An End to Estrangement - A Pride and Prejudice Variation

Part 6

Four years earlier...

"You dress like your father!"

George Wickham's lazy voice matched his repose, draped artfully over a chair in Darcy's dressing room, admiring his own reflection in the glass like Narcissus. Narcissus in yet more new clothing, Darcy thought, frowning a little and wondering how best to broach the topic of his friend's comportment, or whether he needed to broach it at all. He grew weary of forever offering Wickham advice he did not take, or being forced to leap to his defence instead of leaving him to reap the rewards of his caddish behaviour.

"That is better than dressing like a dandy," was all the retort Darcy could muster, straightening his cuffs and peering around Wickham's prone figure to ascertain that his own reflection was quite passable for a night at the assembly rooms. "I should rather spend the evening at the club," he began.

"If you spend any more time there, your feet shall become rooted to the spot." Wickham stifled a yawn, his eyes lighting up at the amusing picture he was creating. "The fabled Darcy tree, preferring staid conversation - or silence - when he might sample all the delights of the London Season!"

"I think you are doing enough sampling for the both of us," Darcy said, sourly. He kicked the leg of Wickham's chair, encouraging him to stand, and when that had no immediate effect, shoved the back of the chair forward, rather unceremoniously depositing his friend onto the ground with a thump.

"Uncalled for!" Wickham retorted, scrambling to his feet and brushing imaginary dust from his long limbs. "I do not know why I persist in coming to call on you when you mistreat me so!"

"A less obstinate man than you might make a different choice, to be sure." Darcy returned the chair to its rightful position and consulted his watch. "Now, if you are still intent on the assembly rooms, we ought to make our move, lest the entire evening begin and end without our setting foot across the threshold."

"Do not look as if you rather enjoy that prospect," Wickham growled. "The public assembly is but one hall where we might find ladies to dance with for the evening."

Darcy was determined not to follow this particular line of questioning, choosing wilful ignorance over many of his friend's occupations. Where their interests intersected - or where Darcy wished them to intersect - offered challenge enough.

"I saw Reverend Whittaker today," he began, as he nodded a farewell to his housekeeper and followed Wickham out into the darkening London evening.

"How delightful for you both!"

Wickham did not even try to disguise his irritation, his easy demeanour of earlier gone in the face of Darcy's none-to-subtle reminder of his vocation.

"He enquired after you -"

"I dare say he did." Wickham raked a hand through his thick hair, then spent a moment or two finger-combing it carefully into place. When Darcy did not immediately offer another response, he turned to look at him, his eyebrows raised in challenge.

"Well? Have you nothing to add? No further censure? What else did the dear Reverend have to say? What poor report did he offer concerning me this week, that you shall now threaten to pass on to your father unless I bow and scrape and vow to make amends for my misdeeds?" His eyes flashed again, but now there was no trace of good-natured teasing. His expression was all vehemence, all anger, and he targeted most of it at Darcy.

"It is not my concern," Darcy began, little wishing to begin their evening with an argument. Wickham was not one to let his anger flare and fade quickly, and if properly riled would stoke his resentment into a particularly deadly type of vengeance. Darcy had no desire to experience either that evening, not when he was already at the very edge of comfort in agreeing to attend the assembly at all.

"It is not my concern," Wickham mimicked, puckering his lips into what ought to have been an impression of him, Darcy supposed. He did not admire the likeness, but he took great pains to iron his features into blankness.

"You make it your concern far more often than you need to," Wickham continued. "Must I forever be under your watchful gaze, Darcy? We are meant to be friends."

"We are friends."

"Indeed! Then you will spare me any more sermonizing this evening. Recall, if you care to, which of us is sadly destined for the clergy and leave such lectures to me. You need to learn to have fun, Fitzwilliam, and if it costs me my life I am determined to teach you!"

"I know how to have fun," Darcy muttered, feeling a prickling heat at the back of his neck. He swallowed the rest of his retort, knowing just how Wickham might choose to respond to and our definitions of the word sadly differ. No, he had no interest in Wickham's notion of fun: of gambling money he could not afford to lose, robbing Peter to pay Paul, and forever tangling with no less than three different young ladies. His life was one of narrowly contained chaos and he would surely not emerge from it unscathed. But this is not the time for lectures. Darcy let out a low sigh. Wickham was right in that regard. They had agreed to attend the public assembly, to Wickham's delight. Darcy was wary enough of setting foot in a place where so few people were known to him, and it would serve him ill to alienate one of the few real friends he could count on being there.

Wickham punched him on the arm, hard enough to draw a bruise, and instead of fighting back Darcy took a step to the side, increasing the distance between them and putting himself beyond the easy reach of his friend.

"I suppose I shall do you the favour of introducing you to Miss Rebecca Mackenzie. Her sister is the real beauty of the pair, but as she is already spoken for -" He clutched at his heart, mimicking abject desperation. "A Count no less! But Miss Rebecca is quite charming in her own right, if a little reserved for my tastes." He smirked at Darcy. "You two should suit perfectly, and will happily spend the evening circling one another in silence, judging the rest of us for having the temerity to enjoy our wild youth while it is ours...!" He lifted his face to the setting sun and whooped at the moon, but his excitement was contagious and even Darcy felt his features lifting into a smile. Life with Wickham might have abundant challenges, but it was certainly never dull...