They stared at the closed door in consternation bordering on horror.

Fitzwilliam was the first to move: he jumped to the door to go after Wickham, but stopped himself before crashing out into the corridor to look back at Darcy. "Can he…?"

Darcy's eyes unfocused as he tried to oversee the possible consequences. "Surely you do not think…?! She is only ten!"

Fitzwilliam relaxed slightly. "You are right. That is a bit young – even for Wickham."

Darcy let out a sigh. "I cannot say I like the idea of him being friends with her, but… well, it is true that he always used to play with her a lot."

"And I suppose her nurse will stay with them as much as she does when I am visiting with her."

"Yes…" Rather uncertainly.

An uneasy silence.

"But we are her guardians," Fitzwilliam asserted. "Does that not mean we get to decide with whom she can be friends?"

Darcy raked both his hands through his hair. "I suppose so." His eyes unconsciously scanned the bookshelves in the room. "Is there not some guide for guardians, outlining the duties and responsibilities?"

"Probably. But that does not help us now." Fitzwilliam turned back to the door. "I don't know about you, but I feel darned uneasy about Wickham visiting with our Georgie – even with her nurse in the room. I want to keep an eye on that friendship."

Darcy nodded and came around the desk. "I am coming with you."

They swiftly took the stairs and strode towards the nursery. But before they were even halfway there, they were arrested by a loud and happy squeal from Georgiana: "George!" The rest was muted as a door was closed, but one shared look of alarm was sufficient for the two floundering guardians to more than double their pace.

While Darcy and Fitzwilliam were acting out the part of two apprehensive mother hens anxiously watching over their young as it played with a snake, Lord Hartwell sought out his father in the library.

"Father, can I have a word?"

"Of course!" Lord Matlock put down his book and gestured to the wingback chair across from him. "A drink?"

Hartwell accepted a brandy and sipped it, apparently deep in thought.

"What is on your mind, Son?"

A sigh as he carefully set down his glass and leaned back in his chair. "Are you aware that Aunt Cat has every intention of taking over Pemberley?"

A responding sigh. "Yes. She has been saying that from the moment she arrived here."

"And?" Hartwell prompted.

"Of course she can't, unless young Darcy would ask her to. But…"

"But what?"

Lord Matlock couldn't quite quench a chuckle. "You were not there yet, but she walked in on quite the spectacle. Darcy and your brother had gotten drunk as a skunk the night before, and had just been retrieved from the barn where they had spent the night. They looked and smelled a fright. And of course they were both terribly hungover. Your aunt took one look at Darcy, and declared that he was not fit to manage a pig farm, and that she would take over until he matured a bit."

Hartwell's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "And you let that stand?!"

"Well… no. I did point out to her that Darcy has reached his majority and that lawfully, Pemberley is his estate – but you know your aunt."

"All too well. She is adamant about taking over Pemberley and treats Darcy as an under-age child, no matter the man's assurances that he intends to be the best master that he can be." He sat up in the fire of his argument. "You've got to do something about Aunt Cat, Father. This is not fair on Darcy – he has more than enough to worry about. Yes, he has shown more than once already that he is capable of standing up against Aunt Cathy, but you cannot expect a young man like that to throw his own aunt out of his house – especially one forty years his senior. He simply does not have that kind of authority yet. As head of the family, and as his godfather, you will have to step in."

A little smile tugged at his father's mouth. "Would you?"

"In a heartbeat," his son assured him. "Only Aunt Catherine does not listen to me any more than she listens to Darcy. You are the only one who holds some sway over her."

The smile broadened. "Good on you, patriarch-to-be."

Hartwell blew out a breath of vexation. "Father, can we stick with the topic? What are you going to do about Aunt Catherine?"

Lord Matlock tiredly rubbed his face. "I fully agree that we need to get her away from here, and preferably all the way back to Kent, but… I haven't figured out yet how to orchestrate that," he finished lamely.

"Time for a strategy meeting?"

"You have some idea then?"

A dejected sigh. "Not really, but…"

They sat in silence for a few minutes, mulling over the Aunt Catherine problem. Until Lord Matlock asked a seemingly incongruous question. "What do you think of Darcy?"

Hartwell looked up in surprise. And shrugged. "I hardly know the man. Why don't you ask Richard?"

"I am asking you as the de facto master of Matlock, to evaluate a fellow estate owner. What is your impression of him?"

Hartwell pondered the question for a while before voicing his careful reply. "I think he has it in him. He is indeed very young, and at a major disadvantage that he did not really get to learn the role at his father's side. But that could be remedied under the guidance of a competent steward. He seems rather insecure and overwhelmed so far, but it is early days yet, and I have also seen moments where he truly was the master of Pemberley – especially when he was standing up to Aunt Cat the other day, declaring that he was the master of Pemberley and she had no right to interfere. I think… I think being thrown in the deep end is going to mature him incredibly fast. A year from now, I suspect we will barely recognize him."

Lord Matlock smiled. "I agree. And I know from his father that he is a good and honourable man, highly intelligent and very conscientious about his duties. If we can keep him on that path, I expect he will make an excellent master. But it will take some time."

"And no interference from Aunt Catherine," Hartwell brought them back to their original topic. "I was thinking: do you think we could get Cousin Anne on our side? Saying she wants to go home? Aunt Cat usually does anything to ensure Anne's comfort, and since she and Darcy cannot marry for a full year…"

"They should not marry at all," his father muttered.

"Really?" Hartwell chuckled sarcastically. "That is not what Aunt Cat says. 'You were destined for each other by every member of your respective houses' or some such tripe."

"Nonsense," was Lord Matlock's judgement. "Darcy needs a strong wife who can help him take care of the estate and give him a healthy heir and spare. Marrying an invalid is the last thing he needs. Besides, I doubt Anne would be able to give him an heir at all. No, let her stay at Rosings; I have no doubt that a rich and handsome fellow like Darcy will find an eligible wife in no time."

Hartwell made no reply, but the two bitter lines that etched his mouth spoke volumes.

Suddenly, his father began to chuckle. "And I think I may have an idea on how to get Cathy out of here – but it hinges on Darcy going back to Cambridge to finish his degree. Which I think he should. Will you help me convince him? I already mentioned it to him this morning, but he was rather despondent. Then again, that was just before that outburst at breakfast, so I suppose I simply caught him at a bad time."

Hartwell frowned. "So what are you thinking?"

"Listen. I will…" Matlock froze. "Is that…?"

"The fire bell!" Hartwell was already on his feet, scanning the world outside. A window facing a different direction… "I don't see it, but let's go!" And with that, he ran from the room.