A/N Thanks for the reviews, follows and favorites! At the end of each chapter, I will include a song that I felt represents that particular chapter. Feel free to listen (or not)! Now on with the story...

November 20, 1811 London

A sudden breeze danced through the crowd massed in the space of the open air market, carrying with it the scent of meat, grease, and assembled humanity. A couple stood together on the outskirts of the crowd, seemingly more alone than the circumstances would allow. At first glance, they seemed very much in love. The woman was tall, blonde, and willowy and her arm was tucked snugly into the crook of the man's arm. He was tall too. He was much taller than she. In fact he was taller than most of the men in the surrounding crowd. He had dark curly hair that ruffled as the scented air played through his locks. When one bothered to look closer, the age difference was noticeable, as was the age of the woman. She was young. In fact she much younger than her height or figure suggested, and the relationship was obviously more familial in nature.

Fitzwilliam Darcy looked down at his little sister lovingly, even as her gaze lingered on the sawdust covered ground. If only he had possessed more wisdom, she wouldn't be in such emotional turmoil! He blamed himself. He blamed her perfidious governess. But mostly, he blamed Wickham!

George Wickham had almost always been an irritant to Darcy. When they were boys, they had gotten along well, but as they aged their behavior diverged. Darcy was involved with learning how to manage an estate, and all the responsibilities of the heir of a large landowner while Wickham had fallen into the disreputable habits of gambling and seduction, causing Darcy to cease spending time with him. Darcy's father had loved Wickham, and Darcy never informed him of the negative behavior. Instead, he continued to clean up after him and pay his debts, not wishing to cause his father any pain. When his father died, he left Wickham a living, which thankfully was refused for a large sum of money. Combined with the money that Darcy's father left as an inheritance, Wickham had walked away with £4,000. This apparently not enough as he had then tried to elope with Georgiana this summer in order to receive her dowry of £30,000.

Unsurprisingly, Georgiana had not been the same in the months since Ramsgate. Learning that the man who supposedly loved you only cared about your dowry would certainly affect one's emotions. She had never been overly confident, but the situation during the summer had stolen even that small amount of courage, and his sister had become almost painfully shy and retiring. Darcy could only hope and pray that she would return to the girl he knew and loved. Only perhaps a little wiser.

Getting her out of the house had been a monumental task, but just that morning the leg on the desk that she always used had cracked. The open air market that currently proceeded around them had been going on for the last week celebrating the opening of the park, and this was its final day. Darcy took it as a sign, and refused to allow Georgiana to hide in the house, wallowing in misery any longer. It was time for her to face the world.

Pasting a smile on his normally serious countenance, he placed his hand over hers is it rested on his muscular forearm. Startling, she looked up, her light blue eyes meeting his darker blues. "Well, dearest," his deep voice rumbled from his chest, "Shall we find you a new desk?" She nodded her assent, but didn't reply vocally. Together, they stepped through the crowd, making their way to one of the tents selling furniture.

There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the placement of the piles of furniture, something that bothered the ordered mind of Fitzwilliam Darcy, but he was able to ignore that as he led his sister through the tiny aisles that wandered throughout the tent. His eyes quickly scanned the mass of furnishings looking for desks that would be appropriate for a young lady.

He was about to give up on this particular tent, when he spotted something tucked in a darkened corner. Calling the purveyor over, he motioned to the glimpse of white under a cushioned chair. "Is that a small desk?" After a glance, a nod, and a grunt from the merchant, he continued. "May we see it please?" The desk was quickly unearthed and set before them. A small smile grew on Georgiana's lips as she surveyed the intricate desk. Little flowers were carved into the surface of the desk and were painted pink. They ran around the edge of the desk and down each of the front legs. It was a frilly, feminine thing, and his sister obviously loved it. "I'll take it."

Once back at Darcy House, he realized that the dust that had covered most of the surface and was partially embedded into the carvings would have to be scrubbed off. He wanted to clean it himself, and he rang for his housekeeper. Mrs. Baker was a little round woman full of smiles. She wasn't as dear to him as Mrs. Reynolds, his housekeeper at Pemberly, but she did a marvelous job caring for them while they were in town. A tiny frown creased her forehead when the master asked for furniture polish and a rag, but she provided the requested items without hesitation. When she realized he was performing the menial task for his sister, she smiled. Here were two siblings that were truly devoted to each other.

Darcy quickly wiped down the surface, then started the more difficult task of scrubbing out the carvings. He had almost finished, when he discovered something odd. The largest carving in the center of the desk had an odd indentation in it. At first, he thought it might be chipped, but then realized that a small finger would fit inside. He pressed his pinky into the dent, and the flower reluctantly moved inward. Surprised, he kept pressing until he heard an almost inaudible click and a hidden drawer popped open revealing a small leather-bound journal inside. Darcy picked up the little book and without second thought, opened it.

Good Old Desk by Harry Nilsson