It was a crisp Autumn day, the crunch of leaves underfoot as the shooting party disembarked from the carriages and dismounted from horses. Christopher Delancey had travelled to Pemberley on the late train the evening before, wanting to spend time with Gig and Bertie, the Darcy brothers who were spending enough time in town to cause a furore amongst the eligible women of their set. Gig – the family nickname for George, the eldest – was of a similar height to himself, both of them inheriting a lofty stature from their great-grandfather Fitzwilliam, whilst Bertie was a head shorter, but definitely the most handsome of the three. The Three Musketeers – Kit, Gig and Bertie – the Darcy boys. Kit didn't have the name, of course, but you only had to look at him to know that he was a Darcy. He even had the grey eyes, the same as his mother's. The main difference between Kit and his Darcy cousins was that he did not have the fortune or any hope of it. His father was a minor aristocrat, living on an allowance pulled from a holding of land in Lancashire. It was barely enough to keep the family in their country estate, Lancingham Park, which was half shuttered for the majority of the year.

"How go you there, cousin," Millicent shouted, tramping over to him with a shotgun in her hand, "I heard that you had arrived. Your journey was pleasant, I trust?"

Kit greeted his cousin with a kiss on the cheek, "as pleasant as the journey to Derbyshire can be, I suppose," he sniffed, "although all the better for seeing you here. You are looking remarkably divine."

"Oh, there is no need to flatter me, darling, you know I am not in the habit of angling for compliments. Dearest Cecily demanded your attention, I hope you called into the house to see her."

"I was, but Staughton sent me straight here with no chance to change," he gestured to his crumpled suit, and lack of shooting attire. "Although he sent my cases and valet to the house, so I'm rather at a loss."

Millicent smiled as she checked her gun, before handing it to her loader, Seb. She liked Kit, he was like another brother.

"What a devil, he is!" Gig shouted, throwing his cigarette to the ground and striding over with a firm handshake and an embrace. "Good God, man, you look positively white!" His voice lowered as the two men moved away from the main party. "Too many late evenings and long nights with Miss Bertram, I guess."

Kit laughed, "Miss Bertram is a delightful diversion, but how are you, Gig? When will you next be at the club? Hargreaves is running riot with all of my money, I would much rather lose to you."

"I would much rather you win for once!" He reached for a cup of hot wine, passing one to Kit. "Are you going to make an offer to Miss Bertram?"

He shook his head, "she comes with absolutely nothing. As much as I would wish it, I simply cannot afford to marry her."

Gig pulled out another cigarette and lit it, "damn shame, Kit. She is a lovely girl," he took a long, tight-lipped drag, pondering, "what about Penny? Has Aunt Agatha not pushed you in that direction yet?"

"Your sister? Christ, no," he guffawed, "your sister is practically my sister, which makes any thought of… relations… with her practically incestuous in my mind."

"Quite rightly too, although," he pulled him in tight, "the thought of being a brother to you is better than the thought of any of these weak-chinned heirs Agatha has found."

"I heard the Fitzwilliams were in the running for her too."

"Yes," Gig rolled his eyes, "and who could bear that dredge of sops sullying our family line."

"Fitzwilliams, Darcys, Delanceys… we're all one and the same. It makes no difference if it is I or a Fitzwilliam who marries Penny, she will be furiously disappointed with whomever she gets landed with."

"Penny is disappointed that she has to marry at all," Gig laughed, "but better that than ending up like Agatha, I swear to God her only reason for living is to torment me."

"I heard she had put a kibosh on your fraternisations with Emily Chartwell."

"Ahhhh, Emily Chartwell," he sighed, "she doth make me swell."

Gig could have fallen long and hard for Emily Chartwell, but her family connections were dubious, particularly the recent divorce of her older brother, and the hasty remarriage of her father to a woman half his age after less than a year of mourning for his dead wife. As much as he could have loved her, and her blue eyes, and the wiggle of her hip, and the small beauty spot on her left breast, he knew he could never marry her. But the thought of her, well he could soothe a long lonely night with the thought of her.

"George Darcy!" Millicent chastised, "I hope you are behaving in a gentleman-like manner."

Bertie, coming up late, looking dishevelled and half-dressed, chipped in "I bloody well doubt it."

"Albert!" Kit saluted, as Bertie tripped over a part-hidden root of a tree, fumbling with his collar.

"Kit! How are you, old chap? Excellent, excellent," he said, without waiting for a response, distracted, "Grandmama requests you join her in the Saloon."

"For what?"

"I don't know… for tea?"

"It is too early for tea, Bertie," Millicent said, "you are being summoned, Kit darling. I've already had my orders, you're next! I have no idea how Gig and Bertie get away with receiving theirs."

"Who me?" Gig exclaimed with false modesty, "I cannot help it if I am the apple of grandmama's eye."

"Yes," his sister grinned, "although I doubt how long this will last after you take a bride."

There was silence between the four cousins as they each pondered their fates. Both Gig and Kit were in line to inherit estates, although the Darcy estates were far more impressive than the shabby and uncared for Lancingham Park. Gig would be George, Duke of Derbyshire, and Kit would be Christopher, Earl of Balcarres. Bertie study law and become a barrister, maybe even an important one like Uncle Francis – it was either that or the Church for second sons, and Albert was in no mind to become a Reverend. All Millicent had to do was marry, and marry well, and if she managed to make a love match of it, then that was an additional benefit.

The rest of the shooting party were gathered; hustling, bustling and preparing and waiting for Edward, who was thoroughly enjoying having all three of his children back at Pemberley to distract both his wife and his mother. He had thought that having grown up children would have made his life run more smoothly and without incessant questioning, but rather than schooling and education, there were merely different questions to answer. The boys had completed their studies at Brasenose and Millicent was due to be presented at the start of the following season. As he began the walk into Purselow Wood, he thought of how he was so terribly lucky to have such a wonderful family. All was well.