Images for the above video were sourced through Depositphotos. Video background was created using Animoto and Canva.
I decided to share the images for this post in a bit of a different fashion today, and you have some options. You can press play and listen to the rest of this post being read to you, or you can press play and turn off the sound to see the images before you read the post below. It’s totally up to you how you wish to enjoy it.
While Georgiana’s sketchbook in Protecting Miss Darcy contains only sketches, I couldn’t resist sharing these pretty watercolor flowers that I found, so that, just like Lily (Alfred’s niece), you could “page” through them.
In the excerpt below, you’ll hear a bit about an incident involving a flower and bee and, hopefully, you’ll enjoy watching Alfred come to a surprising conclusion.
I hope your November is off to a tolerable start. 🙂 Ours has been good. Today (Friday) as I am writing this, the skies are gray, and the temperatures are not balmy. My phone tells me it is just 11 degrees Celsius outside (which is not quite 52 F). If it weren’t gray and cloudy, that temperature would feel a bit warmer, I’m sure. 🙂 As it is, I’ve been forced to turn on some heat in the house to keep my fingers, toes, and nose from being too chilled. (Maybe if I type faster, my finger will warm up faster?)
In my writing life, I’ve been busy.
How to Marry An Accomplished Lady (without losing one’s mind) has been sent off to my editor, and the sequel to it is on my writing schedule to be started next week.
I have made the decision to cancel my refresh of Oxford Cottage, which I told you about in a recent What’s Up Wednesday post.
I have finally gotten around to fixing some errors in Finally Mrs. Darcy that have been waiting for me to get to them for quite some time. (I think I also mentioned that in the most recent What’s Up Wednesday post.) I’ve updated the ebook file on Amazon, and just need to re-size the cover for the print book since new formatting software means a different page count (a lower one due to paper saving options) and make a large print version and all the books on sale will contain the corrections.
While I was editing Finally Mrs. Darcy to correct those errors, I put each chapter into Elevenlabs and created audiobook files. If you subscribe to my YouTube channel (which I hope you do because I really need to get to 1000 subscribers), you might already know that the full audiobook edition of Finally Mrs. Darcy is available now to listen to for FREE. I will be putting the files on Kobo and including it in Kobo Plus later this month, and I hope to have news before next month for where you can buy the audiobook directly from me.
All the Teatime Tales stories are now available in regular and large print, and I am currently working on sampling some teas to choose a few that I can use to create a “Tea with Darcy” gift box to add to the Leenie B Books Shop on Etsy.
I have also been working on the next Annilee Nelson novel (that’s my other pen name), and I have written a new portion of our Harriet and the Colonel story which you can read at the end of this newsletter.
There are, of course, several other business type things that I’m doing, but I won’t bore you with those details. 😀
Last month, I mentioned sharing with you how I’m managing to do more projects. It all comes down to lists on paper. Lots of lists. That I clip together into a packet. Each sheet of paper contains things that need to be done for a particular project and room for me to write myself notes about what I’ve finished and what still needs to be done.
Each day, I start with whatever project is top of the list for that day, and once I’ve spent a block of time on that project, I flip to another page and spend another block of time on something else. It comes down to completing small steps on a regular basis, and over time, the big projects get done. It feels organized. It frees my mind from having to keep track of what needs to be done. And, it gives me a sense of accomplishment as I am seeing multiple things getting done and not just one thing. It seems to fit me well, which is likely due to the fact that it’s very similar to how I used to keep track of classes and projects when I was teaching.
It’s not a perfect system, of course. I still miss things or forget to write something down. But for now, I’m really enjoying how it’s working. I’m just so happy that my brain can (mostly) handle all the things these lists are allowing me to accomplish.
That’s it for me for an update. It’s more than enough, right?
Keep scrolling to see the books deals that I have available this month and to get to that new installment of Harriet and the Colonel. (That was a fun, argument-filled bit of writing to do!)
I actually did an author reading of this book for YouTube a couple years ago. I haven’t had time yet to get Christopher to read the story so I can create an audiobook of it. But if you’d like to hear me read it to you, you can do that at starting here at this link.
Later this month, beginning on November 18, my Leenie B Books Shop will be included in a site wide promotion on Etsy. Everything in my store will be 25% off.
SOMETHING NEW TO READ
Our story about Harriet and the Colonel continues. Remember that you can read previous parts of this story under the menu item Harriet and the Colonel.
Chapter 3, Part 1
“Jimmy says your brother is looking for you, miss,” Harriet’s maid, (name of maid), said to her the next morning when she came to help Harriet with her hair.
“Has he been to his study so early?” A smile of deep satisfaction settled peacefully on Harriet’s lips and in her heart. Edmund would not be able to say she was incapable of being married to a man involved in a secretive business.
“Apparently, he was there an hour ago with some gent – you know the sort. Though neither of us are to know that.” She winked at Harriet in the mirror. (name of maid) was an incredible asset. Not only could she care for clothes and pin hair, she was also excellent at gathering information to relay to her mistress.
“It does seem rather early for him to be welcoming callers of any sort,” Harriet said. “I wonder what it was about?”
“It’s hard to say, miss. Your brother likes to keep his association with some even more private than the rest of his business.”
Harriet would have commented on this, but a loud knock at the door kept her from it.
“I dare say that is him,” (name of maid) whispered.
“I am not presentable,” Harriet called out.
“Harriet!”
“It is most certainly Edmund,” she whispered to her maid as they both only allowed a short soft burst of laughter to escape their lips.
“I am not presentable,” she called again. “I will see you in the breakfast room in half an hour.”
“That is unacceptable,” he replied through the door. “I must see you as soon as possible. You will be in my study. In ten minutes.”
“Fifteen,” Harriet called. “And not a minute sooner, but possibly a few later.”
“Ten.”
Oh, he was testy this morning.
“Fifteen.”
“Harriet!”
“Fifteen. That is my final offer. I simply cannot be seen until my hair is complete, and I am wearing clothes. Why, what if you had an early caller, and I was thoroughly disheveled looking. The news of such a thing could get around town by next Tuesday.” She doubted anyone calling on her brother at such an early hour of the day would be the sort to gossip about how they had seen her without her hair tamed and in a dressing gown and slippers.
“Harriet.” The name rumbled through the door in a growl.
“Has something happened?” she asked. “You seem rather disgruntled with your state in life this morning.”
“Miss, you are wicked,” (maid’s name) whispered. “Teasing him as you do.”
She was fortunate that her brother was more long-suffering than some, and she knew it.
“I cannot tell you about itl,” he answered.
“Do you mean that you cannot tell me now because you do not wish to shout it through the keyhole? Or is it one of those things that you cannot tell me at any time and would rather leave for me to discover on my own.”
“Harriet, you go too far.”
“Thank you. My hair looks just right.” Harriet stood before the mirror and looked herself over from front to back before tip-toeing across the floor and swiftly opening the door. “You are in luck. I am ready before my fifteen minutes are up. However, I will need a cup of tea if I am to forego eating as I normally would at this time of day.” She stepped around him. “Shall I bring it to your study?”
“You will take yourself to my study without a cup of tea.”
Oh, he looked decidedly put out. Something was most certainly afoot. However, a lady who intended to convince her brother that she could face danger was not the sort to be cowed by a few harshly spoken words and a glower.
“That will not do. Would it be acceptable to have a cup brought to me in your study?” She fluttered her lashes.
“Have you always been this impossible?” her brother muttered.
“No,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I fear it is you who brings out the best in my ability to be…” She tapped her lip as if searching for a word. “Passionately independent.”
“Passionately independent?” he cried incredulously before blowing out a breath in exasperation. “Staunchly recalcitrant is more like it! You do realize that most ladies, who speak to their guardian as you have just now, do not do so without suffering for it.”
She swallowed. It was rare that Edmund threatened punishment. Still, she held his gaze without wavering. “Yes. But how else am I to prove to you that I am not the sort of lady who faints at the first sign of danger or flutters and flies about when touched by the smallest amount of anxiety?”
“Of all the stupid things, Harriet.” He pressed his lips together so firmly that they formed a thin line. She had well and truly pushed him to the limits of his patience. However…
“My tea. How shall it be retrieved?”
“I will have it brought to you, but I will not call for it until you are seated in front of my desk. Do I make myself plain?” His shoulders were lifting and lowering noticeably, which normally would be her sign to desist, but she had a point to carry.
Therefore, she patted his cheek and smiled at him. “A simple, ‘we will have tea in my study’ would have sufficed. I am not slow of understanding, and there is no need to overexert yourself.” She turned toward her open bedchamber door. “(maid’s name) could you please see that a cup of tea finds me in Edmund’s study when you are through with my room?” She turned back to Edmund. “There. It is done. Now, if you would offer me your arm, we could reach your study before (maid’s name) is done with her work.”
“Harriet,” he rumbled in a low and somewhat dangerous tone as he extended his arm, “I ought to…” He shook his head.
“What? Lock me in my room?” she asked as they began a quick march towards his office. “Banish me to the country? Require me to drink only watered down port for three days and not else? You are no longer in the army, my dear brother, and flogging one’s sister is frowned upon.”
“I was not going to say have you flogged. What kind of monster do you think I am?” The words were said with some force and a hint of hurt.
Harriet chuckled, though it was a forced thing. “I know you would never be so cruel to me. However, that being said, I am also aware that I have pushed and prodded you to a place where, if I were not your beloved sister, you might have considered it.”
“Why must you torment me as you do?” he asked in a pleading tone. “I do not remember you ever being so obstinate for Andrew or Father.”
She leaned into his arm so that her shoulder bumped his. “Father died before I had to wage a campaign against his opinions about whom I was allowed to marry, and Andrew? Well, you were on the continent for a time, so you do not know how I tried him on the topic, and, as it turns out, he is not as stubborn as you are.”
“Then, this is all about my reluctance to allow Richard to present an offer to you?” he asked.
“That is the main reason, but it is not the only reason.” She released her hold on his arm so that he could open his study door for her.
“What other reason is there?”
She shook her head. “Some things should not be discussed in the corridor,” she whispered before entering his study and taking a seat.
Harriet moved from one case of pretty baubles to another and again, peeked over the shoulder of the person ahead of her to see if anything caught her interest. Shopping was not her favourite activity unless it was shopping for clues, which is what she was doing today. That is not to say she despised the activity. Oh, she tolerated it quite well, but it was a whole lot better than tolerable when the mission was not just to acquire a fan or string of pearls or the like but was instead a covert mission.
“May I be of assistance,” asked a gentleman who was dressed a bit better than the other clerks behind the cases. “We are quite busy today, and I would be very much saddened to see a lady of quality such as yourself leave my shop without being waited upon.”
His shop? Did he mean that he was the proprietor and not just an employee?
“It is a lovely establishment that you have set up for yourself.” She watched his features for how he would respond to this. As she had hoped, he smiled and inclined his head while his chest puffed a bit at the complement.
“I am most pleased to hear you say so. Now, is there anything with which I might assist you? Was there something in particular that you were looking for?”
She opened her reticule and withdrew a hair comb that had been her mothers and was far too lovely to wear as an everyday accessory. As she did so, she made certain that the few pounds she carried were visible. “My father had a pocket watch that matched this in its design. The flowers and leaves that is. It did not sparkle as this does for who needs a watch to shine when it is tucked in one’s pocket?”
The shop owner nodded his head, looking quite attentive, as she spoke.
“My sister’s husband has a birthday in just a month, and she has commissioned me to find him a watch as a surprise. He has always admired my brother’s watch – which as you might have guessed used to be my father’s watch. Would you have anything that would come close to this?” She turned the hair comb this way and that as if admiring it. It truly was a pretty piece of jewelry.
“I have a few watches in a box in the back.” He glanced around the store. “They are not new,” he said softly. “They were accepted on tick, if you understand my meaning.”
“They are not pilfered goods, are they?” She asked the question in a whisper.
“Oh, goodness, no!” The shop owner assured her. “They are simply a means for someone to pay a bill.”
She made a show of blowing out a soft breath in relief. “In that case, I would be happy to examine them.”
“If you will follow me, we can look at them in my office.”
Harriet motioned to Jimmy who was standing near the door, and then, they both followed the man into his office where he proceeded to withdraw a box from inside a small mahogany chiffonier. Inside the box were four watches, all neatly displayed and cleaned. There was not a speck of dust on them.
“Oh,” she said as her eyes fell on the very watch for which she was looking. “They are quite lovely. I am sure that whoever had to part with them was quite sad to do so.” She put out a hand. “May I touch them?”
“To be sure. Pick them up and feel their quality. Inspect their design. We never accept any items, from any source, which are not of the highest workmanship.”
First, she examined the gold watch next to her brother’s stolen silver one. She put her hair comb next to the engraving on the back and made a small tsking noise when it clearly did not match.
“That is a fine watch. Your sister’s husband would be proud to use it,” the shop owner encouraged. “But the one next to it might be closer to what you are looking for.” He lifted it out of the box and handed it to her.
Harriet ran a finger of the glass and then closed the front protective metal face over it. It clicked closed just as it should.
“Oh, it is covered in vines!” she cried in delight. “It is not just the same as this comb, but my does it not come close?” She looked up at the shopkeeper as she turned it over. “Is this the maker’s mark?” She asked when she saw the small G.P., which stood for Giles Philips – her father’s name, on the back.
“It must be,” the man said. “Although it is not one with which I am familiar.”
“He is very good whoever he is,” Harriet said. “Is it terribly expensive?”
“I am afraid I cannot part with it for less than fifty pounds for I must cover what I purchased it for and make a little to pay for housing it.”
Harriet sighed and turned it over in her hands. “My sister was hoping to spend no more than thirty, but I must say this one is exquisite and I do have a few pounds of my own. Are you certain you cannot take forty-five? I just that much in my reticule. The transaction could be complete this instant.”
That lit a gleam in the man’s eyes. “Forty-five, you say?”
Harriet nodded and held her breath.
“This is a private sale,” the man said with a pointed look. “I am no pawnbroker.”
“Oh, I understand. I will not say a word to anyone about where I found this, except for my sister, of course. She will need to know.”
The man’s head bobbed up and down slowly for a moment before he sat forward in his chair and smiled. “I think we have an agreement. Shall I wrap this for you?”
“Oh, no, there is no need. I have come prepared.” She took her money out of her reticule and then, pulled out a small blue velvet pouch. “My sister gave me this so that it would be easy for me to pass it to her without causing any suspicion since it is the bag she uses when she lends me earbobs and broaches.”
“That is very clever,” the man said as he accepted her money.
“Oh, it is, but then, my sister is far cleverer than I. I am sure I never would have thought of it. The things she came up with for us to do when we were young that had I been in charge of the planning we would have been in trouble for sure, but not with her.” She added a laugh at her own expense here.
“There is always one in any lot of siblings, or so my wife says.”
“Indeed, I fear your wife has the right of it from what I have heard,” she agreed as she placed the watch inside her reticule, and then handed the whole thing to Jimmy. “Thank you so much, sir. You have made both me and my sister very happy.” She dipped a curtsey and took her leave.
Would not Edmund be surprised when he found this on his desk tomorrow? Now, if only she could discover whom it was who had sold it to the owner of this shop.
What if she died before they could make their engagement public?
What if Mr. Darcy had only just met Elizabeth and had begun to feel attracted to her when he hears that his Anne has died?
Well, those are some of the questions that prompted the writing of Mr. Darcy’s Comfort.
This story and it’s sequel both spend most of their time in a setting where sorrow stands at the door and even comes in … unbidden … to sit for a while.
Grief and sorrow are most certainly present in the scene from Mr. Darcy’s Comfort that I’m sharing today, since it takes place, in part, in a room, where loved ones are sitting vigil, much like is happening in the image above.
An Excerpt from Chapter 4 of Mr. Darcy’s Comfort
…“How is your heart?” Richard asked as Darcy threw back the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
“It aches a great deal more than the rest of me.”
“Will you sit watch?”
Darcy nodded. “I should like to. Will Aunt Catherine allow it? I am not female.”
“She has allowed Father, so I am certain she will allow you to take a turn as well.” Richard rang for Darcy’s man as Darcy made use of the chamber pot before finding his robe and taking a seat near the fire to enjoy another small amount of port. “However, you have been ill, and we would not wish for you to become so again, so your activity might be limited. Do not push yourself beyond what you are able.”
Darcy heard the worry that lay beneath the slightly severe tone Richard used. “I will do my best,” he agreed.
Richard smiled. “I shall see that you do.” He nodded to Darcy’s man and made his way to the door. “I shall see you in the breakfast room. You must eat.” He stood at the door and waited until Darcy had given his agreement that he would eat before leaving the room.
~*~*~
After having eaten, Darcy made his way to Anne’s small sitting room. He paused outside the door for a moment, blew out a breath, drew another, and though his heart would not remain beating at the pace he wished it would but instead insisted on increasing its rhythm, he stepped into the room. Anne lay peacefully at one end. She looked no less fragile in death than she had in life.
“Aunt Catherine,” he said softly. He knew that though Anne looked as if she were sleeping, she was not, but still, he kept his voice low as speaking any louder seemed wrong.
His aunt looked up from her work of tying black ribbons around small packages. “I have one for you, Darcy.” She searched her basket and pulled out a larger item. It was wrapped in lavender cloth and tied with the same black ribbon she was using on her current project. “I selected a few items for you that I know she cherished.” She held the gift out to him. “She is still beautiful, is she not?”
Darcy turned his head to look once again at Anne. “Yes,” he answered. Anne’s was not a classical beauty but one of delicacy like a fine piece of china. “I have come to spend some time with her.”
Lady Catherine rose from her chair. “You would have been good to her.” She placed a hand on his arm. “And she would have made you happy. I know it.”
Darcy smiled. “I believe you are right.”
She sighed loudly as if lifting some heavy object. “You shall never be my son.” She patted his arm. “It is a pity.”
“Indeed, it is,” Darcy agreed. It would not have been an easy task being her son, but he could have managed. “Mother would be disappointed, would she not?”
Lady Catherine patted his arm again and nodded. Her lips were firmly pressed together, and her eyes were watery. He knew she was not the sort of lady to allow her emotions to be aired before others. Therefore, he respectfully looked away.
“Mother has likely met her, and they are having tea while Mother shares stories about you.”
To his surprise, he found himself wrapped in his aunt’s arms. It was something that had not happened since just after his mother had died.
He squeezed her tightly. “I may never be your son, but I shall always care for you,” he whispered. “I promised Mother I would.”
“You are a good boy,” she replied. Then, she straightened herself, gathered her basket, and left him alone in the room.
Darcy walked over to where Anne lay and studied her face. “Your mother is going to miss you. She already does.”
He and Anne had spoken about how Lady Catherine would adjust to Anne’s being in Derbyshire after they married. They knew that, eventually, Lady Catherine would come to live with them. Darcy had planned to have Richard see to Rosings until it might be needed for a second son of his and Anne’s to manage it.
But now? He blew out a breath. Things were different now that Anne was gone. The fate of Rosings would lie in the hands of his uncle, Lord Matlock, according to the provision in Anne’s father’s will. However, there was time for all that to be decided.
“Your mother can still live with me if she so chooses,” he assured Anne. “I will not cast her aside unless she becomes too demanding. Then there is that cottage we had discussed as being perfect for her.” He smiled down at Anne. “What shall I do without you? I am not good at conversing with ladies. How shall I ever convince someone to take me on?”…
This book is currently only available on Amazon because it it enrolled in the Kindle Unlimited Program. There are, however, some signed print editions of this book and its sequel in the Leenie B Books Shop on Etsy which you can check out at this link.
A meal stop at a coaching inn, George Goodwin Kilburne, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
If you’d like to listen to this post rather than read it, here’s the YouTube video I made for it. If you’d just like to read and not listen, keep scrolling. 🙂
This is an image that I came across several years ago when I was writing my Willow Hall series. I think I was writing book 2, The Tenant’s Guest, when I came across this image since I did mention an inn in that story, but today, I’m sharing another scene from the series.
This one is the prologue to book 4, At All Costs. It hints at events that have happened so far in the series and sets us up nicely to expect some trouble in the final installment. It also introduces us to a Bingley that is unexpected and who will protect those he loves at all costs.
Enjoy!
At All Costs, Prologue
George Wickham balanced on the back two legs of his chair. A smile curled his lips as he saw the man who entered the upper room at the inn. This was the man they sent to deal with him? He chuckled inwardly. This man was all charm and smiles. This was not the usual sort of man with whom Wickham dealt. Well, at least, not as the victim. No, when dealing with anyone as malleable as this man, it was Wickham who would be the aggressor, and the poor blithe chap would not realize his folly until Wickham was well away and in possession of something that the man formerly possessed — money, jewels, a maidenly sister. Wickham’s smile grew at the thought. This man had a sister — a bit of a shrew but a wealthy one.
Mr. Williams raised a brow in his direction as if he knew what Wickham was thinking.
With a thud, Wickham dropped his chair to the ground and took up a proper position and demeanor for negotiations. His lips twitched with a barely contained smile. Perhaps Miss Lydia had not done him a disservice after all in conscripting him to take her to Derbyshire.
“Mr. Williams,” Charles Bingley stuck out his hand in greeting, “I trust you are well today.” Bingley motioned for his companion, Philip Dobney, to take a seat at the table before taking his own place.
“I am well and will be better once I have rid myself of this cad,” grumbled Williams.
“Understandable,” agreed Bingley with a smile. “Mr. Dobney has agreed to sign as a witness.” Bingley spread out some papers in front of him.
“Very good,” said Mr. Williams. “The sooner we can have this business concluded, the better. Although I do not like the idea of giving any assistance to an associate of Tolson.” He narrowed his eyes at Wickham. “Deserves the same fate if you ask me.”
Wickham swallowed. He would have to keep an eye behind him as he travelled. It was one of Mr. Williams’ men who had found Tolson after his fall. The events of that accident had never sat well with Wickham. It was why he had attempted to do just as required while in Derbyshire.
“Miss Lydia will be free of you, and you shall be free of your debts. Are we agreed?” Bingley produced a small pen and ink set from his bag.
“We are,” Wickham agreed, pondering just how much extra money he could extract from Bingley when telling him the number of what he owed.
“This is the record of debts I will pay.” Bingley slid the list Colonel Fitzwilliam had obtained from Lydia across the table.
Wickham looked at the paper in surprise. “Where did you get this?” His eyes scanned the paper, falling on a small flower constructed of hearts at the bottom of the page. “Miss Lydia?” he asked in surprise.
“She is resourceful,” said Bingley.
Wickham’s jaw clenched. Resourceful was not exactly the word he would use for the vixen.
“I just need a signature from you to show your agreement and from Mr. Dobney as the witness to said agreement,” said Bingley. He waited as Wickham signed the document and then slid it to Philip. “The money along with a further copy of this list has been sent to Brighton. All will be settled before your return and without Colonel Forester knowing.”
Bingley blew lightly on the signatures to dry them. “Mr. Williams will post this to my solicitor.” He folded the paper and, after addressing it, sealed it before handing it to the constable.
“I do have a bit of something for your trouble in escorting Miss Lydia to Willow Hall.” He nodded to Philip. “I will be only a moment more. I know you were expected at Aunt Tess’s for tea and had business to conclude before then, so I will delay you no longer.”
Wickham shifted uneasily in his seat. He could sense a change in the atmosphere as Philip Dobney left the room.
Bingley’s smile faded, and he looked to Mr. Williams for permission to proceed.
“You’ll find no resistance or condemnation from me — no matter the results.” He stood and moved to take a place at the door.
“Mr. Wickham,” Bingley began, “the Bennets are very dear friends of mine. I would find it particularly unsettling if something were to happen to any of them.”
Wickham eyed the man across from him suspiciously.
“You will leave Derbyshire, and you will not mention a word against Miss Lydia or her family, not in London, not in Brighton, not in Hertfordshire, not in any place in this world where word of your having done so might reach me.”
That did not seem so difficult. Bingley moved where Wickham did not — in Darcy’s circles. None of them would ever hear a word he spoke about anything. He smiled and nodded.
“No, Mr. Wickham, I do not believe you understand what I am saying. I am giving you the contents of this bag — five hundred pounds to do with as you choose. You will not come looking for more from me or anyone else associated with the Bennets, or you will find yourself in one of two places.” Bingley cast a glance over his shoulder toward Mr. Williams, who only smiled and found something outside the door to be of particular interest. “You will be either dead or wishing you were.”
Wickham’s eyes widened at the comment. He had not expected Bingley to threaten him in such a way. In fact, he had not expected Bingley to threaten him at all. Ah, but then he relaxed, Bingley was not capable of making good such a threat.
Bingley’s smile became predatory as he saw Wickham relax. “I am from trade, Mr. Wickham. I assure you there are unsavoury men of my acquaintance who, for a shilling, would see the matter resolved. And you mustn’t forget that my uncle’s ships have many interesting ports of call where you might be able to find a home if a wave does not sweep you off the deck.” Bingley slid the pouch of money across the table but did not lift his hand from it. He waited for Wickham to look him in the eye before he continued. “Five hundred pounds to keep silent, or you will repay it with your life. Have I made myself clear?”
“And if I do not take your blunt?”
“And not remain silent?” There was a slight growl to Bingley’s tone.
Wickham shrugged.
“Coaching inns and London streets are not safe.” Bingley’s glare was unwavering. “A loose step, a footpad — so many things can happen.” He pushed the packet of money closer to Wickham and removed his hand. “Your choice, Wickham. Five hundred quid for your silence or…” Bingley shrugged.
Wickham picked up the money, shifting the pouch from his right hand to his left before slipping it into his pocket. “I shall not say a word about any of this.”
Bingley stood. “See that you do not. My associates will be watching and listening.” He placed his ink and pen back into his bag and then gave Wickham one final hard look. “Do not mistake me for having the same scruples as my friend. He is a gentleman’s son. I am not.” Bingley took up his hat, and as he placed it on his head, the charming smile from earlier returned. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you gentlemen.” He gave a small bow and left the room.
“You are free to leave,” said Mr. Williams. “Do take care on the steps.”
Wickham patted the money in his pocket and blew out a breath. He was free to leave Derbyshire, and so he would, after a quick call on a friend who owed him a favour. He smiled. He would not be outwitted by the likes of Lydia Bennet and Charles Bingley. There were ways to remain silent and still exact his revenge — Darcy, Bingley, the Bennets, and the Dobneys — he chuckled. Not a one would be left unaffected.
The leading ladies of each book are (from left to right): Lucy, Elizabeth, Lydia, and Jane
