Darcy would have chosen nearly any activity over his trip to London. He would've preferred to be at balls every day for a week than to be chasing down Mr. and Mrs. Wickham off and attempting to pay down the incredible debts they had racked up together. Unfortunately, they were doing it by using their relationship to him to gain credit, so their choices were reflecting on him, possibly more than themselves.

He finally found them on the second day of his journey at a rather unpleasant inn in a questionable part of town. Mrs. Wickham was at one table, gabling and blatantly flirting with the soldiers their, and Mr. Wickham was across the room engaging in what might be liberally called conversation with a woman who might conservatively be called an entertainer.

As he approached Wickham, he saw the man lean in and whisper something in her ear, punctuating it with a sharp smack to her ass. Darcy hated himself for picturing himself and Lizzy in their places.

"Ahem."

"Ah, my old friend, Mr. Darcy," said Wickham slyly. "Or shall I now say 'brother.' So sorry I couldn't make it to your wedding to my dear sister, but I wasn't invited."

"A mere oversite, I'm quite sure," Darcy retorted sarcastically.

"I see that lovely wife of yours has had an influence on your demeanor. Would it be too much to hope she has loosened you in other ways?"

"Far too much, particularly in regards to you. I insist you desist your overspending in my name, Wickham, or I shall call you out. And we both know that sword is just for show."

"Now, Darcy, I have no need to impress ladies with wealth and weaponry. Unlike some people, I have wit and personality to recommend me. I rest easy knowing my wife did not marry me because of my name."

"No, I seem to recall she married you because neither of you was presented with an alternative. And it would appear you do not have a monopoly on the sort of 'wit' your wife finds so enchanting." Darcy nodded to where Mrs. Wickham leaned towards the soldiers, and he couldn't help but wonder how the girl's chest managed to stay in her dress.

"Ah, that. A bit of an agreement between us. I look one way, she looks another, we don't ask, we don't tell. To tell you the truth, Darce, I rather enjoy some of the things she learns on her little trysts."

"Good Lord."

"For example," continued Wickham, recognizing mortification on the face of his oldest acquaintance and wishing to exacerbate his discomfort, "have you ever spanked your wife? Not as a sort of real punishment, but for your own entertainment? Lydia enjoys it more than you can imagine. Then, I suppose with a husband like you, the lovely Miss Elizabeth probably just lies there and waits for you to finish."

That's when Darcy punched him.

"It's Mrs. Darcy to you, you horse's ass, though I believe you thoroughly beneath having the right to speak of her at all. Return to your post tomorrow, with your wife, or next time I have to clean up your mess I'll be sure to prevent any future pleasure Mrs. Wickham may expect from you, if you catch my meaning."

Darcy turned on his heal, and with an almost imperceptible nod to his sister-in-law out of habit, he left the inn for his townhouse, where he fell into his bed, said a prayer of thanks he had sent Georgiana away the day before, just in case, and fell asleep, dreaming of his wife.

To his intense chagrin, he dreamt of spanking her.