I'm sorry to have kept you waiting so long. I hope this chapter will help you to wait for the next step. I'm almost done with the next chapter and I have to hand it over to my betas to have the English version corrected. In the meantime, enjoy your reading. opinion, please

Chapter 4 Family Visits

December 1793

The Honourable Randy Fitzwilliam, eleven years old, was the younger brother of the Viscount of Holbourne and the second son of the Earl of Matlock. He was also bored to death. They had been travelling from London for almost three days, travelling slowly because of the bad weather that made the roads slippery and dangerous for horses and travellers. No matter how comfortable and excellent the carriages were, spending long hours locked in a vehicle on bumpy roads was very boring for a young boy. As he was no more than ten years old and had an exuberant and adventurous temperament, he demanded a lot of entertainment and his parents and little sister did not adequately meet this need.

The Earl of Matlock was a very strong man of about thirty-five years of age but he had spent most of the trip sleeping in the opposite seat. His wife was sitting next to him, cradling Marina, Randy's younger sister, in her arms for the duration of the trip. Whatever one may say about the Countess, she was a very attentive and devoted mother.

He sighed deeply. After being confined for so long in the company of people who did nothing to gather the enthusiasm of a young boy, Randy was really not the happiest. The trip was long and boring and he didn't know what to do to keep busy.

However, he knew very well that his fate was much more pleasant than that of his brother, David, who had been reduced to sharing a carriage with their de Bourgh relatives. Their uncle, Sir Lewis, was a very pleasant and kind man, in Randy's opinion, but his wife, Lady Catherine, his father's sister, was extremely annoying and unpleasant. She seemed convinced that she was of great importance but Randy could not understand why. Authoritarian, pretentious and very proud, she expected everyone to obey her demands. Apparently, she was often disappointed because most of her family members did not pay her the slightest attention which infuriated her greatly. She was very full of herself and could not bear to be contradicted or ignored, even if it happened very often.

It was to be hoped that she would only be concerned about the presence of cousin Anne, who was only three years older than Marina. Randy strongly doubted that Aunt Cat would bother to take care of her daughter herself, as his mother did; the fact that Anne's nanny had been asked to accompany her in the family carriage was a clear indication of this. No, given the choice between his current company and the option he would have been given in the other vehicle, he far preferred his fate to David's. Even if Edward were also present.

Moreover, the reason for the trip made him more than willing to be indulgent and to endure the boredom of the trip: they were going to Pemberley!

Randy had not been to Pemberley for almost two years, his parents having generally limited their presence to London since well before Marina's birth. He had missed their previous frequent visits to this property because, although he loved his own home, even a young boy could appreciate the fact that there was something special about Pemberley.

It was not the place itself that he wished for most, however. No, what he missed most about Pemberley was his cousin who, confusingly, was named Fitzwilliam. A better playmate and more excellent friend you could not find; he was a blood relation and quite intelligent and Randy loved his youngest cousin a very great deal. He had missed him terribly since Marina was born. Although the Darcys had been coming to town for some time since then, his uncle Darcy did not like London society and they never stayed very long, certainly not long enough for Randy to enjoy Fitzwilliam's company much! It was therefore not surprising to his parents that their restless son's agitation increased more and more as they approached Pemberley.

Although his uncle had the title of duke, he did not like to use it, except when it was useful. For example, to put Lady Catherine in her place by reminding her that he was of higher rank than her own. She was still furious about it. Despite being the daughter of a count, she had married a man of the lowest rank which was very humiliating for her. He knew she dreamed of taking her sister's place in Pemberley, but this something that had no chance of happening, for the Duke despised her too much. It was quite amusing to see her eyes shining with lust, envy and jealousy when she was in Pemberley. Lady Catherine would eventually realize her insignificance.

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The Fitzwilliam were known in their circles both for their frankness of character and for their famous hospitality, traits almost universally possessed by every member of the family. Although Lady Anne Fitzwilliam had exchanged her last name for Darcy, it was obvious to everyone that she still considered herself a Fitzwillam in her heart.

When the carriages carrying her brothers and sisters and their families stopped in front of Pemberley grand house, she was already going down the stairs to greet them, a vision in green velvet and ermine and as beautiful at thirty years old as she had been like a new bride nine years earlier. Her obvious enthusiasm and beautiful colouring could not have been more opposed to those of her husband, black of hair and black of eye, who followed her to greet her guests at a much calmer pace.

Lady Anne rushed to kiss her brother and the viscountess, cheerfully exclaiming about Randy and David's big size, and how cute the tiny Marina looked in her little hat. She likely would have continued to greet her father and sister in the same manner if her husband had not approached the group at that very moment.

With a little smile for his wife, George Darcy suggested that they all go inside, because the intense cold of winter in Derbyshire could not be good for the count's health, or that of the children.

"Indeed, we best go inside," said Lady Catherine. "You should not keep my Anne out here. She has already suffered a terrible cold this winter and I thought it would have been better to stay in Kent for her health. She has such a fragile constitution, you know, although I'm sure she will get stronger over time and it would have been much better for her if we had stayed south for such a harsh winter. But Sir Lewis insisted that we allow you to welcome us for Christmas this year, so I have taken all the necessary precautions, thus far, to keep her warm. Our carriage is quite well insulated, else I would not have acquiesced."

The assembled people were well accustomed to these kinds of statements from Lady Catherine. She had once been a rather kind woman, although perhaps not quite as kind as her sister, but her failure to have a child during the first years of her marriage had cost her her husband's respect and made her uncomfortable. Anne's birth had come as a relief to all. The fact that it was a girl instead of the desired heir had considerably reduced Catherine's joy. Since then, she had worked tirelessly to ensure the well-being of her daughter, constantly afraid that her child, whom she had had such difficulty having, would be taken from her, as Anne was indeed somewhat delicate. However, the family generally suspected that the girl's health was more robust than her mother was inclined to believe.

Sir Lewis, in particular, had little patience for his wife's agitation. He had good reason to regret his wife's choice, but he knew that regret would be useless. He had to deal with and endure being married to an unbearable shrew. He had made sure, as soon as he understood it, at the beginning of their marriage, that she understood he intended to be the master in his house and that her only right was to obey him. She had tried to protest, outraged by what she considered to be a lack of respect for her but Sir Lewis had ignored her speeches and given her a glimpse of what it would cost her if she tried to disobey him.

He quickly realized that she was treating their daughter outside of all common sense. By virtue of Catherine's belief that she knew better than anyone what was good for little Anne, she ensured that all her orders were carried out. Instead of strengthening the little girl's health, she had only weakened it. Sir Lewis was horrified to find that his daughter barely dared to speak to him because her mother made her believe that she was of no importance to him. He had been furious with his wife. Determined to frustrate Catherine's schemes, he spent at least an hour a day with the child, taking her for a walk, without worrying about the outrageous protests he considered particularly stupid.

He also found that the girl had no toys and was not permitted to play or make any noise. She had to stay there, motionless and silent, like a doll sitting on the fireplace, without having the opportunity to say a single word. These facts had driven Sir Lewis mad with rage. He had sent away the incompetent servants who were taking care of his daughter and replaced them with a nurse and a servant who were accountable only to him. He had forbidden his wife to approach Anne without one of these servants being present and he had advised her to stop talking nonsense to their daughter, else he would make sure that she would no longer have the right to see her. She had absolutely no right to decide on their child's future. This right belonged only to him and only to him and he would not allow his wife to waste his life with her despicable schemes. If she tried to disobey, she'd regret it. He had never hit her before, but he might well be tempted to change his mind about this and give her a taste of his riding crop.

This threat had made Lady Catherine positively furious, but she understood that he would keep his word if forced to do so. There was absolutely nothing she could do to oppose him. This fact made her very frustrated and angry. However, she was determined to not give up her plans. She would simply have to be smarter than her husband to achieve her goal.

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Sir Lewis' sister-in-law, however, was most gracious. Lady Catherine's requests to enter the house and see her daughter taken directly into the nursery, so that her nurse could take care of her health and comfort, were granted, greetings were exchanged before the enthusiastic hostess complied with her request.

The parents saw that the children had been settled in the nursery - with the exception of David Fitzwilliam, who was very soon to be twelve years old and therefore rather too old - and the adults were taken to the rooms where they could relax after a long day's travel.

Fitzwilliam was delighted to welcome his cousin Edward. He hoped that Edward would help him look after his little sister whenever he was present, for he was suspicious of his aunt and knew that she would try to force him to spend time with the little girl, under some pretext. But he didn't intend to let her ruin his vacation by forcing him to be his cousin's nanny.

Randy, too, was greeted with all the enthusiasm he could have hoped for by his young cousin, who had obviously missed him as much as he, Randy, had missed Fitzwilliam. After a thorough inspection of an eleven-month-old Marina, during which he had his nose pinched and his hair pulled by his curious little cousin, Fitzwilliam gave an account of the adventures he had had since the last time they had met. His report was just as enthusiastic as his mother's warm welcome had been before and he seemed unwilling to forget the slightest detail. Randy was particularly amused by his cousin's account of an incident involving a tureen of onion soup and several large toads in the garden.

Being an observant boy, it was not long before Randy noticed how often the names of George Wickham and Robert Harcourt were mentioned. His natural curiosity was awakened and he asked his cousin about them.

"George is the son of Father's steward," explained Fitzwilliam, "and Robert's father is the rector of Lambton. They are very good friends."

"I should like to meet them," said Randy. "Any friend of my cousin Darcy is a friend of mine!"

Indeed, he had already met George Wickham before, during his first visit to Pemberley. Fitzwilliam was too young at the time to play much with the older boys, but Randy and George were almost the same age, not even a full month separated their birthdays, and the pair had had a wonderful time. But that was four years ago, and children can be forgiven for not immediately remembering a brief acquaintance from several years ago.

Fitzwilliam, for his part, was eager to bring together his favorite cousin and his favorite playmates. "We cannot visit Robbie because he went to spend Christmas on his grandfather's property, but George lives here in Pemberley," he said.

Randy's eyes opened with surprise. "Your father's steward lives on the property?"

Fitzwilliam nodded. "It is true. My father's steward is also a lawyer and has his own house."

Perhaps something in Randy's tone implied criticism of His Grace's management of those in his employ, because Fitzwilliam felt the need to defend his father. "Pemberley is much bigger than your father's property," he said protectively. "And my father has properties in Ireland and in Northumberland and Hampshire, so he has other stewards to look after them. Pemberley's management gives Mr. Wickham more than enough work for him not to be able to do anything else. Moreover, living here is more convenient for him and prevents him from making constant trips back and forth between Pemberley and Lambton."

Randy frowned, but did not answer. He had never really thought about or given much consideration to the fact that one day his cousin would be much richer than he, as a second son, could ever realistically expect to be. Fitzwilliam's thoughtless remark about the vast properties belonging to the Darcy family, which were large enough to considerably exceed the Fitzwilliam properties, even without taking into consideration the land in Ireland, suddenly struck Randy with strength that his own and his brother's perspectives were clearly different from that of his cousin. His brother would succeed their father as Viscount of Holbourne and eventually assume the title of Earl of Matlock. His cousin would one day be the master of many large properties and, if his parents' conversations that he had heard listening outside his father's study were a reliable source, Fitzwilliam would certainly become one of the richest men in the Midlands.

Randy himself, on the other hand, would probably inherit nothing more than a small annuity that his family would see fit to leave him and he would have to make his own way in the world.

That idea made the boy, typically very exuberant, suddenly quite still.

For many years, however, his life would be similar to that of his cousin and brother. In a few years, he would follow David to Eton and then to Cambridge - or perhaps Oxford - but the men of the Fitzwilliam family had been educated in Cambridge for generations. And then... what? He would not have a large property waiting for him to inherit it.

"Randy?" asked Fitzwilliam, obviously surprised. "Why are you so quiet?"

Ah, he would think about the future later. He didn't need to worry about it for years and it would be much more fun to play with his cousin than to sulk because Fitzwilliam was richer than him!

"No reason," he said, quickly returning to his usual good mood.

"But you are never quiet," observed Fitzwilliam.

That was true, but Randy was not about to admit it. Although his cousin would be seven years old in March, he was firmly convinced that Fitzwilliam was too young to be overwhelmed with such problems. Distraction, therefore, became his object. "Hey, do you want to play hide-and-seek?"

Fitzwilliam looked at him strangely, but simply replied, "There are only two of us, we cannot play hide and seek."

Randy smiled widely. "We can get David and Edward to agree. Perhaps Anne will also play with us. Would you mind, Anne?" He looked at the little girl, who had been entrusted to the care of her nurse, with an inquisitive look.

Anne was a small girl, giving the impression of being two years old rather than almost four, and she almost disappeared into the many layers of clothing her mother insisted she wear to keep warm. Her blue-grey eyes widened wide open with surprise as she heard her older noisy cousin speak to her. Bowing her head, she agreed to play.

"See?" said Randy, smiling triumphantly at Fitzwilliam.

A smile appeared on Fitzwilliam's face. "Then we'll play sardines."

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'Playing hide-and-seek,' Fitzwilliam thought, 'would have been much more fun if we had played more than one round before an unfortunate sneeze drew Aunt Catherine's attention to where Anne and I were hiding behind the curtains in the portrait gallery, waiting for David to find us.'

Aunt Catherine's lecture on their negligence in exposing Anne to the cold - as if Pemberley were a draughty country house! - had lasted about ten minutes before David's arrival on stage and then lasted five or six times longer as soon as he was present. Being the eldest of the cousins, he should have known how to avoid her and Fitzwilliam was convinced that she would have continued to lecture them if his father had not come to join them and put an end to the scene.

Pemberley's heir had never in his life been so grateful to his father.

Anne had been sent back to the nursery to be placed under the appropriate care of her nurse. For the well-being and peace of the family, it was agreed that the cousins would have their dinner in the nursery rather than torment their aunt by appearing with the rest of the family as previously planned. Fitzwilliam had heard that Lady Catherine did not approve of children at the dinner table, even on the best of days. It was particularly amusing, as he learned the next day from his grandfather, because when she herself had been a little girl, she had had at least one very impressive tantrum for not being allowed to join her parents during their dinners.

Fitzwilliam was extremely concerned about provoking his aunt's anger, but his father quickly put his mind at ease, steering him safely away from the noble lady who was still grumbling. "Do not worry, Will," he said, "it is just your Aunt Cat's way of behaving. Do not let the noise scare you, because that does not mean something is truly wrong. She is very stubborn and likes to get what she wants."

"But Anne was so scared, I thought she might faint if Lady Catherine kept screaming," Fitzwilliam told him, "and then I should have had to catch her."

His father laughed. "I am certain you would have done it that way, my boy!"

Fitzwilliam's only response to this was a shrug followed, after a few moments of gloomy contemplation, by the statement, "Now even David and Edward will have to have dinner upstairs because we are disturbing our aunt."

The duke tapped him on the shoulder. "I want to make clear what I was saying. Do not worry about it. In fact, tomorrow, you will join us all for dinner, regardless of what Lady Catherine may say. Your mother and I have an important announcement to make and we want you and your cousins to be with us when we do."

Interested, he looked up high, very high, for his father was an awfully tall man. "An announcement? What is it about?"

"Patience, my son."

"Is it a secret?" Fitzwilliam asked.

His father wore a curious smile on his face. "Not for very long."

"And it's a good secret, isn't it?"

"Yes, Will, I think it's a very good secret."

With the anticipation of such a disclosure and the coming evening and morning with George and Randy, if he had a say, Fitzwilliam could not feel much better about the incident with his aunt Catherine.

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Fitzwilliam loved the Christmas season, even though the bad weather forced him, most of the time, to stay inside the house, which restricted possible activities. Fortunately, Pemberley's vast rooms were sufficiently heated, although this was not an easy task. For several weeks of the year, his family felt as united as Maggie and Robert's.

Another advantage was that his father spent more time at home at Christmas. Winter was considered a rather quiet time for a gentleman farmer, although, having several properties to manage and a number of investments to monitor, George Darcy was not short of occupation, even during the cold season.

It was therefore not surprising that Fitzwilliam did not see his father very much during the hottest months. It sometimes happened that several days passed without his parents coming to see him in the nursery, but even if the fields were covered with snow, the duke was busy enough to have little time to devote attention solely to his heir.

At least now that his family members were present, Fitzwilliam was certain that his father would spend more time with them.

He was sure that his mother would also rejoice during these blessed days. Lady Anne was never happier than when she had all her family members with her in Pemberley. So how could she not be happy for the next few days? It would make the party very happy during the whole time their guests were there.

The presence in Pemberley of his cousins and, in particular, Randy, whose age he was closest to, could only improve Fitzwilliam's good humour and holiday joy.

The day after their arrival, he arranged for Randy to be introduced to George Wickham again, which delighted both boys. However, the young boy quickly became aware of the differences between his cousin and his friend. It didn't matter much, after all, but he was just a little disappointed to see that he was the youngest and regretted that Robbie was not there.

It seemed obvious that young Wickham hoped to be invited to the big house for Christmas dinner, but Randy quickly put an end to those illusions. "That is not possible, Wickham. You may not mingle with the family."

"Why not?" asked George, obviously offended.

"Because," replied Randy, "you are the son of a servant. Fitz's father is the master of yours. It's not done. There are rules to follow, you understand?"

George frowned. He knew very well the difference between Fitz and himself, but hearing it said in this way was not pleasant.

"Anyway, I doubt very much that His Grace would agree," Randy continued in a confident tone. "I can imagine Lady Catherine's reaction if we ever wanted to place a steward at the same table as her. She would certainly be outraged. She is very snobbish and would certainly put you very brutally in your place if she found out what you wanted - and she would not bother being nice."

George Wickham was forced to abandon his project, which made him furious. He was not at all happy to be told what he was: someone of little importance who would have to work one day to support himself, while Fitz could live in luxury at will without having to worry about what would be on his plate. He would never lack for anything.

The young Wickham obviously had no idea how much work the Duke had to do to make his estate prosper. Did he think money grew on trees? Sadly, it would be years before he would understand the realities of life.

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Fitz had been very disturbed by the scene that had occurred, so he decided to talk to his father but he thought it best to avoid doing so in the presence of Lady Catherine. He had no desire to hear her opinion, so he went to his father's office and was relieved to find him alone and asked his permission to talk to him. Seeing that his son seemed troubled by something, the Duke invited his son to sit in front of him.

"What is going on, Fitz? Did you have a fight with George? This kind of thing can happen, but I'm sure you can fix it yourself."

Fitzwilliam answered, "No, we did not fight. This is, however, concerning George." He proceeded to tell his father about the conversation that had taken place between Randy and George.

"And what is the problem?" asked the Duke.

"I do not understand why it would not be a good idea to invite George. He is my friend and your godchild. Do you not see him as a member of the family?"

"Not exactly. Randy is correct. There are rules to follow. Even as my godchild, George remains the son of a servant. His father is at my service, you know that. He cannot be involved in an environment that is not his own. It is one thing for him to be your friend, Fitz, but that does not mean he should think he is your equal, for he is not. One day, he will have to work to ensure his livelihood. I will do what is necessary to establish him, but he should not get used to luxury because he may have trouble living more modestly afterwards."

Confused, Fitzwilliam asked, "Did you not say you would like him to go to Cambridge? Is that not too much for him? He might get ideas above his rank. And when he sees that he is not getting what he thinks he is entitled to, he will be disappointed, frustrated and angry."

"We shall discuss this again when the time comes, Fitz. I think I will have a discussion with George so that he understands things better. In a few years, I may send him to a school where he would have to submit to discipline. He will choose a profession and could study according to this choice. I do not intend to let him believe that he is destined for a life of leisure and dissipation. He's smart enough to understand that he will lose my favour if he misbehaves. I am sure he will do what is best for him."

After a brief silence, he added, "Your loyalty to your friend honours you, my son, and I am proud of you. Since it is impossible to invite him for Christmas, how about having a little party for Twelfth Night? You can invite any friends you wish."

With a hopeful look in his eyes, Fitzwilliam remarked, "Robbie and Maggie will be back from their visit to their grandfather, so they can come too?"

"Of course, you can invite the young Harcourt but you have to be courteous with your aunt. I know she is difficult to live with, but that does not mean you cannot be polite."

"And Maggie?" Fitzwilliam inquired, eager to support his point of view.

"Yes, and Miss Harcourt, too," conceded his father.

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That night, an announcement was made after dinner. The little girls had been sent back to the nursery because they were too young to stay up late, but the boys had received permission, despite Lady Catherine's protests. She disapproved of children remaining until the end of the evening. It was Christmas Eve. Games were played by all those who wanted to do so. Lady Anne took her place at the fortepiano to accompany her family in a series of joyful songs.

Fitzwilliam could not help but make a face when he heard his aunt's squeaky voice, and she was obviously singing incorrectly. What a horror! She should have abstained. Apparently, everyone seemed to have decided to ignore this fact. He would do the same thing. He promised himself he would not say anything about her. He would make sure he ignored it, as he did when he visited Rosings Park. She did not matter enough to him to make him care about her.

Shortly afterwards, Georges Darcy took his glass of port and stood. "Now that everyone is ready to listen, my dear Anne and I have some news to share. It seems that the Child Jesus will not be the only child to be celebrated here in Pemberley this year."

This intelligently expressed statement took a moment to be understood. Unusually, it was Lady Catherine who was the first to react. "Are you expecting a child?" she asked her sister, obviously surprised.

Lady Anne bowed her head, all pink and radiant.

"What?" asked the Count. "Did I hear you announce that I was to be an uncle again?"

To the approving nod of his brother-in-law, he nodded with a satisfied nod and shone. "That is assuredly good news. I am delighted for both of you and have no doubt that you will be able to take care of this little one as well as you do your first child. I need another well-behaved nephew to compensate for the pair of exasperating children I must deal with."

This pronouncement provoked outrageous and noisy protests from Randy and David, who received affectionate slaps on the head from their father, appeasing them.

Having calmed down his eldest children, Lord Matlock turned to study his young nephew. "And, Fitzwilliam, do you like the idea of becoming an older brother?"

Fitzwilliam had been sitting in surprised silence all this time and he remained so for a while longer, visibly considering the question that had just been asked of him. "I hope I would be a good brother," he said at last, "and I would love a little sister. My friend Robert has a sister, you understand, and I think I would do much better with a sister to keep busy, I think."

The Count laughed and the rest of the family imitated him, as was usually the case among adults who had just received an unexpected response from a young child.