Sleep annoyingly evaded him after Georgie's untimely visit. He just lay tossing and turning and worrying about everything but the kitchen sink, and ironically getting more and more cross with poor Georgie. Only when the first light vaguely began to peek around the edge of the curtains did he finally doze off again – only to wake up a mere hour later, tired and churlish.

Mr Andrews was familiar enough with his master's moods to know not to push conversation on him on a morning like this. So he helped Darcy shave and dress in near absolute silence, and only when Darcy turned to go did he inform his master of Lord Matlock's request to meet in the study before breakfast.

Darcy grunted in acknowledgement, and sauntered surly down the hall, leaving Andrews to clean up the room. He had no wish to see anybody today; why could they not leave him alone?!

Nevertheless, duty led him to the study as requested. He knocked – and flinched as he recalled the multiple people trying (and obviously failing) to impress upon him that he was the master of the house now, and masters did not need to knock on their own doors.

But Uncle Matlock had already called him to enter, so there was no alternative but to go in.

"Uncle," he greeted the man who was sitting in one of the easy chairs by the window. Meagre but welcome sunlight made the chairs look uncommonly inviting.

"Darcy! Come and sit down; there is something I would like to discuss with you. Coffee?"

Darcy merely nodded as he sat down. The sunlight felt nice and comforting on his face. It suddenly made him long for the bright warm days of a Pemberley summer, lying on his back in a sun-drenched meadow, chewing on a blade of grass and doing nothing but dreaming the afternoon away. Would he ever know such peace again?

"Here you are." Uncle Matlock handed him his cup and saucer.

Darcy picked up his spoon and stirred in the sugar – maybe a bit longer than strictly necessary, but it was such a nice soothing motion.

He felt his uncle's probing eyes on him. "Are you alright, Nephew? You look rather drawn."

Darcy shrugged. "Just tired. Didn't sleep too well." He sipped from his coffee.

"I am sorry to hear that."

Darcy made no reply, and they sipped their coffee in silence. Its taste, too, was soothing somehow.

But at long last, the empty cups were back on the side table and Uncle Matlock came to the point. "Darcy, I have been thinking. You have the responsibility for Pemberley now, and yes, you have a lot to learn here, but in the long term it would be better for your standing in society if you did complete your studies. And for yourself as well: to have some closure before moving on to the next chapter in your life. You were close to getting your degree, were you not?"

Darcy nodded. "By the summer, I expected. But how can I…?" He let the question trail off uncertainly.

"Actually, it would cause very little inconvenience at all. I know your father was rarely away from here, but most landowners have no qualms about spending months on end in town, leaving their estates in the care of their stewards."

Darcy grimaced. "I would want to be more involved than that."

"I am glad to hear it, and it does you credit, Nephew. Nevertheless, it would be good for you if you could complete your studies. So I have taken the liberty of speaking with your steward yesterday. He told me that your father and he had finalized all the plans for the spring before he got sick. He says it would be no trouble to execute them in your absence, and making additional decisions and plans for the rest of the year could just as well be done by correspondence."

Darcy frowned, trying to wrap his sleep-deprived brain around the concept. "I don't like it," he groused at last. "It might work once I know the estate inside out. But I am nowhere near that point – I would have to rely entirely on Mr Wickham's word."

"Is that so bad?"

"Well… no. Maybe not. Father always said he is an excellent steward. I suppose he knows what he is doing."

"Exactly. And if you stayed here, would you not also be heavily relying on Mr Wickham's expertise?"

Darcy pushed the hair off his forehead. "I suppose so. But at least I would be here. And learning."

"You will learn. All in good time. But is it not better to finish one book before fully immersing yourself in the next? Mr Wickham is confident he can handle matters here for a few months. When you come back in June, July or so, there will be time enough to learn how to be a good landowner."

Darcy averted his eyes and made no reply. He was in no mood to make any far-reaching decisions today; all he wanted was to curl up in the sun, close his eyes and forget that the world existed.

But he felt how his godfather's eyes remained fixed upon him, so he nodded almost against his will. "I will think about it."

"Good." Uncle Matlock stood, and pulled out his pocket watch. "And it is about time for breakfast, too. Are you coming?"

"In a moment."

A nod. An encouraging hand on his shoulder. And then he was alone.

He closed his eyes, and curled up in his chair, his face hungrily turned toward the sun for some much needed comfort, a little warmth in which to bask himself.

But within minutes, the treacherous sky swallowed up the sun in layer upon layer of shapeless clouds…


Breakfast was torture.

"Anne, drink your tea. And you must take some of these strawberry preserves. Yes, they are too sweet to be sure, but fruit will help you regain your health. I shall have a word with the cook here. She ought to know that strawberry preserves should not be smothered in sugar. I am excessively attentive to such things, especially when it pertains your delicate health. Half a cup of sugar on one pound of strawberries is quite enough."

"Hartford of course did not believe me. He insisted on betting on Sleipnir, and boy, did he get his comeuppance!"

"And did you see that terribly gauche gown that Lady Bedford was wearing at the Middletons' ball last week? What was she thinking, to have feathers all over her gown?! I swear, she looked as if she had escaped from an aviary!"

Insupportable tittering.

"Yes, feathers are indeed fashionable as an accessory. But not to cover yourself in! My, I could hardly keep my countenance; I kept expecting her to spread her wings and fly a circle above our heads!"

More affected laughter.

"Richard, what is the latest scuttlebutt from Whitehall? Are we close to squashing that little Frog yet?"

"We will – don't worry. Though I have not heard anything about new battles being planned."

"So much the better. I would rather keep you in the land of the living."

"Aw, don't worry about me, Father. I'll be alright."

Squealing. "Ooh…! Are you sure?"

"Positively. I heard it from my abigail, who is the particular friend of Miss Metcalfe's ladies' maid's sister-in-law."

"But who could it be? I was not even aware that she was being courted!"

"She is not. Not officially at least. Her parents are quite put out as you can imagine. Think of the scandal!"

"And her being the godchild of a duchess, too! It is inconceivable the way society is going to pot. Where will it all end?"

"If the weather holds, Anne will take a short stroll around the garden this morning. She has been cooped up inside for too long. But she needs to stay close to the house, and no longer than half an hour. And make sure she is well protected from any chills or drafts. I shall be extremely displeased if I find you neglecting the needs of her delicate constitution!"

"Yes, your Ladyship."

"Oh, Henry dear, do pass the salt, will you."

"And do not allow her to dawdle for any reason. She should keep up a brisk pace at all times, to ward off the winter chill. And should she show but the slightest sign of fatigue or discomposure, you will return her to the house forthwith!"

"Yes, your Ladyship."

"Henry can be quite the tease sometimes, you know, and often enough, Ginny comes to complain about him. This time however, she clearly had had enough: without the least sign of warning, she pushed her brother face-first into a pile of snow! You should have heard his indignant splutter!"

"I always wanted to do that to you, too, you know."

"Not a chance, baby brother."

"You want to bet? Me, a trained army man in the prime of my life, against a sedentary father of three approaching his middle years?"

More laughter rolling along the table.

"And I said to Mrs Havisham, 'Mrs Havisham,' I said, 'Your daughter quite outshines every young lady in the crowd! Look at her, she is positively glowing!' And Mrs Havisham, she was so inordinately pleased, she said, 'Oh, but Lady Hartwell, surely you do not mean to imply that she is prettier than your own sister?' And then I said…"

Darcy wanted to scream.

But he could not. He knew he could not. After all, he was the host. He had a role to play for his guests. He had to be patient and polite and courteous and obliging and everything charming and…

His chair gave off a fierce squeak as he roughly pushed it back and stood. It instantly halted the inane chatter, and they all looked up at him in surprise.

"Excuse me," he muttered. "I have to…" With no clear idea of what he 'had to' other than escaping this babbling purgatory, he left the sentence hanging and all but bolted from the room.

Silence was what he needed.

Solitude.

No more people!

But before he had gone far in whatever direction his long strides were carrying him, he already heard running footsteps behind him.

"Darce? Hey, Darce, wait up!"

Fitzwilliam. Sigh. For Pete's sake, why couldn't anyone leave him alone?!

"Darce, are you alright? It is not like you to run from the room like that. Are you indisposed? Should I call for your valet?"

"No, I'm…" His voice caught. "I just want to be alone for a while. Is that so strange?" he challenged.

Apparently it was, for Fitzwilliam searched his face with a deeply worried frown.

"Fitz, please. Just leave me alone."

The searching gaze only intensified at that, until at last Fitzwilliam reluctantly nodded his acquiescence. "Alright. I will make your excuses to the others. Just make sure you don't do anything… stupid, alright?"

"I won't. I just want to be alone for a while."

"Of course." With a nod and a hand of friendship momentarily clutching his arm, Fitzwilliam finally let him be and returned to the dining-room.

And at last, Darcy was finally, blissfully alone.


He became aware of his surroundings again when Mr Wickham hailed him in the courtyard. "Mr Darcy, sir, good news! The first lambs of the season have been born this morning. Two healthy little ewes, and the mother is doing fine."

Darcy merely nodded in acknowledgement, which made Mr Wickham take a second look at his young master. And he did not particularly like what he saw: the boy looked positively haggard.

"Lad, are you quite alright?"

Darcy groaned in frustration. If he heard that question one more time, he would…! "I just don't want to see anybody for a while," he burst out. "Why doesn't anybody understand?!"

Actually, that was something Mr Wickham did understand. He had worked for the old Mr Darcy long enough to have seen that entertaining guests in his home took a disproportionate toll on the man. The only thing that set him to rights again in such situations was to completely withdraw from company for a few hours, to recharge his social skills in solitude. Clearly, his son was cut from the same cloth.

So, "I know just the thing," he said in his usual paternal tone. "Why don't you go and take a look at those lambs. I'll make sure no one bothers you there."

Darcy nodded, and sent him a grateful glance before setting off for the home farm.

And Mr Wickham indulgently shook his head, before calling out to a passing stable boy. "Zach!"

"Yes, Mr Wickham?"

"Run over to the home farm for me and tell the people in the barn not to bother the master, alright? And then stay there yourself, and make sure no one else goes in there – not even the people from the house. You can tell them it is on my say-so."

"Sure." The lad took off at a run, and easily arrived at the home farm before his young master, so that when Darcy opened the barn door, there was no one there to greet him but a bunch of sheep, and two little lambs.

A tiny smile tugged at his lips as he leaned on the enclosure, watching them drink at their mother's with their little cottontails quivering in delight. They were so uniformly innocent and sweet.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had swung his long legs over the enclosure and was crouching in the straw, stroking their rough yet soft backs. This was all he needed right now…

It didn't take long for the youngsters to come and investigate that stroking hand and the creature attached to it. His trousers and his sleeves and his coat tails proved to be objects of immense fascination, and the stroking hand did little to divert the animals' determination.

At long last, he settled down in the straw with his back against the wall, and tried to coax the lambs onto his lap. They were inquisitive enough, but as most lambs before them, they did not particularly enjoy being closely cuddled or having a human's face pressed into their fur, no matter how much that human yearned for some physical comfort. So in the end, once the two lambs had lost interest in him, he just pulled up his knees, folded his arms on top of them and laid down his head.

At least here was peace. And quiet. Just some rustling of the straw and some bleating that he was not required to either pay attention to or to reciprocate. Here he could just be Fitzwilliam Darcy from Pemberley, with no more demands on him than to excel in his studies and to behave with honour and propriety at all times.

Life had been so simple before; so straightforward.

He closed his eyes. Tears were stinging behind them, but he didn't want to cry. Men were strong; men did not cry – not even when they felt like lost little boys.

His thoughts flitted to his father, and he wished he had come home more often these past years.

They went to his mother, and not for the first time he desperately wished she had been able to stay with them longer.

But it was all in vain. He could not alter the past; all he could do was to try and face the future, no matter how daunting it was.

And he would not cry.