Hartwell steered his horse back to Matlock at an easy trot. He had much to think about, and a solitary ride in the wintersun seemed as good an opportunity as any.

First of all, the Darcys were obviously as happy together now as they had been on their wedding day – if not happier (if that was possible). And he was quite convinced that this was no act – they both simply radiated happiness. Clearly, his gloomy premonitions had been grossly mistaken. Whatever was still to follow, they had had at least these three weeks of besotted happiness together.

He sighed. So much for a restoration of his peace of mind. Seeing them so deliriously happy together today only seemed to have intensified his longing to experience something similar.

But as to how to go about finding such happiness, their tale had not given him much to work with. Their history was so fraught with insults, misunderstandings and strife, that it was a miracle from Heaven that they had actually ended up as man and wife.

Insulting and quarrelling with the woman you wanted to marry seemed rather counterproductive – even if it had worked for them. But maybe in small doses? Much as he disliked disputes, they did reveal a lot about people. He wondered if Agnes would have been able to keep up her act if they had had a few heartfelt quarrels during their engagement. It was certainly food for thought.

The only other useful fact he had distilled from their story was, that not a single moment of their wooing (for want of a better term) had taken place in London.

That, he could work with; it was in fact a relief. After all, England was larger than just London, so there were bound to be plenty of eligible ladies located outside London. It was his own mistake (and the abominable traditions of the first circles he happened to belong to) that he had never thought of looking beyond the ton. Which in hindsight – upon meeting Mrs Darcy – seemed awfully shortsighted of him. She sure was a treasure; Darcy was a lucky man!

He wondered about those sisters of hers. They were five, she had said. Would the others be anything like her?

He had probably met them at the wedding, but the only one he recalled was the stunning beauty that Darcy's friend Bingley had married that same day. Her looks alone were proof positive that there were definite treasures to be found outside London.

If he remembered correctly, she was the eldest, Mrs Darcy the second, and there was another one who was married to an officer. That left two of them still at home.

Then again, if Mrs Darcy was only twenty-one, that would mean those younger sisters of hers were even younger. Maybe one of them aged twenty at most, and the others still in their teens; maybe not even out yet. Regardless of their charms, was that even a viable prospect?

He brooded on the question for a mile or two, looking at it from all angles. And to his regret, he was forced to conclude that his marrying an 18-year-old or so would be rather awkward. It would be like having another daughter, and much as he loved Ginny, he was not looking for another daughter – it was a partner he wanted. An equal. Besides, he could not see Henry and Ginny accepting so young a girl for a mother; the age gap was simply too small.

Unfortunately, that consideration eliminated probably the vast majority of the eligible ladies in the country, and only made him question the whole scheme again. If he was forced to narrow down his search so much, would he have any chance of succeeding at all?!

With that disturbing thought, he reached the courtyard of the Matlock manor, and was obliged to defer his ruminations till later. A groom took his horse, and he quickly ascended the steps up to the door that his butler already held open for him.

"Afternoon, Eldridge. Everything alright?"

"I believe so, sir. Did you have a good ride?"

"Yes, I did."

Eldridge took his outerwear, and informed him that tea would soon be served in the drawing-room.

"Excellent. Thank you."

To his surprise however, the only one he found in the drawing-room was his eldest, engrossed in a book.

"Hello, Henry. Where is everyone?"

The lad rolled his eyes. "Upstairs. Philip was at it again."

Hartwell blew out an exasperated breath. "Then I had better have a word with him. This has got to stop."

He took the stairs two at a time, and first looked in on Ginny. He found her sulking in her room.

"Hi, sweetheart. What is it I hear – has Philip been correcting your playing again?"

She crossed her arms. "I'm not playing the pianoforte anymore. Ever."

"Oh, come on, sweetie. Your playing is just fine for someone your age."

"So everyone keeps telling me. But I am not deaf! Philip is far better than me, even though he is four years my junior. It is too… too… humiliating!"

"I know, sweetie." He pulled her to her feet and in his arms. "It is not easy having such a talented little brother, is it."

She made no reply, and he sighed. "I am going to have a serious talk with him and instating some consequences, because this has got to stop. I will not have him discouraging your playing – intended or not."

"Don't bother," Ginny muttered. "I am not playing the pianoforte ever again. He can have it."

"Now, none of that, young lady." He lifted her chin. "You know you have to learn an instrument, and I happen to know that you do enjoy your music. And you are good at it; you are just comparing yourself to the wrong person. So how about this: Philip will not be allowed in the music room anymore while you are playing, and if he ever criticizes your playing again, the pianoforte will be off-limits for him for a whole week. How does that sound?"

She smirked. "That will teach him."

"Yes, it is probably the worst punishment I can give him." He kissed her hair. "But please, sweetheart, do not compare your playing to Philip's. It is simply not fair on yourself. You are good at the pianoforte for an ordinary twelve-year-old girl." Suddenly he grinned. "You know what we will do?"

"What?"

"At Pemberley next week, we will pair up Philip with your Aunt Georgie. She, too, is a very talented player. It will show him how much he still has to learn."

Ginny scoffed. "He might get even better."

"Yes, he will." Her father sighed, and rubbed her back a little. "No doubt he will continue to get better and better. Like it or not, your little brother is obviously a bit of a musical genius. The sooner we accept that and learn to live with it, the better for everyone."

"But it is still no fun to have your baby brother outclass you."

"No. I can understand that." Another kiss. "Therefore, I am going to talk with him right now, and woe betide him if he bothers your playing again!"

He shook his head as he walked down to the nursery. He would bet a hundred to one that Philip's natural father was some professional musician. But since he was not likely to ever find out for sure, there was no point in making the bet.

Upon entering the nursery, he saw Miss Kenway, the children's governess, just leaving Philip's room, and he raised an eyebrow.

"He is sorry as always," she sighed. "It is difficult though, when you can so easily empathize with both of them."

"Yes, well, giving him a stern talking-to obviously does not make enough of an impression, so I am going to put my foot down now. We cannot have him discourage Ginny like that, no matter how good he is or how well-meant his advice. So just so you know: he is not allowed in the music room anymore when Ginny is practising, and if he ever criticizes her playing again, the pianoforte will be off-limits for him for a week."

She nodded. "Let us hope that will deter him." Another sigh. "I feel sorry for him though. He really means no harm."

"I know. But he does harm nonetheless, so this has got to stop."

With that, he entered his son's room, and found him at his desk, bent over his letters.

Philip jumped up. "Papa! I am sorry I made Ginny angry. I really didn't mean to; I just wanted to show her how the rhythm really goes."

"So I heard. But this is not the first time, is it."

Chastised, Philip bowed his head. "I was just trying to help."

"I know, but you should know by now that she does not want your help."

"But she was playing it all wrong! Like this." He started tapping out a rhythm on the desk, but his father took hold of his hand.

"No, Philip. Come and sit with me. We need to talk."

He sat down on the settee, and the boy perched next to him.

"Philip, we all know that you have a real gift for music. And I am prodigiously proud of you. But no matter how good you are, I will not have you discouraging your sister."

"I was not discouraging her; I was helping her!"

"That is not how she perceives it. Put yourself in her place for a moment. Imagine you had a little brother. He is only four years old, yet he already reads fluently, and he constantly corrects you on your b's and d's and p's and q's. How would you like that?"

Philip's scowl said it all; although he was far from stupid, reading and writing was somehow a real struggle for him. It had taken him months of practice just to write his name correctly, and he still erred occasionally without noticing.

"Exactly," was his father's wry conclusion. "I know you mean well, but that is exactly how Ginny feels when you correct her playing. And since you keep doing it even though we have talked about this several times already, I am putting some consequences on it now. Are you listening?"

Philip nodded subdued.

"From now on, you are not to enter the music room when Ginny is playing. No excuses. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Furthermore, if you ever correct or criticize Ginny's playing again, the pianoforte will be off-limits for you for a whole week."

Philip gasped in shock. "No…!"

"Yes," his father countered with emphasis. "I am in earnest, Philip. I will not have you discouraging your sister, whether you intend to or not. Is that clear?"

The boy nodded, not quite over his shock apparently. "So is that now?" he squeaked. "Or…?"

"No, not yet. Consider this your last warning. If you do it again, it is no pianoforte for you for a week."

"No spinet either?"

"No instrument at all. I am serious, Philip. This has got to stop. Your sister is already talking about giving up music entirely. It is difficult enough for her to have her little brother outclass her. You don't have to rub it in."

Philip nodded reluctantly. "I will try."

"Good." He pulled his son on his lap and hugged him. "You have a truly wonderful talent, Philip, and I am incredibly proud of you. I am sure you are going to make a lot of people very happy one day – as a concert pianist, or as a composer or some such. But right now, you are making your sister decidedly unhappy. We can't have that, can we now."

Philip shook his head. "But I didn't mean to!" he said plaintively.

"I know; that is why I am not punishing you yet. If it happens again however…"

The boy grumbled aggrieved. "Miss Kenway has already punished me. She gave me three sheets of letters to practise."

His father chuckled. "That seems like sufficient punishment for today. Besides, some extra practice will not hurt." He planted a kiss on Philip's hair. "Come on. Let us go and see what is for tea."

When he sent the children to their rooms that evening to go and change for dinner, he accompanied Philip to the nursery first. He knew that the nursery staff – the nurses Miss Johnson and Mrs Davies, and the children's governess – usually had a cup of tea together around that time, and he wanted to discuss the trip to Pemberley with them.

"Ladies," he greeted them.

They quickly got to their feet, but he gestured they could sit down again and enjoy their tea.

He leaned on the back of a fourth chair. "I would like to discuss the holiday season with you. As you know, we will spend those weeks at my cousin's estate a few hours from here, and I am planning to give most of the staff some paid time off to spend the season with their families."

Miss Johnson nodded. "We heard, sir. It is very generous of you. I assure you it is much appreciated."

"Yes, well…" He shrugged a little. "There is no point in keeping a full staff on duty when the whole family is away, is it. I am sure most people would prefer to celebrate the holidays with family and friends instead of serving a deserted household."

Beside him, Philip shuddered with playful exaggeration. "They could serve the ghosts…!"

"Philip," the elderly Mrs Davies chided quietly.

"There are no such things as ghosts," his father stated with finality.

"But perhaps they only come out when we are away! And…"

"Philip…" The look his father gave him was sufficient to have the boy scurry to his room to get changed for dinner.

"Sorry about that," he said. "Where was I?"

"Serving a deserted household," Miss Kenway supplied.

"Ah, yes." He frowned, trying to regroup his thoughts. "The thing is, I would appreciate it if one of you could accompany us to Pemberley for those two weeks. It will not be much work, for I expect the children will be mostly with me. But for those occasions that they cannot, I would need one of you to look after them. With extra pay of course to compensate for missing the chance of spending the holidays with family and friends. Any volunteers?"

"I can do that," Miss Kenway offered immediately.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Are you sure? You already accompanied us to Hertfordshire as well last month."

She smiled reassuringly. "It is no hardship, sir. Besides, I am the only one of us with no immediate family nearby. For me, it does not really matter where I celebrate the holidays."

"Oh. Alright, I suppose that is settled then?"

The other two nodded, and he continued, "We will be leaving after breakfast on the 24th, and I suspect we will return after Twelfth Night, on the 7th." He grinned. "At least you will not be bored, Miss Kenway. Pemberley has a magnificent library."

She chuckled. "That sounds promising. Did I not say it would be no hardship?"

He smirked at that. "Anyway, I have another request specifically for you, Miss Kenway."

"Yes?"

"I met the new Mrs Darcy today, and she quite impressed me with her knowledge of the classics. I understand it is not something usually taught to young ladies, but I dare say I found it refreshing. Do you think you could include it in Ginny's curriculum as well?"

Miss Kenway looked doubtful. "Do you mean just the mythology and such, or…?"

"Yes. And epics like the Iliad and the Odyssey etcetera. The English translations of course; I do not see much point in her learning Latin and Greek."

She nodded slowly. "I think I could manage that, yes. I would have to refresh my own knowledge a bit though." She frowned. "Only: would not Henry's tutor be better suited for such a task?"

Hartwell shook his head. "Knowing Mr Doyle, he would insist upon her reading the originals. That is not what I want. I just would like her to be familiar with the tales, and if possible, with the prevalent philosophers and their ideas. So if you could manage that…?"

She nodded. "I will see what I can do."

"Thank you." He gave her a grin. "If nothing else, the library at Pemberley should be able to provide you with ample material to refresh your knowledge."

.

Author's note: Don't ask me how this came about... I merely wanted to show something of family life at Matlock, and somehow, much of this chapter, as well as the details about Philip just "happened". I had been aware before that the boy was quite the musician – something that at a certain point had occurred to me, and it was impossible to "unsee" him like that. I may or may not do anything with it in this story, though this chapter did plant a bit of a seed for a minor secondary storyline there, so who knows...?

The same with his apparent dyslexia, which my impromptu research showed to be a mostly unknown and misunderstood condition at the time. At least it shows that Hartwell is capable of looking past his nose and realizing that despite his perplexing problems with reading and writing, the boy is far from stupid.

Edit May 4th: the seed has already germinated! :-)