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Chapter One

“Pray tell, why are you upside down? Why are you upside down? For what purpose did you invert yourself?”

The little girl grinned and wriggled as Darcy held her out, one hand gripping both of her ankles.

Turning Emily around to face Lord Matlock, Darcy said to his uncle, “I made a fine catch when I was fishing in the pond today. Large and tasty, though oddly shaped for a trout. What species do you suppose it might be?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes. “It is disgusting the way you dote on her.”

“Is she still delighted?” Darcy asked, as he couldn’t see her face while she was hanging down and facing Lord Matlock.

“Just put her down. She clearly wants to scamper about,” Lord Matlock said. “We have matters to talk about.”

Darcy flipped Emily up, holding her in her normal position cradled against his side and asked, “Em-Em, do you want down?”

The little girl squirmed and threw her weight over Darcy’s arms, so he let her down, lowering her to her feet.

She immediately toddled in her curious wide stride over to the wooden Noah’s ark set, with a big boat and nearly twenty finely carved animals that Lord Matlock had made for Emily to play with when she was in this study. They were made with unpainted, polished wood, as comments in Edgeworth’s Practical Education on the dangers of children, inevitably, sucking at the lead in the paint on their toys had convinced him to ban painted objects from Emily’s surroundings.

In contravention of what he had been informed was a universal infant tradition, Emily had not, so far as Darcy had ever seen, sucked on anything that she’d received since she’d begun to walk. She was too enthused by her actual food to bother with the inedible.

“It's made me happy to see how you play with her,” Lord Matlock said. “No standing on your dignity with the child. Just a proper effort to humour her. I’d expected you to be too much like your father.”

“What do you mean?” Darcy replied, not sure whether to be offended by this statement on his own behalf, or on that of his excellent father. “I have forgotten neither my dignity, my pride, nor even my place as a Darcy in the slightest.”

Richard laughed. “Course you have not, old boy. Papa didn’t think anything of that sort.”

“I assure you,” Darcy replied, holding his head high and straight, “there is nothing so ridiculous as to think that it is unmanly to make a child laugh, or to show a real concern for the doings of the nursery. I should rather be ashamed to care too much for my horse and my hunting dogs than to show an intent interest in my own daughter.”

As he spoke Darcy kept half an eye on Emily as she picked up the animals one by one before carefully putting them back, all facing the same direction. He worried that she might wander towards the fire grate with its low banked embers kept dangerously hot behind the painted Japanese screens. At present, matters were less nerve wracking than when she’d begun to crawl everywhere during winter, and any time she came within ten feet of a fireplace or stove, no matter how well guarded it was, his mind insisted on imagining how badly she would be burned if she heedlessly hurled herself into the blaze.

“By Jove and Jupiter,” Richard laughed and held his hands up defensively, “The father has an equal interest to that of the mother in the welfare of the child. I know, I know. You have spoken upon the topic with such frequency that I begin to wonder if you mean to convince yourself rather than us.”

“The habits of our present day are in general not sensible, and—”

“Jove,” Lord Matlock expostulated. “I will throw a shoe at your head if you begin to preach about the virtues of raising children according to nature.”

Darcy laughed. “One ought to act both to satisfy the dictates of nature, and of society. But I do not—”

“Rank nonsense, all of it. Just act as you know in your heart you ought to with the child, and that is sufficient. You see that.”

Darcy frowned. “I have put a great deal of thought into my management of Emily, and—”

“Pa, Pa, Pa!” Emily ran up to him and shoved the carved tiger towards his face.

“It is a tiger,” Darcy said seriously, squatting to be closer to her eye level.

She looked between her father and the figurine, made a small cheerful roar, grinned, and ran back to the ark and its many animals.

“What do you mean I am unlike my father? He was the best of men. An excellent man,” Darcy returned to the previous conversation.

“Excellent man, but too serious with you and Georgiana,” Lord Matlock said. “He seldom held you or played with you. In his view the duty of the parent was not to make the child laugh, but rather to ensure he was disciplined, and that his habits were formed correctly.”

“I will see to it that Emily’s habits are moulded properly.”

“It’s blood,” Lord Matlock replied. “Blood drives what the adult becomes. That and chance. What the parent does is but a small part of it, so all you’ve left to do is make the child happy.”

“You can see,” Richard said, laughing, “the dangers of such a philosophy in how I have turned out.”

Both Darcy and his father rolled their eyes.

“I do not think that what the parent does is of as little importance as what you suggest,” Darcy replied. “And—”

“When will you stop wearing that ridiculous black armband?” Lord Matlock interrupted. “ We all know you are not so torn up by Anne as to justify it for more than a year after she died. No dishevelment. You don’t drink to excess. You don’t read more poetry than you ever did. And—”

As he was justified in interrupting his uncle, since his uncle had just interrupted him, Darcy said, “I read a great many nursery rhymes to Emily.”

His uncle replied with an unamused stare, “The point to which my conversation aims is that you are not a sodden widow who was a virgin on her wedding night and has gained overwrought sensibilities from too many novels written by other sad women. Marry again. For your own sake. For Emily’s sake. For the sake of your position.”

“I do not need to marry again — don’t go there, Em-Em!” When the girl continued to make her tottering way towards the fire screens Darcy took three long strides, scooped the girl up, and nibbled at her stomach.

She giggled loudly.

“She could not seriously burn herself with the embers,” Richard objected.

Darcy glared at him.

“They are mostly dead,” Richard repeated.

“Dead is such a pleasant word,” Darcy replied sarcastically.

“As much as you insist on mothering your child,” Lord Matlock said, “ She would benefit from an actual mother, and you still need an heir to Pemberley.”

“You are not also insistent on having the blood of the earls of Matlock join Rosings and Pemberley together in one great estate?”

Lord Matlock snorted. “I thought you had barely talked to Cathy since the babe was born.”

“Those few conversations were memorable.” Particularly the three hours that he’d allowed the grieving mother — though she did not show it through tears, nor through words of grief — demand that the child either be named Cathy or Anne, after one of her grandmothers. Anne’s own wishes be damned. The fact that the baptism had already been registered, also be damned. The family tradition was to name the first daughter after a beloved relative, and so they should with Darcy’s daughter.

Lord Matlock shrugged, “A son to inherit Pemberley would have a Fitzwilliam grandmother. One is sufficient. As a matter of policy, I disapprove of it when estates in different counties are held by the same persons. Better for the country if the major manors are each owned by a family resident, rather than visiting on occasion from their primary seat.”

Darcy put Emily back down, and she immediately started towards the painted screens again. He firmly took her hand, and said, “You may examine the paintings, but only so long as you hold my hand.”

He had no idea if she understood him — sometimes she seemed to have a clear sense of what was spoken around her, but not always. However, the girl did not protest as they walked over.

“Eh, let him be,” Richard said. “He wouldn’t be able to find a woman who'd be as womanly as he is about the child.”

“Death by falling into a fireplace is not an infrequent occurrence.”

“Neither is it frequent, especially not if the child is supervised at all, which she is,” Lord Matlock said. “I’ve drawn up with Frances a list of eligible women who you might meet. Pretty girls. All with excellent families and connections. Ordinarily one must look lower for a second marriage, but since any son would still be the heir of Pemberley, I do not think we must worry much upon that score.”

“Tall, handsome, rich and the women will attribute his ordinary dour nature to brooding on the death of his beloved wife,” Richard said. “Ah, to be like Darcy! I would marry in a week if I were in his shoes. Jove.”

“You would not,” Lord Matlock replied. “Dicky, I know you too well.”

“I thank you for your efforts on my behalf,” Darcy began in a firm voice, “However, I — yes, yes, darling, that is a tiger.”

Emily replied, “Didadadi!”

Darcy echoed back, “Didedidi — dearest, go play with the ark again.”

She plastered her arms around Darcy’s legs, which was the girl’s habitual signal to be picked up.

So, Darcy did as requested, and he picked her up. Then he turned back to his uncle and said firmly, “I shall not marry again. I determined this immediately upon Anne’s death.”

“Not marry again!” Lord Matlock thundered. “You were not in love with the girl. Anne was sweet, but I could see how you looked at her. As a woman, you weren’t—”

“I beg you not to speak on that topic,” Darcy said coldly. “And I beg you to burn your list. I shall not marry again. I have ignored your previous hints upon the matter, but now that you have been clear upon the subject, I have been clear in turn.”

Lord Matlock and Richard looked between each other.

Emily settled in Darcy’s arms, and by what had by now become a long habit, he continuously put a small bounce in the way he held her. This did less to keep her entertained and quiet than it had in the early months before she could crawl.

“When he is so certain in his course, I know I can’t change his mind,” Richard said solemnly. “I hardly know a fellow who has a greater pleasure in refusing to let his mind be changed than Darcy.”

“Yes,” Matlock replied, “but one might still evince curiosity upon the source of such a resolution.”

Darcy thought about Anne.

Anne had been too good for this world. Anne, who he had never loved as he ought to have, who he had never protected as he ought to have. He should have protected her from her desire to do her duty.

And he remembered those occasional horrifying thoughts that had risen to his consciousness before the birth — if she died, he might marry a woman whose person he could really admire. A woman who he married because he wished to, and not because his mother had begged him to marry her on her own deathbed.

And he thought of Anne as she bled to death. He remembered Anne’s voice when she asked him to promise her that he would marry again, this time to please himself.

He’d known then that he would never let himself marry once more. He did not deserve to be happy in that way.

And caring for Emily was all the joy and happiness he would ever need.

“One might inquire,” Darcy replied, putting all the dignity and hauteur he had learned from watching his father, into his tone, “but I shall make no reply.”

“Oh! And now I am curious,” Richard replied, hopping up, his eyes alight. “Oh, yes, very curious. Do not look at me that way. I am not my father. I can wrestle you down and dunk your head in a pond.”

“You could not.”

“I’ve already done it at least a dozen times.”

“The two years you have on me no longer give you a physical advantage.”

“Children,” Lord Matlock said. “We are in London, I believe the nearest large pond is Hyde Park. Much too great of a walk.”

“There is a small puddle, barely deserving the name ‘pond’ in the square a few blocks towards St. Peters,” Richard replied. “It would do splendidly to — Oh! I have a theory.”

Darcy looked at his cousin. Who looked back at him.

The two gentlemen stared at each other for a long second, until Emily squirmed to be let down once again.

“Jove and Jupiter,” Richard said, “Darcy, you are a fool, but you shall not listen to me — no Papa, I’ll not tell you. You must convince Darcy to explain his reasoning himself if you wish to hear it, and I doubt he shall.”

Lord Matlock shrugged. “And you have no thought that it might benefit Emily to have a mother? Or that does not stand against your reasons.”

“I have given this great thought,” Darcy said. “There is nothing that a woman can do which a man cannot do also. Better likely. Did you not read Plato? And furthermore—”

“This is why education in the great classics is harmful. It fills the minds of the young with stupidities: The Republic is not a reliable guide for raising children,” Lord Matlock replied sharply.

Darcy had to smile at his uncle’s tone. “There is nothing important which Emily lacks because I am not a woman.”

“Do you somehow?” Richard tapped on his waistcoat above his nipple. “I’d been given to understand that is an important matter.”

“Anne never intended to suckle the child, and, obviously, if I remarried, the woman would not be able to suckle her. And her wetnurse is a fine respectable person, of a family who has lived on the estate for generations.”

“In that case,” Richard replied, “ I am wholly satisfied by the wisdom of your plans.”

“Besides, is it not well known that often the stepmother behaves abominably towards the older child, favouring her own excessively?”

Lord Matlock waved that consideration away. “I imagine it rarely is the same as the child being of their own blood, but when I have seen such families, nine times out of ten no difficulty arises when there was an attempt to be discriminating when settling upon a bride.”

“By your calculations, I would face one chance in ten that this would be a significant issue? And that is not worth worrying upon?” Darcy replied. “I begin to understand your lack of concern with the fire.”

“Do not take such a tart tone. You are still my nephew. Life is full of chances and unexpected happenings. The advantages of a course of action must always be weighed against the disadvantages, and to ignore a profitable course because there are risks to it is the behaviour of a fool and a coward, and you are neither.”

Emily looked up from her toys and glanced between the adults.

Darcy sighed. “It is not the fear of such a risk which drives me to this determination. It is… it would not be right. Do not demand I explain. But I shall not be moved.”

Lord Matlock held his eye for several heartbeats. “Oh well. On to other topics.” He turned to Richard, smiling. “And when,” he asked in a rolling tone, “do you intend to find a wife for yourself, dear son? You are older than Darcy, and—”

“Oh my.” Richard leapt out of his comfortable seat. “Do look at the time!” He fumbled as he pulled his watch out from his pocket and dropped it bouncing over to Emily. She picked it up. After turning it around three times, she politely handed it back to Richard when he knelt next to her and asked, “Miss Emily, I really am in a great hurry to be anywhere else, might you return my watch?”

Darcy laughed at him. “I thought you believed I should marry.”

“You? Yes. But I’ll not listen to Papa lecture me on my need to give him additional grandchildren. Good day.”

Lord Matlock laughed. “Young bucks. Never listen to their elders.”

Picking up Emily, Darcy followed Richard and his uncle out into the hallway and across to the drawing room. It was about time to finish his visit in any case.

Georgiana and her companion Mrs. Younge sat next to each other on the sofa while Lady Matlock sat to the side, with a dissatisfied air as she tapped on the side of her teacup.

His sister had a pale and peaked look, though she brightened on seeing Emily and her brother.

Darcy put Emily down, and she ran over to Georgiana screeching in joy as she went.

Georgiana smiled, picked her up, and kissed the girl’s hair. Then when Lady Matlock said something to Emily, she hid her face in Georgiana’s chest.

Unlike Lord Matlock, Emily had not so far warmed to Darcy’s aunt. Darcy rather understood why — she was a formidable woman, who presently studied him like a hawk might.

Lord Matlock caught her eye on entering the room and shook his head. “No luck. Fitzwilliam is determined to be his own woman. I mean man.”

The reply from his wife was a grimace. “Darcy, this period when your sister shall be setting up her own establishment in Ramsgate — a plan I do not approve of. She is not sensible enough for such responsibility—” Georgiana’s lips thinned, and she bounced Emily more roughly, and did not put the girl down immediately when she started squirming to be put down, instead only letting the girl to the ground when she started crying.

Darcy was also not certain that Georgiana was sensible enough for such a responsibility — even though Mrs. Younge had insisted nearly since she had been employed that it would do her charge good.

If Anne was still alive, Darcy would have talked the issue through with her until he was settled in his own mind on whether it was a good scheme. But without her he had no one, except occasionally Richard, who he felt comfortable speaking with when he was simply unsure about his course.

Without paying attention to Georgiana’s evident frustration, Lady Matlock continued her harangue of Darcy, “You have a duty to your name, to your estate, and to your daughter to marry again. And this is an excellent time to begin meeting potential brides without the full pressure of the season. I have seven different women who—”

“I will not marry again. Georgie, are you ready to go?”

She nodded.

“Darcy,” Lady Matlock said intently, “you are a man who always does your duty. I expected you to see that this was a matter of duty.”

Anne’s words echoed again in his head: Marry to please yourself, to make your own heart happy.

She had deserved better.

“I always attend to my duty. But it is my place, as a free man, to determine what I see my duty to be, and how I shall act to fulfil it — Georgiana, Emily, come.”

“I’ll follow with you,” Richard said, looking at the sour expression on his mother’s face. “Seems best.”

As it was only half a mile, they’d walked across fashionable London to visit his uncle rather than taking the carriage. Georgiana and Mrs. Younge lined up next to each other on the sidewalk, with Mrs. Younge speaking cheerfully to his sister about the promised delights she’d enjoy now that the delayed trip to Ramsgate was finally settled, while Darcy walked quietly next to Richard.

At first Emily wanted to be down so that she could climb up, down and around on the front steps of every townhouse they passed on the road. But then she turned to him and grabbed his legs. Darcy picked her up, and immediately she leaned her head against his chest in a manner that suggested that the irregular time of her current once-daily nap might be upon them.

After some minutes of silence, Richard glanced backwards to see how close Mrs. Younge and Georgiana were. Then he tilted his head close to Darcy and said quietly, “This is not the way.”

The only proper reply was a small shrug.

“Anne loved you and she was happy. This is not how she would have wished you to act.”

Darcy did not even bother to shrug this time.

“Jove!” Richard shook his head. “Fool. But with your habits, I imagine you would not even know what to do with yourself if you did not make such an effort to drown yourself in guilt and duty.”

“Duty is duty,” Darcy replied sharply.

“Guilt is not a duty.” Richard placed an uncomfortably familiar hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “My dear cousin, I beg you. Realize that.”

A voice called out, “Hullo! Hullo! Darcy, I know that is you. Hullo!”

“Bingley,” Darcy replied smiling. He was not at all displeased to have the conversation interrupted. He had an odd sense that Richard was right, but he did not wish to consider that possibility, as though his cousin was right, and that wallowing in guilt was a manner of passing the time for him.

Darcy offered his free hand, which was his left, to shake. Bingley grinned and shook Darcy’s hand with his usual cheery vigour. He was dressed in a bright blue coat with a slightly too elaborate cravat.

“Very well, very well.” Bingley exclaimed, “You all look very well!”

“We are,” Darcy replied. “And you?”

Emily, who had not quite fallen asleep, looked at Darcy’s friend with brilliant big eyes.

“Exceedingly well. Leased an estate. Just a few weeks past. Is this the little girl? ‘Pon my honour! She is twice as big as she was in the spring. Three times as big!”

“Hardly that much,” Darcy replied. “But from the frequency with which we must replace her clothes, I cannot be surprised that you have such an impression.”

“Three times as big. I’d wager my whole fortune on the point,” Bingley repeated. “Hello, little one.”

Emily immediately buried her head in Darcy’s shoulder.

“Does she not like me anymore?” Bingley laughed as he faked a pout. “And to think I held her when she was merely four months old.”

“Emily,” Darcy asked dryly, “what do you have to say to that?”

She hid deeper in Darcy’s coat and wrapped her hand around the silk of his waistcoat.

“It seems,” Richard said, “that is not a consideration which drives her. Changeable creatures, the very young.”

“Without a doubt,” Bingley said. “I always found my little cousins quite odd. But then I only saw them once a year, if that often.”

“Where is this estate that you’ve leased?” Darcy had a slight concern that the case would prove that his friend had been taken advantage of.

“Yes, yes! In Hertfordshire. Not thirty miles from London, fine hunting grounds, excellent park. Good solid construction. Marble facade and red brick. Excellent rooms — fine place for entertaining. I paced out the principal rooms, and in one you could fit five and ten dancing couples, without too much squeezing. The look of the neighbourhood was fine as well. And I’ve been told that it is an excellent price for the rent.”

“Was it your agent or the lessor’s who told you that?”

Bingley laughed and flapped his hand dismissively. “A sum I can easily afford, whether an excellent price or not — You must visit,” Bingley exclaimed twice. “All of you, Georgie too! Hello, Georgie.”

Georgiana looked down and shyly said, “Hello, Mr. Bingley, you look very well.”

His sister had a blush that made Darcy wonder if she might have a touch of an infatuation for his friend.

It made no difference to Darcy if she did — he would like such a match, but even if it meant the loss of such a chance, he did not intend to introduce his sister to society for at least another two years. Anne’s death had convinced him of many things. And one was this: A girl ought to have a decent portion of life spent unmarried before risking the dangers of the marriage bed.

“Well, Darcy? Do you wish to visit? I can promise dancing, and conversation, and pool, and fencing, and hunting, and an excellent neighbourhood. I’ve just come up to London to collect a party to bring with me for a ball in a few days. Colonel Fitzwilliam, can I count on you? There are never enough gentlemen at these events, these days. Come down tomorrow.”

Darcy’s instincts rebelled against making any substantial change in his plans on a short notice. But that was a habit of thought he had recognized in himself as a flaw, and not wisdom. He asked himself: Had a visit to Bingley’s new estate been the settled scheme for a month entire, would he be happy today that the visit was to begin in another day or two?

Georgiana would leave for Ramsgate tomorrow, and this way he would be far closer to her if she wished to see him and Emily than if he returned to Pemberley in a week as planned, and there was no pressing business anywhere for another few months.

He’d felt an odd disinclination to be at Pemberley since Anne died. This was only surpassed by his reluctance to visit Rosings, even though it was his responsibility to see that Anne’s birthright kept under good management by her grandmother.

“I’ll come,” Darcy said. “You say Hertfordshire? How far from the North Road?”

“Not bad at all. Not at all. Six or seven miles from Meryton to the turnpike.”

Darcy turned to Georgiana. “Then we’ll both part from London in our separate directions, tomorrow.”

“You’ll not join us?” Bingley exclaimed. He gasped and pressed his hand against his chest. “The whole plan is now bereft of light.”

The overly dramatic tone conjured a real laugh from Georgiana. She then looked down and shook her head, while blushing.

Mrs. Younge twisted her bracelet round her arm repeatedly. “Miss Darcy and I have a long planned trip to settle at Ramsgate for three months. We ought not delay it again.”

“The beach and the roaring surf are chosen above me? The sound of the pounding waves and squawking seagulls above my conversation.” Bingley pressed a hand against his forehead. “I thought I could make friends so easily—” Seeing that Georgiana looked concerned at his theatrics, Bingley quickly added, “I am certain you will have a fine time, and we shall meet again during the season. Excellent. And Lady Emily will no doubt serve as an ample recompense for your absence — ah but she is asleep, and unable to hear my exclamations upon her excellence. Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

“I have pressing business hounding the war department to ensure they will send enough men to make up our complement, and the guns and powder required for training,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. “And then I must rejoin my regiment at its camp within a week.”

“Dash it all! The light taken from the plan once more!”

Colonel Fitzwilliam peered at Bingley in a manner which clearly said that while such jokes might impress, or torment, a callow schoolgirl like Georgiana, they would move a gentleman and an officer not at all.

“But at least I’ll have you, Darcy. Guests!” Bingley rubbed his hands in delight. “The house is a delight. The neighbourhood is a delight. The whole world, I dare say, is a delight.”

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