Chapter 1

Caroline Bingley looked down at her arm in disgust. There, on the sleeve of her favorite dress—the burnt orange one—was a black ink stain marring the delicate French lace that had cost a fortune in London.

She had been attempting to write a letter—something she never did—to impress Darcy whilst in the library with him. Instead, all she managed to do was ruin her sleeve.

She had sent her maid into Meryton to fetch some lace to make repairs, but the stupid girl didn't seem to know the difference between tangerine and apricot. Sighing deeply, Miss Bingley resigned herself to having to go into the savage little backwater town herself.

The carriage ride into the hamlet itself was uneventful, albeit a bit boring. The scenery was nothing to the grand landscape that surrounded Pemberley, and she yearned for Darcy to finally make an offer so she could enjoy the riches that would come from being his wife.

The carriage began to slow, so she looked out the window to verify that they had arrived. To her dismay, she saw her brother and Darcy on horseback, approaching the Bennet sisters.

"Am I to never escape those women?" she muttered to herself angrily.

Miss Bingley had only just rid Netherfield of the presence of the two eldest girls and not a moment too soon. Darcy paid that Miss Eliza a dangerous amount of attention, and now all of Miss Bingley's well-laid plans to become Mistress of Pemberley were in jeopardy.

She watched helplessly as she saw Darcy's eyes fix on Miss Elizabeth, who was standing with her sisters amongst a small group of soldiers. When one stepped slightly closer to the chit, Darcy's flickered to the man. To Miss Bingley's s, Darcy turned bright red with anger.

As Bingley looked at his friend riding towards Netherfield, he failed to hide his bewilderment. Her brother bowed his head in farewell, gave one last longing look at the elder Miss Bennet, and then followed his friend.

"Interesting," Miss Bingley mused aloud as the scene played out before her.

She waited until the party had disbanded; then she descended from her coach. After purchasing the necessary lace—although this was a far cry from the high standards of London—she left the shop to discover the soldier who had so upset Darcy directly in front of her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as she stepped back to avoid a near collision, causing her to drop her purchase.

"My apologies!"

The handsome soldier in regimentals dipped a low bow with a flourish, his eyes raking down her body as his head descended. He spied the dropped parcel, smoothly picked it up, and handed it to her.

"Thank you, Mr.…" Miss Bingley's voice trailed off.

"Wickham. Lieutenant George Wickham, at your service."

"Thank you, Mr. Wickham."

"And you are?" he asked.

"Miss Caroline Bingley," she said, performing a short curtsy.¬¬

"Ah, the mistress of Netherfield," he said with a charming grin.

"Why, yes. Do you know the estate?"

"I am familiar with your brother's name. He is the good friend of Mr. Darcy, I believe."

"Yes, our families are very close to one another," she said proudly, lifting her nose in the air. "Are you acquainted with Mr. Darcy?"

"You will never meet anyone more acquainted with him than I, having been acquainted with him since my infancy. How do you find him?"

"He is the perfect houseguest," she gushed. "Ever so polite and attentive at all times."

"I am glad to hear it," he replied. "Mr. Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not want abilities. He can be an amiable companion if he thinks it worth his while. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a very different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His pride never deserts him, but with the rich, he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honorable, and perhaps agreeable—allowing something for fortune and figure."

"This does not describe yourself?" she asked, preening at this evidence of Darcy's regard for herself, as he had never treated her rudely.

"We were born in the same parish, within the same park; the greatest part of our youth was passed together; inmates of the same house, sharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care. My father began life in the law—but he gave up everything to be of use to the late Mr. Darcy and devoted all his time to the care of the Pemberley property."

It was here that Wickham paused and seemed to blush. "Forgive me, Miss Bingley, but I fear I have overshared with you. I have a warm, unguarded temper, which led me to be the favorite of the late Mr. Darcy and caused his son no small amount of jealousy. He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood—the sort of preference which was often given me. The fact is that we are very different sorts of men, and he hates me."

Here tears filled Wickham's eyes. "But until I can forget his father, I cannot wish for anything but the best for my oldest friend."

Miss Bingley, whose heart was not easily touched, was moved to some compassion. "I am very sorry to hear it. To me, Mr. Darcy has always been the best of men. In fact," she hesitated before continuing, "I daresay I am one of the few who can claim his good opinion. The longer we spend together in the same residence, the more certain I am of it. Perhaps I can do something for you once I am Mrs. Darcy."

"Do you mean to say"—Wickham stepped closer and lowered his voice—"that Mr. Darcy may be making you an offer of marriage?"

"I have no reason to suspect otherwise," she said with a satisfied smile.

"Then I am very happy to hear that my old friend is able to win someone as worthy and beautiful as yourself."

Miss Bingley lifted her chin smugly for a moment, then remembered the scenes from the last few days with that horrid Miss Eliza. "There is one thing that causes me concern however," she whispered.

"What is that?"

"I think he may be in danger of a fortune hunter. One of the local ladies, a Miss Eliza Bennet, has been using her arts and allurements—along with her sister—to entrap my brother and Mr. Darcy."

Wickham gasped. "But surely he would not be able to tear himself away from a creature as wonderful as you!"

"I would normally agree with you, but this girl seems to have ensnared my poor Mr. Darcy."

The conversation was interrupted by the shriek of a horse in the road, and the sudden noise jolted Miss Bingley to a recollection of herself and their surroundings.

"Upon my word!" she exclaimed, taking a step back from Wickham, alarmed at how closely she was standing next to him. "I should not have been sharing such things with you."

She hastily turned to go around him and board her carriage. He stepped to the side to allow her to pass, but as she moved in front of him, he gently grasped her arm. "I would like to help you, if I may, Miss Bingley," he said, sincerity evident in his eyes. "I want nothing more than to help my old friend get what he deserves."

A tremor of excitement raced through her. This was just what she needed! "Of course, Mr. Wickham. Your generous nature does you credit," she murmured, attempting to remain calm.

"When can I see you again?" he asked with a grin. "There is much we should discuss about the best way to bring you and Darcy together."

One of the carriage's horses gave a snort, and Miss Bingley thought quickly. "I usually take a small walk in the gardens each morning when my brother and Mr. Darcy have gone to the study after breakfast. Perhaps you might join me around ten in the morning tomorrow?"

Wickham bent at the waist. "Your servant, Miss Bingley."

She hastily climbed into the carriage, aware of just how much time she had spent in Meryton, but gave him one last long look through the window. It was all she could do to suppress a squeal of excitement. Darcy may be hers before long!