Thank you all for your reviews :) After this I have approx. three chapters left to share with you - so excited to bring all of these story strands together.

SONG: Super Blue Moon - Ralegh Long

Mabel Darcy was forty-three years of age when her loving and devoted husband, Henry Fitzwilliam, Earl of Matlock, fell off his horse and never woke up. She was thankful that they had been blessed with six beautiful children which, whilst she could claim this was due to a love of babies, was perhaps more directly attributable to the fact that she loved her husband passionately. They had married at the small chapel in her family home at Pemberley after a long courtship which she had insisted upon. Her father, tall and handsome in green, walked her down the aisle as proud as could be, and she saw her mother, resplendent in blue, dabbing her eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief. Henry stood at the end of the altar, looking nervously around as she floated towards him in a light pink gown, with frills to the arms which she found overly fussy.

Her grandmother's diamond necklace rested at her neck, it was a glorious suite of jewels including earrings and a bracelet and these had been given to Lady Anne from her father, Edward, when she had married George Darcy. Her father had looked at her proudly as he gently fastened the clasp on the necklace; these had last been worn by her mother on their own wedding day, and before that her grandmother on hers. As his only daughter, Mabel held a special place in his heart. He had named her after the Latin 'amabilis', it meant lovable, and in the dark days after her birth when his dearest Elizabeth was beyond his reach, it was the little sparkle in the baby's eyes that kept him optimistic for the future. He had approved of the match with Henry Fitzwilliam, despite knowing that no man – no matter how exceptional, rich, handsome or kind – would be good enough for his daughter.

The night before the ceremony her brothers, Fitz and Francis had taken her out for a race around the park in her phaeton, knowing that this was probably the last time that she would be able to be simply Mabel, as the day after she would be Lady Fitzwilliam, Countess of Matlock, and they would never again be able to grab her by her arms and legs and throw her in the lake. The three Darcy siblings were close despite the gaps in age; Fitzwilliam was married with three of his own children now – his young wife, Marianne, was due to give birth to their fourth in the autumn and Mabel was excited to become an Aunt all over again.

The thought of new babies and giggling toddlers made her broody and she was couldn't wait to start a family of her own. Mabel slipped off her pumps and dipped her feet in the lake as her brothers smoked; it was disconcerting to her to think that tomorrow Pemberley wouldn't be home – that she would move to the estate at Nostell, the big old house that had belonged to the Fitzwilliam family for generations. She had spent many happy days there as a youngster, but to return to it now as mistress was daunting to say the least. Her mother had spoken to her about the day she had first arrived at Pemberley, scared and unsure about being the mistress of such a large household, when all of Derbyshire society were expecting her to fail, but she had the love and support of Darcy, who had chosen her out of everyone, and she knew that Henry would be as supportive to Mabel as she adjusted to her new role and got used to living away from her family. Mabel hugged her mother tight – they had spent the week packing up gowns and trinkets and treasures to be moved to the house in Yorkshire ahead of the wedding, and Elizabeth had dressed in an old gown made from red and gold and danced up and down the bright gallery, before falling onto her daughter's bed, where they giggled until Darcy appeared at the door with a sour look on his face. Of course, this made them screech with laughter until his face cracked a smile and he joined them on the bed, where all three shared an embrace and talked until supper.

It was much later when Mabel, who had fallen asleep in the library, awoke to see her mother and father dancing together in the saloon, their figures illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight. She sneaked over to the sofa underneath the grand staircase, where she could now hear clearly her father singing softly to her mother, as she looked up and smiled demurely at him before nuzzling herself into his neck. Her father had always told her that to be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love, but she had failed to see how they had ever fallen in love dancing the rigid, complicated dances of their youth. Looking at them now she knew that Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy were the standard which she would hold her marriage against. She took one last look at them before gently tiptoeing into the gallery and into her own rooms. About an hour later when she was too excited to sleep, she heard them, drunk and giddy with laughter, noisily running into their own chambers at the end of the gallery and locking the door.

Henry's funeral was devastating. She had never expected to become a widow at such a young age, had always assumed that they would live a long and happy life together surrounded by their children and grandchildren. As they had lowered his polished walnut coffin into the ground, she was grateful that it had been quick, that he had not woken up to experience the pain that would have ripped through his body as his spine snapped into pieces and the jarring wound to his skull that had meant that even though she could identify him, it was obvious that half of his head was missing. Bowdler had not wanted the mistress to see her husband like this, had wanted to shield the lady from the gruesome sight, but she had insisted, cleaning the body by herself as her last duty to a beloved husband. She had wondered if this is what her brother looked like when they recovered his body from the river, wondered if Marianne had suffered, had they been all too aware of their fate. The death of Fitz had almost destroyed her mother, it was only the thought of the three orphaned Darcy children who had survived the accident that had kept her from disappearing into her heartache, and given her something to focus on.

That night Mabel had kissed Henry's cold face, said her goodbyes and returned to the house to let her children know their father was dead. Her eldest son, not quite seventeen was now the Earl of Matlock; Richard was ashen-faced when she told him, and she held him tight in her arms until the sobs echoed away. She left him, looking young and frightened even in sleep, curled up on the sofa in front of the fire, carefully covering him with a blanket. She stood for a moment in the hallway of grand house that she called home, before falling to her knees in the brittle coldness of the night, and letting the grief pour out of her.

xXx

Millicent Darcy stood on the roof of the Wyatt tower. In the time of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth it had housed the senior female servants, but now it was mainly used for storage and she had pushed her way past boxes and trunks to reach the highest point of the house. The moon was bright, the sky above Pemberley bluer than she had ever remembered it being in September, but it felt bittersweet.

War was in the air and the rampage of Adolf Hitler through Poland had resulted in an announcement that had sent shivers down her spine as they had perched round the wireless in the drawing room, holding hands and smoking cigarettes, before Sybil had run into the garden, crying hysterically and Winston, fully aware of the obligations ahead of him, stared at his mother looking positively frightened. Millicent knew that as the Duke of Derbyshire, he was far too valuable to be allowed to serve on the frontline, but she was sure he would volunteer to do it anyway, Rupert Fitzwilliam had been the only heir of the Earl of Matlock and look how well that had turned out for him. She still wore the small pearl ring she received three months after his death, still twirled it around on her finger, still wore it as a remembrance of him; even though she had loved again – the handsome American who had fathered Sybil and delighted in her for a year before travelling back to Utah where he married his childhood sweetheart - it would always be Rupert she chose in every lifetime, in every eventuality.

The last war had been all about loss, but she sensed that this one would be about survival and she needed to do all she could to protect Pemberley and her family's legacy. Before the estate workers signed up, she closed all wings of the house - lowering the blinds and putting up the heavy wooden shutters that had not been used since her grandparents were alive – leaving the drawing room and library open and relocating the family to the bedrooms on the nursery corridor. Under Millicent's strict instructions, the staff began to pack up furniture and paintings, storing them in the massive service tunnel that ran underneath the gardens. She personally pulled all the family jewels and trinkets and keepsakes, everything precious to them, and locked them in the vaults that ran deeper than the wine cellars. They volunteered to take in evacuees from the local industrial towns, and the long gallery was filled with lines of small trundle beds ready to be occupied by frightened children who had never seen sheep before, let alone the herds of deer that still roamed over the ancient hunting land. All they could do now was wait for it to be over and wait to see if they all made it through alive.

xXx

Sitting on the roof, Lizzy took a long, guilty drag of the cigarette – she watched as the smoke wafted over balustrade and into the still air. It was cold, frosty almost, but she didn't care, even as her hand trembled slightly as she brought the cigarette to her lips. She didn't smoke very often, mainly when she was stressed out or when she was sad, finding the repetitive motion comforting, which she imagined said something deeply psychologically significant about her. She had been up here for about twenty minutes, needing the fresh air to clear her head – if only it could do the same for her heart. The film premiere was the day after tomorrow and she had been gently cajoled into it by Harriet, who desperately wanted her mum to see her big screen debut. She only had one line "Welcome to Pemberley, Mrs Darcy", but it was super exciting nonetheless. Lizzy could think of nothing worse than standing around all day in a dress that was slightly too tight, with her hair pinned into her head, and either being forced to make small talk with strangers or being ignored. But, she knew how important this was for Harriet, and for Matthew too. And she wanted to see Benn.

She wanted to see Benn so much that she ached. She needed to know if he still felt the same way, if it was worth telling him how she felt or if she had to consign him to history. She took another drag of the cigarette, too nervous to sleep.