Echoes at Dawn

Though he had never been rich—no thanks to someone he could name—he had been holding his own until recently, with the freedom to do as he pleased. Then, after a streak of bad luck with cards and a few poor choices at the horseracing track, his hard-won resources had been all but depleted. With no other choice before him and a mountain of debts behind him, he had left his establishment and set out into the world to make his fortune . . . again.

But he did not let the repetition darken his mood. He could always find people to swindle, credit to run up, and a few widows or maidens with whom he was duty-bound to share his charms. And if the women who caught his eye had money, then so much the better.

In some respects, however, the chase and all that came with it was a bother. Feminine delights could be readily found at the many establishments he frequented, and as for the other things involved in the chase, he would just as soon spend his time at the gaming tables. No, the chase was a means to an end, not the end itself, and though he would have preferred not to be bothered by it again, his circumstances and appetites—not to mention his tendency to go through money as if it were water—necessitated his imminent performance.

Because the chase had been difficult and fruitless thus far, he was ready to break from his search to conduct a conquest which promised more than a little pleasure. That was the reason he had come to Meryton.

Over the past five years, he had often found his mind wandering back to this insignificant little speck which barely appeared on any map. And somewhat surprisingly, it was not the thought of past triumphs, conquests, or extraordinary luck in gaming that kept the town on his mind. It was the girl who had managed to escape him. Few had ever evaded him after he had set his sights on them, which was, he supposed, why his thoughts had returned to her so often despite the passage of time.

She had been a pretty little thing less than five years before, and the period he had spent “courting” her had been most enjoyable, for she was not like most other young women of her age. For one, she was not a bashful young lady who blushed prettily while agreeing with every word which proceeded out of his mouth—his wife, to his mingled amusement and disgust, had been very much that sort of woman. No, this girl he remembered had been intelligent and unafraid to show her intelligence by challenging his opinions and stating her own with decided confidence. That in and of itself set her apart from just about any other young lady of her station . . . and made the idea of her surrender all the more satisfying.

Now, after five more years of maturity, he could hardly imagine how she would appear, but he was wagering that her youthful prettiness had grown into an uncommon beauty, and he very much wished to sample the delights she had to offer. It truly was a shame that she had lacked the monetary inducements necessary to satisfy his needs.

He strode into town with the confident strut he had carefully cultivated over the years, and he frequented a few of the shops, just enough to observe and gather information. It was at a taphouse that he finally heard all he needed to know; he then quietly left town, mounted the horse he had left tied to a tree just on the outskirts, and took the road heading north.

The journey was barely a mile from Meryton and took him only a few minutes on horseback. When the manor came into his view, he smiled to himself before schooling his features into his customary charming demeanor. He dismounted in front of the door and knocked, handing his card—one of the few he still possessed—to the maid who answered.

In only a few moments, the maid had returned, and he was led into the well-remembered parlor to greet the inhabitants.

“Mr. Wickham!” exclaimed the matron of the house.