Laughing, he said, “Nonsense. Everyone is allowed, from time to time, to relax and enjoy an evening among friends.”
Mrs. Younge snorted with laughter, and Georgiana felt a stab of fear. What would become of her if Mrs. Younge surrendered herself entirely to drink?
“And you, Miss Darcy? May I serve you a glass?”
His gaze traveled slowly down her form, and then, alarmed, she wondered whether his visit was meant for Mrs. Younge or for herself.
“No, thank you, Mr. Wickham. My headache has grown worse.”
He paid no heed to her refusal, but poured brandy into a third glass. Then she saw him pour several drops from a small vial into two of the glasses. He carried one to Mrs. Younge, who drank the spirits in a single swallow.
He then presented the other to Georgiana. “Come now, Miss Darcy. A little brandy will relieve your headache. It is medicinal.”
Georgiana accepted the drink with feigned civility. When he returned to the sideboard for his glass, she set hers upon the table. She must avoid drinking it. Could she exchange it with his? That would oblige him to sit near her. If she invited him, would he mistake her invitation for encouragement while Mrs. Younge slept? Fear twisted her belly. Her heart was beating so hard, it deafened her. What was she to do?
When he returned, she indicated the couch. “Pray join me, sir. I wish to learn more about you. Do you intend a long stay in Ramsgate?”
The man’s smile provoked a shiver. He set his glass near hers and seated himself at a proper distance.
He did not answer her but asked, “Do you remain until the summer? Mrs. Younge informs me you have both resided in Ramsgate since September.”
She felt ill from the panic that was rising from her belly to her throat. A fine moisture glistened upon her brow.
He studied her. “Miss Darcy, is your headache worse? Take a sip of the brandy. It will do you good.”
She raised her eyes to his. “Mr. Wickham, would you be so kind as to ring for the servant? If I may first take my headachepowders, I will soon be restored. I shall be able to enjoy the evening and hear of your adventures.”
He laughed, pleased. He rose and went to summon the servant. When his back was turned, she exchanged the glasses.
She saw that Mrs. Younge’s head now rested against the back of the chair, her mouth slack and open. A shiver ran up her spine. She was alone with a scoundrel.
The butler presented himself, and Mr. Wickham requested the headache remedy.
When he returned to the couch, she said, “Pray, tell me of your adventures, Mr. Wickham.”
“Adventures, Miss Darcy?”
“Yes. A woman does not have adventures. We live quietly at home, reading our books or practicing an instrument, while men attend university, travel the Continent, or enter the world of business.”
Then as if in an aside she added, “Sir, do not feel you must wait on me. Enjoy your drink. If it pleases you, I shall fetch the bottle, that it may stand near at hand should either of us desire more.”
He chuckled. “I believe I shall.”
He took up the glass and drained it in a single swallow, then rose. “Excuse me while I retrieve the bottle. This brandy is remarkably smooth.”
She fumed inwardly. It is Fitzwilliam’s favorite. How dare he make himself at home in this manner? She hoped he would succumb to the substance as quickly as her companion had done. But he was tall and muscular and might require more. She would encourage him to drink as much as possible.
When he returned, he poured himself another measure, which he drank in a single swallow.
She felt relief when the butler entered bearing a tray with her remedy. “Miss Darcy, for your headache.”
He stirred the mixture and presented it to her. She drank deeply, then said, “Grimes, pray serve Mr. Wickham more brandy.”
“At once, mistress.”
He complied and then inquired, “Is there anything further, Miss Darcy?”
“Yes, we have not had nuts or dried fruit this evening. Pray bring them now. I would not have our guest want for anything.”
