"Goodwyn," George Darcy roared. Calling for the footman stationed at the door of his office, with a thunderous look upon his face. Calming significantly, if not easily, the Master of Pemberley remembered to whom he would soon be speaking. Lowering his tone and composing his face, which took much effort, Mr Darcy requested in a more normal voice, "please escort Miss Elizabeth from the nursery. I wish to speak with my daughter."

Eyeing the two boys before him, Darcy deliberately stressed the final word. He didn't quite know what to do with the feuding pair before him. He should be furious with Fitzwilliam for keeping this from him, but could not find it within his heart to chastise his only son. Yet, regarding Young George, here his emotions warred for, in perpetrating the crime, it did not show the boy's qualities in a prudential light. The one thing Mr. Darcy did know: neither boy on the cusp of manhood would tell him the entire truth. Not as blind to his ward's insincerity and inappropriate behaviour as his son thought, Mr Darcy had to use his trump card.

"Miss Elizabeth, Sir," the servant offered a few minutes later.

The girl followed behind Goodwyn, trailing in his shadow, for once cowering slightly. Her hand went to the left side of her head, to cover the plait that should have resided there. Undoubtedly she'd managed to escape the Governess and had been caught listening at the door, awaiting her Papa's summons. Unable to see Fitzwilliam get into trouble on account of Young George, Elizabeth could be relied upon to tell the truth. Jane on the other hand wanted to see only the good in all people and would make excuses. Darcy thanked the Lord Georgiana was yet too young to create trouble.

A single glance at the child and he could see the tear tracks down her face. Yet Mr Darcy could not discern if they were for her loss, her brother's chastisement or Wickham's efforts. Signalling the child to approach, Darcy noticed the missing locks immediately and his countenance changed to one of barely concealed fury. Pulling the child onto his knee, George Darcy let Young Wickham see the brunt of his anger. Hurting Elizabeth, by far his favourite, was akin to hurting him and he had no qualms in displaying it.

"Tell me what happened," George spoke softly to the frightened child in his arms. Protective as a bear, he did not growl at Elizabeth. Darcy needed her co-operation to establish the facts of what occurred earlier this morning.

"Wickham," Elizabeth stated, glaring at the sullen boy, "borrowed my plait."

"How does one borrow a plait?" enquired Mr Darcy. At another time, he would look back on this incident with unbridled humour. At the moment, to have the six year old seated on his knee, one side of her head missing much hair, became a travesty he could not bear.

"That is what I asked when he took to it with the scissors in his hand. Afterwards, when Fitz saw, he said you cannot borrow a plait," confused the six year old looked to her father figure. "Can you borrow a plait, Papa? How will I get it back onto my head after he is finished with it? He did not ask if he could borrow it. I believe Wickham told an untruth, but he knew what he was about."

"I'm afraid, Elizabeth," George sighed heavily, "you cannot reattach a plait once it has been cut off. We shall have to cut the other one to even you up. Never fear, your locks will grow back. Now, tell me what happened after George removed the plait from your head?"

"Fitz found Wickham in the walled garden and became angry. He demanded Wickham confess what he had done to Mama," closing her eyes, Elizabeth tried to remember the sequence of events. "Only Georgiana, who had followed us from the nursery, started crying. Jane tried to quiet her so Mrs Forrester would not take notice. Before I could go and show Mama, Wickham began to tease Fitz like he always does…"

"George teases Fitzwilliam?" Mr Darcy interrupted. His son wore a severe expression while Young George looked shocked, as though Elizabeth told a lie.

"Only when there are no adults around to catch him," confessed an innocent Elizabeth. "He teases me too. Wickham says the most awful things to upset us, like telling me Mama would die when Georgiana was born. Fitz always tells him to stop, but he never does. Then Wickham pushes and scratches until Fitz slaps him. Then HE runs to you and Fitz gets into trouble. I do not like Wickham."

"Why do you call Young George, Wickham?" asked Mr Darcy with a slight frown. There were so many levels to this, he needed time to think upon them all.

"He is wicked," Elizabeth giggled, continuing in a stage whisper, "Wicked Wickham. I do not like him; no, not at all."

"And what," Darcy attempted a neutral expression, "is your sister's opinion?"

"Georgiana is too little, silly, Papa," Elizabeth giggled. Suddenly she sobered, "Jane smiles politely but is determined to stay out of Wicked Wickham's way."

"I see," Mr Darcy stated, with a decisive nod. He knew how to act. Giving Elizabeth a gentle hug, he removed the child from his knee. "Go back to the schoolroom now. Please tell your governess I will be along shortly to speak with her on this matter. In the meantime, have your maid see what she can achieve before you come to the family parlour for tea."

"Papa," Elizabeth bit her lip as she glanced at her favourite, "will Fitz get into trouble."

"You will," now Mr Darcy had to turn his façade stern, "if you do not do as I say right now."

"Yes, Sir," Elizabeth frowned. At the door she turned for a second to look towards Fitzwilliam. He smiled reassuringly at his sister, who smiled back before she disappeared.

"You may leave us George," Darcy dismissed the boy, he eyes never leaving those of his heir. "Wait outside until I have finished with my son. I shall deal with you then."

Nodding but giving Fitzwilliam a sidelong glance, Wickham did as he was bid. To do less would bring his Godfather's ire. George Darcy didn't miss the fourteen year old's insolent expression, even though he took pains to hide it. Left with only his son, Darcy indicated the boy should approach him. Indeed, he offered the seat across the desk as a sign they were to approach the following discussion as one man to another. However, Fitzwilliam refused which displayed his intent for the upcoming discussion.

"It is well past time," Darcy explained gently, slightly confused at his sons behaviour, "you attended Eton."

"I do not wish to go away to school," Fitzwilliam stated without emotion.

"Nor did I at your age," sighed his father. Leaning back into his chair, Darcy rubbed his tired eyes. "But it is expected for those of our situation in life, son. With wealth comes great responsibility, something I strive to teach you. When you are finished there, it will be to Cambridge to round out your gentleman's education. I had thought to send Young George with you."

"Please do not, Father," Fitzwilliam implored, a look of despair crossing his face.

"Would you prefer I allowed him to remain here?" asked Darcy in a neutral tone, wondering how much animosity really existed between the boys.

"Elizabeth would be no safer at Pemberley than Longbourn," Fitzwilliam's expression hardened, "if you allowed Wickham to remain here."

"Do you also think of Young George as Wicked Wickham?" enquired Mr Darcy.

"I do not think, Papa," Fitzwilliam's voice quieted. He stood, tall and proud before his father's desk resolute in the knowledge he was about to impart. "I know he is wicked. Ask any of the maids about his dealings with them. Wickham does not treat women as a gentleman should."

"Why does George tease Elizabeth?" enquired Darcy with a frown. He'd heard whispers about his ward which unsettled him. Nothing to bring alarm, but enough for the boy's behaviour to border on disrespectful.

"Because I like Elizabeth and choose to devote time to my sister," Fitzwilliam stood to his full height. "Wickham is very mean to Elizabeth. He has tried to be mean to Jane, but she is so good natured he cannot go through with it. Elizabeth reacts to his taunts and tricks. Besides," sighing heavily, the young heir confessed, "he knows I will react too, and uses this knowledge against me."

"How long has this been going on?" Darcy requested.

"Since the day Elizabeth arrived," Fitzwilliam confessed.

"When were you going to tell me?" questioned the older man.

"You should have worked it out by now, father," anger laced the son's words. "Elizabeth has been telling you, but you refuse to listen."

"Perhaps I have been waiting for you to come to me, Fitzwilliam," Darcy rebuked. "You will be the Master of Pemberley one day and must learn to negotiate disputes between tenants. This situation is no different."

"If you send me to Eton, you will leave all my sisters exposed," Fitzwilliam stated. "I have been interceding on behalf of Elizabeth and Jane for many years. It is Wickham that runs to you to have the dispute settled when he cannot win against me."

"What would you have me do?" George glared at his son, not yet willing to give up on Young George completely. After all, Darcy had promised his late steward to give the boy every opportunity and further is career.

"Have him enter an apprenticeship," suggested Fitzwilliam, "perhaps as a midshipman in the navy. He will have the opportunity to earn his way up the ranks to a respected officer, with study and hard work. It is a noble profession and fitting his station. You may even aid him in finding suitable berths, when the time comes."

"It is a hard life," Darcy returned.

"Then perhaps Wickham will learn something," the young man spat. "He is idle, deceitful and artful. The navy will teach him these are not the qualities that make a good character."

"I will take your suggestion under consideration," George said, dismissing the boy. "Your Master awaits you in the schoolroom."

Mr George Darcy, Lord and Master of Pemberley Estate, felt his heart break into a million tiny pieces. True, Young George was the son of his late steward. The boy had lived in the main house since the age of six and on the estate all his life. Laura Wickham took ill when Young George was but three years old and never recovered. His father passed a few years later while seeing to his duties. On his death bed, Darcy agreed to sponsor the orphan. Since then, Young George became yet another Darcy ward.

Calling the boy into his office, Darcy looked him over. A slightly self-satisfied smirk invaded Wickham's expression. Self-confidence oozed from every pore. Although he stood before Darcy, dressed as a gentleman, Young George Wickham could never be one.

Am I setting this boy too high, George considered, in offering him a gentlemen's education? I have allowed him to be my son's equal when such is just not possible? Then there is the current issue of his blatant disregard for My Elizabeth and her person. He is fourteen, almost a man, yet he can cut the hair of a child without her permission. What am I to do?

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Darcy's expression hardened into stone as he forced himself to face the boy.

"I over-stepped the bounds of propriety," Wickham sounded sincere. However Darcy noted the body language. What the boy said and the way he acted were at odds.

"Has this ever happened before?" George demanded. He'd been deliberately obtuse in his choice of words.

"Never," Wickham offered with a contrite expression.

"Never?" George eyed the boy.

"I have never cut a plait off a young girl before," he expanded.

"What made you do it?" Darcy requested in a severe tone.

Remaining silent, Wickham didn't think George Darcy wanted the truth. Yet he felt loath to lie. The man had always treated him well. Without the Darcy backing and money, George Wickham would be poor and destitute.

"What about," examining him closer, George Darcy asked, "teasing Elizabeth," Wickham grew a little restless, "or inciting my son to violence," the restlessness increased to agitation, "because he defended a young girl against a much older opponent."

The trump card played, George Wickham became uneasy. Darcy knew Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam told the truth. Not that he ever doubted the pair. Both were too artless to try anything like that on him, and each abhorred dishonesty. However, Darcy needed to see the confession from the boy before him to make it real.

"Do you think I haven't seen the bruises you give my son," Darcy rounded on Wickham as the facts suddenly fitted the growing picture in his mind, "the ones he tries to hide to keep you out of trouble. Or the caution in Elizabeth's gaze every time her eyes rest on you. Or the expression of loathing Fitzwilliam levels at you when you get the devilish look in your eye, and the pair of you think I'm not looking."

Much to Wickham's credit, the boy knew when to stay quiet. He also knew when to take a licking. Standing before a very angry George Darcy, Wickham looked down at his boots, willing the resentment in his expression to disappear.

"Report to the stables," Darcy decided. "I am sure Mr. Fitzpatrick can find something for you to do while I will consider your future. Until I have, you are not to go near any of my daughters. If you do, I will take to you with my riding crop. Do you understand me!"

"Yes, Sir," Wickham answered humbly without looking up. If he did, this hatred of the Bennet sisters, especially Miss Elizabeth would show.

"What is to be done," George pleaded with his wife as they readied for bed that evening. He had stewed on the issue all evening and needed the council of a good woman to aid him through this dilemma.

"I do not like the boy," Lady Anne frowned, picking at her night-dress. "My maid tells me he has attempted to take the virtue of several of the youngest servants with his pleasing manner and promises of adoration and marriage. They now protect each other from his roving hands and silver tongue."

"I had not thought," Darcy swallowed hard, "it as bad as this!"

"You are blinded by your affection for the boy and the want of a second son," Anne suddenly looked up into the chocolate eyes of her husband. "I understand. If Jane and Elizabeth had not come, I would not have felt complete. However we must remember the girls are genteel bred. George Wickham can never become one of our circle, as much as you may want it for him. The best he can hope for is a gentleman's education and a good position."

"Fitzwilliam suggested I send Young George to the Navy," Darcy sighed.

"Our son shows good judgement," Lady Anne smiled. "Perhaps the boy will learn his place in society for he covets Pemberley, or at least the wealth and bounty it provides, without wishing to dirty his hands."

That, George Darcy did not dare to inform his wife, I found out from my Stable Manager this afternoon. Yet the life of a sailor is hard. Perhaps it will be the making of him. I will talk to my brother in law Matlock when next we are in town.

"You told Fitzwilliam," Anne wanted to snuggle down into the covers rather than think about the loss of her oldest child, "that he is to go to Eton, when they take in the new class next year."

"We will take the family to Rosings as planned for a month in June," George Darcy sighed, settling beside his wife. "I have written to the Head Master of that establishment. Fitzwilliam starts at Eton in August. We will stay in London in between."

In less than nine months, Lady Anne lamented, I am to lose my only son. Then again, perhaps he will not be the only son in this house by then. I must tell my husband what I suspect, before Fitzwilliam begins his journey to manhood. How I will miss him, but I believe Elisabeth will miss him more.

"Dearest," Anne sighed. "I have a confession of sorts."

"I wondered when you would tell me your thoughts," George Darcy, understanding where his wife's mind strayed, allowed his hand to brush against a sensitive nipple. "You have not declined my attentions for many weeks. Has the sickness come upon you yet."

"It has not," Anne declaired, somewhat thankful. "Teresa is of the opinion my child bearing days are over. However I hope she his wrong on this occasion, and I may yet bring another son to Pemberely's nursery."

"Let us see what the future brings," Darcy sighed.