Hi! I've been meaning to publish a second story ever since I started my Wuthering Heights fanfic, but I didn't have much courage. I do love P&P too and I especially love George Wickham. Mary Bennet is also a fascinating character. I have changed some things from canon (Mrs. Philips' dinner in particular), but I hope it's not a problem. My take on the characters might also stray from established interpretations. The title of this story comes from the song Power & Control, by Marina and the Diamonds (it makes a lot of sense in the context of the story) I hope you enjoy my attempt and bear in mind English is not my first language but I try to be as correct as possible!

Also, the first lines of dialogue are roughly taken from the 1980s adaptation of P&P.

Chapter 1

"You must find that an interesting book."

George Wickham addressed this to the only young lady of the group who was not looking at him.

What he truly meant was: You must find that an interesting book to be ignoring me.

The reader had not even heard him. She had to be nudged by one of her sisters in order to look up.

"Mary! Mr. Wickham is speaking to you!"

She blinked, like a fish caught out of water, and turned to Mr. Denny.

"No, that's Mr. Wickham, you silly goose!" the sister corrected her.

He coughed and repeated his question, feeling by now quite embarrassed.

"Oh. No, not particularly interesting," she replied absently.

Wickham swallowed thickly and smiled a gracious smile. He was not one to be defeated easily.

"Is it a novel?"

Perhaps it was not profitable to follow this line of questioning, but her indifference irked him. No female around these parts was insensible to his charms.

"No, of course not," she replied sternly and then, without the least warning, went right back to reading, as if nothing had disturbed her.

Wickham knew that in every family there had to be one young lady who was plain and stupid. And truly, the girl confirmed his knowledge. Bespectacled, careless with her looks, tasteless in matters of dress (her bonnet was utterly atrocious, to say nothing of her boots), dull and wane; she represented her dour spinster fate with great accuracy. But usually, the mousy ones, the ones doomed to solitude, loved him best. They clung to him even more, knowing full well they had no hope of reciprocation.

Why should this one be any different?

"Ah, ladies of refinement and accomplishment," he said, in order not to look like a fool. The younger sisters did notice his blunder. They beamed at him and showered him with their youthly delights. They were clearly not indifferent. The eldest were quite friendly too, if more restrained. They were very attractive to boot. Elizabeth, in particular, held a certain charm. He was very pleased, overall, to have met the Bennets. He was indebted to Denny for that and he could not complain.

Except that, the gentleman escorting them, a fellow called Collins who was a clergyman of some sort, insisted on trailing after them. Not only was he a bore and a pedant, but the plain one seemed to like him. She walked close to him, and though she still kept her head in her book, he noticed her spying on Collins from time to time.

I suppose they are a match, he thought maliciously, but still, he couldn't quite swallow the idea that she was more partial to a dullard with bad breath and a weak jaw. How could he, the handsome and well-spoken George Wickham, be compared to a fool like that?

That evening, Denny asked him jovially what he thought of the young women he had met. They were sitting together in his rooms at the Meryton inn, killing time with a game of cards and some brandy. Wickham knew his friend wanted his honest opinion.

"I liked them well enough. Good-looking and amiable, all of them. Well, except one."

Denny raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, right. Don't bother about that. Mary Bennet likes no one and no one likes her."

Wickham put down a card and smiled wryly.

"But I believe she likes someone, after all. Mr. Collins."

Denny laughed. "Really? Well, she'll be disappointed. I'm sure I've heard he is supposed to marry one of the eldest."

"Not Elizabeth, I hope?"

"I don't know, but if it is Elizabeth you like best, you had better pay your attentions soon and fast."

Wickham smiled uneasily. A feat not so easily accomplished. It seemed Elizabeth had already been acquainted with Darcy. Their meeting today had been interrupted by none other than Bingley and Darcy riding into town like masters on a private estate. Darcy had, predictably, turned a cold shoulder and refused to pay him any heed, but he had saluted the Bennets and his friend, Bingley, had been very warm to the sisters. He could not guess how much Elizabeth knew of that affair. It was to his interest that she be ignorant of his past. Otherwise, he had no hope of winning her over.

"We are invited to dine with them tomorrow at Mrs. Philips'. There's your chance to woo her," Denny told him with a sly wink.

Wickham entered Mrs. Philips' parlour with a confident strut, ready to gain as many good favours as possible. He noticed that some important-looking matrons had been gathered for the present occasion and he knew all too well that the way to universal acceptance was palming as many of these octogenarians as possible.

He did not forget to compliment the hostess herself and profess humility at her invitation.

Mrs. Philips was delighted.

"You are too kind, Mr. Wickham."

"I believe it is you who have been gracious enough to allow me to partake in such fine society."

He knew the lines by heart, lines which he had learned from infancy. The only access into the world of the polished and refined was through carefully crafted words. Don't sound too obsequious, but make sure you flatter them.

All the while, he smiled and kissed hands and bowed down to whisper in the old ladies' ears and shook hands with their young, rosy-cheeked grandsons, but he felt empty, utterly empty and devoid of any kinship with these people.

The Bennet sisters were a respite. He had found from an early age that a beautiful woman, even a modestly pretty one, could cheer him up greatly.

Elizabeth Bennet had obviously dressed with care this evening and her eyes sparkled with delight upon seeing him. It would not be very hard to sway her; that is, if she knew nothing of him. And judging by her mien, she did not.

They had not sat down for long together, when he heard an awful music coming from the other end of the room.

He turned his head and he saw the reader from the day before; plain, insufferable Mary Bennet.

She was playing the piano and she was utterly dreadful at it. Perhaps not dreadful in technique, but the execution was horrendous and he ought to have known, for he had spent his childhood listening to Anne Darcy playing and she was a proficient. Much like Georgiana. But that was another story.

He couldn't help smirking at her obvious incompetence. He even felt a little gratified. It always fell on the plain ones to be "accomplished"; that is to embroider cushions, play quadrilles, paint insipid landscapes and speak mediocre Latin. If they couldn't be pretty, they had to be useful. It seemed this girl was neither.

Elizabeth apologized on behalf of her sister.

"Mary is a great study of music, but I do not know whether she is a great performer."

And yet, she kept on playing, for all throughout his conversation with Elizabeth, he heard the same dreadful music.

It was, after all, to his advantage that Darcy had ignored him the other day, for Elizabeth was from the beginning sympathetic towards him. She did not seem to like Darcy at all. And when she heard his tale, she grew quite outraged with the wealthy gentleman.

Wickham sighed in that practised way that always earned him a pardon from his regiment commander. "I suppose I cannot blame him for wishing me gone from his life. After all, it was his father who made the mistake of loving me more. Jealousy is only natural."

He was impressed with his own choice of words. Elizabeth and her natural charms inspired him. No one could say Wickham did not work hard for what he wanted. He had decided he wanted her affections, and he was determined to obtain them.

"How abominable! To refuse you your rights! To cast you off like a stranger!"

"It's a good thing I'm not very proud. Else I would have suffered the slight much worse. But as you can see, I recovered. All that ever kept me at Pemberley was Mr. Darcy, the senior. With his passing away, I was free to go. And I must say, I like my present situation and company much better."

Elizabeth smiled with great warmth.

"You are lucky your character is sound, for I don't know if I would have borne the injustice. But I am pleased that you are here among us."

"So am I."

He did not fear that Darcy would ever shed light upon the truth of the matter. He was a proud, fastidious man who never went out of his way to correct rumours. For years now he had told the same tale, and never had anyone contradicted him.

So much time had passed, he almost liked to think he was telling the truth. After all, Darcy deserved the slander.

Having so far secured Elizabeth's good opinion, he had next to find out how much she was worth. She was the daughter of a gentleman, that much he knew, but would she have a nice sum attached to her pretty face?

If it turned out she was rather poor, he would not mind too much. He was a democrat and he liked to make love to all the ladies who enticed him. The only difference was, he would settle down with a wealthy one.

He was enjoying the evening greatly. Kitty and Lydia (he had memorized their names with some difficulty) dragged him away from Elizabeth at length, but he did not mind, for he knew absence made the heart grow fonder.

The younger sisters wanted him and Denny to dance with them, which seemed rather absurd since there was no music to dance to. Mary Bennet was still playing her awful church hymns, or whatever they were.

As he drew close to the piano, he noticed that he was not the only one who disliked the playing. Some of the young men and ladies sitting in the vicinity threw her reproachful glances and wrinkled their noses. Even the elderly mothers frowned with boredom.

So, why is she still singing if no one likes it?

He watched her face more carefully, but she was still the same absent-eyed creature he had met the day before. Her indifference reigned supreme and she played as thoroughly she read.

And then it struck him.

She does not care.

She most likely thought her playing was excellent, judging from her supercilious expression. And she did not care a iota that no one else shared her opinion.

Wickham did not know whether to be annoyed or impressed.

Lydia begged her sister to play a jig or something more lively to amuse them, but Mary sniffed and decreed:

"There are at least two more movements left!"

So they all had to wait for her to finish her song, and only then did she deign, with a great heavy sigh, to play a weak little tune.

"Mind you, I take very little enjoyment in such trivial things," she spoke haughtily.

Wickham shook his head in amusement.

She acts as if she were the prettiest, most accomplished and wonderful person in the room.

As the floor was cleared and the pairs were formed, he also remarked how much better her playing was when she had to perform something she did not like. It was rather ironic.

But oddly enough, he knew on a base level, that he had met a kindred spirit. Someone like him. Someone who was devoid of empathy towards other people. Someone who thrived when she was made to act against her will. Someone selfish.

If only she had been prettier, she would have been just as successful as he.

But no, she was stuck with her poor features and sour personality.

Otherwise, they might have been cut from the same cloth.

As the evening drew to a close, he found little occasion to speak to Elizabeth again. Lydia had accosted him completely, and while he liked her well enough, he was not sure what to do with her. She was a child, by all means, and her womanly shapes could not hide that simple fact.

He did have occasion to witness Mr. Collins acting like a fool at the whist table. Plain Mary Bennet trailed after him towards the carriage, no doubt, hoping to catch his attention. Her blind confidence prevented her from seeing that her older sisters were much more desirable to the oafish cousin.

He did not pity her.

If she was like him, if she was heartless, then she did not need his pity. She would go on in life with the belief that she was the best creature there ever was.

Yet, it still did not sit well with him that she had ignored him.

He might afford to act the way he did, but a female?

On his way back to the inn, he wondered what it would be like to win her over. It would be like a match against himself. Well, he had never shied away from a challenge.