your service.” He bowed at the waist, and hoped he didn’t overdo it. Most of the time Wickham had no trouble performing the role of a perfect gentleman, but with more at stake he choked up. 

“Mr. Wickham! Surely, you are the same George Wickham who grew up at Pemberley in Derbyshire?”

“The same. Have we met before, Miss?”

At that instance, Wilhelmina stepped in as her role of protective governess. 

“This is Miss Georgiana Darcy. I am Mrs. Younge, her governess and chaperone.” Both women curtsied, but Wilhelmina kept her head up. She gave him an encouraging look and nodded toward the empty path. 

“Miss Darcy, it has been some time since I have last seen you. Would you care to take a tour of the garden with me? I ever so much enjoy the company of an old friend.” Wickham extended his hand out, grateful a glove covered his sweaty palm. He could see the girl blush, embarrassed by his invitation.

Georgiana ducked her chin and mumbled a question to Wilhelmina. 

“I don’t see why not. After all, he does know your family. There is no harm in a walk.” Georgiana placed her hand on his arm with Wilhelmina’s blessing and they commenced their afternoon excursion. 

~~~

Wickham found himself in Georgiana Darcy’s drawing room, being used to turn the pages of her sheet music as she flitted through a piece. His leg cramped from standing for so long, but the most he did to voice his discomfort was tighten his smile. After all, I can’t let Georgie know I’d rather be anywhere than here. Turning the hundredth page of this blasted concierto! He had to admit the chit had talent. She tapped the keys with such confidence, as if she had played this song her entire life. When it came to an end, he clapped, making sure his palms connected to create resounding applause.  

“That was wonderful, Miss Darcy! Never have I heard anyone present with such feeling.” 

Georgiana flushed at the praise, twisting her hands in her lap.

Her honest reactions filled him with dread. It is one thing to swindle a couple of shillings from drunk sailors or to pilfer pin money from flirtatious ladies. I…I don’t know if I can marry an innocent woman and then abandon her.

“Would you like me to execute another, Mr. Wickham? I ordered new music from Europe and have not gotten the chance to try any of it yet in front of an audience.”

Wickham gripped her hands to prevent her from reaching the folder of songs.

 “No. No, you see, I’d much rather converse with you here on the sofa. Didn’t you mention you paint watercolors? I’d love to see your sketches.” He hoped she would leave the room to retrieve them and give him time to reconnaissance with Wilhelmina, who sat sewing nearby. 

“Yes, I ha-have the drawings in my room. If you will excuse me, I can get them.” Georgiana fled the room, her entire face red from our brief moment of contact.

She is too pure. Another wave of guilt rushed over Wickham at ruining her. She will be ruined whether or not I touch her. Elopement taints a woman’s reputation for life. Especially with me as her groom. 

“Wickham?”

He shook his head and sat on the settee nearest Wilhelmina. Her head remained bowed over her work as if the entire charade was nothing more than a normal afternoon tea among friends. Wilhelmina’s unbothered state angered him. How is she so bloody calm?

“Willie, what are we doing?”

She stopped moving her needle and it hung midair. “You have to call me Mrs. Younge. Here is not the place to discuss our course of action…”

His entire body twisted to face her, a mutinous look in his eyes. “We need to talk. Now. I don’t like this scheme anymore. Georgie thinks it is real…”

“She is correct.” She hissed, looking around to make sure no servants had overheard them before she continued. “You are her hero in shining armor and will remain that person until the day you are married. Whatever you choose to do beyond that point is up to you. Keep her, get rid of her, make her your pet. What becomes of your wife is no concern of mine.”

Wickham froze. His mouth grimaced as if he had swallowed a bitter medicine tonic.

Wilhelmina placed her hand on his arm and patted him like she would an upset dog. “Listen George. I don’t know why you are so against this ruse, but keep your new found morals at bay. This is our chance. You and I won’t ever have to work another day in our lives. Don’t back out now. I..” Wilhelmina sniffled and her eyes watered. “My husband is dead. No one can take care of me but myself. This is my final trick.”

He swallowed a lump in his throat and settled against the settee. Damn. I don’t believe this is her last con, but she is right about the coin. I’ll never earn thirty thousand pounds in my life without stealing it. 

“Mr. Wickham! I am sorry it took me so long to return. I forgot where I placed my sketchbook.” An out of breath Georgiana perched along the edge of her chair, the furniture piece the farthest distance possible from him. 

“What’s this? Come, come. We must be closer if I am to give your work proper study.” 

This is it.

Wickham schooled his features into a pleasant mien and he removed himself to stand next to her. He braced his hand on the wooden arm of her chair to lean over Georgiana, his mouth inches from her ear.  

“Now, my dear, isn’t this better?”

Editor: Michelle Naragon