Dangerous to Know

by Christina Boyd (ed)

  “Thank you. How kind.” She retrieved a lace-trimmed handkerchief from her reticule and touched it briefly to one eye, and as she looked at me, I imagined I saw an echo of my own attraction mirrored in their depths.

  "Mrs. Fanshaw and her daughter have agreed to join us for dinner," Darcy informed me. “You will come along as well, I hope, Lady Harlow?”

  “Certainement! I should be delighted.”

  “I look forward to it,” I said.

  She inclined her head. “I am anxious to further our acquaintance, monsieur. You must tell me all about your plans for the future. And thank you, m’sieu Darcy,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “Jusqu’á ce soir.”

  He sketched a bow.

  I was too transfixed by her beauty to wonder at Darcy’s marked reserve towards her and bowed as she extended her gloved fingertips once more to me. “Au revoir, m’sieu.”

  “Au revoir,” I echoed.

  Then she was gone.

  * * *

  Sunday supper at Pemberley was normally a quiet meal en famille. But the addition of their cousin Fiztwilliam, along with Mrs. Fanshaw, her daughter Celia, and her charming sister-in-law, made for pleasant company that evening.

  I contrived to sit as far as possible from Celia Fanshaw and took a seat opposite Lady Harlow. Disappointment flickered over Miss Fanshaw’s face, and I felt a moment’s guilt. She was pretty enough, with her blonde curls and blushes, but I found her as vapid and silly as her mother and had no wish to converse with her.

  Mrs. Fanshaw turned to Darcy’s cousin. “Allow me to congratulate you on your recent promotion, Lieutenant Fitzwilliam.”

  “Thank you.” He inclined his head and reached for his wine glass. “I must confess I grow restless. Bonaparte has crossed the Alps into Austria, and now the newspapers report that the French army has seized Milan. The man shows no sign of stopping.”

  “War is inevitable,” the elder Mr. Darcy agreed. “I fear Napoleon will not rest until he conquers all of Europe. I have no doubt your wish to see action will be granted soon enough, Lieutenant.”

  “Enough talk of war, gentlemen,” Mrs. Fanshaw declared. “War is tiresome. What we need is a ball! Dancing and merriment will dispel the gloom.”

  “Oh, yes,” Celia enthused, and clasped her hands together. “That is an excellent idea. Do you not agree, Lady Harlow?”

  “I am afraid it is still too soon to allow myself such frivolity.” She smiled and reached out to touch the girl’s hand. “But I am happy to act as your chaperone.”

  “We must oblige the ladies,” Darcy said to his father. “We will speak no more of war, or of Napoleon.” He turned to Lady Harlow: “May I ask what brings you to Derbyshire, madam? Are you visiting, or do you plan to stay?”

  “I regret I am here only for the summer.” She added, “My plans for the future are not quite set.” She sighed. “In truth, I long for Paris. I miss the salons, and balls, and carriage rides through the Bois de Boulogne.”

  “I should like to see Paris one day,” I said and reached for my wine glass.

  “It would be my honor to show you the city, should you decide to visit.”

  I smiled politely but made no reply. There was no possibility of my visiting the Continent, now, or ever. I had not the means. My future was mapped out, my education and living already decided.

  As if he read my thoughts, Darcy spoke. “George will attend university soon, and his studies will occupy him. I daresay he shall have no time for travel.”

  “Perhaps not now,” Lady Harlow said, “but surely Monsieur Wickham will wish to marry when he leaves Cambridge. He might take his bride to Paris then, non?” Her steady eyes appraised me. “After all… How could any young woman resist so handsome and charming a man?”

  I picked up my spoon and focused my attention on my soup. I scarce knew what to say to such an extravagant compliment, but the pleasure her words brought were undeniable. My head spun with the heady and unexpected joy of it.

  “You must promise to invite us to your wedding when the time comes, Mr. Wickham,” Fitzwilliam said.

  “It is far too early for such talk,” my godfather said sharply. “George must see to his education first.”

  “Indeed, you are right, sir.” Lieutenant Fitzwilliam studied me. “He has all his life before him, thanks to your generosity, as well as every opportunity to succeed. I fervently hope Mr. Wickham makes good use of his time at university. He has much to accomplish before he takes on a wife.”

  Have I no say in my own life? Not for the first time, I felt a flicker of resentment at being discussed as if I were not there, as if my presence carried no more consequence than that of a chair at the table or the bowl of roses on the sideboard. When would I cease to be told what to do, when would I cease to be reminded of the Darcy family’s generosity?

  “Yes,” I agreed, masking my irritation behind a bland smile. “I am in no particular hurry to be wed.”

  “I have no doubt you shall lead the ladies on a merry chase first.” Lady Harlow studied me coolly over the rim of her glass.

  “I regret there are few unattached young ladies to be found hereabouts,” I replied. And not one of them, not even the bird-witted Miss Fanshaw, would consent to marry a man such as myself, without money or title to recommend him.

  “You should listen to Fitzwilliam, George,” my godfather said. “He has the right of it. Focus on your education first. Make something worthy of yourself, and the rest will follow.”

  I nodded, suitably chastened. “Yes, sir. That is exactly what I intend to do.”

  “Love is such a tricky thing, non?” Lady Harlow mused. “Before my own marriage, my maman took me aside. ‘Clémence,’ she said, ‘you must marry once for a title, once for money, and once for love.’” She laughed. “Good advice, my friends, n’cest-ce pas? You cannot have one without the others!”

  Mr. Darcy, Sr. pressed his lips into a tight line. “Bring in the next course,” he instructed the footman tersely. “We are all quite finished with our soup.”

  I looked at his son and nearly laughed aloud to see Darcy’s thunderous expression. His displeasure with our guest was nearly as great as his father’s and filled me with amusement. They plainly did not approve of Lady Harlow. I reached for my wine glass and managed, somehow, to suppress a smile.

  * * *

  Halfway through supper, a summer storm erupted. Though the rumble of thunder and flashes of lightning were of little consequence to those of us inside, outside the roads quickly turned to mud, making them all but impassable.

  As the butler entered the dining room to announce the news, another crack of lightning seared the night sky.

  “Such a storm!” Mrs. Fanshaw cried and half rose from her chair. “The roads will be a soup of mud and our carriage is sure to get stuck.”

  “There is no cause for alarm,” Mr. Darcy reassured her. “I am confident the roads will dry sufficiently by tomorrow. In the meantime, you shall stay here tonight. Chalmers,” he said as he turned to the butler, “please have Reynolds ready rooms for our guests.”

  “I shall see to it directly, sir.”

  As old Chalmers departed, Lady Harlow laid a reassuring hand on Mrs. Fanshaw’s arm and drew her gently back into her seat. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. We are delighted at the prospect of staying the night at Pemberley.”

  “Indeed, we are,” Celia agreed. “Holly jolly it shall be! Don’t you agree, Mamma? Perhaps we might gather around the drawing room fire after dinner and exchange ghost stories while the storm rages outside.”

  “Ghost stories?” her mother echoed. “What utter, childish nonsense.”

  “On the contrary,” I said. “I think it sounds amusing. And after we gentlemen have frightened you ladies with our tales of terror, we shall be on hand to offer our reassurances and be the heroes of the evening.” My eyes met Lady Harlow’s. “What do you think, my lady?”

  She clasped her hands together in delight. “I adore nothing so much as a ghost story
. I have not heard one since I left the nursery.”

  “Then let us adjourn to the drawing room,” the elder Mr. Darcy said, his eyes twinkling, and stood. “A glass of brandy is just the thing to warm us.”

  As everyone followed him out of the dining room, I lingered behind and offered my arm to our charming French guest. “I promise not to frighten you overmuch, Lady Harlow,” I assured her as she laid her hand lightly on my sleeve.

  “Oh, la! I quite adore a good scare. I devour all of the gothic novels.” She lowered her voice. “But I confess, I like to be reassured afterwards even more.”

  I met her eyes, so blue and guileless, and my pulse raced. There could be no mistaking her meaning. Could there?

  As if to answer my unspoken question, she leaned forward, her breath warm against my ear. “Perhaps I will see you later,” she whispered. She drew away, and the exchange happened so quickly, I wondered if I had imagined it.

  Even as shock rendered me immobile, desire overcame me, and a trace of anxiety, as well. I had little experience of women, having shared only a few, stolen kisses with a housemaid. But I was eager to learn.

  Oh, how I wanted to learn.

  Darcy turned back to us, his expression unreadable. “Come along, George. We must not keep our guests waiting.”

  “Of course not.”

  I struggled to compose myself as we followed the others into the drawing room.

  * * *

  The hour was late when at last we bid each other good night and headed upstairs. Our candle flames danced and flickered, casting shadows on the wallpaper, rendering Pemberley’s dark corners even darker.

  “Good night, monsieurs,” Lady Harlow called out as she, along with the other ladies, turned to follow Reynolds to their rooms in the east wing.

  “Good night,” Darcy’s father replied. “I shall see you ladies in the morning. If there is anything you or the others require, you have only to let Mrs. Reynolds know.”

  “Thank you.” As he left, she inclined her head to Lieutenant Fitzwilliam and me. “Bonne nuit.”

  Though I searched her candlelit face, there was no hint of the coquette who had flirted with me so boldly earlier that evening. Her expression was composed and polite. Nothing more.

  Fitzwilliam bowed, and I did the same. “Sleep well, ladies.”

  I followed Darcy and his cousin down the hallway that led to the family wing and bid them a good night as I went, at last, into my room. I shut the door behind me and leaned back against it. At once, I regarded the four-poster bed.

  Would I possibly share it tonight with Clémence Harlow? The thought left me half mad with desire … and aroused no small amount of apprehension within me at the same time.

  I could not help but wonder if I would make a fool of myself. Would I know what to do, what to say? Would she laugh at me? Mock my ineptitude? Why had she behaved with such polite indifference just now? Had I only imagined her earlier interest?

  Unsure of the answers, my self-doubt increased. I shrugged my frockcoat off, untied my cravat with unsteady fingers, and tossed it aside. I would wait. After all, I had little choice. I was at Lady Harlow’s mercy.

  I flung myself back across the bed and stared moodily at the blue silk overhead. Of course, I reminded myself, the two of us must be discreet. We could hardly allow Darcy, or his cousin, or indeed any of the others, to suspect our attraction for one other. It would not do to give the game away so easily.

  Silence settled over the great house as I lay on the bed and waited, listening for the sound of the doorknob turning. But there was nothing, only the crackling of flames licking the logs in the fireplace. I yawned. I had consumed several glasses of brandy after dinner, and now heaviness tugged at my eyes. I would close them, I decided, just for a moment.

  As I drifted between wakefulness and sleep, I imagined I held her in my arms, nestled close against me, with her heart beating against mine like a tiny, wild bird.

  Deep in the night, I sat up with a start. Somewhere nearby I heard a door open and close. Whispers, followed by hushed, angry words. Then silence.

  I waited, my heart flailing, and listened with the preternatural hearing one has in the darkness, but the sounds were not repeated, and I could only suppose I had imagined them. With a mutter and a sigh, I lay back down and slept.

  I dreamt of the warmth of Lady Harlow’s skin against mine. I dreamt of her mouth, so soft and sweet and yielding, as our lips clung together for the first time. She tasted of apricots. She smelled of summer and sunshine. I dreamt I touched her. Possessed her.

  When I awoke, sunlight streamed into my room through a gap in the drapes, and I blinked. I found myself sprawled across the bed, still clothed, still lying atop the covers… alone.

  Only in my dreams had Lady Harlow come to my room.

  * * *

  When I entered the dining room a short time later, my godfather and our guests were already seated at the table.

  “Where is Darcy, sir?” I asked him.

  “He is gone for his morning ride.”

  Although I made no remark, I was surprised that Darcy had abandoned his guests. It was most unlike him.

  “Morning, Wickham,” Lieutenant Fitzwilliam said with a welcoming smile and cut into his poached egg with a knife and fork, releasing a rich yellow river of yolk across his plate.

  “Good morning.” I seated myself beside him, as far from Lady Harlow as possible.

  “Coffee, sir?” the footman asked as he appeared beside me.

  I nodded. “Thank you, John.”

  “I trust you slept well, Mr. Wickham?” Lady Harlow inquired.

  I reached for the silver pitcher of cream and splashed some into my cup. “Well enough,” I said shortly. “And you?”

  “I passed a restful night despite the storm. Are you not hungry this morning?”

  “Not particularly. I find my appetite has abandoned me.”

  If she felt the intended sting of my words, she gave no sign, but turned her attention to my godfather. “Have you any word on the road conditions, monsieur?”

  “Yes. You should be able to return home this afternoon. The roads are nearly dry.”

  “Such welcome news!” Mrs. Fanshaw exclaimed. “Not to say that we have not enjoyed our stay immensely,” she hastened to add, “but I must admit I am anxious to return home to my younger daughters. They like to lead their governess on a merry dance whenever I am away.”

  “I am sure Lady Harlow shares your desire to leave,” I said. My eyes locked briefly with hers before I looked away.

  Unperturbed, she touched a napkin to her lips. “Au contraire, I would stay at Pemberley forever if I could. The house and grounds are beautiful, and the company most delightful.”

  Fitzwilliam finished his egg and toast, and dropping his napkin to the table, thrust back his chair and stood. “I must agree, Lady Harlow. And before I depart, may I say that we find your company equally as delightful.”

  “Thank you, m’sieu. You are too kind.”

  I scraped back my own chair as well. The sight of our French guest, blushing prettily in the face of Fitzwilliam’s gallantries, filled me with no small amount of jealousy. “I believe Darcy has the right of it. The weather is made for a brisk morning ride.” I stood and gave a curt bow. “If you will excuse me, ladies?”

  As I followed Fitzwilliam from the room, I saw Lady Harlow drop her napkin onto her plate with an unhurried gesture and rise.

  “Forgive me,” she apologized to Darcy’s father and the remaining ladies, “but I fear I must abandon you as well and return to my room to fetch my gloves.”

  “But you have no need of them now, Clémence,” her sister-in-law protested.

  “On the contrary, I do. I wish to see the gardens before we leave. They are so very beautiful, and the weather is perfectly suited for a walk. I cannot bear to stay inside on such a day.”

  My heart beat faster wondering what game she played, but I continued across the entrance hall. Fitzwilliam paused
by the front door and eyed me expectantly. “Will you join me for a ride across the fields, Wickham?” he inquired. “I should be glad of your company.”

  I hesitated. “No. I will not detain you. I have a matter to take care of first.”

  He nodded amiably and left.

  Fitzwilliam had no sooner taken his leave than Lady Harlow emerged from the dining room and approached me. Without a word, she slipped into the library across the hall and gestured for me to follow. I stood rooted to the spot. This was madness. Insanity. And it was decidedly improper.

  Thrusting aside my misgivings, I strode across the empty hallway and through the double doors and regarded her in apprehension as she shut them behind us with great care.

  “You take a dangerous risk,” I protested in a low voice as I turned to her. “If anyone should see us…”

  She leant back against the door. “No one will see us. And what I have to say to you will take but a moment.”

  The blood rushed, pounding, in my ears. I made no reply.

  “I hope you will forgive me,” she whispered and drew closer. “The brandy last night made me tired. I fell asleep before I could come to you.”

  When I said nothing, still nursing my pique, she leaned forward.

  “Oh, dear. You are angry with me, I think.” The scent of violets teased me as she pressed her lips fleetingly on mine. I groaned and reached for her.

  “Non,” she chided gently and pushed my hands away. “Not here. Not now. But soon, mon chérie. Soon. Leave it to me.”

  I bit back a sigh of frustration. I wanted her, desperately. But for now, her promise would have to be enough.

  “Wait for me outside,” she whispered. “I will join you in a moment. Now, you must go, and quickly.”

  My hand shook slightly as I opened the door, and after reassuring myself that the hall remained empty, I slipped out, and she followed a moment later. I made my way outside and waited on the steps with equal parts impatience and anxiety until, a short time later, Lady Harlow emerged and joined me.