Thank you for the feedback on the last chapter. There is a point to Matthew Wickham being a complete jerk and why Lizzy goes back to him, but all of this is leading to a HEA after a few more twists and turns. I will get you there in style, promise! :) xx

2006

Hugh Darcy had never really appreciated Pemberley when he lived here, it was always unbearably cold, especially in winter and his memories of coming home from school for the holidays were of being freezing and coughing from the smoky fires, which were never cleaned often enough. His room, called the Mahogany Room due to being panelled from floor to ceiling in the deep dark wood, had two windows which faced the lake, and both rattled when the wind rushed over the moorland. During one particularly harsh winter, when the ice on the lake was thick and the roads out of the estate unnavigable, the Darcy boys had been banned from donning their skates; so instead they opened all the windows in the Long Gallery, tipped water all over the floor and waited for it to freeze. It didn't, of course, but Jeremy and Hugh felt the icy wrath of Mrs Reynolds, who demanded that they clean up before their father discovered what had happened. Hugh had secretly been hoping that Winston would find out and send them back to the warmth of school as punishment, but he didn't, and they spent an afternoon soaking up freezing cold water with rags before being sent to bed without supper, although Staughton did send up buttered seed cake and tea after Mrs Reynolds had gone to bed.

Summer had always been wonderful at Pemberley; especially when their mother decamped to London to star in a show in the West End, or off to Pinewood to film the terrible comedies that she still regularly appeared in. Sylvia Pratchett had only been twenty-two when she married the dashing Duke of Derbyshire, even if he was old enough to be her father. She reminded him of this frequently, particularly in the divorce papers that arrived two days after Hugh's thirteen birthday, which she had conveniently forgotten. The baton of motherhood passed to Aunt Sybil; who had returned from America when she discovered, after fifteen years of marriage, that her handsome GI husband was actually someone else's handsome GI husband too. Sybil, truly the daughter of a suffragette, took the Darcy children under her wing and introduced them to Pemberley the best way she knew how – by adventures. There was boating on the lake, a mini-Olympics on the lawn, orienteering in the woods, climbing at the Lantern – a broken arm for Hugh, a broken ankle for Jeremy – and baking cakes and pies in the kitchens, much to the chagrin of the staff.

Joyce was walking up towards the Orangery when she spotted the Duke walking towards her. He must be here to see the girls, she thought, as she mentally worked out where she could walk to avoid him. But it was no use, she was halfway past the portico and couldn't turn back on herself, it would be too obvious. No, she would have to walk past him and be courteous. Pretend that she didn't recognise him. She smoothed down her uniform as she walked, hoped that she looked presentable. She surreptitiously looked up under the fringe of her honey blonde bob, casually glancing at him. He looked the same as she remembered; his dark curls may be sprinkled with silver, his eyes a little crinkly, but he was the same man who she had fallen in love with over the course of a summer; she had been working every hour as a house guide to help pay bills and he had been languishing about with nothing to do. He had joined her tour more than once, asking tricky questions that he knew she couldn't answer, purposely trying to annoy her; he apologised afterwards and pulled her up onto his horse, riding hard to the top of Cage hill with her clinging on to his waist for dear life; there was swimming in the pond on the hottest day of the year and she had screamed at him when he had thrown a frog at her; on their last night they had taken the Duke's expensive telescope onto the roof to look at the stars, it had accidentally fallen down the stairs with an ominous thud as they ended up sharing kisses and sweet nothings. Joyce had known that it could only be fleeting, could never be more than what it was, and she cherished her memories of that glorious Pemberley summer. Now here he was again, standing in front of her, saying hello.

Joyce found herself inadvertently doing a little bob, "Your Grace", before moving to walk past him.

"Joyce" he said hesitantly. He would have recognised her anywhere; remembering her face in vague memories that were tinted with the heat of the sun, the sound of laughter and the smell of strawberry shampoo.

"Sir," she tucked her hair behind her ear, smiled brightly. "Nice to see again…after all these years."

"Yes," he nodded. "You haven't changed at all, you're the same as I remember."

"Thank you," she smiled, "Hugh."

"Well this is a surprise, I turn up here for Harriet's first day at school and here you are. I knew you worked here, of course, but I have never seen you about when I've visited." They began to walk together, inadvertently walking in step with each other down towards the west front of the house overlooking the Dutch garden.

"I've been here for five years now," she turned the bleeping radio down. After the near-miss at the Christening, Joyce had scheduled her own rota to purposely avoid times when Hugh would be here. It was awkward, especially when the Duchess was here too, lording it over everyone as if she thought she truly was the lady of the manor, rather than a hotel receptionist who had caught Hugh's eye on lonely work trip to Doncaster, which is what she was. Joyce wasn't a snob when it came to rank and titles, but there was a difference between class and breeding and Carol Darcy, Duchess of Derbyshire, had neither.

"Five years, crikey! Does that qualify you for a special award or something?"

"No, unfortunately not, but I do get to work here every day and it's still my favourite place in the world."

"It always was, wasn't it?" he twisted on his signet ring, suddenly feeling slightly nervous as he fiddled with the cuffs on his shirt. "I never understood, not until recently, why you always loved this place so much."

"Pemberley is magic," she grinned. "It casts a spell on you, I think."

"Maybe I keep thinking about the bouts of influenza that Pemberley cast on me during the many, many cold winters!"

They reached the edge of the gardens and stood for a moment in silence before the radio made a racket that she couldn't ignore.

"I have to go, but it's been lovely seeing you again."

"Yes, it has been lovely." He held her gaze a little longer than either of them felt comfortable with before Joyce walked away firmly in the direction of the house. Hugh watched for longer than was necessary before walking purposefully in the opposite direction and back upstairs where Lizzy and Harriet were waiting for him.

"Grandad Duke, where have you been?" Harriet scolded playfully, taking a seat on his lap. She was wearing the navy-blue cardigan of St David's Primary and shiny, patent shoes with a velvet bow. Hugh bounced her on his knee for a moment as she giggled and laughed before Lizzy came in with a cafetiere and two mugs on a tray, Harriet jumped down and greedily grabbed at the small jug of milk, wanting to finish it off as a treat.

"Yeah Dad, where have you been?" Lizzy raised her eyebrow at him before taking a seat on the sofa and drinking her coffee thirstily.

"For a walk around the grounds, can a man not spend time walking about his own damn estate nowadays?"

"Not without paying for admission, usually…"

They drank their coffee silently, punctured by the occasional yell from Harriet as she attempted to plait the hair on her Bratz doll.

"Mr Wickham is meeting us there then, is he?" Hugh asked with a certain level of cynicism that he reserved for his granddaughter's father.

"Daddy! Daddy Daddy Daddy!" Harriet jumped up and started dancing about the room, probably still remembering the trip to Disneyland and heaps of presents that she received the last time her father visited. Lizzy visibly growled, remember the sobs and tears that followed his visits as their daughter struggled with the confusion of getting to know her dad, with the confusion of being unable to understand why he lived so far away and couldn't see her every day.

"Will Mrs Wickham be joining us today?" Hugh raised an eyebrow at Lizzy, who pulled a face.

"No, the baby is due the week after next I think, and she's stayed in London just in case."

"Just in case you try and steal her man?"

"Dad, if I had wanted to steal her man surely her being in London would be a great opportunity to do it?"

Hugh hadn't thought about that. He smiled at his daughter before finishing his coffee, placing the cup down gently and picking up Harriet from the floor, swinging her onto his shoulders.

"Come on, Harry. Let's get you to school!"

Harriet cheered loudly, almost banging her head on the door frame as she swung about. Lizzy grabbed the tiny school coat, lunchbox and bag. At the advice of Deb from work, she grabbed a few tissues and shoved them down her bra – she didn't cry at many things, but she was almost entirely convinced that today there would be floods of tears and she wanted to be prepared.