Trouble With Wickham by Olivia Kane Page A

hairline—evidence that he and the hard ground had made their acquaintance. Although it was doubtful that Wickham even remembered his own tumble, thought Hugh. Never mind. There were witnesses enough who could fill Wickham in on the event, if he should ever inquire.
    Lord Radcliffe, sensing the obvious tension of the moment but not completing understanding its origins, clinked his finger against the side of his glass and, with perfect timing, commandeered the attention of the party toward him.
    “Hastings has just informed me that dinner is served. May we all move into the dining room please?”
    Guy eagerly took his wife’s arm and began pulling her toward the dining room. “Let my father lead the way, as he must escort Lady Catherine first, as a good host should,” she whispered back. Guy, who was anxious that the party not dawdle, for his stomach’s sake, made sure he and Charlotte followed closely behind.

Chapter Eight
    “T here you are Georgie!” Lydia said as she settled her husband into his seat between Lady Catherine and Mrs. Mooreton. Her George was not his usual cheery self today, she noted; in addition to being a bit wobbly on his feet, he had more than once fallen into an unresponsive daze. A good meal with a nice red claret would set him right again, she was sure of it.
    Lydia then moved across the table taking her place in the seat previously reserved for Mrs. Bennet next to the inveterate rake Timothy Mooreton. She was soon howling in hilarity at his ribald stories and merrily tearing into her partridge.
    Georgiana Darcy, seated down the table from George Wickham and thus completely out of his line of sight, could not stop smiling to herself. Seeing George Wickham again, so unexpectedly, had surely twisted her brother’s breeches.
    Out of the frying pan and into the fire!
    She knew she was being uncharitable in her thoughts, but she could not help but see the humor in the situation. Her brother’s controlling ways had backfired, and in the most spectacular way possible. Never would he have willingly led her into the same company as George Wickham. Never! Oh how he must be kicking himself. She was planning to sit back and watch the fireworks.
    As for George, he was clearly not the same beautiful boy she remembered. The intervening years had hardened his looks, the softness of youth replaced by full features that seemed not quite right for his face. Surely his looks had peaked years ago. In truth, she barely recognized him as the ardent man who professed his undying love to her in dark, empty hallways; undying only until a handsome deposit was made into an account in his own name, she snickered.
    What a weak and inconstant fool George Wickham was!
    Georgiana’s gaze travelled down the table to rest on Lydia Bennett—or Lydia Wickham, to be precise. The baby weight had not come off, she was round and red but nevertheless exceedingly high-spirited, as due her reputation. She next stole a look down the table at her brother Fitzwilliam. He was speaking animatedly to Charlotte in between mouthfuls. He must be relieved for the moment, she thought, as there was no chance that George Wickham’s presence could harm her during a well-lit dinner party full of table mates whose wealth and social standing must surely make Wickham shrink back into his chair.
    Georgiana Darcy was also happy to be seated across the table from the captivating and, in her mind, slightly unnerving presence of the dashing young Mr. Radcliffe, a placement that she considered a stroke of good fortune. Hugh Radcliffe, heir to all she saw around her, had no need to be paid off. She felt a breathless thrill when his eyes met hers over the candlelight, connecting for a brief moment or two before one of them found it prudent to look away.
    She noted that his manners were impeccable, his intake of wine modest and his appetite healthy, but not gluttonous. Much to her delight, she saw that he too had left his mashed peas on his plate untouched.