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W illiam Darcy was already in a bad mood because one of his few friends—the only one who had not been too busy to see him, Charles Bingley; had escaped London.

Thanks to his social climbing, fortune hunting, and shrew of a sister having ruined herself, and, at least in the short term, the Bingleys and Hursts, they were forced to leave Town before the end of the season.

He was travelling in the Darcy coach with his parents, who were speaking amiably to one another and ignoring him for the nonce.

They were on their way to Falconwood to attend the Duke’s wedding.

He would have to be among people he did not know, something he disliked intensely. The knowledge did not improve his poor disposition. He had not been given a choice not to attend His Grace’s wedding, so there was nothing for it.

Even though his mother and sister had been present at the modiste’s shop, he did not blame them for Bingley’s untimely departure.

The responsibility rested squarely on Miss Bingley’s scrawny shoulders.

He cared not that the shrew was ruined and had to run from Town, but he was not pleased that it meant his friend would be in the north for two or three years.

His two other particularly good friends were both cousins.

Andrew and Richard Fitzwilliam. The former was busy with his new fiancée, Lady Marie Russell, while the latter was still on the Peninsula.

William had always been closer to Richard, whom he saw more as a brother than a cousin, so he felt his absence keenly.

He would miss Rich for the sennight or so they would be at Falconwood.

His cousin helped smooth his way in social settings.

At least Andy would be there, albeit busy with his betrothed.

It was good he would soon see Anna again.

He had come close to arguing against her being allowed to go on ahead to the Duke’s estate to see her friends from Hertfordshire, sure that they were not worthy of being friends with a Darcy of Pemberley.

Two things had stayed his words. His parents had not asked for his opinion, and the connection was through the Duke of Hertfordshire, so they could not be too low.

It was good that William had held his peace because he had the idea that his parents were not well pleased with him and were looking for an excuse to take him to task or, worse, deliver a set down.

After the wedding, he would retire to River Run in Northamptonshire for some time.

With Rich out of the country, Andy soon enough busy with his new wife, and Bingley gone, there was no reason to go to London.

It was not Pemberley, but it was a good estate, and he was gaining more experience so that one day when he became the master of Pemberley—which he prayed would be many, many years in the future—he would be well prepared.

Lady Anne and Robert Darcy had not told their son much about the future duchess.

It had not been consciously done, but ever since the Bingley virago had ruined herself, William had been brooding far more than normal.

He had wisely not tried to ask for clemency for Miss Bingley and, more likely than not, was fully aware it would not have been granted.

They would have spoken to him in the conveyance, but for the most part he was feigning sleep, so it had been best to leave him be.

Besides, they had much more pleasant things upon which to think, especially seeing Anna again in another hour and spending time with the friends they had made in Hertfordshire.

The two had been quietly discussing the improvement in Anna’s shyness since she had met the Bennet sisters.

That she had not only agreed to, but had been extremely keen to stay with people she had just met was a minor miracle.

They agreed it was sad William was too preoccupied to see the difference in his sister, but it mattered not.

As parents, they were aware of the way their precious girl was blossoming.

“Do you think we should wake our son from his feigned sleep and speak to him before we arrive?” Lady Anne asked quietly, making sure that only her husband could hear her.

“Let us enjoy the remainder of this journey without unpleasantness. We will speak to William after the wedding,” Darcy suggested in sotto voce .

Lady Anne nodded her agreement. Ever since her Robert had been so sorely mistaken about the characters of the Wickhams, they had discussed everything between them, and they would reach decisions together. “I am not worried William will misbehave at the home of a duke,” she whispered to her husband.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

The Darcy travelling coach pulled to a halt behind the Matlock one. They had not departed at the same time, but they had somehow arrived at almost the same instant.

William greeted his aunt and uncle courteously.

“Does Andrew not travel with you?” he enquired when he did not see his eldest cousin with the Earl and Countess.

He felt a jolt of disappointment. He had hoped he would have at least one here he knew who was of an age with him.

It had slipped his mind that the Portnoys would be in attendance with his cousins Lawrence and Warren.

“Andy will be here by the end of the week. You did not think he would stay away when Marie is to come with her parents, did you?” Lady Elaine said with a smile.

“He has been at Hilldale. With all the time he expended away during his courtship, he needed to be there for some weeks,” Matlock explained. Turning, he said, “Hertfordshire, well met.”

“Welcome to Falconwood,” Hertfordshire boomed. “Young Darcy, it is good to see you again. It has been some time as you were not with your parents when they called on me in Hertfordshire.”

“Your Grace,” William bowed. “Ahem, I made directly for London.”

“Let us enter the house; my housekeeper will show you to your suites. I believe you will be in the east guest wing.” Hertfordshire led the way into the cavernous entrance hall.

“I apologise that my fiancée is not here to greet you; she and some of our friends and family are out riding. You did bring your horses, did you not? If not, we have more than enough.”

“William brought his stallion with us. If Anne and I decide to ride, we will take you up on your offer to ride your horses,” Darcy responded.

“The same goes for Elaine and me,” Matlock added.

The new arrivals followed Mrs Greaves up to their suites.

As he walked, William shook his head. This was his first time at Falconwood, and he had not been ready to see a house which made Pemberley’s look small by comparison.

They had passed several drawing rooms and parlours, and like his parents’ house, everything he had seen spoke of understated elegance.

It was not like so many in the Ton , who like his Aunt Catherine, thought that gaudy opulence somehow increased their consequence.

William was not surprised when the chamber in the suite he had been assigned was double the size of any at Darcy House or Pemberley.

His man, Carstens, was already unpacking his clothing and putting the items in the very large dressing room.

He washed off the road dust and looked at his valet questioningly.

The water was steaming still, which was not expected given how far he estimated they were from the kitchens.

“As I am told by those who serve here, this house, like all of the Duke’s properties, has pipes in each bathing room, one for hot and another for cold water. They told me there are cisterns and boilers on the roof,” Carstens informed his master.

He had never considered that not only was it easier for the servants not to have to carry water up flights of stairs, but this way the water could be delivered at a comfortable temperature for the bather.

William, like his father did at all of the estates, treated his staff and servants at River Run well, but until he heard of the convenience the Duke employed in his houses, he had not thought about the hardship of his servants.

Once he was dressed, as there was no set activity and some hours before the next meal, William decided to ask directions to the stables so he could take Zeus for a gallop to relieve himself of the quiescence of sitting for more than five hours in the coach.

Some footmen directed him to the stables, which, like the house, dwarfed those at Pemberley. It highlighted his own insignificance, a feeling he did not enjoy, and which darkened his brooding mood.

Once Zeus was saddled, as soon as he was outside of the paddocks around the stable complex, William pushed his stallion into a gallop.

Not caring where he was going, he punished himself and the horse until he realised he needed to reduce the pace to a canter.

Zeus was not the reason his mood had worsened.

Just then, he saw a group of riders. From what he could discern, they were females.

Then he noticed two of them were galloping ahead of the rest. He felt scandalised as they were both riding astride.

He pushed Zeus into a gallop to intercept them.

He could not allow such unladylike behaviour.

He had forgotten what the Duke had said about his fiancée being out riding the estate.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

Of the four Bennet sisters, Elizabeth and Lydia were the only two who rode astride.

Lydia, who, like Elizabeth, seemed to have been born in the saddle, was riding the cob Mary used to before she was gifted with Aphrodite.

The four sisters, Charlotte, Anthony, and Anna, were enjoying a ride across some of the fields.

Maria, who was not yet sanguine about being on a horse, was with Lilly at the mansion.

The group was being escorted by two grooms, Biggs, Johns, and two more of their men.