Marie the maid knew her task. It was not the most pleasant one, and certainly not the easiest one, but someone had to do it. And who better than she? At her age, and with nigh on thirty years of service to the family, she was not as easily intimidated as the younger girls. On top of that, her reputation for possessing the most inscrutable pokerface in all of Derbyshire could only be an advantage in dealing with the likes of Lady Catherine.

So here she was, following the lady around as she wandered from room to room, repurposing and redecorating them all. She had been ordered to meticulously document each and every one of the lady's directives, and by now, she was on her fourth sheet of paper and wondering why the 'great lady' did not simply order the house to be torn down and rebuilt from scratch.

She chuckled, though not a sound escaped her and her face remained perfectly placid. Green he may be, but her master would never stand for that!

Still, it was her job right now to humour 'Lady Cat the Terrible' as she was referred to in the kitchen. And as long as the lady did not actually start tearing down the walls with her own hands (an image worthy of another silent chuckle), there was no harm in jotting down her doomed plans for the Pemberley manor. To fruition they would never come; of that, she felt secure.

"Did you take note of that?"

"Yes, milady."

"Then let us proceed to the next room." She shook her head in disapproval. "The lay-out of this house is exceedingly irrational. I will not have my Anne wandering the hallways wondering where to go. If she is to be mistress here, the lay-out of the house will have to be adapted to what she is used to at home, in Rosings Park."

The lady strode ahead to the door, but waited for Marie to reverently open it for her. It led to the family dining-room.

Of course she had been in the dining-room every day since her arrival, but this time, her critical eye sought out ways to update and improve the interior. And she found many.

The corners of her mouth were drawn down in disapprobation. "This room will never do – it will need to be thoroughly refurbished. To start with, it is far too small for a family of this standing. This wall here will have to come down, so the dining-room and that green sitting-room we just left will become one. And then oak panelling all the way up to the ceiling. Yes, I can see it now: dark oak, to properly demonstrate the family's wealth. With intricate woodcarvings of course, and inlays of gold plate."

Her eyes wandered to the high ceiling, and she sighed in resignation. "Plain white? What was my sister thinking?! No. An exquisite roof painting is what is needed here. A faithful copy of that one in the Sistine Chapel would show our superior taste. We may not be Catholic, but my Anne so loves angels."

Turning her attention to the furniture, she mournfully shook her head. "So, so out of fashion. It is obvious that no woman's hand has touched this room in years. Now let me see. A larger dining-table is needed; a family of this standing should have a table that seats at least twenty. And that old cabinet of course needs to go; perhaps the housekeeper has use for it. Instead… yes…" She stroked her chin as a feline smile crept over her face. "I can see it now. That wall is positively destined for an elaborate mural. A mural of Rosings in all its splendour perhaps; that would be especially fitting. In fact, if I had ever learned, I might have painted it myself!"

Marie nodded stoically and wrote down the directive as required: mural of Rosings on short wall of dining-room. She could easily imagine the derisive comments that would elicit among the staff…

After a fruitless search for his cousins (and one hasty dodge into an alcove to avoid being spotted by his aunt), Darcy learned from Jon the footman that the male contingent of the party had retreated to the fencing studio in the souterrain.

His face brightened, and he quickly made his way down the stairs. Still smarting from being unable to beat his little sister even once in that disturbing travesty of his beloved chess game, a good sparring match with his cousins was just what he needed. There at least the rules were clear and unbending!

He chuckled at the thought of Fitzwilliam attempting that robbers' chess game with Georgie. Trying to lose all your pieces as quickly as possible had to be even more anathema to a military man...

He walked in on a vigorous match between Hartwell and Fitzwilliam, and remained standing in the doorway to watch. Fitzwilliam's skills and preferred strategies hardly held any secrets for him, but he had never come out against Hartwell. It took but a minute to see that the man was good, but that was hardly a surprise; after all, he had been the Cambridge champion in his days. Fitzwilliam on the other hand had the advantage of youth and consistent training in the army, not to mention reflexes honed for survival instead of for sports, so all in all they were quite evenly matched.

It was Fitzwilliam who at last broke through and scored a hit.

"Well done," Hartwell acknowledged slightly out of breath. He stepped back and saluted his brother.

"That makes it forty-five to forty-two for Richard," Lord Matlock announced.

Fitzwilliam grinned and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Darce, you come to join us?"

"I would love to!" He was already taking off his coat.

But Lord Matlock held up his hands. "Boys, now that we are among men, we need to talk. I am afraid the fencing will have to wait; we need to coordinate our efforts to get Aunt Cathy back to Kent."

Fitzwilliam fell down next to him on the bench, wiping his face and his neck with a towel. "What do you have in mind?"

"Yes, I believe you said something about Darcy needing to go back to Cambridge for that?" Hartwell recalled.

Darcy scowled. "I have not decided yet."

His uncle nodded at him. "Fair enough, but let us establish the parameters first. Darcy, would you want your Aunt Catherine to stay here and help you with the estate? Or would you rather fend for yourself and have her go back to Kent?"

Fitzwilliam snorted. "Do you even have to ask?"

That earned him a glare from his father. "Yes, I do. Darcy?"

Darcy remained mute, his eyes on the floor, his tense fingers fidgeting nervously. But at long last, he took a deep breath and spoke quietly, "Taking on the estate by myself is… daunting… to say the least. But as long as I have Mr Wickham by my side, I believe I should be able to manage it."

Silence.

"And?" Uncle Matlock prompted.

"And what?"

"Would you prefer to have your aunt by your side as well?"

A moment's hesitation; then he shook his head. "No. From what she has been saying, I am afraid she would simply take over. And that is not what Pemberley needs, and not what I need either. Pemberley needs me to learn to stand on my own two feet, so no matter how tempting it is to let someone else shoulder the burden, I cannot allow myself to succumb to such laxity. It is my estate after all; I have to learn to take care of it."

Hartwell squeezed his shoulder. "I am sure you will."

"Right. So we do need to get your aunt away from here," his uncle summarized. "The question is: how? She does not seem particularly inclined to return to Kent for now."

Hartwell blew out an exasperated breath. "I told you, Father: as head of the family, you are the only one who has any sway over her. You need to talk to her."

A sigh. "I thank you for your faith in me, Son, but I fear it is somewhat misplaced in this case. Your aunt is rarely inclined to pay me any heed either."

Fitzwilliam was rather more radical. "You could challenge her to a duel, Darce, with the dominion over Pemberley as the stakes. No chance in hell that Aunt Cat would best you in a fencing match, even if," he could not resist attempting an imitation of his aunt's imperious voice. "Even if she would have been a true proficient... if only she had ever learned."

Hartwell guffawed, but Darcy gave him a glare. "Never. I will not gamble with Pemberley, no matter the odds."

"Fair enough. How about we knock her over the head then, and throw her in her carriage?"

"Richard…" his father chided.

"Fine, no knock over the head then. Drugging her senseless with laudanum should do the trick as well."

Darcy snorted. "Yes, that is so much better."

The two youngsters chuckled in unison; after all, discussing ways to deal with their Aunt Cat had been a recurring topic between them for years, and this exchange was unlikely to be the last.

"But you mentioned something about Darcy returning to Cambridge as a means of getting Aunt Cathy back to Kent," Hartwell addressed his father. "How do you envision that?"

"Well, she cannot expect to stay here when the master is not in residence."

Fitzwilliam snorted. "Really, Father, for strategy, you get zero marks. Honestly, even you must realize that will never work. She would simply have free reign here, without anyone challenging her. You might as well hand her Pemberley on a silver platter."

Darcy nodded. "Besides, I have promised Georgiana that I would not leave her in the care of her aunts. So I cannot leave her here with only Aunt Catherine for company."

"We could try and enlist Cousin Anne's help," Hartwell suggested. "Aunt Cathy will do anything to ensure Anne's comfort, so if we can convince Anne to insist that she wants to go back home…"

"Do you think she will?" His father was skeptical.

"I don't know. It is worth a try."

"But with her mother having her all riled up to marry Darcy...?"

Darcy shook his head. "Anne and I have already discussed that, Uncle. And we concluded that we would not suit at all. So she might indeed be more than willing to return home."

A sigh of relief. "Good. The question is: will it be sufficient to convince your aunt?"

Silence.

"Any other ideas?"

"We could shoot the old bat. You know: a hunting accident."

"In February?!"

"Sure, why not? We could say we thought she was a stray bear going after the sheep."

Hartwell snorted. "Since when do we have bears in England?"

"I have seen one in a menagerie in London. Perhaps he escaped?"

His father shook his head. "Richard, I cannot say I am impressed with your approach to problem solving today."

Fitzwilliam grinned. "Well, that is how we do it in the army: if you don't like it, shoot it. If it is good enough for the army, it should be good enough for General Cat."

Uncle Matlock sighed. "Well, I guess that leaves us with only two serious options then. I will try and speak with my sister. Who will try and win over Anne?"

"I can do that," Fitzwilliam offered.

"But I do not want to hear anymore about killing and kidnapping!" his father admonished.

"Not even as a last resort?" Fitzwilliam shook his head. "As a military man, I must say our strategy does not strike me as particularly promising."

"No."

Darcy chuckled. "She is not French, Fitz."

A grin. "Pity."

"You asked to see me, your Ladyship?"

A critical once-over. "You are the housekeeper?"

"Indeed I am."

A skeptical eyebrow was raised, and once more, the lady eyed her appearance critically. "Hm."

But Mrs Reynolds did not flinch. "How may I be of service, your Ladyship?"

A hint of displeased surprise flitted across Lady Catherine's face. "Did not your maid inform you? The trouble one has these days in finding competent staff…! They are without exception dim-witted, and lazy to the bone. I advise you to chastise her properly for her neglect. I am excessively attentive to such matters! You should give her extra duties for at least a month. And all privileges revoked until she shows she is worthy of her role!"

But Mrs Reynolds was not to be provoked. "Indeed she did inform me, milady. She told me you had some suggestions for the improvement of the decoration of Pemberley." That was most certainly not how Marie had phrased it, but there was no point in antagonizing the termagant prematurely.

"Ah. Yes, indeed I do." The lady picked up a sheaf of papers and thoughtfully perused them one last time "I noticed – as anyone of my superior taste would – that the Pemberley manor has been severely neglected since my late sister's demise. The decoration is more than a decade out of date! I will not stand for it; we must uphold our standing in society. If my daughter is to be mistress here, she will want all the comforts available to her. I will not have her embarrassed by her own home."

Mrs Reynolds's face showed no surprise. "I will not argue with the sentiment, your Ladyship, but would it not be best to leave the choices for the decoration of her new home to Miss De Bourgh then? If it is to be her new home…"

"I speak for my daughter," Lady Catherine stated imperiously. "No one knows her exquisite taste as well as I do."

"Still, is this not rather precipitate, your Ladyship? Or has there been an announcement today of which the servants are as yet unaware?"

Lady Catherine gave her a glare. "No announcement is necessary. It is common knowledge that my daughter and my nephew have been betrothed since they were in their cradles. It was the favourite wish of his mother as well as hers! And time is approaching for my nephew to honour his engagement, so the house must be prepared for its new mistress. I will personally see to it that it is done to absolute perfection. My daughter deserves no less."

Mrs Reynolds regarded her pensively. "Your Ladyship, I understand your wish for a perfect home for your daughter, but… are you not overlooking something?"

"Of course not!" A mulish look came over her. "Unless you mean obtaining your permission? Preposterous, to give a servant the final yay or nay over the decoration of one's home! Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?! But what can one expect in a household that has lacked a mistress for ten years? But no more! Soon, my daughter will be mistress here, and mark my words: under my guidance, Pemberley will soon be restored to its former glory!"

Mrs Reynolds was not impressed. "With all due respect, your Ladyship, your plans are in fact a tad precipitate. My master is in mourning, and will not be marrying for at least a year."

Lady Catherine sniffed in disdain. "I am aware of that, woman. Do you think me dim-witted? I will not be lectured on etiquette by a servant."

"I have no intention of lecturing you on anything, your Ladyship, and I beg your pardon if it came across as such. So let me rephrase my question: if they cannot marry for a full year, why the hurry to redecorate the house? Why not wait at least until the family is out of deep mourning? It is not as if your daughter will permanently move in here just yet, is it."

"Of course she will! She and Darcy need to get to know each other. And since I will have to look after Pemberley until Darcy can handle the responsibility, the only sensible solution is for us to take up residence here!"

Silence.

A sigh. "Your Ladyship, with all due respect, that is not a good idea. Think of the scandal!"

A ferocious frown. "What scandal… What are you talking of, woman?"

"Your daughter and my master, living together under the same roof, in his house – engaged to be married, but not yet married?!"

Lady Catherine huffed. "They will be chaperoned."

"No one can be chaperoned around the clock, your Ladyship. And think: your daughter is a beautiful young lady, and my master is a man. A young man, with the healthy appetite to go with it, if you catch my drift."

The lady's eyes bulged. "Surely you cannot mean…?!"

"Are you really willing to expose your daughter to the risk of being taken before their wedding night? And even if my master manages to control his primal urges, everyone of note will automatically assume they will anticipate their wedding vows, living under the same roof as they are for a full year. And who bears the brunt of said scandal? The young lady!"

Lady Catherine was breathing hard now, her eyes distant as she saw all manner of horrors playing out in her mind's eye.

"Your Ladyship?" A worried Mrs Reynolds took a step closer. "Are you alright?" Maybe she had been too blunt?

The lady's eyes snapped back to her. "We are not staying in this house another minute! Have our trunks packed immediately! My daughter is going back to Kent this instant!"

"Your Ladyship, I am afraid it is too late to leave today. Dusk is already setting in, and by the time your trunks are packed, it will be dark. Besides, you are both expected to attend the condolence reception tomorrow afternoon."

"Then we will leave right after that – no. That will be too late, too. Then Sunday, right after services." She shook her head, yammering softly. "Oh, how could I have been so blind? Who is to say that ungrateful young man will not have taken her virtue already?"

"He has not," Mrs Reynolds assured her calmly. "Trust me, milady; the servants would have known."

"And you can assure me there has been no word about it? Not a whisper?"

"Not one."

The lady seemed to breathe a little easier. "Very well. Perhaps not all is lost then. But if we are to stay here for two more nights, something will have to be done to deter my nephew. He cannot, he will not take my daughter's virtue before they are properly married!"

"If you will permit, your Ladyship, we could post a footman outside your daughter's door."

Lady Catherine made a dismissive gesture. "That will not do; a Pemberley footman will always be more loyal to Darcy than concerned with my daughter's innocence and reputation. No, there is but one efficacious solution: I will have to spend the nights in my daughter's room. You will see to it that an extra bed is placed in her sitting-room, and my necessities for the night will be brought over as well. If my nephew wants to have his way with my daughter, he will have to get past me first!"

Darcy was beginning to think he should just tell the servants to start serving, when the door opened and his Aunt Catherine came sailing into the dining-room.

The gentlemen stood as James the footman helped her to sit, while his aunt fixed him with a thunderous glare across the table.

He fidgeted uneasily. What had he done now?

"Anne and Mrs Jenkinson will have a tray in her room," his aunt announced with the voice of a herald.

James nodded, and gestured for Maddy the maid to fix two trays to be taken upstairs.

Uncle Matlock said grace, and with a nod, Darcy asked for the food to be served.

But before they could get started, Aunt Catherine addressed him. "You men are all the same. I know how it is! But let me be rightly understood, Nephew: you are not to take my daughter before you two are properly married!"

"What?!" Darcy squeaked.

"Cathy…" an exasperated Uncle Matlock began, but one authoritative gesture silenced him.

"I will not be interrupted, Brother. Darcy – the condolence reception for your father tomorrow is a duty I will not shirk. But mark my words, boy: immediately after services on Sunday, I will take my daughter away from here and back home. You will do your courting next year at Rosings, under my personal supervision. And if you so much as lay a finger on her these final days, I will personally see to your ruin, as well as the ruin of Pemberley!"

Everyone was stunned.

"Cathy?" Lord Matlock all but stammered. "What brought this on?"

She gave him a death glare in reply. And then aimed one at the flummoxed Darcy. And for good measure, Fitzwilliam and Hartwell each got one as well. "Men. Bah. You are all the same… But not with my daughter, you hear me?"