Luck is Not Always a Lady

Pride & Prejudice is in the public domain; however, giving credit where credit is due, it is the work of the absolutely brilliant Jane Austen. Anything you recognize is hers, the rest is mine. I'm just taking the opportunity to shake things up a bit. Or rather take the good fortune and coincidence scattered throughout the work and cranking it up a notch or three.

Chapter 1

Luck is known to be a fickle creature appearing and disappearing at a whim, though there are those so-called fortune's favorites who seem permanently in her favor while others seem just as equally misfortune's favorites cursed with bad luck. But perception is a tricky thing; what may at first appear to be misfortune may in fact be just the luck someone needs and what may appear to be a lucky step may in fact be bad luck in deed. But that is luck, chaos personified.

Take the example of one George Wickham. The night before luck had been with him at cards, and he had celebrated quite liberally. So liberally, in fact, that he woke with his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and a pounding headache made worse by the sunlight streaming into his room. It took him some time to get the nerve to sit up, and even then he had a struggle to pour out a cup of water from the pitcher at his bedside to try to remove at least the dry and fuzzy feeling. What time was it? It seemed awfully bright in his room. Lord, he hoped he had not missed the post coach. Surely, Denny would get him if it was getting late. He could not resent his losses at the card table that much.

Forcing himself to stand, he slowly moved to the window. God, it was bright outside. It took some time for him to be able to focus on anything, and he started cursing when the one thing he saw was the rear of the post coach as it disappeared from sight. Damn. That miserable cur had left him behind. Bloody poor loser. But why did not the maid fetch him? He was sure he told the saucy piece he was leaving on the coach. However, he had a sudden flash of memory from the previous evening—a fumbling attempt at a kiss and a sudden hard slap across the face. He wondered if it left a mark. Yet even if he had offended the wench, surely she would still see that he was informed if only to rid the inn of his company. Urgh, thinking was making his head hurt more, but he had to get moving if he was going to find his way to Mar... Mert... Meryton?— whatever the village was. It was important to get there today, especially since Denny had already promised to introduce him to the Colonel. He needed to make a decent impression in the beginning if he was going to smooth his way along.

By the time he made it downstairs, his head had managed to settle down to a dull throb. As it was quite late in the morning, all he could get for breakfast was some bread and cheese which took a good deal of chewing and did his head no favors. Then he had to negotiate for the rental of a nag of a horse in order to get on his way.

The road was miserable, and George Wickham's head pounded worse and worse with each step the nag took on the road, and the contents of the flask he carried did little to assuage the pain. How much further was it to the miserable village? Blast Denny! He convinced him to join the militia by raving about the opportunities a man in a red coat had, then abandoned him to make his way on his own. Wickham almost wanted to turn back and return to London; however, he still figured a uniform 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 before vomiting at the side of the road while he tried to catch his breath, not a good combination.

~o~O~o~

Darcy stood outside the smithy feeling somewhat impatient. Bingley had been in such a rush to call on the Bennets, and then his horse threw a shoe just as they entered into Meryton. Fortunately, it was not far to the smith, though they had to wait a short time for the man to be free. Staring out at the village, Darcy was surprised to see the Bennet sisters emerging from a house not too far distant. They were accompanied by a tall heavyset man in black who seemed to be dividing his attention between Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary.

"Well, that's that."

Darcy turned to where Bingley had emerged from the smithy.

"The smith is attending to my horse now," Bingley continued, "He tells me that he will be about an hour."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed." A smile spread across Bingley's face as he caught sight of the Bennets. "I dare say we shall have to find a way to divert ourselves until my horse is ready." He cast a meaningful glance at Darcy, leaving no doubt of his intention.

Darcy had been telling himself that he was indifferent to Miss Elizabeth but when Bingley insisted on going to the greet the group, Darcy chose to not protest. "By all means, let us," he said and motioned for his friend to lead the way.

"Good, good," Bingley chirped.

As they started across the way, Darcy couldn't help keeping his gaze fixed on Miss Elizabeth.

Indeed.

~o~O~o~

Normally a great walker, Elizabeth Bennet had found the walk into Meryton tedious at best. The tedium had been only slightly lessened when she had managed to convince Mary to join them. Already having had enough of Mr. Collins' civilities and starting to become wary of an increased number of them being directed specifically towards her, she had pressed her sister after noticing that Mary seemed less annoyed with Mr. Collins than anyone else. It had not been too difficult to do so, which allayed Elizabeth's conscience just a little, as she felt somewhat selfish in her desire to escape dealing with her cousin, especially when Mary managed to turn Mr. Collins conversation away from her and seemed genuinely interested in the exercise. She managed to distance herself even more once they entered Aunt Philips' house.

The visit did not last long as both Lydia and Kitty were wild to see if Denny had returned as they had not spotted him on the way into Meryton. Reluctantly Elizabeth followed, if only to try to keep her sisters from behaving too badly in their search for redcoats. She did not know whether to be pleased or resigned that they spotted Denny almost immediately as he was walking up the street.

As they stood there exchanging commonplace pleasantries, Elizabeth was surprised to see Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy approaching from the direction of the blacksmith. For Jane's sake she was pleased, though it gave her little pleasure to meet the dark and disapproving stare of Mr. Darcy. Nor did it give her any greater pleasure to introduce her cousin to the man and witness Mr. Collins' voluble effusions when he realized that Mr. Darcy was the nephew of his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. After having been inundated with descriptions of the great lady since her cousin's arrival, Elizabeth felt that she should have realized the relationship from reports of her character alone.

There was some relief in the fact that Mr. Darcy while haughty was being reasonably polite in the face Mr. Collins' sycophantic behavior, and she endeavored in her own way to try to extract him from the conversation when something caught her eye. Turning her head she saw with some surprise a riderless horse walking casually into the village, stopping idly by one of the first buildings it reached.

"How strange, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said, as she noticed his eye also caught by the sight.

"Very," he said impassively.

"Whatever do you suppose happened to its rider?" Elizabeth asked almost absently as she looked at the rather relaxed creature.

~o~O~o~

Battered, bruised, and muddy, Wickham continued his journey on foot. When would he get to a blasted town? As he trudged along he saw a small brown dog ahead of him. Not another animal! He threw some rocks at the beast, who growled but ran off. Feeling a sense of triumph at that, Wickham continued along for a little before discovering to his relief that he was near the outskirts of a village. He must have been nearer to Meryton than he realized.

For a few moments, he tried brushing the mud off his clothes before giving up and continuing to limp the rest of the way. 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 wondering whether or not to include a damsel in distress, 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 bitterly. It took him 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 all too well. Darcy! Damn and blast, what is he doing here? Wickham wondered if he could slip 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. That damned dog again. 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 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, are you smiling?" Elizabeth Bennet asked in astonishment. She had moved nearer to him almost involuntarily, as Mr. Collins was in the midst of a 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. He was finding himself more entranced with her with every moment he spent in 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."