FIC: A Madcap Proposal
A Madcap Proposal (2681 words) by 
7iris
Fandom: Lost In Austen
Rating: General Audiences
Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Caroline Bingley/George Wickham
Summary: Caroline Bingley and George Wickham spend the Season in London, hoping to make advantageous marriages, but find that the best match may be each other.
For inmyriadbits as part of Yuletide 2011, who asked for a story "where Wickham and Miss Bingley somehow team up and have loads of shenanigans in Regency-era London."
Miss Caroline Bingley glided towards her quarry on silent slippered feet. So intent was she on her purpose that she did not notice Mr. Wickham's approach until he was before her.
He swept her an elaborate bow, and said, "Miss Bingley, would you do me the incomparable honor of dancing the next set with me? If you are not already promised, of course."
She pressed her lips together and gave him a narrow-eyed look. She had been saving this set for the man standing not ten feet away, who was young and handsome and heir to a baronetcy. From Wickham's faint smirk, he had guessed it.
She gave him her best and coldest polite smile -- which did not distress him in the least -- and said, "I would be delighted, of course."
He offered his arm and they joined the other couples.
"It won't work," he said, sotto voce, as the music started.
"What won't?"
"Your plan to marry Sir Edward," he said, when the steps brought them together again.
She gaped like a landed fish, most unattractive, and then had to make polite conversation with the gentleman on Wickham's left.
Finally, the set ended. Wickham bowed over her hand, and then tugged her gently towards the refreshments.
"It would work with any other man," he said, handing her a glass of lemonade. "The simpering and the flirting and the language of the fan, et cetera, et cetera --"
"The simpering?"
"-- but Alastair is bored by anything obtained too easily."
"You know him so well, then?"
"I know his younger brother."
Almost unconsciously, her gaze drifted back to Sir Edward. He was surrounded by young women, and as she watched, one threw back her head and laughed at something he said. Through it all, he looked bored. Bored, and somehow condescendingly amused, as though he were laughing at them all. She frowned.
"Why are you telling me this?'
He coughed. "Perhaps I feel a small, a very small, amount of regret for whatever part I may have played in Miss Price's marriage to Mr. Darcy."
Caroline smacked his arm with her fan. "I knew it," she hissed. "I knew you helped that, that, that woman--"
"I only offered advice!" he said. "I am sorry, I didn't realize you...had formed an attachment to him."
That brought her up short. "Darcy is an insufferable prig and I would have had to beg and wheedle for every farthing of my pin money had I married him, but he has ten thousand pounds a year and Pemberley. It would have been an excellent match."
"I suppose you will have to settle for the son of a baronet instead."
"Hmph." She looked back at Sir Edward. "Well. I thank you for your advice."
He bowed to her again. "Bon chance, mademoiselle."
::
Two weeks later, she was forced to concede that Wickham had been right. Sir Edward never danced with any lady more than once, no matter how they flirted and simpered, and looked politely bored the entire time.
"It seems a most difficult path, to draw his attention while appearing to disdain it," Miss Whitmore said doubtfully.
Caroline did not disagree. "But he at least did not look bored when I refused his offer to dance." Her gaze was arrested by the flash of a red uniform, and a mad idea sprang into her mind. "Perhaps I need to modify my strategy," she murmured. "Wait here."
"Oh!" Miss Whitmore said, but Caroline was already moving.
She timed her steps to intercept Wickahm when he was alone. She slipped up beside him and put her hand on his arm. "Walk with me on the terrace," she commanded.
He did not seem surprised. "Miss Bingley, I am charmed as always, but I have committed myself to bringing Miss Stanhope a glass of punch."
Caroline waved his objection away with a flick of her fan. "Don't bother. Miss Stanhope's parents will never permit her to marry you and she does not have the spine to elope with you."
Wickham laughed and changed directions. "Then by all means, the terrace."
It was pleasantly cool outside after the crush of the ballroom. A few other couples strolled arm-in-arm on the terrace, and the garden was lit with little Chinese lanterns to draw in the bolder souls.
She turned to face Wickham. His back was to light spilling out of the ballroom and his face was in shadow. Her plan seemed less clever by the moment, but she took a deep breath and plunged ahead.
"Your advice about Sir Edward was entirely correct," she said. "I act cold and disdainful towards him when we meet, but I fear it it is not enough."
"You need a pretext to be near him," Wickham said.
"Yes, exactly. He must see that I am witty and beautiful --"
"And rich."
She ignored his interjection. "But he must also believe that I am not interested in him. In short, I need you to court me."
Wickham froze. "I beg your pardon?"
"You are friends, after a fashion, with him. If you appear to court me, to be infatuated with my aforementioned charms, and if I appear to reject him in favor of you, he will, he will..."
"He will want what he does not have."
"Yes."
He laughed. "You are entirely mad, but I admit, you are not wrong in your assessment of his motivations. But why should I bother?"
"Miss Edith Whitmore."
"Ah."
Miss Whitmore was younger, richer, and if not prettier than Caroline, possessed of a certain English rose beauty that was all the rage.
"It is her first Season. I have taken her under my wing," she said.
"In the hopes that one or two of the eligible men that rush to throw themselves at her feet will trip and end up at yours instead."
She inclined her head. "I never engage an opponent I cannot best. But we are friends, after a fashion, as well. I will tell her how handsome and dashing and kind you are, and when I break your heart by running off with Sir Edward, you can turn to her for comfort."
"I see," Wickham said slowly. "But surely there are other gentlemen who will require less effort to bring to the altar?"
"Sir Edward is young, wealthy, and titled. He is the most eligible bachelor on the Marriage Mart this Season, and it would be an excellent match."
"Yes, but--"
Because she did not particularly care what he thought of her, she told him the truth. "This is the one accomplishment I can claim that Society will care about. All the other accomplishments that we pretend to applaud are all in pursuit of this one goal: to make a good marriage. And I will make the best marriage I can."
He was quiet for a moment. "I see," he said again finally. "In that case, consider me your most devoted swain."
::
Wickham made an excellent faux swain.
He danced with her twice at every ball they attended and sent her flowers the next morning with extravagant compliments. She showed the cards to Miss Whitmore when she came for tea, so they could sigh over the sentiments.
He took her riding in the park, and they spent the entire time exchanging gossip and outrageously catty commentary on the fashions of the other riders on Rotten Row.
Sir Edward rode past them one morning, while she was laughing at Wickham's last sally. He doffed his hat in greeting. Wickham acknowledged him, but Caroline kept her gaze on Wickham, ostentatiously pretending not to see Sir Edward.
"Well done," Wickham said when Sir Edward was well behind them. "He most definitely did not appear bored by that exchange."
Caroline had to exert herself to keep a most unladylike smirk off her face.
Sir Edward approached her at the next Assembly Room ball to ask for a dance, and Caroline was pleased to be able to say that all her dances were spoken for.
She was even more pleased when Wickham laughed and said, "Here, Alastair, I will give up one of my dances with the lady."
She smiled, coolly gracious, and permitted Wickham to strike out his name on her dance card and write in Sir Edward's.
Sir Edward bowed, a touch stiffly, and moved on.
"Thank you," she murmured to Wickham.
"I assure you, it was my pleasure to give up a dance with you," Wickham said.
She trod upon his foot. She probably hurt herself more than him, but she could at least take satisfaction in smudging the polish on his Hessian.
"You and Miss Whitmore should come driving with me tomorrow," Wickham said.
"Friday," she said firmly. "I intend to dance very late tonight.
::
Wickham had hired a modest four-in-hand for their outing. He handed Caroline and Miss Whitmore into the carriage and took the reins himself.
He drove with a light touch and they exchanged polite chatter with about the weather and Lady Pelham's musicale, until Caroline couldn't bear it anymore and asked, "Where are we going?"
"It's a surprise," Wickham said and grinned at her irritated huff.
When they arrived, Miss Whitmore clapped her hands with glee. "Oh, wonderful!" she said.
"Astley's?" Caroline said. "We're not schoolgirls, you know."
Wickham grinned. "Every lady remains a schoolgirl in at least a small corner of her heart."
Miss Whitmore was delighted by the entire show. Caroline feigned boredom at the beginning, but even she could not suppress a gasp when a rider leaped from the back of one horse to another at a full gallop.
Wickham shot her a sideways glance. He said nothing, but offered a conspiratorial smile, and she could not prevent herself from returning it. She applauded as loudly as Miss Whitmore at the end.
Wickham drove Miss Whitmore home first. When he helped her down from the carriage, she kept hold of his hand, and said earnestly, "That was a most wonderful afternoon. Thank you."
He bowed over her hand, perfectly correct. "It was entirely my pleasure, Miss Whitmore."
She blushed sweetly when she smiled at him, and picked up her skirts to hurry inside.
Caroline and Wickham did not speak while he drove to her house.
"Thank you," she said, as he handed her down. "I had a lovely time as well."
"Good," he said. He tightened his grip on her hand. "You should -- life is not something that should be endured."
Caroline did not know what to say to that. He did not wait for a response, but simply tipped his hat to her and leapt back into the driver’s seat.
::
"Mr. Wickham asked me to go driving with him," Miss Whitmore confided over tea.
"I hope you said yes," Caroline said. "He is a most charming companion."
"Oh, I would never!" Miss Whitmore said. "Well, that is to say, I would go driving with him, but I would never encourage his suit. From the way you speak of him, it is obvious."
"Obvious?"
"That you love him," Miss Whitmore said, as though it were something simple and unremarkable and not a thunderbolt.
Caroline opened her mouth, but she could not find the breath to deny it. Truly? she thought, and her heart of hearts said, Truly.
It was settled, then: she was damned.
::
Charles sent her a letter, his prose tripping over itself and running off in a thousand directions at once, like a litter of puppies. The gist, as far as she could tell, was that although Miss Price had married Mr. Darcy after all, excessive proximity to Mrs. Bennet had made Lady Catherine realize the benefits to herself of a prompt annulment for the former Miss Bennet. She would soon be free to marry Charles.
It would be a scandal, of course, the annulment and the hasty marriage and Charles’s proposed plan to fly to America, which meant she would have to bring Sir Edward up to scratch before then.
She tapped one finger against the letter and stared at her reflection as Walpole curled her hair.
"Is it better to marry for love, or for money and position?" she asked.
Walpole blinked and met her eyes in the mirror. "I suppose it depends, m’m," she said.
"On what?"
"Well, I don’t have money or position, so I suppose I would rather marry for them. But if you have money, why not take love, too?"
It did not make anything clearer. "Thank you, Walpole. I think the pearls for tonight."
"Yes, m’m."
::
Even Caroline would concede that the Vauxhall Gardnes were a marvel. The younger girls -- Miss Whitmore and her cousins, the Misses Russell -- giggled and whispered together as they strolled the lamp-lit paths. Mrs. Russell, their ostensible chaperone, had pled exhaustion and remained behind in their supper box.
Miss Whitmore walked arm-in-arm with Wickham, and the Misses Russell with Sir Edward's younger brother and his friend. Caroline walked with Sir Edward. They brought up the rear of the group, and she allowed him to slow their pace until they were well behind the rest of their party.
She made polite conversation about the beauty of the evening and the enchantment of the gardens, and Sir Edward replied in distracted tones. Finally he stopped dead.
"Miss Bingley, I must speak."
Her heart leapt into her throat. He glanced around and led her a few steps down a darker side path.
"I am," he said. "I am bereft without your regard. Your beauty haunts me. I will know no rest or comfort until I possess you." He dropped to one knee on the gravel path and pressed his lips to her hand. "Marry me."
Everything seemed perfectly still around her. She thought, No one but we two will ever know this happened, if I refuse him. But I will know. I will know that I won this prize. She considered it. It was enough,
"No," she said, quiet and firm. "My heart belongs to another."
"Caroline--" he said.
She pulled her hand out of his with a sharp twist and stepped back. She heard footsteps behind her, and then Wickham said, low and dangerous "Are you all right, Miss Bingley?"
"Yes," she said.
He searched her face. "Do you need me to call someone? Mrs. Russell?"
She understood what he was asking. If she raised a hue and cry, she would be compromised and Sir Edward would be forced to marry her. "No," she said. "Nothing happened. Come, we should rejoin the others."
She took Wickham’s arm. She could hear Sir Edward’s labored breath behind her, but he said nothing as she walked away.
"Nothing happened?" Wickham asked, when they were safely on the main path again.
Her palm tingled where it rested on his arm, warm and steady beneath her touch. She had felt no spark with Darcy or Sir Edward, and she had thought it something lacking in herself. But perhaps that was not true at all.
She shrugged with false nonchalance, but she thought her smile was a touch too smug to match. "He proposed. I refused him."
Wickham raised both brows. "You refused."
"Yes. It turns out he was not the prize I wanted."
"Indeed?"
"His courtship was entirely inadequate. I have higher standards."
He was quiet for a moment. "Miss Whitmore is a sweet girl."
Her heart clenched, but she said lightly, "She is."
"But I find, over these past weeks, that I have lost my taste for sweetness."
Her heart was suddenly a buoyant, brilliant thing in her chest. "I have never been accused of sweetness," she said.
He stopped and turned to face her. "I am a rake and a fortune hunter."
She smiled. "I have money. I want love, too."
He raised her hand to his lips, and the kiss sent warmth curling all the way down to her toes. "Marry me, and I swear you will have it for the rest of your days."
She nodded, unable to speak.
"Hurry," Miss Whitmore called from ahead, "We will miss the fireworks!"
Wickham grinned. "Come, then. I don't want to live a life without fireworks."
7iris
Fandom: Lost In Austen
Rating: General Audiences
Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Caroline Bingley/George Wickham
Summary: Caroline Bingley and George Wickham spend the Season in London, hoping to make advantageous marriages, but find that the best match may be each other.
For inmyriadbits as part of Yuletide 2011, who asked for a story "where Wickham and Miss Bingley somehow team up and have loads of shenanigans in Regency-era London."
Miss Caroline Bingley glided towards her quarry on silent slippered feet. So intent was she on her purpose that she did not notice Mr. Wickham's approach until he was before her.
He swept her an elaborate bow, and said, "Miss Bingley, would you do me the incomparable honor of dancing the next set with me? If you are not already promised, of course."
She pressed her lips together and gave him a narrow-eyed look. She had been saving this set for the man standing not ten feet away, who was young and handsome and heir to a baronetcy. From Wickham's faint smirk, he had guessed it.
She gave him her best and coldest polite smile -- which did not distress him in the least -- and said, "I would be delighted, of course."
He offered his arm and they joined the other couples.
"It won't work," he said, sotto voce, as the music started.
"What won't?"
"Your plan to marry Sir Edward," he said, when the steps brought them together again.
She gaped like a landed fish, most unattractive, and then had to make polite conversation with the gentleman on Wickham's left.
Finally, the set ended. Wickham bowed over her hand, and then tugged her gently towards the refreshments.
"It would work with any other man," he said, handing her a glass of lemonade. "The simpering and the flirting and the language of the fan, et cetera, et cetera --"
"The simpering?"
"-- but Alastair is bored by anything obtained too easily."
"You know him so well, then?"
"I know his younger brother."
Almost unconsciously, her gaze drifted back to Sir Edward. He was surrounded by young women, and as she watched, one threw back her head and laughed at something he said. Through it all, he looked bored. Bored, and somehow condescendingly amused, as though he were laughing at them all. She frowned.
"Why are you telling me this?'
He coughed. "Perhaps I feel a small, a very small, amount of regret for whatever part I may have played in Miss Price's marriage to Mr. Darcy."
Caroline smacked his arm with her fan. "I knew it," she hissed. "I knew you helped that, that, that woman--"
"I only offered advice!" he said. "I am sorry, I didn't realize you...had formed an attachment to him."
That brought her up short. "Darcy is an insufferable prig and I would have had to beg and wheedle for every farthing of my pin money had I married him, but he has ten thousand pounds a year and Pemberley. It would have been an excellent match."
"I suppose you will have to settle for the son of a baronet instead."
"Hmph." She looked back at Sir Edward. "Well. I thank you for your advice."
He bowed to her again. "Bon chance, mademoiselle."
::
Two weeks later, she was forced to concede that Wickham had been right. Sir Edward never danced with any lady more than once, no matter how they flirted and simpered, and looked politely bored the entire time.
"It seems a most difficult path, to draw his attention while appearing to disdain it," Miss Whitmore said doubtfully.
Caroline did not disagree. "But he at least did not look bored when I refused his offer to dance." Her gaze was arrested by the flash of a red uniform, and a mad idea sprang into her mind. "Perhaps I need to modify my strategy," she murmured. "Wait here."
"Oh!" Miss Whitmore said, but Caroline was already moving.
She timed her steps to intercept Wickahm when he was alone. She slipped up beside him and put her hand on his arm. "Walk with me on the terrace," she commanded.
He did not seem surprised. "Miss Bingley, I am charmed as always, but I have committed myself to bringing Miss Stanhope a glass of punch."
Caroline waved his objection away with a flick of her fan. "Don't bother. Miss Stanhope's parents will never permit her to marry you and she does not have the spine to elope with you."
Wickham laughed and changed directions. "Then by all means, the terrace."
It was pleasantly cool outside after the crush of the ballroom. A few other couples strolled arm-in-arm on the terrace, and the garden was lit with little Chinese lanterns to draw in the bolder souls.
She turned to face Wickham. His back was to light spilling out of the ballroom and his face was in shadow. Her plan seemed less clever by the moment, but she took a deep breath and plunged ahead.
"Your advice about Sir Edward was entirely correct," she said. "I act cold and disdainful towards him when we meet, but I fear it it is not enough."
"You need a pretext to be near him," Wickham said.
"Yes, exactly. He must see that I am witty and beautiful --"
"And rich."
She ignored his interjection. "But he must also believe that I am not interested in him. In short, I need you to court me."
Wickham froze. "I beg your pardon?"
"You are friends, after a fashion, with him. If you appear to court me, to be infatuated with my aforementioned charms, and if I appear to reject him in favor of you, he will, he will..."
"He will want what he does not have."
"Yes."
He laughed. "You are entirely mad, but I admit, you are not wrong in your assessment of his motivations. But why should I bother?"
"Miss Edith Whitmore."
"Ah."
Miss Whitmore was younger, richer, and if not prettier than Caroline, possessed of a certain English rose beauty that was all the rage.
"It is her first Season. I have taken her under my wing," she said.
"In the hopes that one or two of the eligible men that rush to throw themselves at her feet will trip and end up at yours instead."
She inclined her head. "I never engage an opponent I cannot best. But we are friends, after a fashion, as well. I will tell her how handsome and dashing and kind you are, and when I break your heart by running off with Sir Edward, you can turn to her for comfort."
"I see," Wickham said slowly. "But surely there are other gentlemen who will require less effort to bring to the altar?"
"Sir Edward is young, wealthy, and titled. He is the most eligible bachelor on the Marriage Mart this Season, and it would be an excellent match."
"Yes, but--"
Because she did not particularly care what he thought of her, she told him the truth. "This is the one accomplishment I can claim that Society will care about. All the other accomplishments that we pretend to applaud are all in pursuit of this one goal: to make a good marriage. And I will make the best marriage I can."
He was quiet for a moment. "I see," he said again finally. "In that case, consider me your most devoted swain."
::
Wickham made an excellent faux swain.
He danced with her twice at every ball they attended and sent her flowers the next morning with extravagant compliments. She showed the cards to Miss Whitmore when she came for tea, so they could sigh over the sentiments.
He took her riding in the park, and they spent the entire time exchanging gossip and outrageously catty commentary on the fashions of the other riders on Rotten Row.
Sir Edward rode past them one morning, while she was laughing at Wickham's last sally. He doffed his hat in greeting. Wickham acknowledged him, but Caroline kept her gaze on Wickham, ostentatiously pretending not to see Sir Edward.
"Well done," Wickham said when Sir Edward was well behind them. "He most definitely did not appear bored by that exchange."
Caroline had to exert herself to keep a most unladylike smirk off her face.
Sir Edward approached her at the next Assembly Room ball to ask for a dance, and Caroline was pleased to be able to say that all her dances were spoken for.
She was even more pleased when Wickham laughed and said, "Here, Alastair, I will give up one of my dances with the lady."
She smiled, coolly gracious, and permitted Wickham to strike out his name on her dance card and write in Sir Edward's.
Sir Edward bowed, a touch stiffly, and moved on.
"Thank you," she murmured to Wickham.
"I assure you, it was my pleasure to give up a dance with you," Wickham said.
She trod upon his foot. She probably hurt herself more than him, but she could at least take satisfaction in smudging the polish on his Hessian.
"You and Miss Whitmore should come driving with me tomorrow," Wickham said.
"Friday," she said firmly. "I intend to dance very late tonight.
::
Wickham had hired a modest four-in-hand for their outing. He handed Caroline and Miss Whitmore into the carriage and took the reins himself.
He drove with a light touch and they exchanged polite chatter with about the weather and Lady Pelham's musicale, until Caroline couldn't bear it anymore and asked, "Where are we going?"
"It's a surprise," Wickham said and grinned at her irritated huff.
When they arrived, Miss Whitmore clapped her hands with glee. "Oh, wonderful!" she said.
"Astley's?" Caroline said. "We're not schoolgirls, you know."
Wickham grinned. "Every lady remains a schoolgirl in at least a small corner of her heart."
Miss Whitmore was delighted by the entire show. Caroline feigned boredom at the beginning, but even she could not suppress a gasp when a rider leaped from the back of one horse to another at a full gallop.
Wickham shot her a sideways glance. He said nothing, but offered a conspiratorial smile, and she could not prevent herself from returning it. She applauded as loudly as Miss Whitmore at the end.
Wickham drove Miss Whitmore home first. When he helped her down from the carriage, she kept hold of his hand, and said earnestly, "That was a most wonderful afternoon. Thank you."
He bowed over her hand, perfectly correct. "It was entirely my pleasure, Miss Whitmore."
She blushed sweetly when she smiled at him, and picked up her skirts to hurry inside.
Caroline and Wickham did not speak while he drove to her house.
"Thank you," she said, as he handed her down. "I had a lovely time as well."
"Good," he said. He tightened his grip on her hand. "You should -- life is not something that should be endured."
Caroline did not know what to say to that. He did not wait for a response, but simply tipped his hat to her and leapt back into the driver’s seat.
::
"Mr. Wickham asked me to go driving with him," Miss Whitmore confided over tea.
"I hope you said yes," Caroline said. "He is a most charming companion."
"Oh, I would never!" Miss Whitmore said. "Well, that is to say, I would go driving with him, but I would never encourage his suit. From the way you speak of him, it is obvious."
"Obvious?"
"That you love him," Miss Whitmore said, as though it were something simple and unremarkable and not a thunderbolt.
Caroline opened her mouth, but she could not find the breath to deny it. Truly? she thought, and her heart of hearts said, Truly.
It was settled, then: she was damned.
::
Charles sent her a letter, his prose tripping over itself and running off in a thousand directions at once, like a litter of puppies. The gist, as far as she could tell, was that although Miss Price had married Mr. Darcy after all, excessive proximity to Mrs. Bennet had made Lady Catherine realize the benefits to herself of a prompt annulment for the former Miss Bennet. She would soon be free to marry Charles.
It would be a scandal, of course, the annulment and the hasty marriage and Charles’s proposed plan to fly to America, which meant she would have to bring Sir Edward up to scratch before then.
She tapped one finger against the letter and stared at her reflection as Walpole curled her hair.
"Is it better to marry for love, or for money and position?" she asked.
Walpole blinked and met her eyes in the mirror. "I suppose it depends, m’m," she said.
"On what?"
"Well, I don’t have money or position, so I suppose I would rather marry for them. But if you have money, why not take love, too?"
It did not make anything clearer. "Thank you, Walpole. I think the pearls for tonight."
"Yes, m’m."
::
Even Caroline would concede that the Vauxhall Gardnes were a marvel. The younger girls -- Miss Whitmore and her cousins, the Misses Russell -- giggled and whispered together as they strolled the lamp-lit paths. Mrs. Russell, their ostensible chaperone, had pled exhaustion and remained behind in their supper box.
Miss Whitmore walked arm-in-arm with Wickham, and the Misses Russell with Sir Edward's younger brother and his friend. Caroline walked with Sir Edward. They brought up the rear of the group, and she allowed him to slow their pace until they were well behind the rest of their party.
She made polite conversation about the beauty of the evening and the enchantment of the gardens, and Sir Edward replied in distracted tones. Finally he stopped dead.
"Miss Bingley, I must speak."
Her heart leapt into her throat. He glanced around and led her a few steps down a darker side path.
"I am," he said. "I am bereft without your regard. Your beauty haunts me. I will know no rest or comfort until I possess you." He dropped to one knee on the gravel path and pressed his lips to her hand. "Marry me."
Everything seemed perfectly still around her. She thought, No one but we two will ever know this happened, if I refuse him. But I will know. I will know that I won this prize. She considered it. It was enough,
"No," she said, quiet and firm. "My heart belongs to another."
"Caroline--" he said.
She pulled her hand out of his with a sharp twist and stepped back. She heard footsteps behind her, and then Wickham said, low and dangerous "Are you all right, Miss Bingley?"
"Yes," she said.
He searched her face. "Do you need me to call someone? Mrs. Russell?"
She understood what he was asking. If she raised a hue and cry, she would be compromised and Sir Edward would be forced to marry her. "No," she said. "Nothing happened. Come, we should rejoin the others."
She took Wickham’s arm. She could hear Sir Edward’s labored breath behind her, but he said nothing as she walked away.
"Nothing happened?" Wickham asked, when they were safely on the main path again.
Her palm tingled where it rested on his arm, warm and steady beneath her touch. She had felt no spark with Darcy or Sir Edward, and she had thought it something lacking in herself. But perhaps that was not true at all.
She shrugged with false nonchalance, but she thought her smile was a touch too smug to match. "He proposed. I refused him."
Wickham raised both brows. "You refused."
"Yes. It turns out he was not the prize I wanted."
"Indeed?"
"His courtship was entirely inadequate. I have higher standards."
He was quiet for a moment. "Miss Whitmore is a sweet girl."
Her heart clenched, but she said lightly, "She is."
"But I find, over these past weeks, that I have lost my taste for sweetness."
Her heart was suddenly a buoyant, brilliant thing in her chest. "I have never been accused of sweetness," she said.
He stopped and turned to face her. "I am a rake and a fortune hunter."
She smiled. "I have money. I want love, too."
He raised her hand to his lips, and the kiss sent warmth curling all the way down to her toes. "Marry me, and I swear you will have it for the rest of your days."
She nodded, unable to speak.
"Hurry," Miss Whitmore called from ahead, "We will miss the fireworks!"
Wickham grinned. "Come, then. I don't want to live a life without fireworks."