Georgiana Wickham flounced down the stairs at Darcy House in Grosvenor Square at a perfect mid-morning arousal for the lady of the house. Checking her porcelain complexion in the mirror in a hall outside of the breakfast room, she entered to dine with the brightest disposition a nearly 16-year-old bride without a care in the world could possess.
As she filled a plate with her favorite pastries, her smile dampened a bit as her rascally handsome husband refused to acknowledge her presence with even so much as a glance up from his paper, let alone the gentlemanly custom of rising for a lady entering the room. Puckering her lips into a slight pout, she popped a small strawberry into her mouth and spun around to face the table.
“If you eat nothing but sweets, your waistline will grow to unimaginable proportions.” George Wickham still refused to look up from the London paper, scanning furtively for any news of Darcy's marriage to Anne de Bourgh.
Georgiana's slight pout became a full on lip quibble at the harsh tones from her husband. Only married a little less than half a year, she already noticed he lessened the frequency in which he visited her chambers, preferring instead to stay out at all hours. “Does my body displease you? Is this why you no longer come to me?”
George Wickham let out a frustrated sigh and shuffled the newspaper closed before tossing it down the table in dismissal. He waited for a servant to refill his coffee and took a sip of the piping hot liquid, mindful not to scorch his mouth. With a clatter, he set the cup down, sloshing a small amount of the dark beverage onto the pristine white tablecloth underneath. Ignoring his faux pas, he tossed his napkin onto his plate full of half eaten food.
“Of course not, Georgie. I am just so bloody bored being cooped up in this house. Why don't we go out tonight, just you and I, and enjoy the theater? Must we stay cooped up in this town home for the entire Season?”
“Brother said we must stay out of society. That once we return from Bath we may use the town home until he returns.” Georgiana picked up a new pastry, then thought better of it and placed it back down on her plate. She reached for her tea instead.
“Mrs. Wickham,” he said slyly, waiting for her to smile at her fresh moniker, “you as a married woman must not always do as your brother says. As madame of the house, you may set the social calendar at your whim.”
Georgiana looked thoughtfully at the window that overlooked a small garden in front of the home, walled off from the busy street. Aside from visits to her modiste, she had not ventured out much from the house as her brother had instructed. Last autumn, he had made it clear that unless she behave accordingly, her dowry and allowance would be kept from them. But surely one night, while he was away in Kent, wouldn't cause any harm. Then again, the anger in her brother's eyes before she married made her pause. What if he did cut her and George off?
She shook her head. “No, Brother has enough to deal with in soon losing our cousin and being forced to marry. We must not add to his burdens.”
“Yes, poor Anne is not long for this life I'm afraid. But, as you know, when your brother returns, we shall have to go into full mourning at least for a small amount of time. Surely, she would wish for us to enjoy Town as much as we can before that unhappy event. Anne has the kindest heart a soul could ask for.” George turned on the charm and waited. He reached out to touch his wife's hand and knew he had won his argument the second her face turned to look at his with a softened expression.
“It is a distance to Kent, and Fitzwilliam might never know. I would like to see the new comedy being performed.”
“The Imposter? ” Wickham smirked, surprised his little wife was aware of the title.
Georgiana blushed and nodded. “Fitzwilliam had me read it last year upon turning fifteen and I have always wanted to see it performed live.”
Wickham picked up her hand properly and bestowed a kiss upon it. “Then tonight, let us shed this melancholy we both feel and will be served more of in the very near future and take a night for French debauchery!”
Georgiana giggled at the overly dramatic nature of her husband.
“On the stage only, of course,” he added with another sly grin.
“I'll go now and select an appropriate gown.” Georgiana rose from the table, this time with her husband offering her the proper behavior due a lady by rising with her.
“And I shall go to find a trinket for you, though it will hardly be worth a glance when the jewel of the Darcy family dons my arm this evening.”
George gave his wife a flourished bow, making her giggle more, and waited until he could hear her running up the stairs before collapsing back into the chair and rubbing his forehead. Nothing rested heavier on a man than a severe lack of both funds and the freedom to garner more.
No, his plan to elope with Georgiana crumbled when upon discovery and the deed done on paper and in the bedroom, Darcy produced the full will of the late George Darcy. Should Georgiana marry before the age of majority and without the consent of her guardians, the full dowry would remain under Darcy's control until she should reach majority age and then transfer to her husband. With Georgiana's sixteenth birthday being in three short weeks, Wickham had a five-year sentence to play out before he controlled a pence of the thirty thousand pounds.
Rising to leave the breakfast room and enter Darcy's study, Wickham helped himself to a healthy portion of the finest port and looked again at the business papers he had pulled out and placed on the grand desk. Hopefully, with enough details of the deals Darcy had with the gentry under his belt he would be able to forge an acquaintance with one or more of the men listed on the papers. A very lucrative acquaintance.