Page 47 of Attempted Compromises
He gestured to the bench near the fountain. “Shall we sit? I believe we have much to discuss.”
She inclined her head gracefully and moved toward the bench, her mind racing with questions about Darcy, Georgiana, and whatever secrets Wickham might hold. The possibilities were endless, and Caroline intended to exploit every one of them to her advantage.
She sat down and smoothed her skirts. “So you are acquainted with Mr. Darcy, sir?” she asked him as soon as she had sat down and smoothed her skirts.
“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,” Caroline gushed with a coy look. “Polite and attentive at all times.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Wickham replied, his tone measured, though his gaze flickered with something unreadable. “Mr. Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not lack the ability to be an amiable companion when he deems it worth his while. Among those who are 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, sincere, rational, and honorable—and perhaps even agreeable, allowing for fortune and figure.”
Caroline preened at this subtle evidence of Darcy’s regard for herself, interpreting Wickham’s words as confirmation that Darcy’s treatment of her had always been exemplary. “This does not describe yourself?” she ventured, her voice soft with interest.
Wickham chuckled lightly, though there was a tinge of sadness in his expression. “We were born in the same parish, within the same park. The greatest part of our youth was spent together—inmates of the same house, sharing the same amusements and objects of parental care. My father began life in the law but gave up everything to devote his time to the care of the Pemberley property and the late Mr. Darcy.”
He hesitated, then leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “Forgive me, Miss Bingley. I fear I havebeen too candid. I have a warm, unguarded temper, which led me to be the favorite of the late Mr. Darcy. It caused his son no small amount of jealousy. He had not the temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood—the sort of preference often shown to me.”
Wickham drew in a breath, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “The fact is, we are very different sorts of men, and he hates me for it. But,” he added, his voice breaking slightly, “until I can forget his father, I cannot wish for anything but the best for my oldest friend.”
Caroline felt a warmth rising in her chest. Though she prided herself on her composure, Wickham’s vulnerability tugged at her. “I am very sorry to hear it,” she murmured, her tone uncharacteristically gentle. “To me, Mr. Darcy has always been the best of men. In fact…” She hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly before she added, “I daresay I am one of the few who can claim his good opinion. The longer we reside under the same roof, the more certain I am of it. Perhaps,” she said with a small, significant smile, “I might even do something to assist you.”
Wickham’s smile widened, and he stepped closer, his gaze softening as he regarded her. “Do you mean to say, Miss Bingley, that Mr. Darcy may be on the verge of making you an offer of marriage?”
Caroline flushed with pride, tilting her chin up slightly. “I have no reason to suspect otherwise,” she said with a satisfied smile.
Wickham’s expression turned warm and admiring. “Then I am very happy to hear that my old friend is capable of winning someone as worthy and beautiful as yourself.”
Caroline basked in his compliment for a moment, her heart fluttering at his flattering words. The moment was short-lived, however, as her thoughts quickly turned to the vexing presence of Miss Elizabeth Bennet over the past few days. Her satisfaction dimmed, and she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “There is one thing that causes me concern, however.”
“What could trouble someone as capable as you, Miss Bingley?” Wickham asked, stepping even closer, his tone gentle and conspiratorial.
“I fear he may be in danger of a fortune-hunter,” she confided with an air of gravity. “One of the local ladies, a certain Miss Elizabeth Bennet, has been using her arts and allurements—along with her sister—to entrap both my brother and Mr. Darcy.”
Wickham’s brow furrowed as he feigned shock, though his eyes betrayed a spark of interest. “A fortune-hunter, you say? But surely Darcy would not be able to tear himself away from someone as exceptional as yourself.”
“I would like to agree,” Caroline said with a haughty sniff, “but this girl seems to have ensnared my poor Mr. Darcy. Her impertinence, her lively eyes…” She trailed off, her tone dripping with disdain. “He may not see her for what she truly is.”
Wickham’s expression hardened, though his voice remained gentle. “Miss Bingley, Mr. Darcy is indeed fortunate to have someone as perceptive and caring as you in his circle. Together, perhaps we can ensure that he avoids such a regrettable mistake.”
Caroline straightened, her chin lifting. “I should hope so. I will not stand by and watch that upstart ruin all that is good and noble about him.”
Wickham inclined his head, his smile sly. “Then, Miss Bingley, it seems we have a common goal.”
Caroline opened her mouth to say more, but the faint sound of footsteps approaching from the direction of the terrace stilled her. Her head snapped toward the noise, her heart leaping into her throat. Wickham’s expression shifted in an instant, his easy charm giving way to an alert wariness.
“Someone’s coming,” he murmured, his voice low.
Caroline’s pulse quickened, torn between the thrill of secrecy and the fear of discovery. Before she could decide on a course of action, Wickham stepped closer, his eyes locking onto hers. “We mustn’t be seen together. Mr. Darcy… well, he may not take kindly to it.”
Her breath hitched slightly as he lifted her hand, his touch warm and deliberate. “Forgive me, Miss Bingley,” he said, pressing his lips to her gloved fingers in a gesture both gallant and intimate. “Until we meet again.”
Before she could respond, he released her hand and turned, disappearing into the hedgerows with practiced ease. Caroline stared after him, her heart racing as the footsteps grew louder.
She barely had time to compose herself when a gardener rounded the corner. He startled upon seeing her, then tipped his hat and gave a bow. “Sorry to bother you, miss. Just on my way home for the night. Can I help you with something?”
Caroline straightened her shoulders, smoothing her skirts with one hand as she waved him away with another. He bowed again and retreated, leaving Caroline alone once more.
She glanced toward the hedgerows where Wickham had vanished, her thoughts swirling with the memory of his parting gesture. Her lips curved into a small, satisfied smile, certain now that she had found an ally in her quest to protect Darcy—and, perhaps, to secure her own place at his side.
