The marriage of Georgiana Margaret Darcy and Henry Montague Alveston was the most joyous of affairs, the happy couple exchanging vows at the small church in Lambton, before returning to Pemberley for their Wedding Breakfast. Elizabeth had arranged with Mrs Reynolds for a delightful summer feast, and the ladies of the kitchen had excelled themselves in the preparation of such. The centrepiece was a rich, fruit cake, covered in sugared icing and decorated with flowers. The new Mrs Alveston and her husband were to travel firstly to Kent, and then onwards to visit relations in Scotland as part of the bridal tour. Darcy thought that he might burst with pride upon seeing his sister so deliriously happy and he knew that this marriage with Alveston was more than he could have ever wished for her – the two were so in love and he was anticipating great things for their future, especially as he hoped to see them both in Derbyshire very frequently.

"Elizabeth!" The shrill tone echoed from the entrance hall, "Mrs Darcy, I must demand your attention at once!"

Turning on her heel, Elizabeth made her way back down the stairs and towards Lady Catherine De Bourgh. Once so intimidating, Darcy's aunt had begun to shrink in her old age, both in size and demeanour. Nine years had passed since she had refused to attend their wedding, stubborn to the core and with a ruthless snobbery that affected all her close personal relationships, it had taken effort on Elizabeth's part to make it right between her new family; it had not been easy, and Lady Catherine had been a hard taskmaster

Anne De Bourgh, had now been married to her cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam for these past two years; Mrs Fitzwilliam, once dominated by her strong-willed mother, but now strengthened by the love she never thought she would find, had enforced a move to the simpler dower house and away from Rosings for her mother a few months after her wedding, which had caused ructions in their relationship. The Fitzwilliams were not in attendance this day, the argument between Darcy and his cousin still hanging in the air. In the early days of their acquaintance he had told her that his good opinion once lost was lost forever and she had continually found this to be true. Colonel Fitzwilliam was not a bad man, he had simply made some regretful decisions, whilst Elizabeth hoped that her husband would renew his friendship with his cousin, she feared that it would never be, resigning herself to it with a sad inevitability. Lady Catherine, reduced to the living on her widow's allowance, which was still a generous two thousand a year, found herself travelling the length of the country in the barouche box that her daughter still permitted her to use, residing with any relatives gracious enough to permit her to stay. She was usually in residence at Pemberley from the last week in July until the second of August – a three-week stay being the limit for the Darcys and their household.

Lady Catherine was sitting in the large satin upholstered chair next to the new fireplace that had been recently installed and she was scrutinising it, looking through the eyeglass that hung on a chain around her neck.

"Was this your idea, Elizabeth?" She sounded haughty.

"Lady Catherine, do you approve?" Elizabeth always found the best way to counteract her Aunt by marriage was to ask her another question, the Lady always enjoying advising others of her opinion, whether they asked for it or not. In this, Lady Catherine was not altered.

"I do approve," she nodded. "I find that it always benefits a house such as this to install new fancies and fireplaces to keep abreast of fashion. People scoffed when I commissioned the new chimney piece at Rosings, the cost alone – eight hundred pounds, which is a vast amount of money – was a source of ridicule and dismay amongst many in our circle."

"It is a very impressive chimney piece, Lady Catherine, I can testify to its superiority"

"Why of course it is, Elizabeth. My taste and fine eye for fashionable accoutrements are incomparable, I have often been told this by the greatest people of our acquaintance."

"I am glad that you approve of the fireplace, Aunt," she said in an affectionate tone, she had grown to hold this crotchety woman in high regard and whilst she would probably never say that she loved her, she appreciated her visits. Lady Catherine reached over and took Elizabeth's hand in her own, holding it tight.

"Elizabeth, since you have joined our family I have been astonished at how amicably a woman of low-born connections such as yourself can assimilate so satisfactorily into the role of mistress of Pemberley."

If Elizabeth held back a laugh and smiled genially at the woman.

"Thank you for your compliment, Lady Catherine, it makes the toil worthwhile to know that you hold me in such regard."

"Indeed, it must be daily struggle for you. Now, where is my niece?"

Elizabeth knew, with a relief felt in every bone of her body, that she had been dismissed and called for her sister-in-law, the new Mrs Alveston.

Darcy was sitting in the grand chair in his study at the front of the house. From here he could see out onto the driveway, down the hill towards the gatehouse, and then onto the gardens of the west front, where the ornamental gardens – laid out only the summer before - were now fully in bloom, the scent of camellias drifting in through the open window on the warm, summer breeze. This was his study, his domain; on one side there was a row of bookcases from floor to ceiling – it was here that he kept items from his own private collections, volumes that had had collected on his grand tour, and manuscripts and books that had been given to him by his father-in-law on the occasion of his marriage from the gentleman's own admirable library at Longbourn. In the centre was the large oak desk that had belonged to George Darcy – the portrait of the gentleman hanging above the fireplace opposite. How he wished his mother and father were alive to see this day; to see Georgiana so agreeably matched and beginning her married life from their ancestral home, and how delighted they would have been to see his own young family. There was a knock on the door; Henry.

"Mr Darcy," he said quietly. "I thought I would find you here."
Darcy grinned at the younger man, who looked slightly intimidated.

"Henry, you should call me Fitzwilliam," he smiled, patting Henry on the back and handing him a celebratory glass of port. "We are brothers now."

"This is true…um…Fitzwilliam. I am sorry, Darcy, it feels peculiar to call you that. May I simply refer to you by your family name?"

"Of course, you may, Henry, my wife does as a rule!"

Henry Alveston was a tall, fair haired man of nearly thirty and had been educated at Cambridge, as had Darcy; he was the second son of an earl and worked as an attorney in London. Georgiana, with her dowry of thirty thousand pounds, had decided that they would live in Derbyshire House for the first few years of their marriage, she had enjoyed the company of society in town and had made a strong circle of friends with whom she was regularly seen at countless parties, balls and the theatre. Nurtured by her sisters in law, she had flourished and grown into a desirable, accomplished and well-liked young lady of the Ton.

"Darcy," Henry stammered slightly. "I know that you initially had concerns about me and my…erm…my fortune. I would simply like to promise you that I will…um... do all that I can to make your sister…my wife… the happiest woman walking the earth. Georgiana is my sun and moon, and I am so grateful that you were able to reconsider me as a partner for her." He took a large gulp of the port and walked to the window.

Darcy smiled to himself as he looked at Alveston, who was so full of nerves and yet so cheerful. He reminded him of himself on his own wedding day and he was taken back to that joyful day when he knew that Elizabeth would be his and his alone until death parted them. Walking over to Henry, he placed his hand on his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. The two men looked at each other and acknowledged an unspoken understanding – outside on the driveway, their wives were walking and laughing with a crowd of small children who were running about in the summer sunshine. Georgiana, dressed in a simple wedding gown that belied her ancestry, had flowers in her hair and an immoveable smile on her face; her sister in law was dressed in lilac and skipping along to the tune that was playing in her head.