Author's note: A long one this time, as there was no logical place to cut an assembly in half.

And a little practical note: I realized in hindsight that Hartwell (who is pretty much the narrator in these Pemberley scenes) would have referred to Kitty as Miss Bennet instead of Miss Kitty. I've changed it in the previous chapter as well.

And a heads-up for those of you who might take offence to Hartwell's language in this chapter: try and keep in mind that – apart from once or twice in one-on-one situations with Richard – he is only using this kind of language in his thoughts, not with his mouth. Which, considering the stress he finds himself under here, I would hardly think unrealistic.

.

"Miss Kenway?"

She looked up from her Plato. "Yes?"

An awkward clearing of the throat. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." She straightened, and closed her book after marking the page. "What can I help you with?"

"Well…" His hands fidgeted nervously as he approached her. "You know about women, right?"

She couldn't help a smile of amusement. "I should hope so, yes."

"Well…" He perched on the sofa beside her. "What do I have to do to… you know, make a woman like me?"

"Ah." She put her book aside. "You have met a young lady, I gather?"

A bashful nod. "I'm completely in love with her, but she barely sees me. So what can I do to attract her notice? And to make her like me?"

"Hm…" Miss Kenway made a show of considering the question. "Have you tried complimenting her?"

A frown. "About what?"

"Anything you like about her. Her dress for example. Or her hairstyle. Her smile."

A dreamy sigh. "I know she smells good. She smells of roses."

She smiled. "So you noticed that?"

He nodded, a heavenly gleam lighting up his eyes. "I've danced with her," he disclosed reverently. "Four times no less."

"She likes to dance then?"

"Oh, yes. She is a great dancer!"

"Then why don't you compliment her on that?"

He nodded relieved. "Alright. Compliment her on her dancing. And then?"

"And then what?"

"When can I ask her for a courtship?"

She chuckled. "It doesn't go quite that fast, Henry."

"Why not? I know I'm still too young to get married, but I'm almost a man. So now that I have found the lady of my dreams, should I not secure her? Before someone else comes along and snatches her up?"

She bit back another chuckle that wanted out. "Perhaps. But are you ready to face the lady's father and explain to him how you intend to provide for his daughter and any children that you might have together?"

Henry shrugged in unconcern. "I stand to inherit my father's viscount title, and later I'll be the Earl of Matlock. Besides, we are one of the richest families in all of England. No one is going to refuse my offer."

Oh dear…

"But do you want the lady to marry you because you are rich and you will be an earl one day? Or because she genuinely likes you as a person and enjoys your company?"

Henry squirmed a little at that.

"Your title and your riches give you an advantage over other suitors, yes. But if you are to spend the rest of your life with this lady, don't you think it would be nice if she likes you as much as you like her?"

"You mean she doesn't like me?!" All wide-eyed shock.

"I don't know; I don't even know who we are talking about. But I would say: try to be friends with her first. You may be almost a man, but you are still full young for a courtship with a view to marriage. If in, say, a few years' time you two are still friends, then you can ask her for a courtship."

"But she is of marriageable age now! She could be married by then!"

Right, that obviously excluded Miss Gardiner. So was it Mrs Darcy's sister? A pretty girl indeed. Or was it Philip's golden-haired goddess of the pianoforte?

Either way, "Well, if she likes you as much as you like her, I am sure she will wait."

"But that's the problem!" he whined. "She barely notices that I exist!"

"You are right; that is something we can try and fix."

"With compliments?"

"It's a start. But you said she liked to dance?"

He nodded.

"Then how about I teach you a few more dances? Then the next time we have a dance here, you can casually suggest one of your dances, and dazzle her with your skills."

Henry perked up at that. "Can we do that?"

She smiled conspirationally. "There is a pianoforte in the nursery. Come on!"

The New Year arrived with all the usual celebrations, which in the nearby town of Lambton meant the traditional New Year's assembly. An assembly that would see some interesting additions this year.

In the not too distant past, Darcy's father had considered such local dances to be the entertainment of the lower classes. People of the upper class had their own entertainments in their own circles. Consequently, the present master of Pemberley had never attended a local assembly in the Derbyshire area in his life. (And then we are not even talking about his insecurities about recommending himself to strangers, his dislike of dancing with ladies with whom he was not particularly acquainted, and his experiences with greedy ladies throwing themselves at him in the hope of engineering a compromise.)

However, the present mistress of Pemberley had clearly talked him into attending this one with their entire party, and even to let Georgiana come out locally as well, with the idea that the girl could build up a little confidence in the ballroom before being thrown to the lions in London next year.

As the day of the assembly approached, the two older girls got more and more in a tizzy, infecting even the two younger ones (as well as the other children…) in their state of nervous exuberance.

Never having lived in a home with more than one lady, Hartwell regarded it all with sceptical astonishment. As a man, you went to your rooms half an hour before you were scheduled to leave, and you simply got changed. Much like you did for dinner every day. None of this jittery pre-ball excitement.

He himself felt something that would be better described as pre-ball dread. His personal experience equated balls with attempts at compromising him and being viciously hunted, and he had avoided anything resembling a ball for many, many years now.

Originally, he had not planned on attending this one either. But Richard had successfully argued this week that for his children's sake, he really needed to get used to it again. In just a few years, they would be coming out in society, and with their status, they would need all the protection they could get. (To be honest, he would much rather keep the three of them at Matlock forever, but unfortunately, that dream was not particularly realistic.) And what better occasion to try and get over his old paranoia than a small country dance three days away from town, where none of the vipers from the ton would ever deign to show their faces?

Besides, if he was to find a wife, such a low-key assembly might be just the thing. After all, did not Darcy find his lady at just such an occasion?

But once the men's scheduled hour for changing arrived, he found himself unexpectedly accompanied by his eldest son.

With a rather unexpected question.

"Papa, can I come to the assembly, too?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you not a fair bit young for that?"

Henry shrugged a little. "Maybe. But Georgiana is coming out, too, tonight. And she is only a few years older than me."

"Exactly. Those few years make all the difference."

"But I won't be any trouble – honest! I know how to dance; I've been practising!"

"I know, and I commend you for that. But you are not coming to the assembly tonight. You are simply too young."

"But I want to dance!"

"Henry." He placed a paternal hand on his son's shoulder. "I realize it is not much of a consolation now, but in a few years, you will have plenty of opportunities to dance. But there is more to society than dancing, and not all of it pleasant. No father would let his child come out in society at the mere age of thirteen. That is not in order to vex you, but to protect you."

"From what? For Pete's sake, it's a dance, not a bar fight! What on earth would you need to protect me from? Cannibalistic dance partners?"

Hartwell gripped the shoulder he was holding tight; his mouth a determined, grim line. "I will explain some other time, Son. But you are not coming to that dance tonight. Is that clear?"

Henry huffed in frustration.

"I said: is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." A friendly squeeze of his shoulder this time. "Now I heard something about Miss Kenway organizing a little dance here for the stay-at-homes, so at least you won't be entirely deprived of dancing tonight."

"That's not the same," Henry groused. "I don't want to dance with children."

Hartwell smiled indulgently. "Well, whether you like it or not, you are not quite grown up yet, my boy. So try and enjoy your final years of carefree youth, alright?"

Henry grumbled something unintelligible, and turned to head back downstairs, leaving his father to get ready for the evening ahead.

When Hartwell stepped out into the hallway again half an hour later, he almost ran into Richard all ready to go.

"Brother." A slap on his back.

He sighed in return. "Watch my back tonight, will you, Richard?"

"Of course. Though I doubt you will have much to fear. This is not London after all."

"I would appreciate your vigilance all the same."

"Consider it done, Brother."

"Thank you." Another sigh. "I suddenly had Henry on my back as well just now. He wants to go to that dance, too."

Richard chuckled. "Why am I not surprised."

"You're not?"

Richard regarded him in astonishment. "Had you not noticed? He is head over heels with Miss Bennet!"

"What?!"

"Oh, nothing serious, I'm sure. He is just making calf's eyes at her, and making her all those cheesy compliments." He chuckled. "It is rather funny really."

"And Miss Bennet…?"

"Does not seem to take him very seriously. Obviously, he is far too young for her. So nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about!? Easy for you to say." Hartwell raked his fingers through his hair, messing up his well-groomed coiffure for the evening. "I am the one with a son who is growing up faster than what I am comfortable with!"

"Oh, don't worry, Stephen. When I was his age, I fell in love with every female shape that happened to cross my path. Yet here I am, with my honour intact and still unattached. Believe me, he will forget her soon enough once she is out of his sight. Here." He held out a pocket comb. "You had better fix your appearance."

Hartwell scowled at him, but they had reached the family parlour where the company was nearly complete, so their discussion was aborted.

"That leaves only Kitty and Georgiana," Mrs Gardiner said.

Richard grinned. "Typical."

But Hartwell's eyes sought out his son, and found him seated close to the door with a book that he did not read.

Richard could not possibly be right, could he? Henry was just a boy. Of course, every boy wants to be grown up and join in the activities of the adults, so no wonder he wanted to go to the dance, but… In love?! Henry?! His Henry?

He sidled over to a nearby decanter to pour himself a drink. He needed some fortification. He was already on edge about going to the dance tonight; he could have done without this additional worry.

But the door opened, and there was his proof: in came a beaming Miss Bennet and a bashful Georgiana – and Henry's jaw simply dropped. With eyes as saucers, he was taking in Miss Bennet's appearance from head to toe and back – and back again for good measure. Bloody hell…! How could he have missed that?!

He threw back the drink in his hand, just in time to see Henry addressing Miss Bennet. He was too far away to make out what was being said, but Miss Bennet smiled at him in reply. She smiled! At his son!

He needed to talk to them. Both. Now!

But before he could even begin to cross the room, the carriages were announced and everyone began as one to move toward the door.

Oh, dash it. But at least the two would be separated for the evening, and with a bit of luck, he might at least be able to corner Miss Bennet tonight in order to warn her away from his son. Henry was too young for such things – period!

He was stewing about it all the way to Lambton, not paying the slightest attention to the conversation around him. And once they alighted their carriage outside the assembly rooms, Richard pulled his brother aside.

"For crying out loud, will you relax?!" he chided. "They are not getting married, they are not even courting… By George, Steve, it's just his first calf-love! Not his engagement! He will survive!"

Hartwell turned away in frustration. "I am not sure I will. Dammit, Richard, he is not ready for this! He is too young!"

"No, you are not ready for this! Like it or not, your son is in his teens now, and he is going to fall in and out of love dozens of times. It is all perfectly normal. But you need to mature as a father in order to handle that!"

Hartwell blew out his breath and looked away. He hated to admit it, but Richard was right of course. And still... Henry?! His Henry?

"Come on." Richard took him by the arm and began to lead his brother towards the rest of their party. "Time to go in. Let's get the first introductions over with, and then I will get you a drink."

Hartwell bit his lip, and only reluctantly allowed his brother to pull him along. "It's been years since I last attended a dance, you know."

Richard sighed, and resisted rolling his eyes. "I know, but this is not London. I have been to these country dances before. You will be fine."

"And you promise you will watch my back?"

"I promise. And if you like, I could even ask Mr and Mrs Gardiner to keep an eye on you, too."

"Would you? Please?"

"Alright, I will. If you promise to try and relax."

Hartwell stood still. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, with some effort he unclenched his hands… "Alright, let's go."

So they followed the others in: first Darcy with Mrs Darcy and Georgiana, and then Mr and Mrs Gardiner with Miss Bennet.

They were greeted at the door by a rotund, jovial man. "Mr Darcy, sir! You are very very welcome! And so are your companions! Would you mind introducing us?"

So Darcy – with a clear note of pride – introduced his wife Mrs Darcy, his sister Miss Darcy, his sister-in-law Miss Catherine Bennet, his cousins Lord Hartwell and perhaps he remembered Colonel Fitzwilliam? Yes? And last but not least, these were his wife's aunt and uncle from London, Mr and Mrs Gardiner. "Family, allow me to introduce Sir Robert Hughes, the mayor and magistrate of Lambton."

Everyone bowed or curtseyed, but then Sir Robert held out his arms. "Madeline Harris, it has been too long since I last laid eyes on you."

Mrs Gardiner smirked wryly. "And so it is, sir. Last August is an awfully long time ago, is it not?"

Sir Robert chuckled. "Come. Let me introduce you all around. Please – make yourselves at home; we are all ease and friendliness here in Lambton. Everyone knows everyone, and we are delighted to have you all in our midst for the evening."

They had made it about halfway around the room with the introductions when the musicians signalled for the dancers to assemble.

It was the sign for the edgy Hartwell to draw back. He never danced the first, and old habits die hard. Instead, he retreated to a semi-dark corner, from where he could quietly survey the whole melee.

Darcy took the floor with his wife, Richard with Georgiana, Miss Bennet with a local gentleman, and even the Gardiners took up their places among the dancers.

He cursed under his breath and leaned more solidly against the wall behind him for protection. The very first dance, and already Richard left him to fend for himself!

Twitchy as a bird, he glanced around him. No young ladies in his immediate vicinity at least. Not yet. He would just have to try and be as unremarkable as possible for now. Before someone noticed him.

Nervously, he took stock of the room. Far more ladies than gentlemen as usual. Which meant he would either have to come out of the woodwork and dance, or be thought of as an antisocial ogre. He preferred the latter.

His eyes sought out the dance floor. They were doing the Barley Mow, but the music style was different from what he was used to in town. Less polished. More exuberant. What the four musicians lacked in skill, they made up for with enthusiasm, and the same could be said for the dancers. Unlike the choreographed politeness of the London ballrooms, there was no doubt here that the dancers were having fun – his own relatives included.

He bit his lip, and dug his nails into his palms. Why could he not be part of that carefree crowd? What had he ever done to deserve being doomed to hover in the background, in perpetual fear for his hunters in surroundings such as these? It just wasn't fair!

He flinched, as at that moment, two matrons came within his earshot.

"Isn't she absolutely charming?" one of them cooed. "A child can see that he is positively smitten!"

"He is indeed! I've never seen him this happy. She must be a real treasure; Mrs Darcy, that is."

"Yes, they say it was a real love match; that she is head over heels with him, too. She sure looks the part! Aw, young love is so sweet…"

"Well, good for him. It was about time he found some happiness in his life. After all that he's been through, losing his parents and all, and taking on the estate so young…"

He turned and began to move away along the wall. He was not in the mood right now to overhear rapturous panegyrics on how happy Darcy was with his bride.

But wherever he went, there was talk.

"I'm surprised that Miss Darcy joined them tonight. I didn't think she was out yet. But she is a pretty lass, isn't she."

"A bit shy, I believe, but pretty enough, I grant you."

"But who is that gentleman she is dancing with? He looks awfully familiar."

"Is that not Master Fitzwilliam? You know who I mean: the old master's nephew, who used to stay at the manor a lot in his youth."

"You mean Matlock's younger son? That little rascal?"

"Why, I dare say it is him indeed! Did he not go into the army?"

"I believe so, yes. I dare say he has turned out quite well. Quite well indeed."

"And handsome, too!"

"Aye! And I just heard from Mrs Hughes, you know, that he is still single. And a colonel! Colonel Fitzwilliam – how well that sounds! I wonder if he is looking for a wife?"

Hartwell winced, and once more he moved to another spot. These country people were no different than those in town. No matter how little they knew of a fellow, all they saw was his marriageability.

He felt many curious glances being thrown his way as well. But he steadfastly refused to meet them, and if he could not, he glowered at their senders in return. The last thing he needed was to become the prize fox of the evening.

He cast a besieging look at Richard from his perch by the wall, but his brother merely winked in reply. Insufferable guy.

"Didn't someone say that the other one – the taller one – is his brother?"

"You mean that one there? The grim looking one?"

From the corner of his eye, he saw a few young ladies turning in his direction to size him up. He blushed, scowled, and turned away.

"I dare say he is," the voice continued. "I would say there is a clear family resemblance."

"And the Earl of Matlock only has two sons, right?"

"This must be the heir then," one of the others stated in deferential awe.

"That gentleman there? Oh yes, he is!" an excited older voice cut in. "Lord Hartwell, he calls himself. Is he not ever so handsome? And so distinguished! Fifteen thousand a year, at least!"

"I heard twenty!"

"Sold," Hartwell muttered surly.

"But isn't His Grim Lordship taken though? He looks quite old. And so severe."

"No, oh no." The matron again. "I have it on good authority that he is a widower. What a fine thing for you girls!"

"Mama…" a young lady tried to curb her mother's enthusiasm.

"Well, the Matlock estate needs a mistress, does it not? So why not one of you girls? Think of all the pin money you'd have, married into one of the richest families in the country!"

"Mama, I hardly think he came to our little assembly to find a wife."

"Besides," another girl put in, "I dare say I would not accept him even if he did ask me. I cannot imagine living with someone so grim! A regular Bluebeard, that's what he is! I wonder if he even knows how to smile."

He glared back at the gaggle of ladies, and stalked away again. His Grim Lordship indeed. A Bluebeard. And quite old to boot. Their comments were not exactly flattering for his ego, but if that was what saved him from being hunted into the ground…

So far, Richard was right for that matter: at least the young ladies here were not throwing themselves at him en masse.

At least not yet.

Unobtrusively, he wiped his clammy hands on his breeches.

Now their mothers however…

When at last the musicians took a little break, he quickly homed in on his brother and pulled him aside. "You scab! You promised to watch my back!" he hissed.

"I am watching your back!" Richard protested. "This hall is so small, I can see you wherever you go!"

"Oh, you…" He pushed his brother away in frustration. "You may not be aware of it, dancing boy, but everyone here is talking about us. About you, about me, about our marriageability…!"

Richard shrugged. "Let them talk. As long as they don't act on it, there is nothing to worry about."

"It's unnerving!"

"Then don't listen! Come and dance with us."

"No."

"I will be right by your side, and we can engineer it to have Darcy on your other side. You will be fine. And you won't hear the gossips so much."

"No. Are you crazy?! I am not dancing."

"Yes, you are. At the very least you need to dance with Georgiana; it is her coming out after all. Georgie, care to dance the next with your other cousin? We need to get him out of his self-imposed exile."

"Richard…!"

But, "Sure!" Georgiana already moved to his side and held out her hand to him.

Dammit! It would be incredibly rude not to accept it; he could not in all good conscience give his own cousin the cut right here on the dance floor, but…

Richard turned to say a few words to Darcy, who nodded.

His breathing went fast. This couldn't be happening! "Georgiana, I… it…"

She looked up at him, with those innocent blue eyes of hers. No, he could not walk out on her now, but… dammit, this was the worst possible scenario! The vast majority of the attempts to compromise him had taken place on the dance floor, and with all those marriage-minded matrons about…!

But before he could think of an escape, Richard took him by the other arm and led the couple onto the floor. "Right. You are all set to dance the next. And don't worry; you are safe. We have got it all arranged."

"But…!"

But the music already started up again, and he found himself being manoeuvred among the dancers, between his brother and his cousin, with Richard tightly holding him by the wrist.

His eyes darted nervously about. He couldn't do this, he couldn't… He tried to back out, away from the dance floor, but there was no escaping Richard's vice like grip. Everyone was watching him, it seemed, and was there not a sign glued to his back that said something like, 'Go Ahead and Compromise Me'?

"Relax," Richard whispered next to him.

Easy for him to say, the bastard.

"This is not London. You just focus on the dance. Darcy and I will watch your back, and Mr Gardiner is standing right behind you, too, so we've got all quarters covered. You will be fine."

And there was the chord signalling the opening bow and…

He had no idea how he made it through the dance, but when at last he got to bow to his young cousin again to thank her for the dance, he felt as spent as if he had been fencing around the clock for a week.

And lost.

"Come on," Richard said once they had deposited Georgiana and Miss Bennet with the Darcys. "You deserve a stiff drink."

He guided him through the crowd to the refreshment table in the back and poured him a large brandy. "Here is to you, Brother! You just completed your first dance in public in I don't know how many years, and you managed it without stumbling, and without embarrassing yourself or your partner. I am proud of you!"

Hartwell threw back the whole glass at once, and immediately poured himself another that went the same way.

"Hey, hold it!" Richard cautioned him. "You want to get drunk!? Here – better eat something." He held a plate with small sausage rolls under his nose.

Obediently, Hartwell devoured two; he was totally spent, and shaking all over. And suddenly hungry for some reason.

He watched how Richard collected a few more rolls on a napkin, and then he let himself be led to the corner table where Mr and Mrs Gardiner were chatting with a few locals.

Richard pulled a chair over to the wall and deposited his brother in it. "Watch him," he told them. "He needs to eat these rolls within the next few minutes, or he is going to be drunk as a skunk."

And drunk was not good – he knew that. If he were to evade the omnipresent vipers and matchmakers, his wits needed to be on constant fever pitch alert.

He closed his eyes – just for a semi-second. He needed to recover, and fast.

He took another sausage roll.

In his periferal vision, he noticed two young ladies to his left, looking at him, and whispering behind their fans. Laughing at him? Or planning something nefarious?

He glared at them, leaving one shocked and the other offended. But it had the desired effect: they turned away.

But he couldn't relax; he needed to stay on full alert. And the blasted alcohol was already going to his head, dammit; he needed to eat.

He quickly polished off the remaining sausage rolls. Hopefully, they would help to clear his head.

Once more, he scanned his surroundings. Across from him, Mr and Mrs Gardiner were talking with an elderly couple. But to his right, he suddenly became aware of some indomitable chatterboxes waxing poetic again about his firebrand of a brother.

"Oh yes, my dear. A dashing colonel in His Majesty's army – and still so young! And such happy manners!"

"He must be about Mr Darcy's age, is he not? And what an honour that he singled out your Maria as the first local girl to dance with!"

"Well, one shouldn't get one's hopes up, you know. He danced with many of our Lambton girls tonight. And I've heard rumours that he is destined to marry Miss Darcy. He opened the ball with her after all."

Well, that was plain nonsense.

"I dare say he will be good for her. He is the perfect gentleman. And so different from his brother!"

"Yes. Unfathomable that they could be brothers, is it not? Such vastly different dispositions! I wonder why the man even bothered to come here tonight. All he has been doing is stalking the corners and glaring at everyone who crosses his path."

"Did you see they practically had to manhandle him into dancing with Miss Darcy?"

"Yes, he seems a right miserable sod indeed. Nothing like his amiable brother."

He sighed. Richard could afford to be amiable in these surroundings. He on the other hand…

But the lady continued in a denigrating tone, "I suppose that as the next Earl of Matlock, with thirty thousand or so per annum, he thinks himself quite above us poor country folk."

He shook his head in vague amusement. Had he gotten a raise now? The nonsense people repeated after one another…

"Mr Darcy doesn't seem to think himself above us," the other lady argued. "And he must be almost as rich."

"Mr Darcy doesn't have a title. Besides, Mr Darcy hasn't danced with our girls tonight either."

"Only because he is violently in love with his bride. Surely you've seen how he follows her with his eyes wherever she goes! But unlike his disagreeable cousin, at least he is not above interacting with us ordinary folk. He does not skulk in the corners and never opens his mouth."

He sighed, and tried to tune them out. Being agreeable to all and sundry would have been quite beyond him tonight. If that had been expected of him, too, he would have gone quite mad!

No. Better to leave the agreeable part to Richard on a night like this.

He watched his brother and Georgiana and Miss Bennet partnering the locals on the dance floor. They were sure making the right impression, even if he could not. Even Mrs Darcy joined in occasionally, though Darcy himself he had only seen dancing with his wife, and admittedly, once with Georgiana. Lucky fellow.

But although he still felt a little light-headed, at least those sausage rolls seemed to have managed to stop him from getting truly inebriated. That would not have been good.

Still, how Mrs Darcy managed to cajole him into dancing a second set, he never knew.

The set-up was the same, with people from their own party flanking him on both sides, and somehow or other, she even managed to engage him in some inane conversation during their dance.

All his senses were still on fever pitch alert, but he seemed to manage a little better than during his petrified performance with Georgiana. He was even capable of thanking Mrs Darcy and handing her back to his cousin without Richard having to direct him.

"You see?" She smiled beguilingly up at him. "As your aunt undoubtedly would agree: all it takes is practice!"

When they finally made it back to Pemberley, Hartwell dragged himself straight up to his rooms.

He was totally drained.

He closed the door behind him and sagged against it. And then, slowly, he let himself slide down to the floor, to allow his weary head to come to rest on his arms.

He felt he could cry from sheer exhaustion. Being on fever pitch alert all night long…

He swallowed down a sob. He couldn't do this. In just a few years, Henry and Ginny would have to come out in society, and their very own father was incapable of protecting them from the vipers. The mere thought of having to guard their backs in addition to his own made him quail. For Heaven's sake, was he to be some kind of superhuman?!

Not to mention everything that he had not accomplished tonight.

Like taking Miss Bennet to task about Henry.

His hands clenched. It couldn't be, could it? His boy, his dear little Henry… How could he suddenly have grown up so fast? Richard was right: he was not ready to deal with all the hassle and dangers that came with his highly coveted heir falling in love with every pretty girl he met. Dammit, it was too soon; he was only thirteen!

But wait… If Henry…! A wave of paralyzing dread suddenly washed over him. For if Henry was starting with infatuations now, that meant Ginny would not be far behind. And the dangers that lurked for her were… terrifying!

He whimpered. He couldn't do this – sending his little girl out there, at the mercy of those unscrupulous rakes and vipers and fortune hunters…! If locking her away at Matlock was not an option, he had to go out there with her. To watch over her. To keep the vipers at bay. To keep his little girl safe.

And then to have both of them out there, at the same time?! Heaven help him, how was he to manage that?!

He groaned. He couldn't do this – not on his own. What he needed was a wife.

Yes. A wife would solve a lot of problems.

With a wife on his arm, he could walk into an assembly such as this, or even into Almack's, without a care in the world about his own hide.

With a wife on his arm, no one would even think of compromising him. He would be free to focus on keeping Henry and Ginny safe, giving them all the protection they needed and expected from their father.

And a wife on his arm would even mean an extra pair of eyes to watch out for them.

The question was: where to find one?

The evening had been a complete failure for that matter. He had been hoping to scan the crowds for a lady whom he could perhaps envision as his wife. But spending the evening as he had, in a constant state of dread, tension, and fever pitch alertness, all he had seen was a sea of women, all of them plotting to entrap him in one way or another.

Only they had not.

Richard had been right about that, too.

The ladies had talked about him incessantly, yes – his person ("grim", "severe", "old", "miserable sod", "a regular Bluebeard"), his riches ("fifteen thousand a year", "I heard twenty", "thirty thousand"), his marriageability ("think of all the pin money!", and "what a fine thing for you girls!").

But for some reason, no one had acted on it. They had left him to himself. No one save for that Sir Robert had even approached him. Everyone else had probably just had a wonderful evening; he was the only one who…

He raised his head and leaned it back against the cool surface of the door. And sighed.

True, he wanted a wife. First of all for himself, to hopefully find something resembling the love between the Darcys.

Yet now he realized he actually needed a wife. For his children's sake.

And if he did not want to go to London (and he really did not want to go to London), these small-scale assemblies would logically be his best bet to find one.

Only he couldn't handle them.

All it takes is practice, Mrs Darcy had said. Yeah, right. How long would it take to truly get over his fears – ten years? Twenty?

No. If he were to look for a wife at such dances, he would need to be relaxed enough to actually see the individual ladies.

But the only thing that would make him relaxed enough to see individual ladies was a wife on his arm, proclaiming that there was no point in trying to compromise him, because he was already taken.

Which of course defeated the object.

It was the ultimate unsolvable stalemate.

He closed his eyes, rested his head in his hands and sighed.

Maybe he should just heed Mrs Darcy's advice.

Talk with Mrs Gardiner.

He had not done so yet; it had felt too awkward to broach the subject with her. But if she was as wise in such matters as Mrs Darcy claimed her to be, what did he have to lose?

Except perhaps a chunk of his pride.

Still, it might be worth it. If due to his fears, he was categorically incapable of looking for a wife even at a small country dance such as this one, then he needed all the help he could get. For where else could he go to find a wife?

Maybe she knew of other places.

Places that did not involve dancing.

.

.

Author's Note: I just love how the children are coming more and more to life. I confess Henry was a bit vague so far, but this chapter finally fleshed him out a bit. "Almost a man" indeed… LOL! It looks like our young future earl is falling into the same trap as his Uncle Darcy once did!

Meanwhile, we got a glimpse here from the ugly side of Hartwell's trauma from the London marriage market. Richard is trying to help him get over it with a rough attempt at desensitizing, but it looks as if Hartwell himself is on the trail of a true solution. Now if only he can find a way to cut through his catch-22 situation… Will Mrs Gardiner indeed be able to point him in the right direction?