Some time later, after promising to have the 'ruined' sunshine dress replaced with an exact replica as soon as they were out of mourning, he was finally allowed to leave the nursery and head for his own rooms for some quiet reflection.
Or so he thought.
He hadn't gotten far from the nursery before a young footman stopped him. "Mr Darcy, Mr Crawford has requested to see you."
Mr Crawford was his father's solicitor; of course the man wanted to see him.
The footman (he hadn't the foggiest idea what the man's name was) hesitated.
"Yes?" Darcy prompted impatiently.
The young man swallowed. "Uhm… sir, do you want me to show him to the study? Or…?"
"Yes, yes. Tell him I will be right there."
"Yes, sir." The man bowed and disappeared.
Darcy closed his eyes for a moment. Of course people wanted to see him left, right and centre. Estate business, his father's will… An awful lot rested on his shoulders now, which meant he had to deal with an awful lot of people suddenly. If only he felt a little more prepared, a little more secure in what was expected of him…
It wouldn't do to dawdle though. So he made his way to the study and knocked.
"Yes?" came a voice from within.
He winced. It was not his father's voice, as it should have been. But he steeled himself and pushed open the door. "Mr Crawford," he greeted the man seated in one of the twin chairs in front of his father's desk.
Mr Crawford stood. "Mr Darcy," he bowed. "Allow me to extend my condolences on your loss."
Darcy nodded briefly. "Thank you. What can I do for you?"
"I have some papers for you to sign, to finalize your taking over your father's estate."
Darcy raised an eyebrow. "Should that not wait until the reading of the will?"
"No, sir. The reading of the will will have to wait until both its named executors will be present. We will have to wait until Colonel Fitzwilliam arrives."
Darcy let out an imperceptible sigh of relief. Fitzwilliam was more than his cousin; he was his best friend. He silently breathed a word of thanks to his father for choosing Fitzwilliam as the co-executor of the will, although it did surprise him that his father had gone over the head of the older, more experienced but rather overbearing Lord Matlock, Fitzwilliam's father. But where Fitzwilliam would be a much needed support on an equal footing in all this, his Uncle Matlock would in all likelihood have taken over the running of Pemberley completely, treating him – young Darcy – as a mere apprentice. True – technically that was what he was, but even if that scenario on the surface held considerable appeal just now, it was not what he needed. It was not what Pemberley needed either – Pemberley needed its master to learn to stand on his own two feet as soon as possible. And to accomplish that, having Fitzwilliam by his side would be vastly preferable to having his Uncle Matlock take over.
He focused back on what Mr Crawford was saying. "There is no doubt that you are the heir to Pemberley, and I may safely reveal that your father's will confirms this. However, things may come up that need your immediate decision before we can get Colonel Fitzwilliam up here. In order for you to be able to act, we need to finalize the succession as soon as may be."
"I see."
Mr Crawford took out a stack of papers from a folder. "May I suggest we go through them together?" He gestured towards the desk.
But Darcy paled instantly. "Here?" he almost squeaked. In his father's sanctum, where all his life he had only been allowed entry when summoned?! The room that breathed his father from every piece of furniture, every book on the shelves, every ledger, every scrap of paper – he dared not!
"We can go elsewhere, if you prefer," Mr Crawford suggested, understanding in his eyes.
Darcy nodded mutely, and immediately led the way down the hall to an adjacent sitting room. And once he closed the door behind him, he heaved a sigh of relief.
"Mr Darcy," Mr Crawford said quietly, "I believe I understand your hesitation of using your father's study. I have gone through something similar when I succeeded my father after his death – it's only natural so short after a parent's passing. But sir, this house is yours now. You can set up your study in any room you want. Even in your father's study. It may take some time, but I assure you from experience that it will get easier. Nevertheless, if you would rather set up your study elsewhere, that is of course your decision, and your decision alone."
Darcy nodded. "Thank you. I will consider it. Now you had some papers for me to sign?"
Once all the details had been discussed and clarified and the papers had been signed, making him the master of Pemberley even officially, Mrs Reynolds was waiting for him.
"Mr Darcy, may I have a word with you?"
"Of course." He bid Mr Crawford goodbye, and invited the housekeeper in. "What can I do for you, Mrs Reynolds?"
"Cook would like to know what you are planning for dinner the coming days."
He blew the hair from his forehead in frustration. "Am I responsible for that, too?"
"I'm afraid so, Master. As long as Pemberley has no mistress who can take care of such things, someone will have to make that decision." She gave him a fond smile. "Unless you want to leave the decisions regarding food with the little Miss?"
Darcy harrumphed. "If she is anything like me at that age, we would be eating roast beef and trifle every day. Or something like that."
"And never, ever any greens," Mrs Reynolds agreed with a chuckle. "So you see the decision had better be yours for now."
Darcy sighed heavily. It wasn't a big one, but it was yet another responsibility on his plate. How many roles was one man supposed to play simultaneously – master, landlord, head of the family, brother, father slash guardian, mistress…?
He raked his fingers through his hair. "What do you suggest?"
"For dinner? Do you have any specific wishes?"
"Not really." He grimaced. "As long as it's not Brussel sprouts."
She laughed softly. "Yes, I remember."
A sigh. "Mrs Reynolds, why don't you ask Cook for some recommendations, and we take it from there," he suggested. "I am sure she will have a much better insight in such things than I do. Will that do?"
"I'm sure it will," Mrs Reynolds confirmed. "And when you think of anything specific you wish for, you can just let me know."
He nodded. "Thank you."
"Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Yes – has the family been notified? I understand that Colonel Fitzwilliam is to be the co-executor of Father's will."
"Yes, sir. Rogers was to continue on to London after seeing you, to inform Lord Matlock of the situation. And expresses with the news have been sent to both Matlock House and Rosings Park yesterday evening. We expect your relatives here within a few days."
He nodded his approval. "Thank you."
Two hours later, he entered the family dining room. Georgiana was already there, dressed in one of her dyed gowns, looking sullen and… angry?
"Georgie," he asked wearily, "what is wrong?"
In reply, she merely pointed to the table setting, and he winced. It was probably technically correct now that he was the head of the family, but… intuitively, it looked as if the table was set for Georgiana and Father.
He closed his eyes. It was like the study. He was not ready for this either. He just couldn't usurp his father's place so quickly.
Without a word, he walked over to the table and moved the place setting from the head of the table to his usual place, across from Georgie's. "Better?" he asked, turning to her.
She nodded mutely, and came to sit down.
Darcy pushed in her chair before addressing the footman hovering by the sideboard. "James, please see to it that until further notice, the table in the family room is to be set like this."
"Of course, sir," James bowed. "Would you like me to serve dinner now?"
"Yes, please."
But even a rich meal of roast beef with gravy, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, green beans, apple sauce and trifle could not make up for the glaringly empty spot at the head of the table…