4

“More wine!” Georgiana Wickham’s voice echoed in the empty dining room at Darcy House in London. Abandoned by her friend Caroline Bingley after the Whitcomb party, in which she reunited with her banished husband, the young woman further felt the victim when her husband soon stopped coming home to her bed.

When the staff did not move, Georgiana barked her order louder and directly at the young footman, Jack. The staff of Darcy House resented their new employment revolved around keeping Mr. Darcy’s younger sister well plied with spirits. A few hours into the afternoon and more than a few bottles drained, the young mistress of the home in the absence of the rest of the family became an absolute misery to bear.

Georgiana lustfully leered at the young footman as he leaned over to pour more wine into her glass. She licked her lips as she took in the man’s body.

“You do pour that so well. Nary a drop spilled.” Georgiana offered the young man a compliment laced with a suggestive tone.

Young Jack gulped.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Jack righted his posture and stepped away from the table, when the mistress reached out and grabbed the young footman by the forearm.

“Pray, do not leave so soon. I believe I need assistance in cutting my meat.” Georgiana batted her eyelashes up at the sandy-haired youth who began to turn pale white with such notice in front of other members of the staff. He glanced to the first footman of the house for a reprieve, but found no ally there. He was on his own in the dangerous waters of admiration from the master’s sister.

“Would you – how may I be of assistance?” Jack carefully placed the decanter of wine upon the table, as Georgiana released his arm and slowly handed to him her knife and fork. The footman began to lean to the side of Mrs. Wickham, but Georgiana would not have that.

“No, no,” She gently guided him to move to a position behind her chair. “I’m afraid this meat is so tough it shall need to be cut properly.” Georgiana’s statement briefly reminded her of the horrible way in which her brother’s trollop closed off the household accounts to the finest butchers in the city and left Mrs. Wickham with nothing more than the cuts not fit for even a dog. “Stand behind me,” she commanded.

Reluctantly, Jack followed her commands and guidance, silverware in hand, to carefully cut Mrs. Wickham’s meat as the young woman cooed and rubbed her face along each one of his arms, as if he were embracing her like a lover and not performing a task as a hired hand. Perspiration began to bead along Jack’s forehead as, after each cut, he looked furtively to the door to the dining room. Mrs. Wickham’s husband, George, was a mean sort of man who was once thrown out of the house, but brought back in thanks to his young wife. No one had seen him for days, and Mrs. Wickham became more ornery each hour her husband remained about town.

“Now, take the seat next to me, and I believe I shall need your assistance to eat each bite.” Georgiana continued to give inappropriate demands of the young footman until a sudden cough behind them attracted her notice.

Stephen, the most senior footman of the house, apologized profusely and bowed, asking for Mrs. Wickham’s forgiveness for his misstep. Georgiana cooly slanted her eyes, and Jack hoped he would now be released from the attentions of Mrs. Wickham.

“I believe this room is entirely too crowded. Leave us.”

Jack winced as the two other footmen in the dining room followed their orders and began to shuffle out to the hall.

“I’m certain you will be able to provide for any need I might have,” Georgiana shamelessly flirted with Jack.

“Please, ma’am, I should like to, that is, I do not wish to lose my position.” Jack stood slightly taller at attention until, to his horror, he glanced down. Mrs. Wickham’s fingertips began to dance from his knee up to his thigh across his breeches.

“Tut tut; I can plainly see when a man is attracted to me. And you shall not lose your position. As a footman, you are to provide any service your master or mistress might need, no?”

Jack looked up at the ceiling as the woman’s hand came perilously closer to his personal privacy. “Yes, ma’am.”

He breathed a sigh of relief when suddenly her hand snatched away.

“Good. Kindly help me from my chair and let us retire to my chambers. I find I am no longer hungry for this poor excuse of a meal and have other appetites to satisfy. And bring the wine and two glasses.”

Torn between rejecting Mrs. Wickham’s commands or being thrown out of the house that night, Jack cursed himself for not keeping more of his pay in reserve. He had nary a farthing to even pay for passage to Pemberley, where he might plead his case before Mr. Darcy. And so, without response, he lifted the heavy oak chair so that the sixteen-year-old Georgiana Wickham could elegantly rise, considerably more plump than just a few months before, and seize a lifestyle so familiar to many a woman in her social set.

She climbed the stairs, looking back every few steps at the poor young footman who looked as if he were marching to the executioner. Georgiana laughed as she realized Caroline Bingley had been right all along. As soon as she stopped thinking like a child, the world was indeed much more open to her than she had realized. And if her beast of a husband could spend days in the arms of his lover, then she would do the same.

Young Jack would suit for now, but soon she would fight harder for her own household as Caroline had suggested. Her brother’s taste in footmen did not please her predilections, but as a mistress in her own right she could fix that. What was a dowry of £30 000 good for if she couldn’t even hire her own servants?