Pemberley was big and empty.

Darcy did not like staying within his beloved home. Half the rooms were stripped of furniture, and he was alone. He would sit at evenings with the servants, listening to Mrs. Reynolds talk. He visited the Windhams and his other neighbors far more often than usual, but even with other people he was disconnected and melancholy.

He had won a great victory over himself.

Darcy sometimes fantasized about returning to Hertfordshire and how happy and full the house would seem if Elizabeth was present with him, but he was satisfied with himself. It had been painful and difficult, and he had treated Elizabeth abominably, but in the end his reason forced the lustful beast to obey.

He had proven once again he was a better man than Father.

It was some consolation.

Darcy received news about Georgiana shortly after he returned. A month before Darcy had tried to contact his sister by sending the Wickhams a letter through their bank. A week after Darcy arrived at Pemberley he received Wickham's response:

My Dear Brother,

Georgiana is mine. You shall not steal her. I will not let you. I am truly His son at last, and you cannot take that from me. She is happier with me than with you, because she is living with a man who holds George Darcy's memory in the reverence it deserves. Do not seek to contact My wife again.

Your Father's True son,

George Wickham

Damn him.

Despite Darcy's frustration the letter relieved his worry. If Wickham was obsessed with Father's memory, he was unlikely to use Georgiana cruelly.

Darcy wanted to see her, or at least receive a letter. But there was nothing to be done. He did not even know where they lived, and if he did, he would not have a letter placed secretly in Georgiana's hands.

Maybe, he would never see Georgiana again.

Darcy went to Matlock a week before Christmas. The Earl of Matlock was a medium sized man who was a little overweight. He had large bushy sideburns and a full head of grey hair. His face was ruddy and good natured. As soon as Darcy dismounted from his horse his uncle grabbed him in an embrace. "Lad, it is damned good to see you again. Damned good. Did you enjoy your visit with your friend Bingley?"

"Yes."

"Damned good, damned good. Well, you look well. You've not turned maudlin have you? It is a big house to live in alone."

Darcy sighed. "A little perhaps."

"Well. Well. You ought to marry. Perhaps next year. A new dowry would replace what you paid out to him." Matlock shook his head. "We will not talk about them though. Are you ready to hunt tomorrow?"

Darcy nodded. He ought to tell his uncle he had decided to marry, so they could make plans. Darcy found it was impossible to speak; it was absurd to feel like he would betray Elizabeth if he courted a woman he could marry. He still felt deep in his soul that he should not betray her so.

Matlock clapped Darcy on the shoulder. "Good. Good. You do look well."

Each morning they went after a deer or a fox or some other animal. It was an active week, and the constant hunting and games and conversations helped Darcy to forget everything else. In the afternoons he fenced with his uncle or Colonel Fitzwilliam after his cousin arrived.

Matlock had been one of the best fencers in England in his prime, and even though Darcy's reflexes and reach were better, at least a fifth of the time the old man would play a clever trick that let him win. It was great fun. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy were nearly evenly matched, though Darcy won five matches for every four his cousin took.

The day after Colonel Fitzwilliam came to the estate, he and Darcy went riding out together. After their ride they took a private room in an inn to eat and let the horses recover before returning.

Once they sat around the roughhewn wooden table with wine and a roast from the kitchen, Colonel Fitzwilliam said, "I keep thinking about Georgiana — poor Georgie" — Colonel Fitzwilliam held Darcy's gaze — "I know you feel guilty, but it was my fault, I recommended her — Mrs. Younge was the General's former mistress, and he was desperate to get a situation for her so she wouldn't tell his wife. He lied to me. I should have known."

Darcy shook his head. "I was her brother; and I interviewed Mrs. Younge after she arrived. And we should have hired an investigator. But your general suggested her. That seemed a good enough reference. If I'd only visited Georgiana at Ramsgate, before she and Wickham left."

"Now that will not do. It is my fault."

Darcy remembered Elizabeth's words. Don't take more guilt than is your due. "It is both of our faults, and it is Georgiana's, and my father's, and the Church of Scotland's. It happened, and we can't unmarry them. I doubt Georgiana even wishes that. What is done is done. All that is left is to hope she will not become miserable. Hating ourselves will do Georgiana no good."

To his surprise Darcy realized he believed what he had just said. He worried about Georgiana, and he had failed her, but he no longer felt the guilt which had suffused him for the first months.

Colonel Fitzwilliam slowly chewed a chunk of the roast the inn's waiters had brought. After he swallowed and took a gulp from his wine, he said, "And it also is the General's damn fault too. I'm surprised. I thought you'd be too angry at yourself to think about my guilt."

Darcy shrugged. He listened to Elizabeth when she spoke to him. He was glad he had been able to walk away, but he truly wished she had money enough for him to marry her.

The two ate in silence. Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, "How have you managed yourself? Did you meet any women while staying at your friend's house?" At the way Darcy startled his cousin grinned widely. "You did! You! I can scarce believe me. Tell me about her."

Darcy exhaled and studied the rough cut planks of the inn's table. "There is nothing to tell. She has no dowry worth speaking of, and her connections are mostly to trade. I cannot marry her, so I left."

"Oh." Colonel Fitzwilliam patted Darcy on the shoulder. "It is a pity when fortune prevents a promising attachment."

"I need to marry. I should replace Georgie's dowry, but I can't speak to uncle about it, because I feel like it would be a betrayal of Elizabeth."

"No, no." Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. "Don't try to marry too soon. Women — women worth marrying — they can tell if you do not love them. You need to let your passion for this penniless girl fade before you can court a different woman. Do not even think of it before near the end of the season next year. When August comes, perhaps you can find a few house parties to attend. I am glad to hear you are thinking of marriage; you need heirs, and a woman will make you less lonely."

Darcy remembered Elizabeth as she appeared when they danced at Netherfield. The bare skin of her chest and neck. Her appealing smile.

Damn.

He wished he had been able to marry her.

Christmas Day came and Darcy missed Georgiana and wished Elizabeth was present. He planned to return to Pemberley on the twenty seventh. The day after Christmas, Matlock pulled Darcy into one of the estate's sitting rooms for a talk.

The servants brought large mugs of beer, and they sat next to the warm roaring fire. Darcy's uncle made his ale with a great deal of hops. Matlock asked, "So, how did you scrape up the money for the gambler?"

Darcy grimaced at the unpleasant memories. "My friend Bingley loaned the bulk of the funds to me."

"Doesn't he plan to purchase an estate soon?"

Darcy shrugged. "It is prudent to have a source of income besides the land. My best alternative at the time was to find a usurer who preyed on gamblers."

"You should have taken my advice. We could have forced Wickham to make a settlement on Georgiana if he wished to get the money quickly. The son of a friend met Wickham a month ago and won three hundred pounds off him at cards. The sum was paid promptly the next morning. It won't take long for Wickham to gamble away all of Georgiana's money, and then they'll try to get something from me and you to live off. And you are soft hearted enough that you'll give it to them."

"Georgie is still my sister."

"Damn it, Darcy, I'm soft hearted enough that I will give her something if it comes to it. But if you had been sensible we could have made him agree for the fortune to be protected. He could not have afforded to take a case through Chancery."

"Oh." Darcy felt suddenly foolish. "That would have been a good scheme. But… you said nothing of any such plan at the time. You said I shouldn't pay at all because they didn't deserve it."

Matlock waved his hand and drank a long pull from his beer. "Yes. Well, I didn't think of my excellent plan until two weeks later — after you wrote to inform me you had paid the money out. We were both damn fools. I was angry, and you were obsessed with giving away that money. You know how I get when angry. I do not think clear. By Jove, why were you so insistent the money be paid out so quickly?"

"I told you. It would be dishonorable to keep the money. It was owed by law, so I would pay it."

"Don't use that pretense with me." Matlock slammed his mug on the wooden table. "You only give a damn about honor when it serves your purposes. You have your own code you live by, and it isn't the Prince Regent's."

Darcy drank from his brown beer and stared into the liquid. "I was worried he would beat or mistreat Georgiana if he didn't receive the money promptly. I wish one of us had thought of your idea to protect the fortune while it was possible."

Matlock exhaled and looked up at the elaborate geometric patterns carved into the roof. "The whole thing is a damned pity. Poor girl. It would be his right to beat her too. Do you have any notion how they are living now?"

"I sent a letter to Georgiana, and Wickham ordered me to not bother his wife. He is still obsessed by Father's memory. I do not believe he will intentionally hurt her. At least not soon."

"Good. I do hope you are right."

Darcy returned to Pemberley. It seemed just as empty as before.

Bingley's news reached Darcy at the end of a productive day. A twenty-year lease held by a large tenant had ended, and Darcy spent the entire day closeted in his study with Mr. Henry and Mr. Harding negotiating the new lease.

The Robertsons had leased land from the Darcy family for more than a century. As the price of wheat had gone up very far in the past few years, the increase Darcy could demand in rent was large, and it took several hours of good natured bargaining before both he and Mr. Robertson were happy. There were large benefits when the same family farmed a piece of land for decades. The question was how to fairly divide the benefits between the landowner and the tenant.

After they had reached an agreement on the new rent and other terms, Darcy walked Mr. Robertson and his son to his door. He did not wish to act like a petty monarch in the way some gentry did. Mr. Henry set off to his office in the nearest market town to have his clerk draft the contract. In a week Darcy and Mr. Robertson would meet again to sign the completed document.

Darcy returned to his study and pulled out an account book that listed how much he earned from each tenant. Darcy settled into his chair and took from a drawer a pencil and a piece of stale bread to rub the old marks away. The entries were in lead so that they could be updated easily. An expensive resin grown in South America was superior to stale bread for removing pencil marks, but not using a rubber was an easy economy. Darcy erased the old lease value from the entry for the Robertsons and wrote in the new annual rent. He then changed the sum in the totals line.

Financially, matters were going well. But, he did not experience the joy of advancing towards his goal the way he used to. He would conquer this. He once felt happy without Elizabeth. He could again. His life was not dull and empty.

Darcy had won against the greatest temptation he had ever faced. He should be elated. But the effort had left him drained instead of invigorated.

Darcy's footman knocked on the door and brought the afternoon post in on a cheap brass tray. The letters were placed on the desk, and Darcy sorted through them. One was in Bingley's hand.

His heart jumped.

Maybe it mentioned Elizabeth. Darcy hurriedly tore the envelope open before he could stop himself from caring.

My dear Darcy,

My angel has accepted me. I am to be married! I am so happy. I must have you stand with me. Do promise to return to Hertfordshire. Jane is eager to see you again as well.

I shall expect you soon. Send word of your plans, so I can tell the housekeeper when to have your room prepared

C Bingley

Nothing about Elizabeth.

Did she hate him now, and Bingley did not want to say that? Was she still in love with him, and Bingley thought he would be more likely to change his mind if he was not pushed? Had Bingley been too obsessed with his own happiness to think about him and Elizabeth?

Darcy stared at the note.

His best friend was to marry. Bingley was to marry a sweet, angelically beautiful woman who was perfect for him.

Lucky bastard.

Darcy grinned.

This news needed to be celebrated. Darcy rang the bell, and when Mrs. Reynolds entered the room he said, "We must break open one of those old bottles of champagne that we didn't sell. My friend Bingley is to be married — his fiancée is a fine woman. I met her when I visited him in Hertfordshire."

Mrs. Reynolds clapped her hands. "How delightful! He is such a fine young man. You shall want to travel down again to be with him when he marries, by what date should I have your trunks prepared to leave?"

Darcy froze. He could not go.

He could not do it again. If he saw Elizabeth again, he would not walk away. He could close his eyes and see her features. Her delicate eyebrows, the line of her lips, the way her right cheek dimpled. The longing look in her eyes.

If she looked at him that way again… He would not go. It was too risky.

"Mr. Darcy?"

"I have not decided, yet — bring up the champagne, two bottles. We shall pass it around and let all of the staff have a glass."

Mrs. Reynolds left, and Darcy sat down again and buried his head in his hands. This was Bingley's wedding. He would not miss it, not because he was frightened of a girl. He was being a ninny.

Darcy pulled a piece of paper from one of the drawers of his desk and penned a quick note to Bingley. He would arrive two days before the wedding. At this time of year leaving no time for delays on the road was foolhardy, but he'd not be within a day's journey of her for more time than necessary.

Two weeks after the letter arrived, Darcy set out on the icy roads with his valet. They traveled by post, crowded more often than not by fat merchants' wives and gangly apprentices travelling to London for the first time. The cheap rooms at night were well ventilated with the freezing January air.

He wanted to see her again, but he had no reason to worry about his behavior. His emotions were under good regulation. He'd be polite and distant; his manner would prove that she had no effect on him.