2001

It was nearly eight o'clock when Maggie knocked on the door tentatively and walked into the small living room. She had helped her friend decorate in a warm yellow colour a few months before, but the colour did nothing to brighten up this dark evening. She knew that the letter she held in her hand did not contain the words that Lizzy wanted, and she was reluctant to hand it over. Matthew had already left a few hours before, chasing a stomping Cara as she headed towards her Range Rover. They were arguing, shrill expletives being scattered about, following by softer apologies, before escalating into shouts and screams on the driveway of the stables. Gary, the head ranger, had come out of the office and demanded that they take their disagreements elsewhere and they had sped off towards the driveway and then back down the M6 towards London. Maggie had been left with this message to deliver.

Lizzy was sitting on the ancient, balding velvet couch that didn't go with anything and had wrapped herself in a thick woollen blanket. The room was freezing, and Maggie made two steaming mugs of coffee before lighting a fire in the large fireplace that dominated the room. She noticed that the mantel was covered in new pictures – photos of her friends from university, a picture of her little sister Imogen cuddling their even smaller brother Joe just after he was born in May, an old polaroid of Maggie and Lizzy cuddling on the grand staircase on Christmas Day, and a newer photograph of Winston from a few months before he died. She smiled sadly, looking over at the couch where Lizzy looked drawn and tired. Looking back, she noticed a scan picture that she hadn't seen before, the image was clear, and she could see arms and legs now, rather than the indecipherable blur that she always pretended she could identify as a baby.

"Did you find out what you're having?" She plonked herself down on the couch and passed Lizzy her mug of coffee from the table. The room was beginning to warm up now, the condensation on the arched windows starting to dissipate, Lizzy leaned over, breathed on the glass and wrote 'girl'.

"You're having a girl?" Maggie smiled happily. She had really wanted a niece, had already bought some little pink bootees and a tiny romper dotted with embroidered flowers. "Mum will be so happy."

Lizzy smiled wanly, "I'm going to be able to do this, aren't I?" Her eyes betrayed her insecurity, and she looked panicked, unsure, young.

"Yes," Maggie said firmly, placing her arm on her friend's shoulder, "you are Elizabeth Darcy and you are capable of wonderful things. You're going to be a brilliant Mum!"

"I don't even know how to be a Mum, I've never had one!"

"You don't have to know, you will just know… does that make sense?"

Lizzy nodded, her eyes welling up with tears. It had been an emotional day and she hadn't felt prepared to deal the onslaught from Cara who, quite frankly, was a complete horror pig of a woman.

"Yes," she said with a recovering confidence. "Yes, I will be perfectly fine. I am a Darcy, and this is what we do."

"Millicent raised two children and ran the whole estate all by herself, and she didn't have me like you do."

Lizzy felt a smile spread across her face, Maggie was right, she was much better off than lots of people in her position and she wasn't going to forget her privilege. She lived in this huge flat, yes it was ridiculously cold and up three flights of stairs, but she didn't have to pay any rent or bills as these were covered by the estate, and she had a generous allowance each month from her inheritance from Winston, who had ensured that she would be well looked after. In reality, she could afford to comfortably look after herself and the baby, as well as continuing her studies – she even had Maggie and Jean over at the stables who would help her if she needed. She didn't need Matthew Wickham and his stupid face to help her; she understood why Cara was angry, but Lizzy hadn't cheated on her, Matthew had cheated on her and she was quite happy to let him into her bed every night, maybe she should try making him be accountable for his bullshit, maybe that would help her align her chakras or whatever crap it was that she needed to do.

Maggie could see the thoughts running through Lizzy's head as she formulated her plan, and then she saw her face as she noticed the letter from Matthew sitting on the table; she knew his writing immediately, the spindly but firm letters imprinted on the envelope – 'Lizard'. She had hated the nickname, given to her by Charlie and Matthew one summer as she spent almost a fortnight basking in the sunshine near the lake; the name had stuck and by the end of August even Winston was calling her it. Seeing it on the envelope she was cross that he dared to recall this earlier affection, annoyed that he was playing on their history together. She picked up the envelope and threw it on the fire.

"Lizzy, what have you done that for?" Maggie jumped up and tried to pull the letter from the blaze with the poker, but it was too late. "Why did you do that? Do you not care what he had to say?"

"No," her face had turned cold and emotionless, as she watched the final fragments of the letter disappear into the flames. "If he had anything of worth to say, he would be here saying it to my face rather than sending a letter."

"Do you not think you owe it to him to have read it at least?" Maggie was always careful to defend her brother, most of the time he was usually in the wrong, but this time she wasn't sure. She had seen how heartbroken he had been when Lizzy had said they should split up, she had understood her reasons for the decision; they were living at different ends of the country, she was living in Manchester during the week and either coming back to Pemberley to see Winston, who had been hit by a particularly bad chest infection, or travelling down to London on the Friday night Megabus to spend a few precious days with Matthew. Lizzy had known something had to give, even if only for while so that she could sort it all out and she let Matthew know her decision one afternoon as they had walked up to the Lantern. He had stormed off; shocked, unsure, then angry, furious that she had made the decision without even consulting him and he had cried and shouted at his sister that evening, before sobbing on her bed and falling asleep.

"No, Maggie," she said firmly, jutting out her chin. Maggie looked at the younger woman, she was still a child really, would need all the help she could get. Jean and Maggie were determined to play active roles in the baby's life, knowing that Lizzy had no immediate family nearby.

"Okay, I understand," Maggie said softly. "Shall we go and get a curry?"

"Only if we can have it delivered because I cannot deal with that hill again today!"

Maggie laughed, "okay, you win!"

The two women snuggled under a blanket, ordered their curry, and watched something trashy on the television whilst the baby started to push and kick and proved to be much more entertaining.

2002

Hugh Darcy thought that little Harriet was the cutest little button that he had ever seen, he could see the family resemblance – the grey eyes, the sharp chin, the upturned nose - but he could also see that she had inherited her father's darker countenance too. She was now six months old, shrieking and laughing as he bounced her on his knee. His own youngest son, Joe, was not quite two and Hugh felt every one of his forty-seven years as he chased the boy around, he hadn't remembered it being this hard when Charlie and Lizzy were younger. Harriet was dressed up in the family Christening gown and had been baptised at St Thomas's Church in Lambton. As the visiting Duke, there had been a bit of local press and the photographer, Harold, from the Matlock Chronicle had been sent over for a few pictures. They had shared a surreptitious cigarette behind the church before Hugh had organised his family into well-posed pictures.

They retreated to Pemberley for the reception and it had taken all of Hugh's persuasion, charm and a generous donation to convince Brian Whitfield, the HHS House Manager, to let them use the Dining Room for their celebration. The phone call had started out fine, until Brian had spoken to his curator, Joyce, who had raised concerns about the furnishings and the family use of the room, which was a very popular part of the house tour. They would have to close and there would be a loss of revenue. Hugh had opened his chequebook and promised to loan the use of a rare, and frankly hideous, dining service as a gesture of goodwill, simply to be able to use a room in his family's ancestral home to welcome the Hon Harriet Sophia Darcy into the world.

Lizzy had not wanted all this drama, but she understood that her dad wanted to play the part of proud grandfather and carry on their family traditions. The first was the christening gown, which had been made by Elspeth Darcy back in the 1860's, the exquisite and delicate embroidery all being the lady's own work; the second was the family toast with the stirrup glasses that were now kept in a box under Lizzy's bed; the third was the gifting of the ring – each Darcy family member, whether male or female, was given a signet ring with the Darcy coat of arms and their name engraved inside. It was a completely chance whether the ring would fit by the time you were of age to wear it and Lizzy found hers had obviously been made for a small child and had not fit since she was nine, but maybe that was due to her love of cake rather than any failing by the jeweller. She watched as her dad continued the pageantry and ceremony in the grand opulence of this glorious room, surrounded by portraits of their ancestors on every wall. Hugh was dressed in his Duke Suit, she called it – handmade on Saville Row, it was the deepest navy blue and made him look very regal as he addressed the members of his family as the Darcy Patriarch. Uncle Jeremy was here without his wife, Jude, who was dealing with a complex human rights case and had to remain in London. Jeremy had offered to let her complete her LPC at his firm the following year and invited her and Harriet to stay with them at Longbourn for as long as she wished. Aunty Julia, now bleached blonde and with skin like creosote, brought a giftcard for Mothercare and a bottle of Moet, which she drank herself. Charlie was still in Thailand and probably too busy partying every night to even think about getting a flight, but he had sent a card which for him was a massive feat.

There was a string quartet in the corner and Lizzy was impressed at how much her dad had spent in order to celebrate her daughter's birth; when she had told him, he had been fairly relaxed about the situation, although Carol had been shrill and disapproving, refusing to allow Lizzy to visit at Christmas, instead she had spent the day with Winston's sister Sybil over in Kympton, who had regaled her with tales of general debauchery from her time in Vegas during the fifties, which would have been fascinating if not being told by your eighty-five year old great aunt over Christmas Dinner. Imogen, her blonde curls bigger than her head, was running wild around the room, bashing into things and twirling about under the sparkling chandelier, Lizzy ran over and picked her sister up, spinning her around and hearing her laughter, which was louder than the elegant music. They ran off in the direction of the Stag Parlour and later could be seen rolling down the sloping hills at the top end of the lawn as Carol tutted disapprovingly.

Jean Wickham posed for pictures with her granddaughter, who looked so much like her late husband that sometimes she became overwhelmed with the remembrance that he wasn't here to share these special moments with her. John had died when Matthew had been a similar age and this celebration had upset her for two reasons. Firstly, her son was not here to take his place at the altar, to claim this beautiful baby as his own; secondly, Harriet was a Darcy, she was not and never would be a Wickham. Jean felt as if the child's heritage was being erased for the sake of keeping up appearances and it made her feel sad to think that her only grandchild would not bear her father's name, regardless of how prestigious it was to be a member of the Darcy family, Harriet was a Wickham too.

Steve Carter felt out of place mixing with, as the rest of the staff put it, the hoi-polloi. The stiffness of his shirt made him feel uncomfortable, and he had felt completely gormless standing up at the altar holding a candle and promising to be Harriet's godfather. He didn't even believe in God. The day of her birth still troubled him – he had been completing his first Duty Manager overnight shift, staying in the small staff flat that occupied two rooms in the corner of the second floor and watching The Sopranos, when he heard the radio alarm in the long gallery and hurried over to find Lady Liz dressed in her pyjamas, water all over the floor. He had initially thought that there had been a leak until she shouted at him and he realised that she was in labour. Steve had quickly raised the alarm at the gatehouse, Don had driven up in the minibus and they had all raced to the hospital, Steve remembered an episode of Casualty and hoped that he wouldn't have to deliver the baby. He had heard that blood was horrible to get out of clothes and car upholstery and he knew that as one of the more junior members of staff that this job would inevitably fall to him. When they had reached the hospital, everyone assumed he was the father and he was bundled into the delivery room despite his protestations. It was only an hour later when Harriet Darcy arrived and Steve passed out. Despite this, when Lady Liz - 'Steve, please call me Lizzy, you have seen my lady bits' – had asked him to be Harriet's godfather he had accepted and bought his new suit from Burtons, with a bit of help from his mum who would cut out the pictures from the Matlock Chronicle and keep them safe, bragging to her friends at Lambton WI about her youngest son being little Harriet Darcy's godfather.

Maggie played the role of godmother beautifully and she had looked at Peter wistfully, wondering when they would have a baby of their own. He had grumbled off and gone to get food as she walked around the room with Harriet, pointing out the portraits of King James II, Lady Mary of Derbyshire and Hortense Holland, the baby had smiled and squirmed in her arms, and they ended up sitting on a bench outside in the summer sunshine, Maggie feeding her niece and cuddling her under the blanket. She had text Matthew that morning, letting him know that it was the baby's special day today and to thank him for the gift. He had sent over a small token – a little pillow with 'Harriet' sewn onto it. She didn't want to give it to Lizzy as she knew she would reject it, and she knew that Matthew had tried with his gift. She had felt sorry for her brother, knowing that he wanted to know his daughter, wanted to be the father he himself had never had, but he feared the wrath of both Lizzy and Cara. The only person who would miss out on this would be Harriet. Maggie nuzzled the now-sleeping baby, inhaling her warm, milky smell and hugging her tight, hoping that she could appeal to Lizzy to offer an olive branch to Matthew sooner rather than later.

Lizzy's bright yellow polka dot dress might have gained a few grass stains, her sister's pale pink skirt and expensive chiffon top might have gained a few more. As they walked back towards the garden entrance hand in hand, laughing and chatting, she could see Carol admonishing their father and pointing at them both. Turning around, they walked off towards the Orangery, deciding that smelling pretty flowers and playing the fountain was much more fun than being told off by the grown-ups.

"Are you excited for school, Imo?" Lizzy asked, prising a daffodil from her sister's hand.

"No, I don't want to go to school," Imogen pouted, jutting out her chin in exactly the same way that she did herself.

"But it will be exciting, you will get to have fun and learn new things and then Mummy, or Daddy or Jacinta will pick you up and you can tell them all about it."

"Mummy says that I will be sleeping at school and I don't want to."

Lizzy looked at the girl questioningly, surely, they weren't sending her away to board…No, that couldn't be right, she had only just turned four in February, there must be some misunderstanding.

"What do you think of Harriet?"

"She's okay, babies are boring though. Joe is boring, he just cries all the time and makes Mummy cross."

"Do you know that you are Harriet's Aunty, Imogen?"

"I'm Aunty Imo?" The little girl's face looked confused. "But I cannot be an Aunty, I am too little."

"I think you are super big now! Look," she said picking her up and lifting her high, "you can reach the top of the fountain, only the biggest girls can do that!"

"I'm the biggest girl!" She shrieked.

Lizzy swung her back down again and Imogen looked up at her beaming, "Lizard, I promise that I will be the bestest Aunty ever to my Harriet and I will love her forever and ever." She held out her little finger to be shaken. "Pinky promise."

"Pinky promise," Lizzy smiled. "Now, shall we go and get cake?"

Harriet ran off screaming in the direction of the house and Lizzy was surprised to see her dad emerge from the side of the Orangery, where he had obviously been having a cigarette, hiding from the disapproving gaze of Carol. He walked over and placed his arm gently on her shoulder before kissing the top of her head.

"Thank you, Daddy."

"My pleasure, Lady Elizabeth."

She looked up at him and grinned, "I don't think I will ever get used to that."

"Me neither," he laughed. "I went to Harrods last week and the man behind the counter kept calling me 'Your Grace', I find it fascinating."

"I find it fascinating that you go to Harrod for groceries, Daddy," she looked up at him and rolled her eyes. She knew it was more about Carol trying to maintain a certain level of appearance rather than her dad wanting to do the weekly shop at Harrods. When she had been little she vaguely remembered being dragged around Kwik Save by her mum who had always loved a bargain. It had been strange growing up without a mum, which had made Patricia's death from breast cancer when she was eleven a weird emotional anomaly, where she knew that she should be sad, but couldn't bring herself to cry or mourn the loss of someone who she had never really known.

"How is Charlie with the new title? Earl of Berks!" She looked at her dad and then started to laugh uncontrollably. "I can't think of anything more fitting."

"You know full well that it's Earl of BARK-shire," he corrected with his serious face, before laughing too. "Although, Earl of BERKshire, is probably more apt for your brother…." Hugh deep sighed, "oh look at us, Lizzy, tenants in our own house. Did we do the right thing?"

Lizzy looked around the house, the summer months had produced another army of volunteers who swarmed upon the house daily; tidying, fixing, repairing, cleaning. They had made the right decision; Pemberley had to continue after they had gone and this way, it would.

"Yes, we did," she smiled up at him. "Apart from Joyce, she is a harridan."

"Joyce?" Hugh remembered a young woman called Joyce who used to work there when he was at Oxford, she had been funny, battling him with her sharp wit and disregard for his position, treating him as a regular chap off the street. He had enjoyed their brief interludes, until the summer after his graduation he had come home, and she wasn't there anymore, gotten married and popped out some sprogs probably. "It's not Joyce Hutchinson, is it?"

"Yes," she nodded with a curious expression on her face. "Do you know her?"

Hugh Darcy smiled wistfully, "I did know her once upon a time." He took his eldest daughter's arm in his own and they went back to the party the long way around, laughing and chatting softly as they walked down the steps and ventured up familiar paths. On the lawn a few visitors, pointed and waved at the Duke, who they recognised from his portrait in the hallway, and he took his time to acknowledge them and welcome them to Pemberley. From her vantage point in the library, Joyce Hutchinson saw Hugh Darcy for the first time in too long and she was disappointed that her heart still skipped a beat.