George Wickham
The Charming Ensnarement of False Promises
A man of charm, not of honor.
You've heard of Darcy, I'm sure. Tall, brooding, absurdly wealthy. I knew him long before he knew what to do with himself. Me? I was born under humbler roofs but raised alongside him all the same. I charm, he scowls. I smile, he pays. It's a dance society enjoys until it realizes it's been footing the bill. I speak well of myself, and even better of you. That’s how one gets invited back into rooms one never truly belonged in. Let’s just say, I make mistakes look like accidents—and accidents look like compliments.
What I'm Into: Red coats and warmer climes, a good scandal, the piano as played by young ladies, military gossip, Lydia's laughter before the scandal
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