Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Mr. Darcy x Reader

Chapter 5

          Meryton was paradise after the walk you'd had; the exercise hadn't bothered you but the presence of Mr Collins had. His insistence that no one walk alone had your eyes rolling into the back of your skull - could he even kill a zombie?

You walked quicker than your sisters in a desperate attempt to walk in front of the group and rid yourself of Mr Collins, at least temporarily. An uncontrollable, unmoving grimace of disgust seemed permanently etched on your face whenever the man was around. His audacity had stood out more than anything to you; more than his money, more than his position, more than the looming knowledge that he would be inheriting your home if anything happened to your father. He wasn't horrible - necessarily; many would consider his willingness to marry one of you a charitable act - but he was shallow, two-faced, selfish, and too incompetent of a man for your tastes.

You scold yourself. You can almost hear Jane's sweet voice in your head reminding you not to be so prideful.

"This must be the extra militia they stationed here in Meryton. Oh, Kitty, look at him!" Lydia does not manage to keep her voice down as well as she thinks she does, but you do not scold her this time around; after all, it is thanks to her and Kitty that you were able to escape the house and the scoldings from your mother you were sure to get. Although, you were only delaying the inevitable.

Your eyes follow where Lydia points excitedly.

It seemed like her eyes weren't failing her.

          A few introductions later, a man named George Wickham was walking your small group over to the Phillips'.

"Thank you for accompanying us and enduring my younger sisters." You said a little shyly, a light blush dusting your cheeks. It was no secret that Wickham was attractive; even you thought so. You were trying to remain collected and cautious, though - the last time you thought so highly of a man, they had only disappointed you.

"It's my pleasure." Wickham flashed a charming smile, causing you to grin immediately, as embarrassing as it was.

"Are you going to be stationed here all winter, Mr. Wickham?" You ask politely.

"Well, that depends entirely on what the manky dreadfuls have in store for us, Miss Bennett."

You smiled and nodded, before the joy on your face disappeared once more, neutrality taking over purely out of respect. 

"Mr Bingley!" It's again, Lydia's indiscreet voice that pulls your attention away from Mr Wickham towards whatever has caught hers.

Unfortunately, the new object of her attention is accompanied by Mr Darcy.

Your mood is almost immediately spoiled, a small frown appearing on your face as your eyebrows furrow slightly. Almost like a mirror, Mr Darcy's features copy yours - only his eyebrows furrow deeper, and his eyes are angrier.

And his expression of contempt is not directed at you - it is directed at the man standing beside you.

Mr Bingley stops to attend to Lydia, leaving Mr Darcy no other choice than to halt, too.

"Oh..." Mr Bingley responds. "We were just on our way to Longbourn."

"Mr Bingley, you promised you'd throw a ball at Netherfield!"

Not so subtly, Mr Bingley's attention finds Jane. He really can't seem to keep his eyes off of her. "Are you quite recovered?" He asks politely.

"She is," Lydia answers for her.

"Then I shall begin the preparations immediately for the most glorious ball Hertfordshire has seen!"

Lydia visibly brightens, piping up again. "Can Lieutenant Wickham come?"

"Of course, an invitation shall sent to all my fellow officers," Mr Bingley agrees. "Excuse me. Good day, Miss Jane."

Before the two men depart, your eyes glance between Mr Darcy and Mr Wickham, watching the tense glares as they quietly address each other. It's subtle enough not to attract the attention of anyone else in the group, but it does not escape your clever eye.

"There you are, my beautiful nieces!" A new voice has appeared - your aunt.

Desperate not to part before you can inquire about the history between a Mr Wickham and a Mr Darcy, you turn. "Please join us, Mr Wickham!"

To your disappointment, Mr Wickham shakes his head sadly. "No, duty calls I'm afraid."

You're sure it would be much too improper to beg and you realize your choices are extremely limited. With a little hesitancy, you decide to ask anyway. "Oh, em... I must know Mr. Wickham, what is amiss between you and Mr. Darcy?"

Mr Wickham's eyebrows raise in reasonable curiousity. "Are you much acquainted with him?"

Acquainted with him? Unfortunately. "More than I wish to be. He's been here for less than a month and is already the least popular man in the county."

Mr Wickham sighs. "Yes, it always gives me great pain to see him. I've been connected to his family room infancy. My father managed the late Mr. Darcy's estate Darcy and I grew up together. His father treated me like a second son. I cannot begin to do justice to his kindness. He bequeathed me with the best living and his gift. I had my heart set on joining the church. But when he was slain in the Second Battle of Kent, Darcy ignored his wishes and gave my living to another man."

With each detail of the story revealed by Mr Wickham, your horror grows, clearly visible on your face. "What could've induced him to pay you so cruelly?"

"Pride," Mr Wickham answers simply. "He thought me too low to be worth his consideration. I loved his father dearly, so I can never expose Darcy or challenge him to a duel."

"Come now," Your aunt calls, your sisters having all left you behind to accompany her. "We must plan our trip to the North Country!"

"I'll be right there!" You call back. There is no way you can part from Mr Wickham now.

But your chance to inquire further disappears when Mr Wickham bids you a hesitant ado. "Well, perhaps I shall see you at Mr. Bingley's Ball?" He questions politely.

"Perhaps. I'll be there."

As you leave him to regroup with your aunt and sisters, you can't help but replay the details of Mr Wickham's tragic tale in your head. It's shocking, yes, but it has equipped you with something valuable; an excellent reason to despise Mr Darcy.