With George Wickham, who—naturally—had attached himself to the plan immediately.
“There is no reason whatsoever for me to continue at school,” he announced cheerfully. “I have learned all the mathematics I intend ever to use.”
Mr. Darcy had laughed and financed the journey for them both.
And so Fitz traveled, with Wickham at his side.
France reopened at last under the brief peace following Amiens, allowing English gentlemen onto the Continent again after years of danger and uncertainty. From Greece they journeyed through Constantinople, where Fitz wandered theancient Hippodrome for hours while Wickham lost scandalous amounts of money gambling with foreign merchants.
Italy followed.
Florence.
Venice.
Rome.
Rome especially seized hold of Fitz’s imagination with almost painful force.
He walked beneath shattered triumphal arches and through the vast broken skeleton of the Colosseum while scholars argued over emperors and republics around him. He spent entire afternoons at museums studying Roman statuary with renowned antiquarians whose published works he had previously encountered only in books.
For the first time in his life, he found conversation that stirred genuine excitement within him.
Not estate management.
Not society trivialities.
History.
Civilizations.
The rise and collapse of worlds.
In Rome, an elderly historian spent three hours discussing the engineering of ancient aqueducts, as well as the lost treasure troves that had been discovered, with Fitz. Afterward, the scholar declared the young man “the only English youth I have met who listens more than he speaks.”
Wickham nearly died laughing upon hearing it.
“It is because Fitz has spent years practicing looking solemn while other people enjoy themselves.”
Yet even Wickham’s mockery no longer cut quite as sharply as it once had.
Distance had clarified things.
At Eton, Fitz still clung desperately to the remnants of their childhood friendship. On the Continent, however, he began finally to see Wickham clearly.
Wickham was charming.
Exceedingly so.
People adored him within minutes.
Innkeepers offered better rooms. Ladies smiled longer than propriety strictly required. Men invited him readily to supper and gaming tables.
Wickham moved through life as though consequences belonged solely to other people.
Money vanished through his fingers like water. Debts accumulated quietly behind them in nearly every city. He flirted recklessly, drank heavily, and spent astonishing sums pursuing amusement that rarely held his attention longer than a week.
And always, somehow, Fitz paid.
