Sorry for the late update on this one! Lots of angst and a big jump in the story. Thank you for the reviews and follows - all very much appreciated. :) x

Francis Darcy was born on a cold March morning in a delivery that was quick and surprisingly easy, although marred by the sudden passing of his older brother two months before he was born. Eight years younger than his oldest brother, he was closer to his sister, Mabel, who was only three years older and who had shared the nursery with him. He was a jolly, cheerful child with the light countenance of his Bennet relations and the impertinent nature of his mother, which was generally encouraged by the company of his sister, who shared the same defiant personality. Elizabeth adored her youngest son, even if she still grieved the loss of James; the fever which had taken him had been quick and for that she had been grateful.

Fitzwilliam Junior had grown into a serious boy and was due to start Eton in the September of that year, his father believing that he had learned all the necessary skills in the schoolroom at Pemberley. The death of James, with who he had been particularly close had affected Fitz in lots of ways. There were the nightmares, horrible nightmares where he could see James, pale and sickly, standing at the end of his bed calling out to him, reaching for him and making the boy recoil into his bed, hiding under the covers; then there was the loneliness. As the oldest son, Fitz was fully aware of the responsibilities that lay before him; he could see the crease in his father's brow deepen every year as he managed the many affairs of the Pemberley estate. It had been at least two winters since he had taken the sled to the big hill at the front of the house and careered down it with his father sitting behind him and holding him close.

Fitz looked out from his bedroom at the corner of the south front of the house. It had only been six months since he had been moved from the relative security of the nursery on the second floor of the house, and placed here in the state suite of rooms, next to those of his parents. The room was large, with a tall ceiling and heavy wooden panelling all around, he found that at night he could hear the house creaking, almost as if it was rejecting the new parts of it that had been so recently added, he didn't like this new part of the house, which still smelled like plaster and paint. Sometimes his mother would hear his sobs and come into the room, climbing into bed with him and wrapping him up in her enveloping warmth, letting him fall asleep next to her, comforted and secure. He had heard the arguments between his parents as they had discussed his education, his mother shouting that he should be allowed to remain at home with a schoolmaster, whilst his father screamed back that Darcy men were always educated at Eton and that Fitzwilliam would be no exception, despite what she might think or say. There had been slamming of doors and rattling of windows and he would sneak down the back stairs and into Staughton's parlour, where he would be given cups of tea and slices of seed cake with best butter slathered on top.

"It will pass, Master Fitzwilliam, it always does." Staughton was sitting behind his massive oak desk, totting up accounts and working out bills to pay. The fire blazed in the huge stone fireplace which was dominated by the huge Darcy Coat of Arms that was on display above it. Fitzwilliam noticed for the first time that it was the same as the fireplace in the Long Gallery, he never paid attention to the details of the room, preferring to concentrate on learning how to play billiards, which was a gentleman's sport, even though Mama had insisted that Mabel should learn too when she was old enough to hold a cue properly.

"I know, Staughton," he smiled at the kindly butler, who always looked after him, this room becoming a special sanctuary. Fitz placed his cup down and nodded his goodbyes to the gentleman before wandering off outside. He needed to run, needed to get rid of some of the energy and so he did, blessed with his mother's energy and his father's stamina he found that he was at The Cage before he had even realised, and he stood for moment to look at the expanse of land ahead of him. This was all Darcy land and he would be responsible for it all in due course, would need to look after his tenants and be a good landlord and master. He looked back towards Pemberley, only the top floor could be see from this far away and he waved in case his sister was playing in the Long Gallery as she often did.

Mabel saw her brother waving from the top of hill and she saw as he fell to the ground.

Elizabeth ran down the gallery, screaming for help, across the landing and down the steps of the Grand Staircase before she grabbed Darcy, who looked at her, confusion across his face; all thoughts of their argument had been forgotten as they ran to out of the house together – he was faster than her, stronger, and he ran up the steep slope that led to The Cage, not caring as the chilly wind from the East took away his breath. He could see the figure of Fitz on the floor ahead of him, looking small and helpless against the dominating structure. There were not many times when Darcy called for the help of God, but this was one of them, he had already lost one son this year and he was as sure as hell not going to lose another. The boy's forehead was thick with blood and he could see that the wound was still bleeding.

"Fitz," he shook the boy gently, "Fitz, can you hear me? It's Papa."

He ripped some fabric from his shirt and placed it on the boy's head to stem the bleeding, before gently picking him up as if he were a babe and beginning to walk back down to the house with him. He was heavier than he remembered, how could it be possible that his firstborn son – the most precious thing he had ever seen – was now nearly a man, ready to be sent away, when did he get so big, when had they last played together. He could not remember, but all he could think of now was getting his child help. The distance from Pemberley to the summit of The Cage was not far, but Elizabeth had sent two men up as fast as they could to help Darcy bring Fitz back home. She had called for the Doctor and was now on the cobbled drive waiting to see her husband come back with their son. She knew that God could not be so cruel as to take her oldest child away from her, not so soon after losing James, she could not bear it if she lost Fitz as well. Her precious darling boy, who looked so much like his father, with the same serious eyes and the little furrow in his brow. She could see them now, could feel herself running towards them, could see Darcy holding their boy in his arms, not trusting anyone else to do it, not believing that anyone else could love his son as much as he did. Together they hurried the lifeless body of Fitz into Staughton's parlour, laying him out on the small bench in front of the fire. Elizabeth knelt next to him, stroking his brow.

"Fitz, darling Will… It's Mama, please can you wake up for me? Can you hear your Mama?" Her voice was close to breaking, her eyes pricking with tears as she felt a terrible sense of deja-vu sweep over her and she was immediately taken back to the nursery, when James had been so ill and there had been nothing that she could do to comfort him. Immediately she felt the warm and comforting presence of Darcy's arm around her shoulder and he kissed her gently on the head, as they both stood vigil over their beloved boy.

It was over an hour later when Fitz woke up to see his mother ashen-faced and his father standing behind her looking suitably sombre. Apart from the piercing pain in his forehead he could not remember what had happened or even why he had gone to the Cage. Elizabeth cried tears of relief as Fitz sat up and asked for seed cake, and Darcy held his wife close and pulled his son towards him.

Later that evening, Darcy went to his son's rooms and found the boy standing up at the window, looking out at the south expanse, over the formal grounds and into the moorland beyond. He looked so tiny, dwarfed by the huge windows and the very grown-up furniture that had been placed in the room. Had he made a mistake? Should he let the boy revel in the last few years of his childhood? When Darcy looked at Fitz, he could only see Elizabeth – yes, he had Darcy's own eyes and the same serious expression – but everything else about him, for the curl of his hair, to the way he stood was all Bennet.

"Fitzwilliam," he murmured softly as he walked into the room. He sat in the bed, so high for him, let alone a child half his height. "How do you feel?"

Fitz shrugged his shoulders, "I feel alright, but I have a pain in my head that doesn't go away." He jumped up onto the bed, grabbing a cushion and fiddling with the gold tassel that adorned it. The fire crackled gently, and Fitz lay his head back on the soft pillows, his father deciding to lay down beside him.

"What kind of pain do you feel, my dearest? Is it all of the time or only sometimes?" Darcy felt that he knew what might be causing the distress.

"Whenever I think about the future, whenever I think about you not being here, or Mama not being here, I get so scared and it's like a pain in my head that travels all over my body and then I see stars and then nothing." Fitz looked scared as he relayed his fears to his father.

Darcy understood his son's fears, after the loss of his mother he had experienced the worst of night terrors, believing that one day he would wake up alone within nothing and no-one.

"Fitz, there will come a time when I am not here to help you, but I promise that I will do all I can to give you all of the skills and the knowledge you need to be a wonderful master of Pemberley," he took the boys hand in his own to reassure him.

"Why are you sending me away to learn how to do it?" Fitz looked scared, look angry. "I don't know how to do it, and when I do know how to do it you will die, and I will have no-one!"

"You have your sister and your brother, Fitz, and you have Mama and me," he pulled the boy to him, even though he resisted, pushing against him until he relented and allowed himself to be embraced.

"I don't have James… I don't have James…" the sobs escaped from Fitz's body violently, and Darcy realised for the first time how deeply the boy had suffered from the loss of his brother. They had always been together, had looked after each other when Mabel was born… He could not understand what Fitz might be feeling, had never had a brother, but he knew that his son needed to be held that night, and he held him close and told him stories of pirates and princesses as he had done when the boy had first been born. Slowly, Fitz relaxed, comforted by the presence of his father, and he fell asleep. Looking down at the sleeping boy, Darcy wondered if he was right to send his son away so early. He was on the cusp of manhood, but still a boy and he wanted to do all he could to preserve his childhood, to allow him to grow at his own pace. He was loathe to admit it, but he was beginning to think that his wife was right.

Darcy left the sleeping boy and went to the nursery to check on Mabel; he didn't usually do this, but he felt that he needed to see her face and check she was sleeping. In the dim light of the small patterned room at the top of the house, he could see his wife sitting in the chair nursing their youngest son. Mabel was asleep in the cast-iron bed in the corner, swathed in an embroidered coverlet that had been sent by her Aunt Kitty, her dark curls spread over the pillow and her thumb in her mouth. Darcy leaned against the doorway, taking in this perfect sight, before moving over to his wife and kneeling beside her. Francis was nearly asleep, and he took the baby from her, breathing in his milky smell, before placing him back in the cradle. He took Elizabeth's hand and silently, led her to bed.

They had been married for nearly thirteen years now and there had been many celebrations and much sadness, but Darcy and Elizabeth had weathered them all. Now as they stood there in their now-shared chambers, Darcy undressed his wife with a quiet admiration, kissing her collarbone and the gentle arc of her breast; she shuddered slightly, kissing him back with a fervent passion and desire.

Fitz woke up. Hearing the sounds from his parent's room, he gave a little smile before falling back to sleep. All was well.