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Autumn, 803

Pemberley, Derbyshire

“How altered you are,” Lady Anne Darcy gasped as she looked between her younger son and her nephew. Captain Darcy had come up from London with his favourite cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam; the two men had just divested themselves of their greatcoats when Lady Anne appeared at the top of the grand staircase. She froze as the words tumbled from her lips and she stared at the two men with tears glistening in her eyes.

Georgiana was faster. She bounded down the steps two at a time and threw herself into Darcy’s arms, weeping as he caught her in an embrace. “Oh, Will!” When her tears were spent, she took a step back and regarded him with a bright smile.

“You are a woman grown,” Darcy blurted out, beaming with pride at his sister. “I cannot wait to hear of all your studies, for I understand you have grown quite accomplished.”

Georgiana smiled and gave a playful curtsey. “And you are grown so tan, and your hair is so long! I cannot wait to hear of your adventures!”

“And what fine muscles,” Richard cooed, giving Darcy’s arm a squeeze and making a coquettish pose. He smiled at his young cousin, eager for his share of her notice.

Georgiana gave Richard a droll smile. “I daresay you are much the same, cousin.”

“Eh?” Richard displayed the scar on the left side of his face before turning his bad ear away from her. “Well, what do you think of me now? Am I not as fine a specimen as Will? Battle hardened and twice as handsome?”

“It lends you a look of much distinction,” Georgiana agreed, her eyes lingering on the jagged line between his left eye and his ear, where a French bullet had grazed Richard’s skin, an inch away from killing him.

Lady Anne had reached the bottom of the stairs and slowly approached the son she had not spoken to in three long years. Darcy was overcome with emotion as she peered up at him, studying the changes in his countenance from the years he had been away. “Oh, my darling boy,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around him at last.

Darcy returned her embrace without any of the trepidation he had expected to feel at the moment of their reunion. “Mother.”

Wiping away tears, Lady Anne drew away and smiled at him. “I hope you are home for good, Will.”

“Mother,” he said, this time with a bit of an edge. He wished to at least refresh himself from travel before having that old argument. Perhaps after he had bathed and had a proper haircut.

Sensing the tension, Georgiana pasted on a brighter smile. “We have been going upstairs to look for you every quarter hour, I am sure! But now you must come into the drawing room, for we have such a surprise!”

Darcy offered one arm to his mother and the other to his sister as Richard strode ahead, leading the charge as ever. They passed through an open salon and then Richard and Lady Anne each opened one of the large wooden doors that led to the spacious drawing room. It was full of people.

At the back of the room, a large canvas banner had been hung up, displaying the message “Welcome Home Will” and adorned with various nautical images. Beneath it, more than a dozen friends and relations greeted him, ready to toast him with champagne. A footman appeared to offer a glass of the bubbly drink to Darcy and his companions as they moved into the room, and the Earl of Matlock stepped forward to make a speech.

“Welcome back to England, my dear boy. After four long years of victory at sea, we hope the final triumph shall be ours in keeping you here to enjoy the bounty of your family. God Almighty has kept you alive, fortune has favoured you, and now it is our turn to delight you – and should you find life back in Derbyshire not to your liking, I am certain there is a place for you in Bedlam!”

Laughter rippled through the room, and even Darcy chortled as he met the gaze of his brother Marcus, who bounded over in long strides and clapped Darcy on the shoulder. “Will, you handsome devil! You look well. It is damned good to see you, old chap. What do you think of our banner? Georgie’s idea – we all painted a bit of it. I did the anchor there, and Georgie painted the boat, that abomination beside it is Aunt Isabel’s miserable attempt at some sort of horrible sea creature….”

“It is most overpowering,” Darcy said, thinking more of the large party themselves than their handiwork. “I had not expected such a welcome.”

“Oh come, now, you must know we have all longed to see you safely back at home where you belong,” Marcus said brightly. He looked as if he would say more, but they were beset by all the other well-wishers that had gathered to greet the courageous captain.

The Earl and his daughter Lady Amelia, his Aunt Isabel and her husband Lord Russell, the Viscount and his wife, George Wickham, Bingley and his step-sister Caroline Bingley, and Pemberley’s nearest neighbours the Tafts all took a turn exchanging kind words with Darcy. He was not as gregarious as Marcus and their friend Bingley, but Darcy spoke to them all with sincere gratitude, despite his shock and exhaustion.

When the great throng of people around him parted, Darcy finally saw his father. The elder Mr. Darcy has been frail since the stroke that had almost taken his life five years past, but Darcy was stunned by his father’s frailty. Seated by the fire in a bath chair, buried in blankets and looking ashen and listless, George Darcy offered his son a weak smile.

Darcy gave him a nod, old resentment mingling with the pain of seeing his father so feeble. For a moment the din of their party lulled, and Darcy was struck by the instinctive realisation that his father was dying.

***

Dinner was an elegant and energetic affair. The meal lasted for nearly two hours, and decorum had been set aside as eighteen lively companions all vied for Darcy’s attention, eager to be regaled with thrilling tales of his adventures. Only his father was silent; even Hurst was more interested in the entertainment at the table than the food on his plate.

Darcy did his best to oblige them as they plied him with questions. He had been chided by his fellow officers for his reticence, and even in school had been notoriously awkward in society. Happily, Richard was seated at his left side and was ready to supply anecdotes of his own exploits when Darcy’s perfunctory responses failed to delight them all sufficiently.

Much to Darcy’s relief, and even to his mounting suspicion, Marcus eventually turned the topic of conversation to Bingley’s upcoming journey to Hertfordshire. Bingley was content to ignore the fine cuisine before them as he waxed poetic on the perfection of Netherfield Park, the picturesque scenery of the county, the quaint little village of Meryton, the charming new friend he had made in Captain Oliver Lucas, and the promise of finding the neighbouring families to be everything charming.

Predictably, Miss Bingley sneered at everything her step-brother said, and the lady did not hesitate to make her own sentiments known. “I am sure it is just the same as any other provincial little backwater. At least it is an easy distance from London and all our friends in the first circles there – perhaps we may invite them if we wish to have any good society. We might make a little house party of it,” she said, glancing at Marcus as if she hoped to impress him with her snobbery.

Darcy schooled his countenance as he watched his brother endure Miss Bingley’s preening. She had hoped to catch the heir to Pemberley when she first came out, despite Marcus’s long-standing engagement to his cousin Anne de Bourgh. And now, still single after five seasons, she appeared determined to redouble her efforts.

Though he was no fool when it came to fortune hunters, Marcus never seemed to mind Miss Bingley. Darcy could only suppose it was due to his brother’s easy, affable manners, and his affection for Charles Bingley. Darcy had not the same level of regard for either of the Bingleys.

Though he was fond of Charles Bingley, and had called him a friend since their days at Eton, only Marcus could match the fellow’s boundless enthusiasm. Still, Darcy liked him very well, and knew that Bingley esteemed him and Marcus in equal measure. Miss Bingley, though! Darcy had a harder time than his brother or hers in overlooking the constant coquetry. Like so many young ladies with looks and accomplishments enough to recommend them, she sought to raise herself through putting down others, as she would likely do to the entire country of Hertfordshire. Darcy pitied the other young ladies in the area, for they would find no friend in Caroline Bingley.

When Darcy could no longer bear to watch that harpy attempt to get her claws in his brother, he began to observe a conversation on the other end of the table, as was his usual tendency at large dinners. His mother had not been idle in his absence, it seemed – he could see that she was in the midst of some tenderhearted scheme to make a match between George Wickham and the fetching Miss Taft.

Darcy knew little of the girl, beyond that she was a distant relation of old Mrs. Taft, who resided at the estate her son neglected while he debauched himself in London. He suspected she must have some dowry, for Wickham’s income at Kympton allowed a single man to live in a style befitting George Darcy’s godson, but such an income would necessitate a reduction of luxuries in order to support a family, unless he married prudently. And by the way Mrs. Taft was eyeing her host, it was clear she believed her ward was being courted by a man who might soon inherit a sum of his own.

The elder Mr. Darcy did not remain for brandy and cigars when the ladies withdrew. He shook hands with his youngest son and grumbled his pleasure at seeing Darcy home safely, and he and the earl left the younger men to their leisure. The Viscount retired early as his wife had expressed a wish to do the same, and Wickham had followed Miss Taft into the drawing room intent on wooing her.

Darcy was left with his brother, Richard, and Bingley. He breathed a sigh of relief into the silence and sipped his brandy as the aromatic cigar smoke swirled around him. His companions all laughed.

“After tonight, he will not wish to speak to anybody for a week,” Marcus teased.

“I can think of a dozen people at least who will give him no respite,” Richard guffawed.

“It is respite indeed to be home,” Darcy said, realising too late that he has spoken far too seriously. “But I am grateful for the warm welcome. I had rather feared – well….”

“As if Mamma could ever stay cross with her darling boy for long,” Marcus quipped.

“She did a good job of it all these years,” Darcy replied.

“Yes, but now you are home,” Marcus said, and there was a shift about him as he set his drink down. Their companions looked on in sudden solemnity as Marcus continued. “We mean to keep you this time, Will. You have made a decent fortune, you have your ten thousand from our grandmother, and we are at war, now. Napoleon almost took Richard from us – I know I need not say it would kill Father to lose you.”

“I have no wish to be some idle second son,” Darcy replied. “We have taken several vessels just since May – another year or two and I shall be able to buy an estate of my own.”

“Another year or two and you could be a corpse, which is a far worse fate than being a second son,” Richard drawled, tapping at his scar.

“And I have no intention of allowing you to be idle,” Marcus replied. “It has not been easy being the elder son at present. Would that I had had the good sense to tarry an hour longer in the womb, and both Pemberley and Rosings would be your burden to bear. Father has not been able to do much to help here these past few years, and Lady Catherine never did anything prudent in her dealings at Rosings. I would ask you to stay, if not for your own sake, then for mine.”

Darcy was struck by the gravity of what his brother was saying. It had naturally crossed his mind during his years at sea that his brother must face many challenges in handling the greater share of management of two estates separated by hundreds of miles, but it was what Marcus had been raised to do. For all their lives, Marcus had been groomed to be master of Pemberley, and they had long known that Rosings would inevitably become an additional responsibility for the eldest Darcy son.

Despite a mere hour separating them in age, Darcy had ever admired his brother; Marcus exceeded him in so many ways that Darcy had never doubted his brother’s capability in anything. This sudden admission of Marcus’s fallibility was jarring for Darcy. He was at once filled with pity for what Marcus had suffered, and guilt in allowing him to bear such a burden for so long.

“Of course,” Darcy said with a sombre nod of his head.

Marcus blinked at him, and pursed his lips for a moment before speaking. “And this is all the reply I am to expect? Good God, Will, I had expected more from you after all the difficulty you have given us these last four years.”

“By this you mean that I have disobliged the family by choosing the profession most to my taste, and should now apologise? I knew myself to be ill-suited to half the limited options for second sons to remain respectable. I am no great orator – to become a parson or a barrister would have served nobody’s best interests. My choice was the navy or the army, and I do not repent my decision. Even our uncle, Lord Russell, supported my career. However, your argument for my present course of action remains sound, and I shall agree. I will resign my commission and do what I can to assist you.”

Marcus leaned back in his seat and took a long draught of his brandy before fixing Darcy with a contemplative gaze. “I suppose that is all I have any right to expect from you.”

“I had no idea Father was so….” Darcy sighed.

Marcus nodded sadly. “I still hold out some hope that he will improve. It has pained him to know you to be in perpetual danger, just as it has pained him that I capitulated to Lady Catherine’s demand I marry Anne and take on Rosings. He has been imagining us both as being on sinking ships.”

Richard clapped Darcy on the back. “Never too late for a reversal of fate, eh? Come now, Bingley looks as if he may pass out if we persist in all this seriousness. I know I share his wish to speak of happier subjects, such as this journey to Hertfordshire. What a fair prospect!”

Darcy knit his brow and looked at Marcus. “I thought you wished me to stay here and assist you.”

“And as you say, you have not been brought up as I have, trained in such matters,” Marcus replied. “From what Bingley tells me of Netherfield, it seems a good place for you to learn alongside our friend. I should much prefer to teach you both all that you need to know, away from Pemberley for a while. I confess I am in need of a change of scenery, and it is not as if Pemberley can get much worse while I am away.”

“We have thought of everything,” Bingley said with a sly grin. “You must all come and divert yourselves with me while we apply ourselves to the betterment of our abilities, Darcy. You have all earned it far more than I have.”

“But what of Pemberley?”

Richard grinned at Darcy. “We really have considered every aspect. Your father will never trust any steward to be up to snuff, as he keeps old Wickham on such a pedestal. But my father has offered to meet with the steward here every week that we are away, and as for Rosings – well, it shall be no worse off than it ever has been.”

“And there is another inducement for us to be away, beyond your promise to Bingley to join him in Hertfordshire,” Marcus said. “Lady Catherine means to sponsor our cousin Lady Amelia when she comes out in a few months; preparing her for this has given our aunt something to do beyond grieve for her daughter. But with you back, Will, she has already begun talking of another grand family marriage.”

As Darcy groaned, Bingley looked so astonished he nearly spat out his drink. Collecting himself, he said, “But Lady Amelia is an angel! I know better than to aim so high myself, for surely Lady Catherine would cut me into pieces if I presumed – but I think her a charming girl. How could you object to such perfection, Will?”

“Perfection is boring,” Richard answered on Darcy’s behalf. “My sister is committed to being quite perfect, and therefore she is as dull as she is vexing. She has plagued my heart out since I was twelve years old, and I should never wish her upon any man I hold in regard.”

Marcus smirked. “And demanding that Will do something is the surest way to set him on the opposite course. Lady Catherine will be pushing Amelia at him until we depart for Netherfield, and writing letters with her demands long after we leave, which will likely mean that Will shall fall in love with some country miss without fortune or connection.”

Darcy could not disagree with his cousin's opinion of Lady Amelia, nor would he argue against his brother’s estimation of his own obstinance. “There is a stubbornness about me that can never be frightened at the will of others,” he said with a wry smile. “While I am willing to do what family and honour dictate by helping Marcus in any way that I can, I shall never capitulate to Lady Catherine or anybody else when I make my choice of bride – and I do not think that event likely to occur while we are in Hertfordshire.”

Marcus shrugged. “Rosings would benefit from the right sort of mistress. Lady Catherine would prefer it be someone already in her thrall; for your sake and mine, I desire quite the reverse. I hope you do find some lively country girl who will put our aunt in her place, which is the dower house.”

As Richard and Bingley guffawed, Darcy looked curiously at his brother. “Rosings?”

“Damn, Will, what did you think we were speaking of? I have told you I cannot manage two estates, and I shall not give you Pemberley. My daughter will not come of age for another eighteen years. We shall work out some arrangement – you may need to make some initial investment to undo the damage done by our aunt’s decades of incompetence, but you will have ample time to share in the profits, and purchase a place of your own once little Lou is married and settled at Rosings. I still hold onto some hope of passing Pemberley to a son of my own.”

Darcy gave a thoughtful nod as he pondered his brother’s offer. “Rosings has been haemorrhaging funds since before I left England. If you have not been able to turn things around in four years, what can I possibly hope to accomplish?”

“Come now, Will,” Bingley cried. “I mean to learn all I can at Netherfield, and I have every expectation of you being a far superior pupil.”

“He is right,” Marcus said. “You have not been completely kept in ignorance of how estates are run, and you are exceedingly intelligent. As I said, I mean to ask you to make an initial investment, but you shall have eighteen years to recover your capital once the land is profitable again. A lot might be done with a thousand acres. And you shall have the interest from your inheritance to live on. Grandmother put it in the four percents, and four hundred a year is not impossible for a bachelor to live on – or you might make a prudent match.”

“A mercenary match,” Darcy scoffed.

Richard downed his drink and poured another with a roguish grin. “There may be some pretty heiress in Hertfordshire – perhaps one for each of us, as I am facing retirement without any prize money or inheritance, nor the promise of an estate being handed to me.”

“Either of you are quite welcome to take Caroline off my hands,” Bingley said with a sheepish laugh. “She has never preferred second sons, but Will has property now, and Richard’s connection to the earl is not nothing.”

Richard laughed. “Well, I have little expectations of being admired for my looks – I suppose that will have to do.”

“As I said, I have no plans for matrimony at present,” Darcy said.

“You have been away at sea all this time and you do not wish to find a pretty woman and….” Bingley waggled his brows as he made a suggestive gesture.

“That has never been his way,” Marcus drawled, shaking his head. “Nor mine, I suppose – I did not marry for love or even beauty. The second time around, I wish to do so, but I am of Will’s opinion; I have no interest in such things at present. The fair ladies of the county shall be all yours, Richard.”

“But we all know Bingley will have fallen for some angel within a fortnight,” Richard japed. “I daresay I cannot compete with him, except where one particular lady is concerned.”

“My step-sister! Yes, woo her and wed her and carry her off,” Bingley cried. He poured them all another drink and raised his glass. “A toast to the fair ladies of Hertfordshire! For it is a truth universally acknowledged that a pretty woman in a country village must be in want of a suitor!”