The Greatest Risk-Chapter 3 (Excerpt 2)

“The Greatest Risk is to show others who we truly are.”

~Cinderella 2015

Happy Fall, dear readers. What a wonderful time of year. The leaves are changing, the weather is beginning to cool and holidays are fast approaching. As we prepare to spend time with those we love, I decided I wanted to share another unedited excerpt from my current Work In Progress, The Greatest Risk.

I often struggle with how to introduce Mr. Wickham into the story. Is he too obvious a cad? Is he too tame? Villains are extremely difficult to write because one must make sure not to always attempt the extremes in behavior.

So, I decided to slightly alter the original meeting. All the major players are there, but pieces of information are missing.

I hope you enjoy this little excerpt.

The sound of the piano and the hum of voices surrounded Elizabeth as she attempted to sit undetected in the back corner of the drawing room. However, her plan had not succeeded.  Can I get no peace from that man? She grimaced at the glass of punch placed in front of her until she looked up and saw the holder was not who she believed it to be.

“Mr. Wickham. How gracious of you.”

He nodded and indicated the seat next to her. “May I?”

“Please.” She scooted over to allow him enough space, and they began exchanging pleasantries. After a few minutes, he said, “You must forgive me, but it appears you have an admirer in your cousin.”

She smirked before replying. “Yes. He is very…attentive.”

“I cannot blame him for choosing to bestow his admiration upon the loveliest woman in the room.”

She felt herself blushing at the praise from such an attractive man, but then remembered his attentions to her younger sisters earlier in the day, and regained her compsure. “Thank you, Mr. Wickham, but I believe you are attempting empty flattery to be invited back for another party where my Aunt’s cook will once again prepare her sponge cake.”

He laughed at her jest and they continued to attend to their conversation for another quarter hour. “Miss Elizabeth, I believed I overheard Mr. Collins mention his patroness…a Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”

“Yes, that is her name.”

He bit his lip and turned from her. “That is most interesting,” he said turning back.

“Are you acquainted with her?”

“I am, but have not seen her since I was a child. She is the sister of the late Mistress of the estate where I grew up. She was Lady Anne’s sister.”

“Was?”

“Yes. Lady Anne died many years ago. Her excellent husband followed just recently. Hearing Lady Catherine’s name threw me back into a moment of grief.” He turned his head as a slight quiver caught in his voice. Elizabeth felt her heart wrench. Such a feeling man. My opinion may have been too harsh on him when we first met.

“Forgive me,” he said, turning back to her. “It is only my mother died when I was young, and Lady Anne fulfilled the role for me. She was an exemplary woman.”

“Do not apologize. It is refreshing to meet someone with such depth of character.”

He smiled. “And you find many of my sex who do not have such depth?”

His playful tone made her smile in return and she cocked her head to the side. “Were you boys not taught from a young age to keep your feelings close? I am certain there are few men who would so willingly display affection for a mother, most certainly not one that is not his own.”

“I, Miss Elizabeth, was taught the proper form of respect to those who I revere. Lady Anne, and especially her husband, were two people I wished to imitate. Now the heir of the estate is an entirely different matter.”

Elizabeth’s interest was piqued as the features of the handsome man changed almost instantly.

“Were you not friends with the heir?”

He sighed. “Oh, no. We grew up as brothers. But ours is the tale of many poor boys raised alongside heirs to an estate.”

“Which is?” She asked with curiosity.

He shrugged his shoulders and rested a thoughtful gaze upon her. “All is well until one is old enough to realize his superiority in life above the other. Then, the inequality is not only felt but lauded over the head of the one of little consequence.”

“No!”

“Yes. That is how I came to be a poor foot soldier.”

“I do not understand.”

A sad smirk quirked at his lips. “I was to become a minister. It was something I had dreamt of the whole of my life. When the opportunity came available after the death of his father, the son denied me the living.”

Elizabeth let out a small cry. “How could he?”

“His father, a most wonderful man, was now dead. His son was in control of the estate, and all which they possessed.”

“But, how could he justify his treatment of you? You did nothing wrong.”

Another smirk played across his lips. “But to him, my crime was that I was born. That I had been loved by his parents as a son should be loved. His jealousy drove him to put me in this position.”

Silence settled over the pair while the sound of conversations floated throughout the room.

“And you have had no contact with anyone from the estate?” Elizabeth asked softly. “Has everyone forsaken you?”

“Yes, they have. The estate is quite a great distance from here. It is in Derbyshire. Are you familiar with the area?”

“No, I am not, but my Aunt is from a small village called Lambton.”

“Lambton? I know it well! I spent many happy days there. The estate where I grew up is but five miles from there. It is owned by the––”

“Wickham,” one of the soldiers interrupted. “I apologize but we are on guard duty tonight and must prepare to leave.”

“Of course,” he said, standing up and reaching for Elizabeth’s hand. “Miss Elizabeth, I am loathe to leave you, but I must. From our conversation, you know I have no other choice and must not ruin my chances of promotion.”

“Of course,” she said.

He bowed over her hand and looked up at her and holding her gaze before smiling and releasing her. “Good evening.”

“Good evening, Mr. Wickham,” she said.

He bowed to Aunt and Uncle Phillips, before he turned back at the door to smile at her.

He has been given a harsh sentence in life, but has risen above it with no apparent malice. It would be hard for a man, any man, to have such good cheer in the face of what he has experienced. She reached for her glass of punch before gazing off through the window. What kind of man would have subjected Mr. Wickham to a life of such misery?  

Yes, Lizzy. What kind of man, indeed? Will Elizabeth be able to separate the sad tale Mr. Wickham has painted when she realizes it is the same man who she has thought about for the last several months? Who will she believe?  I hope you enjoyed this excerpt and look forward to hearing your comments.

~Anngela