Author's Notes: As I was reading Aureader's "Sense of Obligation." I was reminded of just how much I enjoy seeing Wickham suffer, even in little ways, and thus was inspired to write this little offering, my first complete Pride & Prejudice story (I do have another much longer one in progress, but it's a long way from seeing the light of the internet).

And as always, I have to thank Ghetto Outlaw for his mad betaing skills.

Luck is Not Always a Lady

George Wickham's head pounded worse and worse with each step the nag of a horse took on the road, and the contents of the flask he carried did little to assuage the pain. How much further was it to Mar... Mert... Meryton? Blast Denny! He would decide to leave without him just because his luck at cards was better. It was not like Denny needed the money as much as he did anyway.

He had celebrated a bit too much the evening before after skimming Denny and a couple of strangers at cards and woke with the devil of a hangover, too late for the post carriage, but much as he wanted to spend the day in bed he knew he had to get to Meryton, and had hired this poor excuse for a beast to get him out of town. Other than his success the night before, he had been losing more than winning, and he had just enough to buy a commission in the militia. Not that he was particularly eager to join, but after hearing Denny rave about the opportunities a man in a red coat had, he figured it would improve his chances of charming his way into a fortune or at least into a long line of credit.

Lost in thoughts of what he would do once in the militia, he neglected to notice the flock of geese near the road way until they suddenly startled his horse throwing him off onto the muddy lane. Still half drunk and stunned by his fall into the mud, Wickham could only stare dumbly as his borrowed horse took off running.

"Damn, damn, damn," he muttered as the beast disappeared. A cacophony of honking assaulted his ears and before he could react, he was suddenly assaulted by the flock of geese who seemed offended by his presence. One particularly big bird went for his face biting his nose and cheeks before he could get his hand up. Scrambling to his feet, he struck wildly at the birds that attacked him with such ferocity, nipping at his legs and making him fear for his manhood if not his life. It was all he could do to get away from the angry birds, running until he was out of sight then vomiting at the side of the road while he tried to catch his breath, not a good combination.

Battered, bruised, and muddy, Wickham continued his journey on foot. To his relief he saw he was near the outskirts of a village. He must have been nearer to Meryton than he realized. He tried brushing the mud off his clothes before giving up and limping into town. Perhaps he could say he had been attacked by highwaymen. That would be a good tale, especially once he could get into uniform. He had started working out the details of his bravery in the face of overwhelming odds, when he spotted his hired nag standing peacefully as if it had not a care in the world. Stupid animal. He started heading toward the beast when he was stopped by the sight of a small crowd down the street wherein his erstwhile friend Denny was laughing and talking with a couple of young ladies who seemed to be hanging on his every word.

No wonder he was in such a hurry to get back, Wickham thought. It took Wickham a moment to look beyond Denny and notice the gentlemen on the outer edges of the group. Two were unfamiliar, but the third he knew too well. Darcy! Damn and blast, what is he doing here? Wickham wondered if he could slink out of sight before the man spotted him. He had no idea what Darcy might do if they met, but he had no intention of letting Darcy see him in his bedraggled state.

He started to slink towards a nearby building when out of nowhere he heard a fierce yapping and a furry object launched itself at him. As he twisted, he could feel something grab at his breeches and heard a ripping sound. Lashing out at the animal that attacked him, he lost his balance and managed to fall face first into a pile of fresh horse droppings, deposited by the ungrateful rented nag. Angrily he got to his feet, a stream of profanities pouring from his lips. He could see Denny openly laughing at him along with the two girls he had been speaking with, while Darcy regarded him with open derision.

George Wickham was a gambler who liked to take chances, the few times they paid off were enough to keep him going, but he was also a man who believed in luck, good and bad. And the bad luck that plagued him that day, most especially the bad luck of Darcy seeing him in such a state, was enough to convince him that Meryton was not the place for him. He grabbed the reins of his wayward horse and with a futile attempt at dignity struggled into the saddle and turned to head back the way he came. Now that he had his saddle bags back, he would try cleaning himself up if he could find a convenient stream. He remembered Lucy Younge telling him of a rich widow with no family who might be susceptible to the charms of the right young man. Once his bruises healed, he might just try his hand, since vulnerable young heiresses were getting harder to come by. Yes, that was a better plan. Meryton could go to blazes, and Darcy was welcome to it. He was probably miserable there anyway.

~o~O~o~

"Mr. Darcy, is that a smile?" Elizabeth Bennet asked in astonishment. She stood near him a little separated from the group, as Mr. Collins was in the midst of harangue on the ungentlemanly language of the man who had been the center of the recent spectacle. Only Mary was paying attention, but Mr. Bingley and Mr. Denny were unfortunately too close to actively ignore him.

"I really could not say, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said, as he attempted to control his urge to laugh at the image of George Wickham, covered in horse leavings, his torn breeches exposing his undergarments to the world (though he was grateful the man had some on so that the ladies would not be exposed to the man's bared buttocks). "But it seems if I am, I am not the only one." She had been repressing a laugh herself; he could tell. His determination to avoid her had once again been weaker than his desire for her company.

"I have already admitted that follies do divert me, though it seems rather cruel to laugh at such a spectacle," Elizabeth said.

"But not to be amused," Darcy said. "I would say that gentleman does not require much sympathy."

"I would say that I agree, especially since I have never known that dog to attack anyone unprovoked, but if I did, that would be shockingly unladylike, would it not?" Elizabeth said with just the slightest sly smile. "And I think we have all received enough shocks today."

He studied her expression for a moment. He thought about how she became more fascinating with every encounter and found himself looking forward to their next meeting and what she might say or do to intrigue him further.

"Indeed," Darcy replied. "Enough shocks."

For today.

~tbc~

End Notes:

I originally was going to have more horrible things happen to Wickham: slapped by a barmaid, clawed by a cat, stung by bees or hornets (but it was the wrong time of year, I think), a serious hit between the legs, and so forth, but I thought that all might be a bit too much. I suppose even Wickham deserves a slight break, though not that big a break as the widow he's interested in is a high maintenance harpy who'd keep any man on a short leash and possibly a choke collar. And my initial thought was to end the story when Wickham left town, but I couldn't resist having a small Darcy/Elizabeth bit in the end, as I needed to have a couple of characters I actually liked in there somewhere. There is a tiny part of me that would like to explore what might change with Wickham so completely out of the picture, but this is most definitely a one shot.

By the way is there a term for a story that's all about gleefully tormenting a villain for laughs? Comeuppance tale? Schadenfreude? Oh, well, I hope this story entertains others as much as it entertained me when I was writing it.

In any event all reviews are welcome—especially since this is my first posting in this category, and I'm a little nervous about this—even if it's just to say I'm too mean or not mean enough to the parasitic loser that is George Wickham.

Edited to add

It is a mistake to be too definite (except in the case of Lizzy and Darcy; I will never pair them with anyone else), as there is now a second part.