"I sometimes think," he said after a while, "that I am so used to doing what is expected that I scarcely stop to ask what I want." He smiled faintly. "Today is a perfect example. Before I reached the house I had already planned the afternoon in my mind. We were to walk by the lake, you were to play your new sonata and I imagined, for perhaps a few hours, that the world would be content to leave us in peace."
"And instead?"
"Instead Mr Graves arrived with his papers, Cook has had yet another spectacular fit of temper and I have a pile of correspondence on my desk that will take me several days to conquer."
Georgiana smiled up at him. "I do not think anyone else could manage Pemberley half so well."
He looked out across the park. Everything appeared exactly as it ought to. The lawns were immaculate, the cattle grazed peacefully in the lower meadow and smoke rose steadily from the chimneys beyond. It was everything his father had worked to preserve and everything Darcy had considered his duty to protect.
"I have no wish to be anywhere else," he said quietly. "I only wonder whether I have become too good at saying yes to every demand that finds its way to my door."
Georgiana considered this for a moment. "I think Papa used to do the same."
Darcy looked at her. "I scarcely remember him refusing anyone."
"No." She smiled. "Except Aunt Catherine."
Despite himself, Darcy laughed. "Except Aunt Catherine."
"I remember Mama once saying that the kindest people often have the greatest difficulty disappointing others."
Darcy turned the thought over without answering. Outside, the evening breeze stirred the branches around the lake, and he took his sister’s hand and squeezed it gently. Despite all the interruptions, he was home, and in this moment there was nowhere he would rather be.
???
The following morning dawned bright and clear at Pemberley. The library windows stood open upon the gardens and, save for the occasional turning of a page or the scratch of a pen, the room was quiet.
Darcy sat at his father's old desk working steadily through the correspondence Mr Graves had declared incapable of waiting another day. Across the room Georgiana occupied a smaller writing table by the window, answering several invitations that had accumulated during her brother's absence. Now and then one of them would look up to ask the other's opinion on a date or the wording of a reply, but for the most part they worked in companionable silence.
Darcy had nearly reached the bottom of the first pile when voices carried from the entrance hall.
"If you would permit me to announce you, Colonel—"
"My dear Wilson, Darcy has known me since I was born. I think we may dispense with ceremony."
"Nevertheless, sir..."
Georgiana smiled before the library door had even opened. "Richard."
Darcy echoed her in a slightly less enthusiastic tone, "Richard, indeed."
The butler appeared first, looking resigned rather than flustered. "Colonel Fitzwilliam."
Richard was already stepping around him. "There now, Wilson. You see? We have both accomplished our purpose."
Colonel Fitzwilliam still wore his regimentals. The gold braid caught the morning light as he removed his gloves and tossed them carelessly upon the nearest chair. His fair hair, never inclined to obedience, had escaped beneath his hat during the ride and there was a smear of dust across one polished boot. He grinned broadly. "Now this is a cosy scene!"
"Good morning, Darcy," he said, grasping his cousin's hand and pumping it up and down. Before Darcy could respond, he crossed the room in three long strides and kissed Georgiana upon the cheek loudly. "And here is my favourite cousin! Georgie, you are looking remarkably well. I swear you have grown three inches since Christmas."
She looked fondly at her boisterous relation. "It is very good to see you, Richard. Would you like some breakfast? There are fresh rolls and coffee on the side."
"I knew Pemberley remained the best house in England. Still got that mad cook? The one who threatens to leave every month but produces the best fare this side of Paris?"
He did not wait for an answer, and filled a plate, buttering a roll with enthusiasm before throwing up a hand mid-chew as he seemingly remembered the reason for his visit. "I have not come merely to eat your food, though that would have been reason enough," he said, brushing crumbs from his trousers onto Darcy’s rug. "Something exceedingly curious has happened."
He reached into the breast of his coat and produced a thick cream envelope, though instead of handing it over immediately he turned it over thoughtfully in his fingers.
"It arrived yesterday by special messenger. My first thought was that Aunt Catherine had discovered some fresh offence I had committed. My second was that I had somehow been summoned back to the continent. I assure you, I opened it with an intense feeling of dread."
