Tick. Tock. Chime. Bell. Melody. 3pm. Georgiana was sitting through what must be the longest recital she had ever experienced, as Lady Armitage and her three sons sat on the red settee opposite, enduring the screeching of Miranda Hurst who was being accompanied by her heavy-fingered, lacklustre sister, Beatrice. The oldest of the three boys, Ernest, had already been identified as a possible suitor for Miranda, who was of suitable marriageable age and was in possession of a substantial dowry, even if she did not possess any substantial talents.

Henry, the second oldest, glanced over at his young hostess, catching her eye and acknowledging, with a well-rehearsed smile, that he was of the same mind when it came to the entertainments, and Georgiana felt herself blush, trying to hide her smile in a coffee cup. The song slowly came to an end, with a prolonged, high-pitched note emanating from the older Miss Hurst, whose face was now a similar shade to that of her bright pink dress, her hair falling down from the complicated looking clips that held it in place. She stopped sharply, the music a few beats behind, and then stood in the corner of the drawing room next to the pianoforte awaiting the appreciative applause. They all obliged quickly, and summoned her over for respite, in case she should continue with an encore. Henry passed Georgiana her tea plate, and she noticed how his hand lingered, could feel the soft pressure of her fingers through her gloves, and she moved her hand away quickly unsure of what to feel. He looked up at her quickly, knowing exactly what he had done, but she averted her gaze, still feeling his eyes on her.

"That was a really good show, girls," Ernest rose to his feet, clapping in an unjustly exuberant manner. Georgiana couldn't blame him, of course, the Armitages may have had titles but they had no money in the bank and spiralling debts from Lord Armitage's mismanagement of business affairs.

"Thank you, Mr Armitage, that is so generous of you," Miranda simpered.

Beatrice was as tall and pallid as her sister was short and rosy, and she took her seat next to the youngest Armitage, Owen, with a frown on her face and a shard of cake already in her hand.

"Why, I never issue compliments that are of no merit, Miss Hurst," he said, with a flirtatious lick to his voice, and taking her hand to kiss it.

Ernest Armitage was a handsome man and, given the chance to choose freely, he would have likely found himself ignorant of the existence of the very rich but rather dull Miss Hurst, preferring the company of his actress friend in town over nearly every other suitable woman pushed into his sphere. But Miss Hurst was pretty enough, and she had a sparkle in her eye that he found intriguing.

"You do flatter me, Mr Armitage," she said, her eyelashes fluttering.

"And what think you of Pemberley? Isn't is one of the finest houses?"

Lady Armitage raised an eyebrow, "of course, our own house is very splendid, but you have not seen it yet. The Earl has recently had the east front completely redesigned! Oh, you will have to come for tea soon, and then you will see for yourself."

The older lady commandeered the conversation for the most part, Georgiana found herself focusing on the small details of Lady Armitage's appearance. The large feather bouncing around the periphery of her bonnet, the laced edging to her gloves, the faint hint of rouge on her cheek. She had found that it was easier to concentrate on something in order to participate in conversations. It was still all so very difficult, and Fitz wasn't even here to distract her or visitors, who arrived regularly. Her brother had wanted everything to return quickly back to normal, but Georgiana didn't ever think that things would feel normal again.

"And what do you think, Miss Darcy?" Owen addressed her, as all eyes were now directed upon her person.

Georgiana flustered, "why, of course, I am in agreement," she smiled.

"Are you sure?" Henry interrupted his brother with a certain quickness, catching her eye, "I mean, do you…ahem…care for a ball, Miss Darcy?"

She spoke softly, not liking the attention, "I care for dancing, Mr Armitage."

"Well, that is settled, Miss Darcy!" The feather on Lady Armitage's hat started to bounce again, "I shall tell the Earl that we are to hold a ball at Stanlake as soon as the arrangements can be made. When is Mr Darcy due to return to Pemberley?"

Beatrice noticed the uneasy look on Georgiana's face and answered quickly, "my father, Mr Hurst, has written to say the party will arrive tomorrow evening, there will also be a Miss Godwin amongst their number who I suspect will be making your acquaintance."

Lady Armitage shot a knowing glance at her eldest son, "the Miss Godwin? Miss Jemima Godwin?"

"Do you know her?" Georgiana enquired, curiosity getting the better of her nerves.

"I do know her," she stated sharply, with no continuance of the sentence something very unlike her

There was an uneasy silence, particularly given Lady Armitage's predisposition to fill every minute with the sound of her own conversation.

"I think perhaps we will now take your leave, Miss Darcy, Miss Hurst, Miss Beatrice," Ernest rose to his feet, gesturing to his brothers who both stood in sequence, each performing polite bows and leaving. The men exited, followed by the giggling Miranda, who linked her arm through Henry's with Beatrice following behind, but Lady Armitage took a step back and spoke to Georgiana directly in a quiet, muted tone.

"Miss Darcy, I do not mean to speak out of turn, and this is not something I would share if it were not of a concern," Lady Armitage's face was pointed in concentration, her voice lowered again, "Miss Godwin is not a suitable mistress for Pemberley."

Georgiana was confused, "what do you mean, Lady Armitage?"

She moved away from the door, into the nook of the drawing room hidden from listening ears and prying eyes amidst the glow of the stained glass windows and the glare from the painted faces of Stuart monarchs. The younger woman followed, eager to hear what was to be said.

"Miss Darcy… Georgiana… I have known your family for a long time. Your mother, God rest her soul, was one of my closest friends, and you must know that I only have your best interests at heart."

"I fail to understand your meaning."

"Jemima Godwin should not marry Fitzwilliam."

"Why?"

"I cannot tell you why, it is a secret that I have sworn to keep, but know this…she should not marry into your family."

Darcys were not used to being told what they should do, and Georgiana felt herself rise at this suggestion, even from Lady Armitage whose counsel she would usually seek.

"Lady Armitage, you know that I cannot persuade my brother in matters of the heart," she took a quick breath, " and neither would I want to. If Miss Godwin makes Fitzwilliam happy then, of course, he will marry her."

The lady took a step back, Georgiana Darcy was very much the image of her mother, and it made Charlotte Armitage wish that Anne Darcy was here to see her daughter so very much grown. There had been a change in the girl over the last few months, Charlotte had heard that she had returned from Ramsgate with much haste and secrecy, but there was little gossip or hearsay surrounding it. Georgiana had always been a loud, commanding girl, fully aware of her family privilege and not afraid to demand it when necessary, but now there was a certain reserved frailness that had not been there before and she wondered why.

"I understand, Georgiana, of course. I simply felt that it was best to inform you, so you could likewise advise your brother of my concerns."

"I know," she said quietly, "but you know as well as I that once my brother has set his course, he is the most determined of men."

Charlotte smiled and leaned in to embrace Georgiana, who received it gratefully. There was a smell of gardenia and powder.

"All will be as it should, Georgiana," she said, "I firmly believe it."

"It will, Lady Armitage, and you have a ball to arrange too, so I am sure we will all be in each other's company again soon enough."

Charlotte smiled again, the rustle of her skirts and the heavy heel of her boots on the wooden floorboards, the door softly closing behind her. Georgiana sat down again, confused and concerned because surely Miss Godwin was the loveliest of women to have her brother in such thrall.

"Oh, I do apologise, Miss Georgiana." Mrs Reynolds came into the room supervising one of the younger maids who was carrying a huge vase filled with flowers from the gardens, placing it carefully by the window. "We thought you had finished with the room."

"It's alright, Mrs Reynolds, I was about to…" She stopped for a quick moment, "when are my brother and the party due to arrive?"

"Well," the Darcy housekeeper harrumphed, "Mr Darcy originally said tomorrow evening, but your brother sent word that he will arrive after dinner tonight with rest of the party to follow as planned."

"Fitzwilliam is home tonight?"

"Yes," she nodded, noticing the smile on the girl's face, "and glad to be home I reckon."

"I am so pleased that I get to spend some time in his company before the rest of our visitors arrive."

"I imagine so," the older lady nodded. "Pemberley is always a much happier place when the master is home."

"And I am a much happier sister," she grinned.

Looking out over the courtyard, she could see Miranda and Beatrice waving goodbye to the Armitages, before disappearing up onto Cage Hill until all that could be seen were the dots of their bonnets on the horizon. It had been hard without the comforting reassurance of Fitzwilliam there, during the day she could distract herself with music and visitors and needlework, but in the evening she found it hard to sleep, the darkness encroaching on her mind as she tried to block out the memories.

It was during dinner that Fitz arrived home, preferring to retire straight to his rooms than call on his sister and the Hurst girls who were halfway through what Georgiana thought was a rather good venison pie. She made note to have some sent up for him on a tray, but for now the words of Lady Armitage were still rattling around her mind.

"What is Miss Godwin like," she asked, "do you think she will like me?"

Beatrice sneered, but this was not uncommon and not necessarily a sign of her disdain but more a continuation of her usual expression, "I think you should be more concerned with whether or not you like her."

Georgiana gestured for more wine from Staughton, "you do not think I will like Miss Godwin?"

The younger Hurst was younger yet than Georgiana herself but had an air about her of being all-knowing and wise, "it's not that I do not think you will not like her, for Miss Godwin is herself charm personified."

"In public," Miranda interrupted.

"In public?" She looked from sister to sister, "are you of the opinion that Miss Godwin is not to be trusted?"

The sisters looked at each other, Miranda gesturing to Beatrice to speak, "I do not trust her, but I think it would be very easy to convince yourself that she is trustworthy."

"Oh," she said, rolling around the glass in her hand, "well, my papa always said that you are best to form your opinion on someone's character. So I shall do just that," she smiled at her guests, thoroughly decided upon her course of action, " besides, we do have to consider that maybe Miss Godwin is shy…sometimes it can come across as reticent or standoffish."

"You are right, sister," Fitz's voice came thundering through from the library and Georgiana immediately jumped up at the recognition. Miranda and Beatrice smiled at each other knowingly as their hostess ran over to her brother, hugging him tightly, almost knocking him off his feet. "Alright, alright."

She grabbed his hand and brought him to the table, sitting him down on the chair next to her own, the Hurst sisters giggling.

"I see you are both greatly amused, girls," he grinned, gesturing for Staughton to fill his glass and taking a piece of bread from the centre of the table, applying butter lavishly. "And how are we all this evening? How do you find Pemberley, Miss Hurst?"

Miranda seemed temporarily starstruck, a flush upon her cheek, "I find it most agreeable, Mr Darcy, I never realised that Derbyshire was so beautiful!"

Georgiana glanced over at her brother with a quick smile, "we have been around the park in the phaeton and yesterday Miss Beatrice did a wonderful sketch of Mama's rose garden."

"Oh, really?" Fitz looked over at Beatrice, who seemed to be pretending he didn't exist, "I would really like to see your drawing, Miss Beatrice, your father has been talking about your talent these last few weeks, I rather think he would like you to sketch us all."

She looked up quickly, a look of surprise on her face, "oh, Papa said he liked my art?"

"He talked of nothing else," he smiled, "if you would oblige I would very much like you to sketch a likeness of me."

"I would love to, Mr Darcy," an uncharacteristic smile crossing her lips.

"Yes brother," Georgiana laughed, "you could hang it on the gallery to scare away the ghost of Lady Hortense." Fitz laughed too, pleased to see that some of her lightness was returning.

"You have a ghost?" Miranda was intrigued at the prospect of a ghost, the house on Grosvenor Street was still relatively new and as far as she was aware there was no chance of any spiritual encounters.

"Don't be silly, Miranda," her sister said quickly, "there are no such things as ghosts."

"Of course there are ghosts," Georgiana's voice rose an octave, "Lady Hortense is the White Lady of Pemberley she was our great-great grandfather's first wife and many people believe that he threw off the gallery edge to her death!" There was more than a hint of the dramatic to her telling of the tale.

Her brother hid his amused face behind a napkin, whilst Miranda's eyes went as wide as saucers, "do you think we will see the ghost, Miss Darcy?"

"Well," Fitz interrupted, "to see the ghost means that a great misfortune is to occur at Pemberley, so I would very appreciate it very much if she failed to make an appearance during your visit."

"Well I, for one, think that spirits and ghosts are simply a fantastical construct designed to confuse the mind."

"No-one really cares what you think, Beatrice," Miranda snapped, "I, for one, think that it's scary to think of your ancestors walking around the house without you knowing, Georgiana."

Fitz grinned, "if you do happen to see Lady Hortense, please ask her if she knows where Cyril hid the Scottish Ruby."

"The Scottish Ruby?" The interest of the younger Miss Hurst was piqued.

Georgiana sighed from across the table and slumped into her chair, "oh Fitz, please don't start with this stupid treasure hunt nonsense again."

"It's not nonsense… It's Pemberley legend."

"I do love a legend, Mr Darcy," Miranda mooned, leaning forward across the table. "Please tell us about the Scottish Ruby."

"Miranda it's not as intriguing as he is having you believe," Georgiana admonished, "it's fairly dull."

"I would still to hear it though, Mr Darcy," Miranda said, with as strange simpering tone Georgiana and Beatrice recognised all too well, "I hear that you are rather wonderful at telling stories."

"No more so than any other gentleman with a captive audience, Miss Hurst."

"Fitz, just get on with it," Georgiana said, "I am eager for pudding."

Miranda and Beatrice turned their attention to their handsome host, and he admitted to himself that he was quite enjoying their attentions.

"The Scottish Ruby was given to Duchess Mary, our great great great grandmother, by her mother who had been a companion of Mary, Queen of Scots."

"The one who lost her head?" Miranda gulped, as her sister sighed and nudged her sharply.

"Yes, but before that happened she was held as prisoner of Queen Elizabeth and kept at lots of grand houses in the north…"

"…including this one," Georgiana interrupted, taking up the tale, "and so she wanted to reward her loyal servants before she died and gave away a lot of her jewels, including the Scottish Ruby, which was a ring."

"Was it, G? I thought it was a necklace?"

"No, it was a ring… No wonder you never found it."

"How long has it been lost for?" Beatrice asked, she was curious now, wanted to solve the riddle.

Fitz continued, "Cyril, the third Duke…"

"Duke? Cyril Darcy was a Duke? Are you a Duke, Mr Darcy?"

"Of course, he's not a duke, Miranda."

"No, Miss Hurst, I am not a Duke, but in the past Darcys were."

"It's why our house in London is called Derbyshire House," Georgiana added, "Pemberley was the ancestral seat of the Dukes of Derbyshire."

"Oh," Miranda was even more impressed now at being a houseguest of the Darcys, who were – to her mind – practically aristocracy.

"Please can you continue the story?" Beatrice was eager to know the end.

"Of course, Cyril presented the Scottish Ruby to Lady Hortense Holland-Darcy upon their marriage, and she wore it every day. However, when she was…" he looked at his audience, chose a more delicate phrase, "…discovered…the ring was missing and it has not been seen since."

"Really?" Miranda was excited, "so a ghost and a mystery! Why one should write a novel about this!"

"Even better!" Fitz agreed, "the legend goes that Lady Hortense took the ring to hell with her to strike a bargain with the devil himself, and that her curse is to walk the hallways of Pemberley forever," he dropped his voice lower for effect, which seemed to have the desired response as both Hurst girls oohed and ahhhed.

"My papa thought that had just been stolen by a light-fingered servant, which seems more realistic," Georgiana said, "but it didn't stop Fitz from spending his free time trying to find it."

"Oh, what larks!" Miranda clapped her hands with excitement, "and did you spend every summer here at Pemberley when you were younger?"

"Indeed I did, Miss Hurst."

"I met a gentleman in town not so long ago who claimed your acquaintance and familiarity with Pemberley, it was one of the reasons why I longed to stay here."

Fitz knew the name that was coming, hoped that Miss Hurst would stop her mouth, Georgiana looked up at him quickly, she knew too. He was sure he saw the blood drain from her face.

"Mr Wickham said that he spent such wonderful times here at Pemberley in his youth, he said that summer in Derbyshire was a fruit ready to pluck," she took a gulp of her wine, unaware of the effect of her words on her dinner companions. "Mr George Wickham. You do know him, don't you? He wasn't just telling me a tale to gain my confidence."

"Excuse me," Georgiana said quickly rising from her seat at the table, "I would like some air."

Fitz threw down his napkin, stood quickly, "allow me to accompany you. Miss Hurst, Miss Beatrice…" a stiff bow, followed by a gesture to Staughton to serve pudding.

"Was it something I said?" Miranda asked Beatrice, who shook her head and took a mouthful of wine.

Georgiana paced quickly through the ante-room, past the clump of footmen waiting for service, through the library still covered in cloths and smelling of paint, the sunshine of the late summer evening shining through the windows, reflecting off the lake, pushing through the door into the hallway, the echo of Fitz's footsteps behind her own, heading towards the Saloon and the balcony where she took in mouthfuls of air, breathing in deeply, feeling light-headed, sparkles in front of her eyes, and then the warm, strong embrace of Fitz who held her tightly.

"I thought I was alright, Fitz, I thought I was alright…" her voice a small whimper in the large room, they sank to the floor together and he pulled her in close and held her tight.

"You will be alright, Georgie, I promise you."

"Maybe one day," she said, "but not today."

"Not today, but however long it takes."

They sat there together for a long time, holding each other close in the grand saloon – her mother's favourite room - with the rococo ceiling and the Grinling Gibbons carvings and the gilt-edged mirrors, all at once in awe and swallowed up by it. It was a long time before the sobs stopped, and Staughton found his Master and Miss Georgiana still sitting on the floor fast asleep as the uneven playing of Beatrice Hurst echoed throughout the house.