Chapter 1

The attics of Pemberley house were far larger than those of most great estates. The upper rooms had somewhat of a musty smell, although they looked clean enough. Cases and trunks from generations of Darcy families were placed about within; some concealing treasured possessions, long forgotten by the present owners of the place. Elizabeth Darcy had let herself through the door by using the keys she had been given upon taking up residence as the mistress of the manor. She had gone round to every room in the house, trying the locks, until she discovered that this particular key fit into the lock of an attic door.

A small stream of light shone through the undersize windows, yet there was enough light for Elizabeth to see her way through the trove of belongings. Given her curious nature, she was certain there would be no harm in opening a trunk or two and examining the contents. She was eager for a hint of her husband's family and of his childhood; she had always been curious to know what he had been like and how he had lived. He had admitted to being tall and gangly, or "all legs" as his mother had said of him, evident from the portrait of himself and his mother hanging in the library that had been painted during the early summer of his eleventh year.

Darcy had, at all times, been extraordinarily quiet on other aspects of his childhood and adolescence. Thus far, he had spoken mostly of Elizabeth, saying barely a word about himself, nary a story to satisfy Elizabeth's ardent interest. Elizabeth knew only that he had been left at the age of three and twenty with the duty of a great estate and the responsibility of a young sister to care for, as well as the loneliness of being a young man without the benefit or counsel of parents. She had never pressed him to tell her of his childhood, but now she was more curious than she had ever been before.

Elizabeth's fingers unfastened the latch on one of the trunks and she opened the lid. Within were stored three old morning gowns, which perhaps had once belonged to Darcy's mother. Elizabeth pulled one from its place and held it to her own frame. Even in its wrinkled state, it was three or four inches longer than would have fit her petite figure. She arched an eyebrow, understanding why Darcy was so tall. She closed the trunk and opened another, which had been placed far back in a corner beneath some old blankets.

Once opened, to Elizabeth's delight, she found it to contain a child's toys. There was an elaborately carved wooden horse and carriage, with working wheels and tiny leather harnesses, somewhat dried and stiff from the effects of time and use. She set the piece down and pushed it back and forth on the floorboards. Again, she peered into the trunk and found a small leather ball, a tin whistle, several small quills, and a leather bag. There were some folded clothes at the bottom, and she reached in and pulled out a pair of small shoes, a little blue waistcoat, and white breeches. She laughed at their small size and shook her head in disbelief that they would have ever fit her husband.

She happened to notice something beneath the clothing, and she reached in and pulled it from its resting place. It was a plainly carved piece of beech wood, resembling a sword. She was astonished to see such a thing made from such material, for certainly Darcy's father would have considered a beech tree a trespasser on his lands, worthy only of being chopped down. The initials FD were naively carved into the handle. Elizabeth held it in front of her, and then took a swipe through the air with it, pretending to wield it in battle. Elizabeth was sure Darcy would be able to tell her about its origin—whether he had made it or it had been the gift of a devoted servant to his master's child—and she hastily returned all the other items back to their hidden sanctuary and closed the lid to the trunk.

After dinner that evening, Elizabeth made haste to the library and eagerly sat in the chair beside the one Darcy always took up to read his newspaper from London. The publication came by post once weekly on Friday, and Darcy savored every word within, usually taking until Sunday to finish reading it. Elizabeth's eyes followed her husband as he went to the desk and picked up the newspaper, and then walked over to his chair, all the while skimming the articles on the front page. Methodically, he stood in front of his chair, turned about, and sat down, still occupied with his reading.

With a flurry of arms, legs, and newspaper, Darcy launched himself out of the chair. Something unfamiliar was beneath him. He quickly turned around to look at the seat, and Elizabeth tried her best not to laugh aloud at such a disorderly scene. Darcy's expression changed as he picked up the toy sword from his chair and held it before him.

"Say, there," he asked dubiously, "how is this come to be on the chair?"

Elizabeth laughed at the look of astonishment on his face. "I must admit that I went into an attic today and found that in an old trunk in a corner."

"What were you doing there, Elizabeth?" Darcy chided her.

"Searching for clues to your youth."

"For what purpose?" he asked disapprovingly. "You could have fallen."

Elizabeth sighed. "My dearest, I am with child, but I am not an invalid. Am I not to climb a few stairs? My dear husband refuses to allow me leave to do anything for myself, and I am oh so very bored."

Darcy sat back down in his chair and grinned in a boyish manner, "I thought this had been lost. Certainly cast out in the rubbish bin."

He looked at Elizabeth, the grin still on his face. "It disappeared the summer that my aunt and uncle came for holiday at Pemberley with my cousins. I laid the blame on my eldest cousin, Edward, for taking it and burying it, repayment for the mischief Richard and I played on him that summer." Darcy took a swipe through the air with the toy weapon, "Odd, how I remember it being much larger."

"Pray, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth teased, "I want to hear of it."

"And so you shall," he replied, "If you promise you will not go into the attics again. If you want something, you have only to ask Mrs. Reynolds and it will be brought down."

"Until I have gone through every article within?"

"If that is what you wish," Darcy said and chuckled. "I do not believe that there is any cause for reproach. Or perhaps I should look for myself first."

Although she would not have admitted to it aloud, Elizabeth had encountered some difficulty managing the steps to the attics. Her own adventures would, for now, have to wait until her child was delivered. For the time being, she would be quite content to listen to Darcy's stories of his youth. She sat back in her chair and placed her feet up on the footstool, trying to find a comfortable position despite her awkward state of impending motherhood.

"Were you a knight—a defender of truth, justice, and distressed damsels?" Elizabeth eagerly looked to him for an answer.

"Hardly," he said and chortled. "I fancied myself as Robin of Loxley."

"Robin Hood!" she proclaimed with amusement. "You were a thief—you who are a man of means!"

"The Earl of Huntingdon—or Robin Hood, as he is commonly known—was a champion of what he believed was his right as a master of his property and as a free man" Darcy smiled at the thought of it. "There are some ruins not far to the east of the entrance to Pemberley Park. My cousins and I would run down to them and spend our days pretending to defend them from the Sheriff of Nottingham."

"I know them," Elizabeth declared. "I found them one day on an outing."

Darcy recited a child's ballad for her: "Now bold Robin Hood to the north would go, with valor and mickle might, with sword by his side, which oft had been try'd, to fight and recover his right."

"Who goes there?" a dark-haired boy called down from atop the rubble.

A fairer-haired boy replied, "Tis I, Will Scarlett! I have come to pursue Robin the Hood!"

The darker boy jumped down from his perch atop an old pile of masonry rock, wielding a carved toy sword, and said, "No one sees Robin the Hood!"

The other boy put his hands on his hips, and gave a look of defeat. "How are we to play if no one can see you?"

"Of course, you can see me, Cousin," the boy said and sighed.

"You are supposed to fight me for the right to join my band of men!"

Young Richard Fitzwilliam unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Master Fitzwilliam Darcy. "Very well, you—whoever you are. I shall not leave until I have bested all present and have earned the right to live among you!"

The two boys pushed and shoved, and clashed swords. The summer day was fine and the sun shone down on the battle scene, as the boys playfully fought each other until they could barely stand up because of exhaustion and laughter.

Yet another voice came from behind: "You there, you scurrilous pair. Prepare to meet your doom!"

The two younger boys stared, wide-eyed, at the intruder, and then looked at each other with broad grins. Yelling at the tops of their voices, they charged the taller boy, who held a toy sword in either hand and wore a wicked grin.

After battling for some time, young Richard charged the tall boy and stuck him in the ribs with the blunt point of his sword. "I have wounded you, you lecherous cur!"

"Nay, nay, you did not injure me at all."

"I say, Edward, he did so!" young Darcy complained.

"Oh, very well," Edward huffed, and he fell on the ground and rolled round, writhing in mock agony for some minutes.

"Edward!" Richard yelled. "How long does it take someone to perish, for heaven's sake?"

Edward stood up and looked down on his brother. "As long as I say it does!"

Richard stood his ground. "You never play fair—you fool!"

"Fool? Fool, you call me, and another thing—I am becoming bored with always having to play the evil character. Why do you not do it for a while, or are you afraid of being pummeled?"

"This is getting very tedious," young Darcy said and stomped over and stood between his two cousins. "Do you carry on like this all the time?"

Richard sheathed his sword and turned around to stomp back over the ruins and sit down. "Only when we are breathing," he muttered.

"Well, stop it, or I shall tell your father," Darcy threatened.

There was no worse crime that could be committed by young boys than fighting each other. In their father's eyes, it was a punishable offense and simply was not tolerated. The three cousins sat atop the pile of stone quietly for a while, contemplating how they would draw to see who would have to be the villain.

"Hallo there!"

The three boys turned their heads in unison in the direction of the uninvited voice. A tallish boy trudged up the path with a smaller boy, and the two came to a standstill, gawking up at the cousins.

"It is George Wickham," Darcy whispered to his cousins. "The steward's son."

"I do not give three figs who he is, as long as he is willing to be the villain." Edward jumped down from his perch atop the ruins and stood before young Wickham. "Do you want to join us?"

"Depends. What is it that you do?"

Young Darcy scrambled down from the rubble, followed closely by Richard. "We are in need of a Sheriff of Nottingham to battle our trio of men," Darcy replied.

Wickham smiled broadly. "Indeed. If you need a sheriff, I shall be your man."

"You there," Darcy said to the other boy. "You can be Sir Guy of Gisborne."

The other boy nodded enthusiastically. "What shall we do for weapons?" he asked.

"I shall be happy to lend you some of mine," Richard threw the boys a few pieces of his vast arsenal.

Darcy laid out the scene: "These ruins are your battlement, and you must come find us in the forest. Tis ordered by the king."

The cousins ran off into a stand of trees and waited for their adversaries to begin their search. Darcy and Richard climbed up into two of the trees and practiced their birdcalls, in case secret communications would be necessary.

"Quiet, you are going to give away our positions," Edward snarled in a whisper. "Besides, you sound like sickly pigeons!"

Edward ducked as a handful of the previous year's walnuts were hurled out of the tree and landed all about him. Darcy eagerly awaited the arrival of Wickham, or rather, the Sheriff of Nottingham. He had a score to settle with the boy, for it seemed that your Wickham was always getting Darcy into trouble with old Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy had taken a liking to the son of his steward and young Wickham's easy manners and deportment. Mr. Darcy had also taken on the responsibilities of benefactor to young Wickham that spring, when Wickham's father had taken ill. Master Darcy, however, had learned to trust the steward's son only as far as he could toss him. There had been a few times during play that Wickham had led Darcy down a crooked path, only to deny it in the end, leaving young Darcy to take the blame and face his own father's disapprobation. As far as Master Darcy was concerned, it would be a pleasure to best the blackguard in battle.

While waiting, Darcy began to recite to himself one of the child ballads his father had taught him. The boy loved to sit in the library in the evenings, listening to his father tell him stories of long ago.

Here is one of us for Will Scarlett,

And another for Little John,

And I myself for Robin Hood,

Because he is stout and strong."

So they fell to it hard and sore;

It was on a midsummer's day;

From eight o clock till two and past,

They all shewed gallant play.

Before long, the enemy was in sight and the boys sprang down from the trees to defend their territory. It was all-out war for upward of fifteen minutes. The odds were definitely in the merry men's favor; they outnumbered the villains, three to two. They were fortunate, in this instance, to have Edward on their side. He was a boy of fifteen, very tall and broad for his age. What he lacked in wit, he made up for in brawn, which he used to menace his younger brother and cousin.

He was no match for Richard and Darcy, however, when it came to imagination and slyness. He had learned to lament the time when they were all together, for he might find a live creature in his bed or wake up in the morning to discover that every pair of shoes he owned had been laced together and strung outside his window. All in all, he had a relatively good nature when it came to their teasing, and was even know to defend the younger boys against other boys.

When the battle had been waged and it was determined to be a victory on the side of truth and justice, the boys rested together beneath the trees.

Wickham grinned in the direction of young Darcy and said, "I heard your father say that you were to go to the assembly in Lambton tonight."

Darcy grimaced and said, "Good God, not an assembly!"

"What is wrong with an assembly, Wills?" Edward asked.

"You have to dance," Darcy rolled his eyes in disgust. "I have no stomach for it at all. I would rather drink a bottle of castor oil than dance."

"You would have to dance if you drank a bottle of castor oil!"

Richard laughed at his cousin, and the other boys laughed, too. Darcy frowned. He abhorred assemblies.

"Are there many pretty girls in town?" Edward inquired of Wickham; unaware of what a reliable source young Wickham truly was on that subject.

"Indeed, quite a few, an all are eager to dance. Occasionally, they will bestow on their partners an obliging kiss," Wickham ventured.

The rest of the boys looked like a bevy of owls as their eyes widened at Wickham's comments. Edward and Richard grinned, as Darcy simply groaned at the thought of having to tolerate being slobbered upon by some nonsensical female, no doubt adorned in some shade of pink.

"I suppose it is our duty to dance with them, then," Edward replied. "I would not wish to disappoint them." He got up from his place beneath the tree and proceeded to walk back to the house.

Wickham and his friend left as well, leaving Darcy and Richard under the trees.

"What do they see in them?" Darcy asked and sighed.

"In who? Girls?" Richard asked. "I suppose they are wanting to marry one day."

Darcy could only snarl, "I shall not marry a girl, unless I am sure she can arm wrestle."

"What has that got to do with it?" Richard asked and guffawed.

Darcy stood up and looked toward Pemberley house, "What else would a fellow do for amusement?"

Elizabeth laughed, shifting positions in the chair. "Well, my dear, you have not yet asked me to arm wrestle."

Darcy cleared his throat. "No, indeed." He noticed his wife's discomfort, and, making an attempt to avoid telling Elizabeth any more of his tale, said, "If you are ailing, Elizabeth, we can take this up at another time."

"Not likely, Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth's eyes squinted to show her displeasure, realizing her husband's ploy. "You shall not get out of this so easily." The housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, entered the library with a tray of tea and cake, and she set it down beside Elizabeth.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said and smiled warmly at the servant. "Oh, husband," she said and sighed. "This child of yours likes to kick his heels at this very time each evening. Perhaps with such eager feet, he will find assemblies more agreeable than his father does, but for now he seems satisfied after having a little something sweet."

Elizabeth took a sip of tea prepared for her by Mrs. Reynolds, and a small bite of the cake. Then she lifted her chin resolutely.

"Pray, continue."

Darcy smiled. "Where was I?"

"You were to attend an assembly in Lambton," she reminded him.

"Indeed, that regrettable event," he muttered.

Young Fitzwilliam Darcy stepped into his father's study and waited near the door. "Come in, Son," Mr. Darcy said to his eldest child. "And how go your adventures today?"

"Quite well," the boy replied quickly. "Papa, are we to go to an assembly tonight?"

A smile came to Mr. Darcy's face. "Indeed, Son, so it would seem. Your mother and your aunt have expressed a desire to attend such an event."

"Might I remain home?" the boy asked, slumping into a chair in front of the large study desk.

"No, you may not," Mr. Darcy said without hesitating. He knew his son disliked such social engagements, even at his tender age. Mr. Darcy and his wife had tried to do what they could to discourage the boy's taciturn bent, and they offered guidance when necessary.

"But Papa…" the boy began to protest.

"Fitzwilliam," Mr. Darcy said firmly, "summer is a time for families to participate in local society. It is a time for young men to put down their books and learn the refinements that will one day be required of them. You do not have to like it, my boy, but you do have to participate."

Mr. Darcy was a kind, patient father, but he was not always indulgent, and he expected his children to know their places within his household. A disappointed scowl began to emerge on young Darcy's face, until he thought better of any such display in the presence of his father.

"How will you know how to behave in society if you do not learn now?" Mr. Darcy inquired with a wink. "Besides, it is good to go while your cousins are present. They are very amiable young men, and you would do well to follow their examples."

"Truly?" the boy wondered at the statement. "But if I am already betrothed, why must I need to know these things at all?"

"Fitzwilliam," Mr. Darcy said as his eyes widened. "You must know it because I say you must; and as to the matter of a betrothal—I think it rubbish, my boy. You will choose your own wife." Mr. Darcy added beneath his breath, "And, I hope, one with a little life in her."

Young Darcy sighed, realizing he was losing a battle of wills with his father. It was a hopeless business, and he was fated to spend an evening bowing and affecting some sign of pleasure for the sake of young maids whose mothers pushed them toward the boys' general vicinity. He would loathe every excruciating moment of the whole affair.

Mr. Darcy stood up from his desk and put his hand upon his son's shoulder. "A country assembly provides good practice for the balls you shall attend in your future. You never know whom you will meet, Fitzwilliam. One day, you may meet the love of your life at just such an assembly."

The boy's shoulders slumped forward in subjugation. "I imagine not, Papa."

Twas neither Rosamond nor Jane Shore,

Whose beauty was clear and bright,

That could surpass this country lass,

Beloved of lord and knight.

The Earl of Huntingdon, nobly born,

That came of noble blood,

To Marian went, with a good intent,

By the name of Robin Hood.

With kisses sweet their red lips meet,

For she and the earl did agree;

In every place, they kindly embrace,

With love and sweet unity.

The Darcys and the Fitzwilliams entered the assembly room at Lambton to the great amazement of the other prestigious town folk. They were not often seen at assemblies, so this was indeed a distinguished occasion. Young Darcy moved off to the courtyard with the other boys, as their parents engaged in polite conversation before the dance. The children present held their own dance of sorts out on the courtyard, in the shadows of their parents. It was how one practiced proper etiquette at such functions and prepared to be ladies and gentlemen.

Darcy and Richard stood in a corner and looked on as Edward boldly approached one young lady to ask for the favor of a dance.

The young girl blushed and gladly accepted, knowing, even at her tender age, what an honor it was to be noticed by the eldest son of an earl.

The whole business made Darcy's stomach churn. His shyness and reserve did nothing to recommend him to others, and some of the children thought him conceited.

"Wills, do you see a girl who strikes your fancy?" Richard inquired with a grin.

Darcy glanced around the courtyard, shyly eyeing the young girls as they all giggled and blushed.

"They are laughing at us, Richard," Darcy whispered.

Richard smiled at his cousin, "They are not laughing, they are flirting."

Darcy furrowed his brow as he attempted to digest his cousin's counsel. Richard put his hand on Darcy's shoulder. "Thick of this as a game. Surely, if it is a game, you can overcome a little fright."

"Fright!" Darcy exclaimed. "You are wrong, Richard. Girls do not scare me!"

"Have it your way, Cousin. Look, there are two girls about our ages. I shall ask the one to dance and you shall ask the other."

"Which one, the right or the left?" Darcy inquired, as the butterflies in his stomach threatened to bring him to his knees.

"It does not matter—come on." Richard tugged on Darcy's coat sleeve.

"I beg your pardon," Richard said and bowed gallantly to the young ladies. "My name is Richard Fitzwilliam and this is my cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy." Richard looked over at his cousin, who was standing and staring at the girls with a slight frown. He reached over and poked Darcy on the shoulder and Darcy bowed, as rehearsed. The girls curtsied and batted their eyelashes in a way that would have made their mothers proud.

"My name is Mary Chaney, and this is my friend, Annabelle Martin."

Sweet Mary smiled at Richard, and Darcy let out a meager groan as Richard was overtaken by a rather comical grin.

"Will you do me the honor of dancing with me, Miss Mary?" Richard inquired.

Miss Chaney lowered her eyes and nodded her consent, much as a young lady ought. The young pair moved off in another direction, in polite conversation until the dance began. Darcy stood in front of Miss Annabelle Martin, alternating glances between her face and his own feet. Miss Martin was fair enough and not at all displeasing, but Darcy stammered and stuttered and his knees threatened to knock, nonetheless.

"Uh, if you are n-not otherwise engaged, will you do me the honor of a dance, Miss, Miss…"

"Martin," she coached him.

"Miss Martin. Yes, of course." Darcy wiped his sweaty palms on his coat.

"Yes, I thank you," she spoke politely and took Master Darcy's damp hand. Darcy was instantly grateful for the delicate gloves she wore.

The music began to play in the assembly hall, and the adults took their places along the line. The children formed two lines of their own, in imitation of their parents, and the dance began. Darcy moved as he had been taught by his mother and father; all the while praying to the Almighty that he would not miss a step or accidentally tread upon Miss Martin's delicate foot.

To his own satisfaction, Darcy made it through the set with hardly a misfortune, and he was quite pleased with the performance. When he escorted Miss Martin away from the dance floor, he noticed his cousins and friends were still engaged with their young ladies. Darcy looked at Miss Martin, wondering how a boy began a conversation with a girl.

"Do you attend Eton, Master Darcy?" Miss Martin asked.

"Yes, my cousins and I are all home on holiday for the summer."

Miss Martin nodded politely and awaited further conversation from young Master Darcy. The wheels turned in Darcy's mind as he strained to think of things to say. At length, he simply asked Miss Martin if she cared to take a turn with him and she accepted. They walked along the back veranda and down the stone steps into a small park. Darcy mustered his courage and took a good look at Miss Annabelle Martin as she strolled a pace or two in front of him. She was not disagreeable to him, and she possessed fair skin and pretty dark curls that bounced when she walked. He supposed those to be the qualities of a young lady that should attract a young man, and he was quite impressed with himself that he had actually taken notice.

"What do you do for amusement during the summer, Master Darcy?" she said as she stopped under an oak tree and turned to face him.

Darcy was caught off guard as his gaze met with Miss Martin's large brown eyes. His eyes wandered down the bridge of her small nose, which was lightly freckled in a rather fine way. Her teeth were tolerable, he supposed, and she had a comforting smile.

"Um, well…I…I read, and we have gone riding. We have been lately at the old ruins near Bristol Cross. Sometimes we run into Lambton from Pemberley to play cricket on the green."

"I live near the green. Perhaps I shall see you there soon?"

"Per-Perhaps," Darcy stammered and blushed. Then the two stood for some time, with a rather lengthy pause between them.

Finally, Darcy managed to say, "I suppose we should be getting back to the assembly."

Miss Martin nodded and then turned when she heard her mother calling her name from the veranda. She quickly looked back at the handsome young man in front of her and before Darcy knew it, Miss Martin had placed a tender kiss on his unsuspecting lips, and then run back to the assembly room.

Young Darcy could barely move a muscle as he contemplated what had just happened to him. It seemed as if his heart had stopped beating. Practically every ounce of color had drained from his face, and his mouth had gone dry.

"Fitzwilliam!" Richard called out from the veranda. "Wills, where are you?"

Darcy turned around at the sound of his name, and on seeing that it was his cousin, called out, "Here! Down here!"

Richard came bounding down to the park, wondering what his cousin was doing out alone in the moonlight. "Richard!" Darcy exclaimed as he began to panic. "That girl, she…"

"Hold a moment, sir!"

"What, my dear?"

Elizabeth was perturbed, "You mean to tell me that this girl was so forward as to kiss you?"

"Yes, quite."

"The little tart!" Elizabeth exclaimed under her breath. "Pray, who is she, Fitzwilliam? Does she still live in Lambton?"

Darcy chuckled as he realized Elizabeth's discomfort at the disclosure of his first kiss. She was not one to exhibit jealousy as a general rule; however, her emotions seemed to be more acute these days.

"Elizabeth, I was a man of eight and twenty when we married," Darcy playfully scolded her. "Did you expect me not to have been in the company of other women before we met?"

Elizabeth tried her best not to pout. "No, I cannot say that I did."

"Besides, Miss Annabelle Martin has long since taken the name of Mrs. Taylor. She married a man from Devonshire, and I have not seen her for many years." Darcy took Elizabeth's hand and placed a loving kiss on it. "Rumor has it that she has had at least six children in as much as ten years."

"I should not doubt it!" Elizabeth huffed and stiffly shifted her position in the chair.

Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, a sly grin on his face. "Perhaps you would wish me to stop for the evening, my dear?"

"Not at all!" she exclaimed. "That is, unless you are to inform me of any other young wenches who happened to make such advances to you?"

"No, dear. I shall not tell you about any of the others," Darcy pretended to study the toy sword, awaiting his wife's reaction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pick up her embroidery and begin to busy her hands and her mind with something constructive.

"Pray, continue," she said and sighed.