Author's Note: Posting two chapters today (this is the second of the 2) before I head out for a week. Enjoy and I will read and update (hopefully finish) when I get back. Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends.

Chapter 42
Tuesday, 14 January 1812
London

Nothing was going the way Lord Matlock had planned.

Lady Catherine's dowry had proven to be far less substantial than he had anticipated—an insult, really, to a man of his position and aspirations. The discovery had been a bitter blow to his carefully laid schemes. It almost had not been worth the trouble of having her killed, though it did eliminate her bringing any further scrutiny to the family. Her scheming had been getting out of hand and while she was unaware of the extent of the problems surrounding Matlock, she knew enough. Her unrestrained behaviour of later made her something of a liability and Matlock had not wanted to be saddled with her, especially not when she was openly defying him.

Adding to his frustration, neither Darcy nor Hargrove had shown any inclination to support his so-called "investment opportunity" that he had offered them. Though he had assured them of the potential for profitablity on this venture, they had still declined and remained obstinately resistant to his overtures.

To make matters worse, Darcy's decision to change solicitors had cut off one of Matlock's most promising avenues for siphoning funds. The previous solicitor's office had been an ideal staging ground for his covert plans. Matlock had uncovered a clerk there who, though far from scrupulous, was perfectly positioned to access sensitive information and critical documents. Coercion had been simple; the clerk's fear of exposure to the consequences of his own questionable activities had ensured his cooperation. With the clerk's help, Matlock had begun to extract what he needed, quietly diverting small sums while laying the groundwork for a larger windfall.

But Darcy, damn him, had somehow caught wind of something—how much, Matlock did not know. The change in solicitors had come suddenly, severing Matlock's access to the funds he had intended to bleed dry. Worse still, the move had eliminated any leverage he might have gained over Darcy's affairs. It was a move that spoke of calculated vigilance, and it rankled.

Matlock clenched his fists as he paced his study, his thoughts dark and furious. The setbacks were piling up, each one more aggravating than the last. What should have been a carefully controlled situation was slipping through his fingers. His son's mounting debts were no longer a distant nuisance; they were becoming a direct threat—not only to Andrew's safety but also to Matlock's own reputation and, potentially, his very survival.

The so-called "investment opportunity" he had asked his nephews to contibrute to had been born out of desperation, a necessary gamble to compensate for the devastating loss of income he had suffered over the past four years. Before that infernal Wilber Wilberforce and his relentless campaign against slavery, more than half of Matlock's wealth had come from the trade. The abolitionist movement had forced him to cease direct involvement—or at least appear to do so—but the blow to his finances had been catastrophic.

The war with France only compounded the problem. Rising tensions with America made it increasingly difficult for ships to navigate key ports. His last two ventures—ships carrying human cargo—had been seized, either by privateers or pirates. Worse still, because Matlock had taken great pains to obscure his involvement in the trade, he could not publicly claim ownership of the vessels or seek compensation for their loss. The investments were gone, and with them, the hope of rebuilding his network.

He no longer had the capital to finance another ship. His remaining partners, already angered by his failures, were growing restless. Their patience was wearing thin, and with his inability to meet his obligations, threats were beginning to circulate. Now, with Andrew's debtors adding their pressure to the mix, Matlock found himself squeezed between two dangerous factions—each ruthless in their own way.

His pacing slowed, and he sank heavily into the chair behind his desk. His mind raced, calculating his dwindling options. His fingers traced the edge of a decanter of brandy, but he did not pour. Drinking would do nothing to solve this crisis.

The lack of any word from his eldest son had only compounded his unease. It was no secret that the viscount had made enemies among his creditors, men ruthless enough to take drastic measures. Matlock had counted on Andrew's ability to charm and stall them, but his son's abrupt vanishing act suggested that charm had failed, leaving them both exposed. If these men were willing to harm Andrew, how long before they turned their attention to the family as a whole?

And then there was the matter of his nephew and son. Darcy and Fitzwilliam were not fools; their loyalty to the family had limits, and their recent actions suggested they were becoming wary of him. That wariness could spell disaster. Without their cooperation—or at least their indifference—Matlock's schemes would continue to unravel, leaving him with no means of salvaging his ambitions or protecting himself from the consequences of his failures. He knew if either man knew about his involvement in the slave trade, they would publically break ties with him, not caring about the impact of such an occurence. They had obviously helped his wife get away—both a blessing and a curse. Without Julia at home, at least he did not have to pretend that all was well, and he could be assured of her safety at her father's house, but with her went any hope of funds from either her or her father.

He sank heavily into a chair, rubbing his temples as his mind raced. There had to be a way to regain control, a way to turn the situation to his advantage once more. But for the first time in years, Lord Matlock found himself at a loss. His plans were crumbling, his allies were few, and his enemies were closing in.

And yet, he was not a man to admit defeat. Not yet. Not ever. He would find a way. He had to.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Matlock straightened, masking his turmoil. "Enter," he barked.

A footman stepped in, bowing slightly. "A letter has arrived, my lord. Urgent, it seems."

Matlock waved the man over, snatching the envelope with a gruff nod of dismissal. He broke the seal and unfolded the letter, scanning its contents quickly. His face darkened, the lines around his mouth deepening.

His son's situation had just grown more dire. The men holding Ashworth were demanding an exorbitant ransom—far beyond what Matlock could readily access. The note made it clear that if payment was not made promptly, Ashworth's life would be forfeit.

Matlock cursed under his breath, crumpling the letter in his hand. There was no avoiding it now. He would have to find a way to secure the funds, no matter the cost. Whether it meant selling what little remained of his holdings, further indebting himself to his partners, or even appealing to Darcy—whom he despised having to approach for anything—he would have to act quickly.

Time was running out. And so, too, were his choices.

The road headed north

On the second day of their journey, Fitzwilliam and Darcy had not gone far before arriving at an inn. There, they questioned the locals and learned that an injured man had been taken to the apothecary's office nearby. He had been found on the road, apparently after falling from his horse, having been beaten severely.

The two men followed the directions given to them and found Andrew Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Ashworth, lying in a bed, barely conscious. Though the physician had done his best, it was clear that Ashworth's injuries were grave, and his chances of survival were slim.

"Who did this to you?" Richard demanded, his voice tight with urgency.

Ashworth struggled to respond, each breath laboured. Finally, he managed to whisper, "It was ... Father's business partners."

Richard stiffened, his confusion evident. "What do you mean by Father's business partners? What sort of business is he involved in? I thought I knew everything he had a hand in."

A weak, bitter laugh escaped Ashworth's lips, followed by a cough. "You know little of Father's dealings. He has always kept most of it hidden, even from me. I only know fragments of the truth. For years, Matlock's wealth has relied heavily on the slave trade—exporting people from Africa to America and other parts of the world. Since the Slave Trade Act was passed in 1807, this has become more difficult, and the Napoleonic Wars have made shipping even riskier. He has lost several ships recently, deepening his debts. Though he blames Matlock's financial troubles on my supposed vices, the real cause is his failed investments and reliance on illegal trade."

Richard's face darkened as the weight of Ashworth's words sank in. "Father is truly involved in slavery? Even now?"

Ashworth gave a weak nod. "Yes. Despite publicly supporting the act to abolish the trade, he has continued in secret. That and a little bit of smuggling on the side. He has always cared more for profit than principle, surely you have realised that about him."

Darcy stood back, stunned by the revelation. Of all the injustices he despised, slavery ranked among the worst. During his university years, he had quietly aligned himself with abolitionist ideals, even if he had hesitated to fully join the movement. His father likewise supported the cause, but Darcy, knowing of his father's illness, thought it best to not get involved too heavily in such causes when Pemberley would likely soon be his to manage.

Regardless, his upbringing had instilled in him a sense of duty to treat all people with dignity, and his servants at Darcy House and Pemberley were both well paid and well cared for. To now learn that his uncle, a man he had once respected, was profiting from such a vile practice shook him to his core.

Ashworth's breathing grew more laboured, each word a struggle. Fitzwilliam leaned closer, his hands gripping the bedframe as he attempted to hear what his brother had to say.

"Father… always had plans," Andrew rasped. "Even when… it meant sacrificing… everything. Do not let him… destroy you too."

Richard's jaw tightened. "Enough riddles, Andrew. Tell me what you know. Who attacked you?"

Ashworth's lips quirked faintly in what might have been a bitter smile. "They were hired… to make a point. One of his business partners—angry over the losses. I was the warning."

Darcy's stomach churned at the implications. "Do you know their names? Can we find them?"

Ashworth exhaled a shuddering breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "It does not matter now," he murmured. "You will not change him. Protect Matlock—protect what is left of it. But promise me, Richard… do not follow him."

Fitzwilliam's voice cracked as he spoke. "Andrew, stay with me. We will take you home. We will fix this."

Ashworth's eyes opened briefly, glassy with unshed tears. "No fixing this," he whispered. "Just… stop him. Do better."

His breathing slowed further, and his chest rose with one last shallow breath before stilling altogether.

Fitzwilliam stared at his brother's lifeless face, frozen. Darcy rested a hand on his shoulder, unsure what words could possibly suffice. The silence in the room felt heavy, punctuated only by the ticking of a clock on the wall.

After a long moment, Fitzwilliam stood abruptly, his expression steely. "We will bring him home. Whatever Father has done, he will answer for it."

"Richard," Darcy began cautiously, "if what Andrew said is true, this is not just about your father's debts. If you go after him directly—"

"Do not try to stop me," Richard snapped. His tone softened almost immediately. "I cannot sit by while the man who raised me profits from human suffering."

Darcy nodded solemnly. "You will not be alone in this. But we need to be careful. If he has hidden this for so long, there may be others willing to protect his secrets—at any cost. I wonder how much our aunt knew—or was her death entirely about the money he would get upon her death."

For several moments, neither man spoke, each lost in his thoughts as they tried to make sense of what had just unfolded. While they had arrived there today seeking answers, they had instead unearthed even more questions. Darcy doubted that his cousin fully grasped the implications of his brother's death. Given the circumstances, it was hardly surprising; Fitzwilliam's focus was consumed by the immediate challenge of confronting his father.

Sighing, Darcy recognised that the greatest challenge in the coming days would be curbing his cousin's impulsive tendencies. Yes, something had to be done about Lord Matlock, but what exactly that would entail was still unclear. Whatever action was taken, it would need careful consideration—something far more within Darcy's skill set than Fitzwilliam's.

For now, the priority was to return to Pemberley. Decisions needed to be made, notices sent to those who should be informed of Ashworth's death, and plans carefully laid for what lay ahead.