Page 1 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

Mr Darcy's School for Scoundrels

Prequel to Mr Darcy's New Year's Resolution

By Lefki Karantoni

Chapter One: The Catastrophe

The study of Darcy House was a sanctuary of leather, vellum, and solitude. At three in the morning, the silence was absolute, save for the rhythmic ticking of the mantel clock and the aggressive scratching of a quill against parchment.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, aged twenty and possessing the suppleness of a granite obelisk, sat at his father's desk. He did not slump. He did not yawn. He maintained a posture of rigid verticality that would have pleased a Grenadier Guard. It also made the marble busts of Roman emperors on the mantelpiece look positively relaxed by comparison.

He dipped the quill into the inkwell with precision.

Regarding the Enclosure Acts of 1773,he wrote,the implications for the tenant farmer require a balance of paternalism and efficiency.

He paused, examining the sentence. It sounded impressive. It sounded adult. It sounded like the sort of observation a future Master of Pemberley should make when his father arrived from Derbyshire on Friday.

Old Mr Darcy was a man of exacting standards. He expected his son to be diligent, his steward to be industrious, and his godson—George Wickham—to be a gentleman.

Darcy sighed, the breath disturbing the candle flame. Two out of three was a passing grade in most universities. In the Darcy household, it was a crisis.

The door creaked open.

Mostyn, the butler who had served the family since Darcy was in short coats, drifted into the room. He carried a silver tray bearing a pot of coffee that smelled strong enough to tar the hull of a frigate. He was without his tailcoat—a scandalous stateof undress at any other hour—yet his dignity remained firmly buttoned up.

"Coffee, sir."

He placed the tray on the corner of the mahogany desk, moving a stack of legal texts to make room. He adjusted the sugar bowl by a millimetre, ensuring geometric harmony.

Darcy rubbed his eyes, the fatigue finally cracking his façade. "Thank you, Mostyn. I apologise for the hour. The theories of Adam Smith do not lend themselves to daylight."

"Indeed, sir. Mr Smith can be taxing." He picked up a discarded piece of paper from the floor. "I assume we are still waiting for Mr Wickham?"

Darcy flinched. The name hung in the air, heavy and unresolved.

"He went to the theatre." He kept his eyes on his notes. "Toprice invited him.Macbeth, I believe. It ran late, I suppose."

"The Scottish Play generally concludes before midnight, sir. Unless the witches have invited the cast to a tavern."

Mostyn's face remained impassive, but his tone suggested that he knew exactly which tavern, and that he disapproved of the ale selection.

Darcy stood, abandoning Adam Smith. He walked to the window, pulling back the heavy velvet drape to peer out into the gloom of Grosvenor Square. The street was empty. A thick London fog curled around the oil lamps, swallowing the cobblestones.

"He will be back soon," Darcy insisted, though the knot in his stomach tightened. "He knows Father arrives on Friday. George would not risk a lecture. He has been... better. This term."

"Mr Wickham is full of spirit, sir."

"Spirit," Darcy muttered, letting the curtain fall. "Yes. That is the word Father uses. Spirited. Charming. A light in the gloom."

He turned back to the room, pacing the length of the Persian rug. He felt the crushing weight of his own dullness. George was the favourite. George was the one who could make Old Mr Darcy laugh until he coughed. Darcy was the one who balanced the ledgers and ensured the carriage wheels were greased.

"I merely wish," he said, straightening a stack of books, "that his spirit did not require quite so much management."

"Genius often requires a keeper, sir." Mostyn moved to the door. "I shall leave the coffee. If I may suggest, sir? The text on crop rotation might serve as a sedative if you intend to sleep before dawn."

"I shall sleep when the prodigal returns, Mostyn."

The butler bowed and vanished into the hallway shadows.