Elizabeth sat quietly at the breakfast table next to the man with whom this time was generally shared, almost always to discuss business or domestic affairs, the day's schedule, or merely to delight in each other's company. This morning, however, found her husband immersed in contemplation, as if he were working out a complicated but crucial mathematical equation between absent sips of coffee and bites of food.

She well recognized her William's behavior as that which possessed him in times of unrest suchlike the tempestuous events of the past week, and all the possible effects he had not the ability to foresee. There was naught to him so unnerving as a rupture in the status quo, and no living embodiment of a tempest like the one now residing under their roof.

The children had gone to bed last night talking incessantly of the marquess, moreover of the divine injustice of so pleasant a gentleman to be stricken with infirmity. On and on they went, decreeing his society ("so lively and humorful!") superior to that of just about any guest ever to visit. They had awaited his return to the dining hall with eagerness, and then lit up at his abruptly announced plan to include them—all of them!—in tomorrow's outing not even properly discussed with the master. William, as attentive to decorum as George's wellbeing, forced himself to ignore the pleading looks of his progeny as he grudgingly listened to Thornhaugh's sound and solid argument, expert as any barrister, in which his fresh and spontaneous brush with a sleepless George was also related. He was almost poetic in his presentation, his fine words and expressive allusion to their nephew's disquiet moving Elizabeth almost to tears while her husband sat stone-faced as ever. When the marquess had done, the two men stared from across the table like rivaling chess players until William, with a shrug, finally ceded to his guest, and then had to smile when the affirmative response—pending Dr. Fitzwilliam's blessing, of course—drew a great swell of cheer from the whole table.

Later in their bedroom, Elizabeth could not help teasing William about bending to Thornhaugh's will, that he knew better than to be swayed by his silver tongue, and that his arts and allurement must have weakened him in the moment. When her archness was usually met with an equally playful rejoinder, Elizabeth was, in this instance, surprised to hear from him a rather earnest speech on the notable increase in Thornhaugh's appetite throughout each course, and his finishing of the dessert. "And he coughed not once," Darcy further observed, "not amid the telling of many a long-winded anecdote, not even in laughter, as if his ailment was forgotten entirely."

Elizabeth was astonished at just how closely he had paid attention, but only at first, taking but a moment's consideration to then wrap her arms about his neck and kiss him ardently, answering his curiosity with gratitude to the heavens for gifting her such a caring, wonderful husband.

His happy acceptance of her affection did not, however, prevent him from correcting her "misperceptions" in the next moment, contending in a kind but firm manner that his attention to details were neither caring nor wonderful, merely a facet of his studious nature in observance of Matthew's earlier counsel as it pertained to the healthful benefits of good company. She hardly believed him, nor did she care, and instead of prolonging their argument merely kissed him again with the whispered command that he take her to bed.

Their silent breakfast, after a good quarter of an hour, was finally disrupted when William said, "I have been thinking, dearest. Suppose we were to invite him to dine with us every evening for the duration."

Elizabeth quirked a smile. "Who, Thornhaugh?"

"No, the Archbishop of Canterbury," he quipped, eliciting a chuckle before she replied:

"Well, the children certainly have taken a shine to him."

"And he to them, I believe. Not that he should dare admit it."

"But would he accept the invitation? And if so, do you suppose his amiability shall endure? Would that he were not so volatile, that we could rely upon a constancy of temper the children naturally expect from one of his rank."

"A fair point among others weighing on my mind."

"And the results of your analysis?"

His brow furrowed. "Inconclusive."

"I see. Then are you suggesting we throw caution to the winds, my love? Thornhaugh himself, as I recall, talked of reasonable risks."

William looked at her, visibly disturbed by such phrasing. "I should hardly call him an expert on the subject."

"Nor us."

His gaze softened. "Still?" then reaching out to her, "Have not we acquired the wisdom to determine what risks are reasonable?"

She smiled, her clasping hand tightening around his. "Perhaps we are now thinking too much, my dear, in compensation for thinking too little before."

"Then again, perhaps not."

At this moment Matthew entered, quite oblivious to their intimate moment as he bade an affable but groggy good morning, making directly for the coffee on the sideboard. "Kitty's gone to visit with Jane and the children, which is just as well, I suppose. I am a right bore to be around when preoccupied with work."

Said Darcy, "Fill your plate, Matthew. It won't do to meet with Thornhaugh on an empty stomach."

"Oh, but I have seen him already."

The couple reacted, each with astonishment. "So early?" said Elizabeth.

"He knocked at around seven o'clock, waking us both, quite eager to get on with it. Kitty was not pleased."

Darcy groaned, bringing his cup down with a loud clank against the saucer. "Appalling! Inexcusable!"

Matthew was far less perturbed. "Between the two of them he raised the greater fuss, so I decided it easier just to oblige him." He then joined the couple at the table with a generous plate, grinning at Darcy's anger. "Ease your nerves, Cousin. He was not overly demanding, merely anxious, and I commiserate with his inability to adhere to a conventional sleep schedule. The examination did not take long, and he was congenial throughout. For the most part."

The couple looked at Matthew to continue, but his mind seemed more engaged with the choice of preserves. After some moments, Darcy reclaimed his attention with a sharp, "And?"

"And…I am sorry, but there is never an easy way to announce a negative prognosis. My suspicions are confirmed."

Darcy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Could you possibly be mistaken, Matty?"

"No, Cousin. But—"

"Then off to Summerhill with him!" Darcy snapped. "He is John's problem to contend with! So should he have been from the start! I'll not invite a man to fall dead on my premises, bringing distress upon this household, upon my children!"

"Dearest, be still," whispered Elizabeth with another tight squeeze to his hand. "I think Matthew had more to say."

"Indeed I do. That his condition is at an advanced enough stage to merit alarm should not thrust you into immediate discouragement."

Said Elizabeth, "So you are saying there is a chance?"

"In relative terms, yes; for I see in him a fierce will to live, which is a more potent medicine than you can imagine. Nurture that spirit, and he might well endure for years hence. It is an incredible machine, the human body, the mind like a journeyman at the helm. He battles hard, but once the will crumbles, so shall the rest follow suit as a house of cards. I advise you not send him away, Darcy, unless you are truly indifferent to his fate."

Darcy made no reply, having fallen back into silent and solemn deliberation, thus impelling Elizabeth to take charge. "Thornhaugh will stay," said she. "Frankly I am less concerned about his spirit, and more so of his effect on others. He is fit to endure, but can we endure him?"

Replied William, gravely, "We can do no less than try, my dear."

Matthew concurred. "And he tries with concerted effort to be obliging, despite odd moments of extreme displeasure as when I had his soiled and bloodied handkerchiefs thrown into the fire. I stressed to him their replacement is essential, but…"

"The monogram," Darcy speculated. "Tell him I'll see that the embroidery is identical, but until the order is fulfilled he shall just have to bear the plain and simple variety. Would two dozen be enough, do you think?"

Elizabeth and Matthew traded glances before the latter agreed that should well suffice "—and they'll need to be laundered daily, thoroughly. Also, I've made a list for Miss Baxter to fetch from the apothecary: sleeping powders, herbs, that sort of thing. He shuns laudanum or any spirit-based concoctions, which suits me perfectly well. I'll mix a tea that should allow him to sleep a few hours before today's jaunt."

"You are more than welcome to join us, Cousin," said Elizabeth.

William seconded the offer that was gently declined with Matthew's stated intention to join Kitty and the children in Hope Valley later that afternoon. "Your guest made abundantly clear his disinterest in my company beyond a medical context."

Darcy again grew incensed. "He actually said that?"

"That business is better left between us. That being said, Master Darcy, do give it your best effort not to be cross or confrontational; for it is useless to try and muzzle or leash him like a foxhound. Ease your temper, relax your control, and he will show you respect in kind. Practice patience, pick your battles, and see that he does not exert himself." Matthew peered out the window. "The weather promises to be pleasant. We've not seen rain for a while, which is helpful. Morning air's a bit damp, but should be dryer by the afternoon. Better for the lungs."

To that point Elizabeth brought up George and the idea of him joining their party.

"Thornhaugh mentioned that, too," replied Matthew. "I was not keen at first, but he does delight in verbal swordplay, to a right exhausting degree. I finally relented when George himself confirmed that he should very much like to participate. I daresay it appears the boy has shown vast improvement overnight, both physically and mentally; though I am surprised, Darcy, by your willingness to allow him his pick of horses."

Darcy raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

Darcy finished his meal quickly, in as much haste quitting the breakfast parlor to gain the outdoors and the stables, where he was near out of breath by the time he found Hodges.

"Mr. Darcy," the man said with a start, rare as it was to see the master so hurried.

"Hodges," Darcy puffed out, "my message to you last night…"

"Yes, sir?"

"I had meant to add a condition to that. Our guest is welcome to any horse of his choosing, save one. See that Perseus is pastured forthwith, somewhere far, well out of proximity of—"

"Too late, Darcy!" cried Thornhaugh from the adjacent wing of stalls around the next corner.

Darcy murmured an oath as Hodges informed him the marquess had been surveying the stock for more than half an hour. "I think milord's found his favorite, sir, though he's been right complimentary of the others. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Mostly!" the marquess echoed just prior to a brief attack of rough coughs.

Said Hodges, "What am I to do, sir?"

"I need a minute," Darcy grumbled as he quit his man's company for Thornhaugh's. He was leaned against the front panel of the white stallion's stall, gazing within as a spellbound youth.

"Stunning creature," said he, then with an elbow to Darcy's ribs, "Early bird gets the worm, eh? Master may want to rise a bit earlier next time."

"Choose another. Perseus is not for you."

His face fell. "And why not?"

"For reasons better discussed in dryer quarters at a later hour." To underscore his decision, Darcy turned and strode away.

Within seconds Thornhaugh took up his cane and caught up to him, walking alongside down a long row of stalls. "What is there to discuss? That is the one, Darcy—large, mighty, yearning to be jockeyed. Born of a racer, what?"

"Well observed, but—"

"Ah, marvelous!" the marquess cheered. "Take him out, Mr. Hodges! I want to see him run!" Then to Darcy, gleefully, "Like the wind, I'll wager."

"And nearly as wild, Thornhaugh. Such he has been from the day I was forced to tear him from his poor mother's womb. He trusts and respects but a scarce few to whom he is willing to submit, those who raised him from birth. My sister and I, no one else. That is how it is."

"How you designed it, you selfish prat. Wait, I didn't mean that! Just let me have a go at him, Darcy. I love a feisty mount and have taken many a fall—dozens! The trick is knowing how to land."

"And thus leaving you with how many broken bones?"

Thornhaugh considered a while before answering, "Do the little ones count? Fingers and toes, that sort of thing?"

"It would be your neck, should a featherweight like you make the endeavor. No, out of the question, and I do resent your notion that the horse is neglected. We give him a good run, my sister and I, on rare occasions."

"How rare?"

"Oh…three or four, perhaps."

"In a span of…?"

"…Twelve years?"

"Twelve bloody years!"

"Eleven and a half."

"My God, Darcy! The unmitigated cruelty! to sentence a horse of such magnitude to purgatory. He would be jolly grateful to have a rider like me on his back, one respectful of his instincts, indulgent of his nature, and therefore wholly superior in every regard."

"Talk till you're blue; I'll not bend. My house, my horse, my rules."

"'Tis a bitter disappointment," Thornhaugh lamented. "I had always pegged you a horse master—not a hoarder."

"I am not a hoarder!"

"You are, though. And that one there I understand is Mr. Wickham's mount."

Darcy followed his pointing finger. "Hermes, yes. Purchased just after George came to live with us."

"The boy's clearly outgrown this pony. Time for an upgrade, a high-spirited hot-blood."

"Insupportable at this juncture. George is still a novice."

"A novice! How can that be? I was an intermediate at a year or two younger, and the boy professed to me himself a passion for the sport."

"But passion compensates not for a lack of experience. George was not raised on horses as you and I. Alas! but his mother, God rest her, was very…nurturing. It has taken all of two years to get him to the second lowest tier."

Replied Thornhaugh with a tsk, "Pity, that. Nothing so crippling as a nervous mother."

"You should be the last person in the world to blame her."

Thornhaugh winced as if he were stung. "I absolve the dead of blame, Darcy. Perhaps you will likewise absolve me."

"It is not my absolution you should be seeking."

"I seek no one's, I assure you."

"And you are neither dead nor dying."

"That is not what you said last night, is it?"

Darcy sighed with regret. "We are all apt to say things we don't mean when particularly annoyed. Old habits die hard. Forgive me."

"We were talking of your nephew, I believe. Let us press on. Did he inherit these delicate nerves?"

"To some degree, but I think it a more studied behavior than an inherited one."

"And an enabled one, I dare conjecture."

"As one of meager understanding and less compassion, you would dare."

"Is he dim-witted?"

"What? No! Over-confident, but very eager, willing, adept, and quite diligent."

"Then blimey! surely he is ready for a larger, stronger mount."

"And I say it is still too soon."

Their argument endured a full round about the stables, at the exit meeting back up with Hodges, who was standing in wait for an order. "Shall I take out Perseus, sir?"

"Yes," answered Darcy and Thornhaugh in unison "—but not for his reason," added the former.

"Aye, sir," replied Hodges, and then left them alone to face one another just outside.

"Listen," said Darcy, "It is admirable, your efforts to do right by little George—"

"Oh, do stop calling him that, I beg you. Give the boy some dignity, for God's sake."

"Now you accuse me of robbing his dignity?"

"You chip it away with every utterance of that insufferable descriptor, whether he hears it or not."

"That is absurd! It is a term of endearment dating back to infancy."

"Even worse; for now I know he is perceived as little more than a little duplicate of big Wickham."

Darcy went red with anger, replying with discomposure, "You could not be more wrong."

"Then retire it, and commit to never saying it again. Denounce the curse, bury the past, and embrace the future."

Darcy was just about to retort when a bright and joyful Janie appeared before them. "Good morning, Papa. Good morning, Lord Thornhaugh." She dipped a curtsey.

While Darcy mastered his seething emotions, Thornhaugh effortlessly matched her good cheer. "How are you this fine day, Miss Janie?"

"Very good, my Lord."

"Getting an early start, are we?"

"Just visiting Aries, sir, as I do every morning."

"Then as you were, sweetling. Your father and I are in mid-debate, and I am winning. There's a good girl."

Janie tittered a laugh and sprinted away, Thornhaugh's eyes following her with curiosity. "As I was saying, Darcy—"

"—Now see here, Thornhaugh, I'll simply not tolerate your wholly unwelcome, insufferably impertinent…where are you going?"

The marquess had abruptly quit their quarrel and was now walking trancelike in Janie's direction, Darcy soon realizing the man's attention had been captured by a particular vision he was determined to inspect with more diligence.

In a few quick strides Darcy met up with him to walk the remainder of the twenty yards to the deer's paddock, where Janie was already beginning to make the climb.

"This is Aries?" the marquess asked her.

"Yes, my Lord," she answered smilingly. "Isn't he beautiful?"

She swung over, jumped and landed, gaining instant access to her grazing fallow. Thornhaugh looked on mutely, disturbance read on every feature of his face, his fingers closed tightly around the sturdy structure serving to hold the innately feral creature captive.

"Janie, darling," said Darcy, bracing himself for another dressing down. "Tell the marquess how we acquired Aries."

The girl lovingly stroked the docile deer's neck, happy to relate the story. "His mother was shot dead by a poacher two springs ago while we all happened to be out riding in the west wood. It was horrible! but all was forgiven soon after."

"Forgiven? Am I to understand your father showed mercy to a poacher, one who took down a doe in his own presence and that of his family?"

Janie nodded. "Mr. Martin expressed much remorse in the end. He works here now, and built for us the paddock to hold Aries, who was left orphaned and all alone. Papa calls him our pet, but really he is all mine; for I nursed him, named him, and love him best of all."

"I am sure you do, my dear," said Thornhaugh, his sarcasm seeping just below the surface. Not that Janie noticed as she merely smiled in return, her beloved pet nibbling up chestnuts from her open palm.

"There is more to the story than that," said Darcy, avoiding the man's dour, somehow paler mien. And I've every intention of setting him free, next year."

"Next year," Thornhaugh repeated bitterly.

Darcy sighed, empathizing as much as he detested being judged. "You will understand better with a more thorough explanation. Have dinner with us again tonight, and all shall be explained. You are welcome tomorrow evening, as well, and every one thereafter, should you feel up for it. Consider it an open invitation."

"Oh yes, please, my Lord!" cried Janie, running up to them. "Dine with us! And afterwards, we shall play for you. Do you like music? My brothers and I are quite good!"

Thornhaugh affirmed that he did like music, and then excused himself with the assertion that he was tired and favored a rest. Darcy joined him in his walk back towards the house, the marquess saying after a short silence: "You dine with your children every evening? I had assumed it rather depended on the occasion."

"You assume a good deal. Lizzy and I have always lived by our own rules, our own conventions. And our children, we feel, are all the healthier for it."

"It would seem so," said he in an exceedingly rare expression of generosity before their attention was seized again, this time by the sight of Miss Baxter walking up the pebbled lane to Pemberley House, a bundle secured in both arms.

"Good morning, Baxter!" called Thornhaugh in a sing-song voice.

The woman halted to answer him with a stiff, "Good morning, sir."

"I hope you find it not too beneath your station to run such menial errands. No doubt one of your education should much rather be at work molding young minds."

"Not at all, sir," she said undauntedly. "I find the exercise beneficial."

Thornhaugh glared for a moment before replying, "Quite a large parcel you have there, Baxter. Were you confounded by the doctor's instruction, or just too tempted not to purchase a few medicines for yourself?"

"Indeed not, sir. A courier just handed me a package for you from Summerhill."

"Summerhill?" He reached out, ordering her to bring it to him, but the woman did not budge.

"As all deliveries are to be made to your room, sir, that is where this one shall be waiting. Good day, sir." And then she continued on her way at a brisk pace before her charge could respond or attempt to catch up.

Thornhaugh bristled as he watched her leave, pointing a very angry finger. "Dismiss that woman, Darcy!"

"I'll do no such thing," replied Darcy with much amusement. "Have a pleasant rest, Thornhaugh. We shall meet back here after luncheon; let's say two o'clock. Try not to be late."

And with a clap to the man's back, Darcy began a casual stroll back to the house.