Page 46 of Attempted Compromises
“Wickham. Lieutenant George Wickham, at your service.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wickham.”
“And you are?”
“Miss Caroline Bingley,” she said, inclining her head regally.
“Ah, yes, the mistress of Netherfield,” he said with a charming grin.
“Why, yes. Do you know the estate?”
“Not exactly; I am only familiar with your brother’s name. He is the good friend of Mr. Darcy, I believe.”
“Yes, our families are very close,” she said proudly, lifting her nose in the air slightly. “Are you acquainted with Mr. Darcy?”
He hesitated, then said, “I am, yes, but…” He paused and looked furtively around, then whispered, “You seem like an intelligent woman. Can I trust you?”
Finally, someone sees it!She thought triumphantly. Preening, she said, “Of course you can.”
He hesitated. “It’s not something I can discuss here in public. Might we, perhaps, meet somewhere more private?”
Her brown furrowed. “What could be so secret that we cannot discuss it here?”
He hung his head. “I promise, I will reveal all in good time. It is a matter of life and death, and everything hangs in the balance. I know no one in this town, and the few people I have met seemto be superficial. I need someone with a keen mind and sharp insight, and I think that you are the person I have been praying for. Only you can help me.”
As he peered at her beneath long lashes, she felt her heart begin to race. “Fine,” she said. “You are right to distrust the people of this backwater village. Even the landed gentry are little more than peasants. Very well .”
“When can we meet?” he asked eagerly.
She paused, thinking. “My brother and Mr. Darcy will be out tomorrow evening. I’m certain I can manage to slip away into the gardens for a walk. Meet me at Netherfield Park.”
“I will. Thank you, Miss Bingley. Until we meet again, and please, keep this just between us.”
Her breath caught in her throat as he reached for her hand, lifted her fingers to his lips, and placed a lingering kiss on her gloved hand. His eyes burned into hers as he whispered. “Farewell, my dear Miss Bingley.”
∞∞∞
Caroline could scarcely wait until the following evening. She fidgeted anxiously as she watched her brother, Darcy, and Georgiana put on their wraps and coats. The Hursts were already in the carriage; Mr. Hurst was anxious to enjoy some of Mrs. Philips’ fine wine.
“Are you certain you do not wish to join us?” Bingley asked as they headed for the door.
“Quite certain, Charles. I have little desire to spend the evening with such rustics.”
“Very well.” He gave her a concerned look, then left the house, closing the door behind him.
The idea that she would be leaving the gentlemen to the attentions of the Bennet chits was insupportable, but she had no other option. The prospect of hearing Mr. Wickham’s secret was more than her curiosity could ignore. He had been charming, enigmatic even, during their brief introduction, and the hint of tension at the mention of Darcy was too tantalizing to ignore.
The sound of the carriage fading into the distance spurred her into action. She adjusted her shawl, ensuring she looked her best even for the short journey to the garden. It would not do for Mr. Wickham to see her anything less than perfectly composed. Caroline swept through the halls, her heels clicking softly against the polished wood floors, until she reached the back door leading to the terrace.
The evening air was crisp, with a faint scent of autumn leaves and damp earth. Caroline hesitated briefly, glancing over her shoulder to ensure none of the servants were about. Satisfied she was alone, she descended the stone steps and followed the gravel path toward the garden. Lanterns hanging along the path cast a warm glow, their light dancing across the carefully curated shrubberies.
Her heart fluttered slightly as she approached the arranged meeting spot. The prospect of a clandestine meeting thrilled her in a way she would never admit. For all her criticisms of rusticity, there was something invigorating about the rawness of the night air and the daring nature of this rendezvous.
As she rounded a corner, her gaze landed on a figure standing near the fountain, his silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the lanterns. Mr. Wickham.
He turned at the sound of her approach, his lips curving into a smile as he took a step closer. “Miss Bingley,” he said, his voice smooth and inviting. “You are even more radiant than I remembered.”
Caroline’s lips curved in response, the flattery soothing her earlier irritation. “Mr. Wickham,” she replied, her tone light and teasing. “I see you have not lost your charm.”
