A little note to my readers: I confess that the strong reactions to Uncle Matlock's overbearing behaviour in the previous chapter rather surprised me. I see him as a man who is so used to taking charge, that he does so without thinking. Actually, much like Darcy himself does some years later with Bingley.

As we progress in our tale, I hope to be able to convey that despite his overbearing attitude, Lord Matlock is indeed one of the good guys here. And don't worry - Darcy will stand up against his more overbearing relations when the time comes. He is just not there yet. :-)

.

"So," Fitzwilliam opened the conversation as he divested himself of his coat. "What are you going to do now?"

"Me?" Darcy hung his own coat over a chair and chose his favourite cue. "I've got Pemberley now. Not much else I can do, is there."

"Of course there is. What about your studies? You haven't graduated yet, have you?"

"No."

"A shame, really. Especially for a studious fellow like you."

Darcy merely shrugged as he chalked his cue.

"You must have been close to your graduation though," Fitzwilliam insisted.

Darcy nodded. "A few months at most," he admitted with a resigned sigh.

"A shame indeed." Fitzwilliam organized the balls, and gestured for his cousin to open the game. "Could you not complete your studies by the side?"

Darcy made his shot. "I don't think so, Fitzwilliam. I will be up to my ears into learning how to manage Pemberley. Not to mention taking care of Georgie."

Fitzwilliam sighed. "Yes. I suppose you will be." He watched his cousin pocket two balls in one shot. "So what are you going to do with her?"

"You mean Georgie?"

"Yes. Will you be sending her off to school?"

Darcy shrugged a little. "I have not really thought about it." He lined up his next shot with a frown. "She seems fair young to be sent away from home though."

"I suppose so. How old is she again?"

"Ten."

"Hm."

Darcy pocketed another ball before straightening up and facing his cousin. "What would you recommend for her?"

"Me?! Why me?"

Darcy's brow furrowed. "You do know that Father has appointed you as her other guardian, don't you?"

Fitzwilliam's jaw dropped. "He what?! I barely know the girl!"

"Neither do I," Darcy pointed out.

"Well, at least you are her brother." Fitzwilliam shook his head. "Are you sure? About me being her guardian, I mean?"

"That's what he told us just before he died. And since you clearly did know about being named his executor, I thought…"

"No, I did not know." Fitzwilliam frowned. "He contacted me about being his executor around the time you reached your majority. It seemed like a logical time to amend his will. But he never said anything about naming me Georgie's guardian." His frown deepened. "Who else?"

"I am not sure. He only mentioned you and me, so I guess it's just the two of us."

"The poor kid." Fitzwilliam raked his fingers through his hair. "I pity her. A young girl like that, and then having two very unmarried bachelors for guardians? Couldn't he at least have named one female one?"

Darcy had a dejected shrug. "Who?" He bent down over the table again. "In fact, he specifically told me to not let our aunts get their hands on Georgie. Understandable, as I think you will agree."

His cousin snorted. "Aunt Cathy would probably terrify the little mouse. And as for my mother – well, least said, soonest mended, I'd say."

Darcy nodded. "That leaves Anne, who is hardly in a condition to be the guardian of a cat – let alone a ten-year-old cousin. Besides, if I remember correctly, she has yet to reach her majority herself." Another ball hit a pocket.

"That is true," Fitzwilliam was forced to admit. "And Agnes is hardly a sensible choice either. So that left my father, Stephen and me." He let out a sigh. "So why me – the only one with no parental experience whatsoever? I'm not exactly an expert on little girls, you know. I may know a thing or two about girls, but certainly not such young ones."

Darcy had a ghost of a smile. "Maybe you were the least objectionable relative he could think of?"

Fitzwilliam scoffed.

"Or maybe…" Darcy turned serious again. "Maybe he just thought you would be the most likely to support me where necessary."

Fitzwilliam looked decidedly relieved. "That I can do."

"Thank you. Which reminds me…" Darcy fumbled awkwardly with his cue for a moment. "Do you think you could… well… betroth her?"

Fitzwilliam's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Betroth her? You mean Georgie?!"

Darcy nodded. Bashfully but earnestly.

"For Pete's sake, why? You just told me the girl is but ten years old!"

"I know, but…" He averted his eyes and sighed. "I was just thinking – she is rather pretty, you know…"

"Very," Fitzwilliam interjected.

"Exactly. And with her dowry…"

"You foresee every fortune hunter in the country to lay siege to her?"

"Exactly. How am I ever to protect her, Fitzwilliam? So I thought… if you could betroth her, even if only in name, then she would be so much safer from all those despicable rakes."

"Darcy." Fitzwilliam sounded seriously exasperated now. "For Pete's sake, man, the girl is ten years old! It will be years before she comes out in society. When that time comes, you and I can watch over her like a pair of anxious mother hawks – and scare away her each and every suitor while we're at it. But that's years away. I would not worry about that yet."

Darcy hesitated. "You think so?"

"Absolutely. Now why don't you let me have a go at those balls now."

It was about an hour later when another footman came to fetch them: clearly, Mr Crawford had arrived. And once they were all seated and had partaken of the refreshments that Uncle Matlock had called for, his uncle announced, "Mr Crawford, you may proceed at your leisure."

For a moment, the solicitor looked back and forth between Darcy and his uncle. "Mr Darcy, your uncle is not one of the executors of your father's will. It is up to you whether or not you want him to stay for the reading."

"I have no objection," Darcy replied. "He can stay."

Mr Crawford nodded. Then he took out a scroll from his folder and handed it to Darcy. "Your father wrote this will on the 27th of September, 1805." His twenty-first birthday. "Could you and your cousin please verify that the seal is intact?"

Darcy and Fitzwilliam silently complied, and found the seal indeed to be unbroken.

"Then let us break the seal and take part of your father's last will." There was the sound of breaking wax, and Mr Crawford unrolled the scroll.

"I, George Francis Theodore Darcy, write this will while healthy of mind and body, on the 27th of September, 1805, at Pemberley, Derbyshire. All previous wills from my hand are hereby forfeit.

"As executors of my last will, I appoint my only son, Fitzwilliam George Darcy, of Pemberley, Derbyshire, and my nephew and godson, Richard Gregory George Ambrose James Fitzwilliam, of Matlock, Derbyshire."

He looked up. "Mr Darcy, do you accept the task of executing your father's last will?"

"I do."

"Major Fitzwilliam, do you accept the task of executing your uncle's last will?"

"I do."

Mr Crawford nodded. "Then let us proceed.

"Upon my death, I, George Francis Theodore Darcy, leave the Pemberley estate and all its assets to my beloved son and heir and my pride, Fitzwilliam George Darcy. I am confident that he will make an excellent master, who will take prodigious care of everyone and everything within his purview. I know you to be a good, honest and honourable man, Son. Therefore, I have no qualms in leaving Pemberley in your hands. Once more, Son, do your duty, and make me proud."

He looked up. "Mr Darcy, do you accept the responsibility for Pemberley and all its assets?"

Darcy struggled to swallow down a sudden surge of panic. "Yes," he croaked.

And Mr Crawford continued, "To my beloved daughter, Georgiana Anne Darcy, of Pemberley, Derbyshire, I leave the fortune of thirty thousand pounds, to be used in its entirety as her dowry. This fortune has been placed in the four percents, and the annual revenue thereof will be used solely for her keep, her education and whatever other needs may arise for her upbringing and well-being. This money is not to be used for anything other than Georgiana's needs.

"In case my daughter has not yet reached her majority upon my death, I hereby appoint my son, Fitzwilliam George Darcy, as her guardian, together with my nephew and godson, the aforementioned Richard Gregory George Ambrose James Fitzwilliam. I know you both to be honourable, caring young men, who will always put Georgiana's interests before anything else. Please take good care of my little girl, and do what you can to compensate her for now lacking all parental love and guidance."

Once again, Mr Crawford looked up. "Mr Darcy, do you accept the responsibility for your sister, Georgiana Anne Darcy?"

Darcy nodded mutely.

"I need your answer spoken, Mr Darcy."

Darcy closed his eyes. "Yes. I accept."

A nod. "And Major Fitzwilliam, do you accept the responsibility for your cousin, Georgiana Anne Darcy?"

Fitzwilliam nodded, too. "We already discussed that. I confess I'm not particularly convinced I am the right person for it, but yes, if that was my uncle's will, then I will accept the responsibility."

"Good. Then let us proceed to the bequests for others." Mr Crawford consulted his scroll again and read, "To my nephew and godson, Richard Gregory George Ambrose James Fitzwilliam, of Matlock, Derbyshire, I hereby bequeath the sum of five thousand pounds."

Fitzwilliam raised a surprised eyebrow.

"This is partly as compensation for his duties as my executor and possibly as Georgiana's guardian," Mr Crawford read, "But on top of that, he is an honourable young man, who has always been a good friend to my son. Moreover, I, too, was a younger son, so I can empathize with his situation in life. Use this money wisely, Nephew, and it should allow you – if you so wish – to leave the dangers of the military behind, and instead pursue the safer life of an independent gentleman."

"That sure is unexpected," Fitzwilliam commented.

"Well, you are his godson," his father pointed out.

And Darcy asked, "Would you like to leave the army? I thought you rather enjoyed it."

"I do. Well, maybe not the battles so much, but other than that…" He fell silent.

"Perhaps when you are a little older, Son," his father suggested mildly. "When you find a wife."

"Yeah. Maybe."

Nothing more was said on the subject, and Uncle Matlock nodded for Mr Crawford to continue.

"To my other godson, George Bernard Wickham, of the parish of Kympton, Derbyshire, I bequeath the sum of one thousand pounds, in the hope that it will give him a good start in whatever career he chooses to pursue."

Fitzwilliam smirked. "Gambling," he sneered to Darcy under his breath.

"Furthermore," Mr Crawford continued unperturbed, "Should he choose to take orders in the church…"

Fitzwilliam bit back a guffaw, but Darcy's eyes widened in alarm.

"… it is my wish that the living of Kympton on the Pemberley estate shall be his as soon as it is vacant."

"What?!" Darcy was aghast. "Wickham as the rector of Kympton?! That is not just irresponsible, it is… it is…!"

"Pure madness," Fitzwilliam happily filled in. "A disaster waiting to happen. Multiple disasters, in fact."

Darcy shook his head in disbelief. "How can Father do such a thing? I know he liked Wickham, I know he excused a lot of his behaviour, but…!"

Uncle Matlock looked questioningly from one to the other. "I take it you two know this Wickham then?"

"He is the steward's son," Fitzwilliam supplied.

"Yes," Darcy explained with a sigh. "Mr Wickham is an honourable man and a faithful and trusted steward. He has worked for Father since before I was born. His son however… He is about my age. We were friends when we were boys; we always played together. Father decided to support him at school, but as a mere steward's son, many of the boys there never accepted him. So he began to run with the wilder crowd, and… well, it went from bad to worse. And worse than worse once we went to Cambridge. Father always laughed it off when I tried to tell him; he said that a boy like Wickham – with no family name to uphold like me – should be allowed to sow his wild oats, and not be held to the same standards as someone like me."

Fitzwilliam nodded. "The guy is a walking advertisement for everything the church is against: gambling, lying, cheating, seducing young ladies all the way into his bed…"

"Not to mention his debts," Darcy added. "How can I ever justify placing the spiritual well-being of the people of Kympton into the hands of such a man?"

Uncle Matlock nodded in thought. "And is the living at Kympton expected to fall vacant any time soon?"

"I don't know." Darcy looked toward Mr Crawford. "Mr Emmett is what… in his forties?"

Mr Crawford nodded. "And hale and hearty at that. Barring a fatal accident, I would expect it will be another twenty years before the Kympton living becomes available."

"Well, there you are." Uncle Matlock sounded distinctly relieved. "If – as you say – his father is such a good man, there is every chance that the son in the end will settle down, too, with age."

Darcy looked doubtful.

"And if not…" Fitzwilliam grinned. "Mr Crawford, did you not say that the living would be his, 'should he choose to take orders'?"

"Yes, indeed," Mr Crawford confirmed. "And one can only hold a living in the church if one has been officially ordained."

"There you go, Darce. You're off the hook." He gave Darcy a hearty slap on the back. "The George Wickham we know will never exert himself enough in his studies to qualify for ordination. Has he even studied theology so far? Done anything to prepare himself for a vocation in the church?"

"Not that I am aware of," Darcy admitted.

"Then clearly there is nothing to worry about."

Darcy let out a sigh.""I hope you are right."

"Of course I am. Now, Mr Crawford, the next item?"

Mr Crawford looked to Darcy for confirmation, and once he got that, he continued, "To my trusted valet, James Ian Twelvetrees, of the parish of Baslow, Derbyshire, I bequeath…"