"Fitz!"

Georgiana released her arm from that of her uncle and ran towards her brother who she had spotted immediately in the crowded room. He looked temporarily shocked as she bounded towards him, a mist of pink satin and blue ribbons, arms stretched, reaching out.

"Georgie!" He pulled her into his arms tightly, noticing at once her newly acquired height. "Look how tall you are now!"

"I am almost as tall as you are!"

"Well, not entirely, but you fit quite perfectly underneath my chin…" She edged herself back into his embrace again, "be careful, you will get pomade all over my new cravat! It took me an age to get Hughes to fasten it correctly."

He began to fuss with it again, as she led him by the hand and took him through the long gallery, and down the stairs where they sat on the settee hidden underneath the staircase, escaping the noise and fuss of people walking past in their party finery.

"Fitz, I have so much to tell you - "

"G, you have written to me practically every day for the last four months…why it almost felt as if it were I at Waddingham for the autumn."

"Maybe you should have visited and then I would not have needed to write so much!"

A grand lady with a feather in her hair walked past and harrumphed, before continuing on her way. The Darcy siblings eyed each other and smiled. The house was full of people this evening. Twelfth Night, the final celebration of the festive season always concluded with a magnificent party held at Pemberley, and Fitz had been prepped and slightly pressured by his formidable aunts to continue the tradition. Unlike usual balls, Georgiana and the other children of the family were allowed to attend, and the saloon was full of small boys and girls playing and dancing with their nursemaids.

"The house looks wonderful, Papa would be so proud of you."

"He would be proud of us," he said, taking her gloved hand in his own.

Darcy looked over at his sister, she was so grown now, on the strange cusp of adulthood, whilst still retaining her sense of childish excitement. When he was fourteen he was away at school, making friends and getting up to mischief, as well as learning how to be the master of an estate; Georgiana received her education at home from a succession of governesses, tutors and the occasional Italian soprano, who was certainly trying to catch his father's eye, but Darcy felt that maybe she needed to be more exposed to the world. The women in their sphere could be brutal, harsh and unforgiving – he had learned this during the last few months in town – and he was unsure how Georgiana, with her forthright opinions tempered with a kind, forgiving nature, would survive.

"I have a proposition for you, Georgie," he began, "nothing is finalised, and I will need to speak to Richard and the Aunts, but I am thinking that you need a companion now, rather than a governess."

"A companion? Like Mrs Bradshaw who travels with Helena Danvers from Marshmont?"

Darcy had no clue who these people were, but he recognised the name Danvers and the neighbouring estate of Marshmont, "I assume so."

Georgiana jumped to her feet, "Fitz, that is possibly the most excellent idea you have ever had."

"You think so? You would be happy for me to engage a companion for you?"

"Of course, you spoil me, brother," she said, holding him tightly in her arms. "I have missed you so much."

"I have missed you too," he said. Because he really had. It had been a lonely few months without the laughter of his sister, and the comfortable silences that they could share. He found that as Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, he was expected to always perform, even when he had neither the desire nor the inclination to do so, and it was exhausting.

"Did you find any suitable brides when you were in town?"

"None whatsoever…"

"Not even Mrs Wharton?"

Fitz eyed his sister curiously and in a quiet voice he said, "what know you of Mrs Wharton?"

Georgiana reached into her reticule with glee, as if she had been waiting for weeks to reveal what she knew, pulling out a piece of newspaper she moved closer to the candelabra, to see more clearly before reading out in a loud whisper.

"The fashionable world will be surprised to hear that a very young, very rich landowning gentleman of northern persuasion, once resident in the far reaches of the near east, is about to attend the hymeneal altar with the blooming and beautiful widow of a lately deceased baronet. The lady in question, not quite twenty three years of age, is well known in society circles, for her attention to detail when it comes to entertainment is beyond reproach. But what is to become of us all if a young lady cannot make the slightest slip overnight without the circumstances appearing in print the next morning!" Georgiana recited with glee, as her brother tried to grab the newspaper from her. "Are you going to marry her?"

"No, of course not," he said adamantly, "why would you think that?"

She brandished the paper, pointing at the headline, and he snatched it from her and began to read.

"Miss Darcy!" There was a shrill, piercing shriek from the gallery as Miss Caroline Bingley, her hair curled and primped, her nose firmly in the air, trotted over in her new dancing pumps, which squeaked softly on the newly waxed floorboards. "You have grown a great deal since I saw you last, dearest Georgiana."

Louisa Bingley stood three steps behind her sister, as she often did. Fitz looked over at her and she gestured for his company, they moved away from the overbearing conversation of Caroline who had quite literally trapped Georgiana in the corner.

"Fitzwilliam, Pemberley looks magnificent," she placed her hand on his arm, "you should be very proud of yourself."

"I am, Louisa," he said softly. "What news do you bring from the north?"

"Well, as you know, we were invited to dine with the Warners. Mrs Warner has taken a house in Gateshead where she introduced me to a gentleman with whom she anticipated a connection."

"Mrs Warner is trying to see you wed?"

"Mrs Warner had a plethora of sons and no daughters and finds her days most empty and free of amusement, no doubt I was there to provide that. She feels Caroline is too young for such sport."

Fitz looked over at the younger Bingley girl, who was giggling and laughing with his sister. Caroline was almost as tall as he himself; a brunette she had a darker colouring that she tried to hide with a cacophony of powders and lotions, and she had a long lean neck which she adorned with strings of jewels. She was a very beautiful, very clever girl, and at some point in the future he knew that she would make someone a wonderful wife. But despite Louisa's coaxing and Caroline's own insistence, it most certainly would not be him.

"Caroline does not need the assistance, I think," he reached over and ladled out the dark ruby punch into small silver cups. The room bustled and jostled as they were directed down into the ballroom, standing on the edge and watching the dancing.

"I would very much like to dance with you, Louisa."

She looked up from underneath the feathers on her turban. For all Caroline was tall and lean, Louisa was a head shorter, with red curls that flowed down her back, or hung delicately around her face as they did tonight. Her eyes were the bluest he had ever seen, and if he wasn't so sure that she would reject him, he would dance with her all night.

"Darling Fitz," she sighed with a smile, " we both know that would be a terrible idea. Why don't you find a young heiress with a considerable fortune to dance with…?"

"But that would be you…"

She rolled her eyes at him and sipped her punch, "you need to stop this, Fitz. Our friendship is perfectly adequate for flirtations in ballrooms, or filling your dancecard if you are lacking, but it can anything more than that. You know as well as I."

"And why?"

"I was not entirely truthful with you before." She paused, fiddled with her necklace, "Mrs Warner found me a husband. I am engaged to be married."

"Engaged?"

"Yes," she nodded. "He is a gentleman of forty years with considerable assets and a substantial income. He has a house on Grosvenor Street, we shall practically be neighbours. I know I can be happy with him."

"Do you love him?" He could see from the look hidden in her eyes that she did not.

"Love has nothing to do with matrimony, Fitzwilliam. You know that as well as I."

He finished his punch, suddenly he wasn't of the temperament for dancing.

"Well, I congratulate you, Miss Bingley, on your upcoming marriage," he said, his tone icy.

"Fitz, please don't take umbrage at the fact that I am choosing to do this."

"You could have had so much more."

"Maybe I don't want it."

He took her hand in his and kissed it softly. For the past few months in town, Louisa Bingley had been his close friend and confidante, and he could have fallen in love with her. He knew he could. Now she was marrying for convenience and fortune, he knew she wasn't a romantic, understood her reasons, but he still felt that she was making a mistake even if he would never tell her.

The music began to play Mr Beveridges Maggot and he watched as the couples began to form the dance – Charles Bingley was there dressed in the new breeches, which had caused such a kerfuffle in the days before Christmas, Sarah Purcell, his latest beau, was also in attendance, although not dancing with his good friend, a fact he found strange. His Aunts and Uncles were also rising to dance, whilst his cousin Anne loitered around the edges of the room watching with amusement, and he gestured for her attention and she pushed her way through the crowd.

"Anne, dearest, how are you finding the entertainment?"

"Oh adequate as usual, Darcy," she laughed taking a sup of her wine. "We had better be careful with this, Staughton has gone overboard with the port and I'm absolutely positive that he is determined we shall all be in our cups before midnight so he can retire early."

"Bingley seems to be having a grand old time."

"Such larks for Tuesday, and such a pretty partner. Where on earth did he find her?"

"They were introduced by Lady Pomfret at a recital in the Assembly Rooms."

"You went to Bath? When did you go to Bath?"

"September, but it was there they met, and Charles declared her to be his darling girl."

"Do you think he might marry this one?"

"Charles has been in love five times this year already, I am of the opinion that if I stand still for too long he may fall in love with me!"

Anne looked up at him with a confused look on her face and then giggled, "Oh Fitz, you are hilarious! Anyway, who on earth would marry you? For they would have to endure you on Sundays when you are bored and monstrous!"

They watched the dancing for a moment, Pemberley was sparkling in the light – the portraits of Sir Piers D'Arcy and Matilda looking down on the festivities, the six-hour candles flickering away in the chandelier. This was the first of many grand occasions that Pemberley would host now he was master.

"How is your mama?"

"Still determined to have me declared an invalid so she can take control of my fortune," Anne said. His youngest cousin had always been sickly, but rather than her mama trying to encourage a recovery she seemed determined to focus on a steady decline.

"We can get married, if you like," he nudged, "she may well leave you alone."

"Marry you? I'd rather marry Bingley! But Mama is determined for me not to marry anyone, because once I do it all becomes mine."

"The true mistress of Rosings."

"Precisely… The amounts she is spending…," Anne sighed. "Don't think you are off the hook though, dearest Fitz, she will most definitely use our betrothal as a stick to whip you with if you don't behave!"

Anne finished her drink, kissed her cousin on the cheek and disappeared into the crowd, away from the dancing and the direct sight of her mother. Georgiana was laughing and clapping along to the music, watching the dancing, she saw him looking at her and grinned with a large smile.

The room was now hot and sweaty, and he began to regret the fancy knot on his very high cravat. Outside in the courtyard the sky above Pemberley was dark and crisp, there was a coldness on the wind that suggested snowfall, the crackle and smoke from the beacons was drifting in on the air, and he wandered out to the driveway. In the distance he could hear the frantic gallop of a horse thundering up the drive – gestured to the coachmen to see who it was. The horse was brought into the gates, the loud echo of hooves on cobbles. The rider dismounted, removing his hat and riding coat, passing them to one of the red and blue liveried footmen stood to attention.

"Can I ask who is calling, sir?"

"Yes," said the gentleman

Fitzwilliam looked up quickly at the sound of the voice, he would recognise it anywhere.

"And who should I say is calling, sir?" The gentleman was strolling towards the porch now as the footman scurried after him.

"Please tell Mr Darcy that Mr Wickham is here at his invitation."