Author's note: I've enjoyed Katriaine's "Mr Wickham's Great Misfortunes" so often these past few months, that somehow, I cannot imagine Fitzwilliam's brother with any other name than "Lord/Viscount Hartwell" anymore, no matter how many names I've encountered for him in other stories over the years. Fortunately, Katriaine had no objection to my using the same name here.

And a note specifically to Valerie 1950: I can't seem to reply to your reviews, but I just want to let you know how much I love them. You often seem to pick up on nuances that very few others notice!

And regarding the latest one, about Mrs Reynolds' motherly feelings for Darcy: yes, I think you hit the nail on the head there. With Lady Anne often having to keep to her bed (see chapter 3), she would indeed have been a mother figure for him from a very early age. And instinctively, he would still see her as an authority figure in his life. And now, suddenly, that relationship has been reversed: he is the master and she is his servant – even if both he and she are aware that she knows a lot more about his job than he does.

And at the same time, I imagine Darcy yearns for her to take him in her arms and tell him that everything will be alright…

.

"Hartwell!" Relieved at the stay of his execution, Darcy ran down the main staircase upon seeing his oldest cousin alight from his carriage.

"Darcy." A hearty handshake, and…

His breath caught for a moment. It was different. Hartwell suddenly treated him as an equal; it was as if the eleven year age gap had evaporated overnight. He wondered briefly if this was due to him now being his own master as well, or to the basic fact that he had finally caught up with his cousin in adulthood.

Hartwell cut through his musings with his condolences. "I am sorry for your loss, Darcy. Are you well?"

"Well enough, I suppose. A bit overwhelmed." He led his cousin inside, out of the beginning drizzle.

Hartwell nodded his understanding as he handed his hat, gloves and overcoat to Mr Graham. "And your sister?"

Darcy sighed. "I am not sure. Sometimes fine, sometimes…"

"Yes. That is to be expected, I suppose."

They went up the stairs in companionable silence until Darcy recalled his manners. "And your family? Are they all in good health?"

"Indeed they are. In fact, Henry and Virginia wanted to come, too, but I didn't think a condolence gathering would be a happy family reunion."

Darcy merely nodded, and silently led the way to the family wing. The family wing, where…

He gulped, and suddenly turned to his cousin. "Hartwell, can I ask you a favour?"

A raised eyebrow was all he got – he had never known his cousin well, but Hartwell's disposition seemed to have more in common with his own than with the proverbial gregariousness of the Fitzwilliam clan.

Self-consciously, he looked away, inadvertently returning to their old (albeit barely existent) relationship of big cousin and little cousin.

Hartwell apparently just waited him out, and at long last, Darcy explained that Aunt Catherine had summoned him. "From what I understand, she intends to take over Pemberley, marry me to Cousin Anne, and take over Georgiana's upbringing while she is at it."

Hartwell audibly drew in a breath. "Uh-oh…"

"Exactly. And to compound the matter, I rather told her off this morning for usurping the role of mistress."

At that, poor Hartwell nearly choked in consternation. "You what?!"

A sigh. "I know. Fitzwilliam had just gotten me all riled up about marking my territory. So when I saw her at the mistress's place at the table…"

Hartwell shook his head in awe. "I am sorry I missed it."

"Yes, well…"

"So what is this favour?"

"Well…" Darcy squirmed a little. "I thought perhaps you could come with me. I know I need to show her that I can handle myself, so I don't want to bring Fitzwilliam or your father for support. But it would be totally innocuous if you came with me – you know, having just arrived, coming to greet her."

"While subtly ensuring you don't have to face the Dragon Lady all by yourself," Hartwell chuckled.

"Well… yes."

His cousin shook his head in amusement. "I am surprised that someone with the gall to tell off the fearsome Dragon Lady to her face would need my support to face her again. But if that is your wish, lead the way, oh intrepid Cousin!"

They entered the drawing-room together – after Hartwell had stayed his hand from knocking at the door of his own drawing-room in his own house – only to be immediately pounced upon by an obviously displeased Aunt Catherine.

"There you are! Finally! I sent for you a full hour ago!"

Darcy kept his face blank. "I had business with my housekeeper." He nodded to Anne and Mrs Jenkinson, who were sitting off to the side.

"Housekeeper…" Aunt Catherine scoffed. "You give your housekeeper precedence over me, your very own aunt and the daughter of an earl?"

Darcy shrugged a little. "Well, I am master of Pemberley now. And since you have managed Rosings for so many years, I am sure you are aware of the work involved."

His aunt huffed. "Work! Work is for servants." She straightened her spine. "And Lord Hartwell! I see you have finally graced us with your presence as well. I trust you left your family in good health?"

"Indeed I did, Aunt." He bowed over her outstretched hand. "I hope I find you and your daughter in good health as well?"

She glared at him. "I am not known for being indisposed, Nephew. I will not allow it. And as for my dear Anne, the journey hither has left her much fatigued, but she has ralleyed her spirits tolerably." A fond look at her daughter. "Of course, she must look her best under the circumstances."

Hartwell obediently bowed over Anne's hand as well. "Enchanting as ever, Cousin."

Anne had a small smile, but made no reply.

"Now then," Aunt Catherine declared, "The present state of the Darcy legacy is truly lamentable, and I have given it a prodigious deal of thought. I have called you to my side today, Nephew" – a nod at Darcy – "for the express purpose of sharing my generous findings with you, so that you may benefit from my wisdom and experience." She indicated that the men were to take a seat: Darcy next to Anne on the settee, and Hartwell on the sofa opposite.

Satisfied, Aunt Catherine let her eyes stray over her small audience, before resuming her discourse. "I have always prided myself on my frankness and my condescension in dispensing advice to all who find themselves within my purview. And in a situation such as this, in which my very own nephew finds himself faced with a monumental task for which he has not had a chance to prepare, I shall certainly not deviate from that practice." She quirked an inquiring eyebrow at Darcy. "Pray, Nephew, what is your current age again? You cannot possibly have reached your twenty-fifth year yet, have you?"

Feeling the sting of having to admit not being even close to the random (or not so random) standard of twenty-five, Darcy confessed with a scowl that he was currently twenty-two years of age.

Aunt Catherine tsk-ed at that. "It is as I thought then. How very unfortunate. Still in your wild years, no degree, nor any serious preparation at your father's side…" She shook her head in commiseration. "It is a tremendous responsibility to take on the management of an estate the size of Pemberley. The hundreds of tenants and servants, the sheer number of decisions to be made every day, the pressure of producing a healthy heir and spare – and in your case, not to mention the responsibility of raising your young sister… 'Tis simply too much for someone so young an age. Oh yes…"

She let her voice trail off dramatically in thought, and Darcy shifted uncomfortably. She sure knew how to play on his insecurities…

"Well, I am sure Darcy can handle it," Hartwell spoke up. "I have been doing it for several years already. And Darcy is not that much younger than I was at the time."

It earned him a glare from his aunt. "Do not talk nonsense, Hartwell. You were already married and father of a son when my brother left you de facto in charge of his estate. Such experiences cultivate a natural sense of responsibility in a man. Besides, your father still has your back when necessary."

"As we all do for Darcy," Hartwell pointed out. "We certainly will not leave him to muddle through on his own."

That was reassuring indeed, Darcy thought, but his aunt's next declaration nearly made him reel back.

"Exactly. There will be no 'muddling through'. Darcy is decidedly too young and too immature to properly manage Pemberley by himself. So there is but one solution: I will take over Pemberley until such time that Darcy has proven himself worthy of the role."

Darcy glared at her. "You will do no such thing."

She ignored him. "Meanwhile, he will marry my Anne and produce his heir and spare – one to inherit Pemberley, and one to inherit Rosings."

"I will do no such thing."

"Oh, hush," she dismissed him. "You are too young to be sensible of your own good, young man. Let alone the good of an estate such as Pemberley. Face it: you are nothing but an immature student, and students ought not to be in charge of their family estates; it only leads them to rack and ruin. No. I will take over Pemberley, and once you are married and begin to show signs of maturity, I will graciously teach you how to properly manage your father's estate. You should count yourself fortunate, Nephew; not many people can boast of having been taught by a true proficient such as myself!"

Darcy stood, his temper rising. "I am well aware that I have a lot to learn, Aunt, but my father left Pemberley to me, in the fullest belief that I would make a good master. Yes, I may be full young, but I have reached my majority, and you have no right to interfere with my father's last wishes."

"Hear hear!" Hartwell seconded him.

But, "Nonsense," Aunt Catherine scoffed. "Sit down, boy. I am not done with you yet."

Darcy remained standing.

She didn't seem to mind overly much though, for she continued undeterred, "I know it all, boy: a student's life is one of idleness and dissipation. As yet, you are nothing but an irresponsible oaf, prone to intoxication and silly student shenanigans. Truly, you students lack the sense God gave geese! Is such a boy to be master of the great Pemberley estate? It shall not be!"

"You heard me, Aunt." Darcy drew in a slow breath through his nose to try and control his flaring temper. "I am the master of Pemberley now, and I have every intention of being the best master that I can be. But even if I should bungle it beyond all hope, that is no concern of yours."

"Oh yes, it is!" the lady exclaimed. "Have you forgotten that you are to marry my daughter? You two are formed for each other – destined to be united by every member of your respective houses! Why, while you were in your cradles, your mother and I planned the union!"

Silence, that was broken when Hartwell asked with a puzzled smirk, "I fail to see how that has any bearing on Darcy's ability to learn how to manage his estate."

Another glare was sent in his direction. "My Anne deserves only the very best."

Darcy glanced at his silent cousin, and caught her eye for a moment. "That may be so, but I certainly will not marry Cousin Anne – or anyone – while I am in mourning."

"Of course." Even Aunt Catherine was forced to concede that. "But not to worry. Since I am taking over the estate, Anne and I will simply settle in here, and in a year's time, you and Anne will be wed."

Darcy sent her a death glare of his own. "For the final time, Aunt: according to my father's will, Pemberley is my estate, and I will not allow anyone to interfere with my father's wishes. So I beg you not to importune me on the subject any further." A minimal bow, before turning on his heel and stalking to the door.

But, "Not so hasty, if you please!" his aunt called at his back.

He turned with his hand on the doorknob. "You know my decision on the subject, Aunt. I bid you a good day." With that, he left the room and pulled the door shut behind him with far more force than necessary.

He hadn't gotten far down the corridor before he heard Hartwell calling after him.

"Darcy! Darce!" His cousin quickly caught up with him, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You deserve a drink," he announced emphatically. "Where can we get one?"

Darcy sighed, and led the way to the library two doors down.

Hartwell was quick to pour them each a generous brandy, and after making a tacit toast to him, they sipped their drink in mutual silence.

But at long last, Hartwell shook his head. "The old Cat is truly in fine form today. But you held your own against her admirably!"

Darcy just sighed.

"But what is this about you marrying Anne?"

Darcy closed his eyes. "Anne and I have already discussed that. And we have decided that our needs and wants totally would not suit. But you heard Aunt Catherine; apparently, she is dead set on the match."

Hartwell snorted indecorously. "Up to and including claiming a cradle engagement. Did your mother ever mention that to you?"

Darcy shook his head, and took another sip.

"She probably said that in jest when Anne was born," Hartwell mused. "But naturally, Aunt Cathy took it seriously."

They sipped their drinks in silence. Hartwell offered to top up their glasses, but Darcy declined.

"Darcy," he began at last, "I don't mean to sound morbid, but what provisions are in place for Pemberley in case you kick the bucket?"

Darcy merely raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I do not mean to imply that someone is out to murder you in your bed for your inheritance, but to be honest, I found Aunt Cathy far too eager to take over your estate. And we all know that death can happen to any of us, any time. Did your father perchance leave any directions as to who will get Pemberley in the case of your death?"

Darcy thought for a moment, and shook his head. "Not really."

"Perhaps you had better write something down then. It doesn't have to be a full scale will with bequests and everything, but I have dabbled enough in the law in my Cambridge years to know the trouble that will arise for an estate when there is no obvious heir."

Darcy frowned. "Wouldn't Georgie automatically inherit?"

"She would be the most logical one, yes, but any number of parties could dispute that. Besides, if you were to die tomorrow, who is to take care of the estate for her until she reaches her majority?"

Darcy leaned back his head and sighed. "What do you suggest?"

"Write up a basic will, just to clarify who would get Pemberley in the case of your premature death. We could do it now, if you want."

Darcy threw back the last of his brandy. "Alright. I think I still recall how to word a will." He climbed to his feet and seated himself at the desk by the window. "So what do I write? I, Fitzwilliam George Darcy, of Pemberley, Derbyshire…"

Hartwell guided him through the standard opening lines, until it was time to put to paper what would happen to Pemberley upon his death.

"I want Georgie to have it," Darcy stated. "It is her home after all."

Hartwell nodded. "Who will take care of it until she reaches her majority?"

"Fitzwilliam. He already is her guardian." He frowned. "Maybe she should have another guardian, in the case of my death?"

"Who?"

"I don't know." He looked up. "You?"

Hartwell stared at him hard. "Do you truly trust me with your sister?"

"Why not? I know no evil of you, and you have three children of your own. Which honestly makes you more qualified than Fitzwilliam and I together. And Georgie is not that much older than your Henry."

"Alright. If that is your wish, I will accept the task in case it becomes necessary."

Darcy nodded, and wrote down the instruction.

"Next question: when Georgiana marries, who gets to be in charge of Pemberley?"

"Um… her husband?"

"Yes, but you do not know who that will be. For all we know, she might be seduced by a rake and be forced to marry."

Darcy flinched.

"Perhaps you might want to add a clause that both Pemberley and her dowry will be released to her husband only if they marry with the consent of both her guardians? It would make her a little less attractive for unscrupulous fortune hunters."

Darcy nodded. "That sounds wise." He wrote down the provision and looked up at his cousin. "Anything else?"

"Yes. Who will get Pemberley in case Georgiana dies without issue?"

Darcy frowned but was quick in his reply. "Fitzwilliam. You've got Matlock; he has nothing. It is only fair that he should get Pemberley in that case."

Hartwell nodded. "And if Fitzwilliam, too, dies without issue? His profession is not the safest, is it. You would need to plan for that contingency."

Darcy sat back to consider that, and sighed at last, "Unless we would combine Matlock and Pemberley, I only see one option left: your youngest son – what was his name again?"

"Philip."

"Yes. Alright. So if I die prematurely, and both Georgiana and Fitzwilliam die without issue, young Philip will inherit Pemberley, to be left in your care until he reaches his majority. And if he, too, should die, your Virginia would be the next in line." He sighed. "But by now I have run out of relatives – or at least the suitable ones. So if all this should come to nothing, I suppose there is no alternative but to merge Pemberley with Matlock."

Hartwell squeezed his shoulder in encouragement. "Let us hope that you will soon have heirs of your own, making this emergency document obsolete." He nodded for Darcy to write down these final stipulations, and after a final read-through, they both signed and dated the document.

At least Pemberley was safe now.

.

.

Author's note: In case anyone wonders, in the original P&P, both Darcy and Lady Catherine typically address the Colonel as Fitzwilliam; not as Richard (or whatever christian name we give him). It makes sense that they would do the same with his brother. But yes, he is the same guy as the one mentioned as Stephen before. I reckon that name is the one generally used by his immediate family (Fitzwilliam, and Uncle and Aunt Matlock), his female cousins (Georgiana and Anne), and his soon to be introduced wife Lady Agnes.