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When the Darcy family was in London, they worshiped at St. George’s near their home.

Today, Fitzwilliam Darcy sat with his back straight and his face turned toward the parson.

Hanover Square was within a comfortable walk from the Darcy home, but he always used the carriage when attending services with his young sister.

Georgiana sat beside him without a lady’s companion; Mrs Young had proven to have falsified her references.

Upon this discovery, the Darcy housekeeper supervised the maids as they packed the woman’s belongings and the footmen when they escorted the woman out of the kitchen door.

The Countess of Matlock would interview and select the next lady’s companion for his sister. Georgiana was only four-and-ten years; she was very impressionable and needed instruction from an educated gentlewoman.

‘Was there some scheme in Mrs Young’s positioning herself as Georgiana’s companion?’ he wondered. ‘If so, I cannot see it.’

His attention returned to the minister’s words, “For the love of money is the root of all evil.”

Darcy’s face remained blank, but his mind filled with images of the rich furnishings in the fine house where his godfather, a bishop in the Church of England, lived. The minister in the pulpit today was dressed in fine robes and certainly was well-fed.

‘And my incomes contribute to the wealth of the church.’

He mused, ‘My incomes…the estate of the Darcy family. It is the work of many generations. We can trace our line back to the conquest of England by William the Conqueror eight hundred years ago. More than twenty generations of work to sit here on a hard pew and listen to a sermon on the evils of money…the evils of the love of money.’

Glancing at his sister, who appeared half-asleep, Fitzwilliam decided, ‘Georgie needs the gentle hand of a woman younger than Aunt Matlock. I must find a wife. The next generation has to be birthed and educated.’

~~~

The next day, Darcy escorted his sister to Matlock House in London for lunch and to leave her with their aunt for the autumn. While they ate the meal, he told his sister, “We shall meet at Christmas at Matlock and then continue on to Pemberley, Georgie.”

“Do you promise, brother?” asked the girl, seeking reassurance that she would not be forgotten.

“I do promise. Christmas with you is very important to me. And we must be safe behind the walls of Pemberley when the snows arrive in January.”

“Fitzwilliam, what shall you do with your time this autumn?” asked the countess from across the small dining room table. The woman shared the meal with her nephew and niece in a private family dining room of her husband’s London home.

“My friend Charles Bingley needs direction as he learns to manage an estate.”

The countess frowned and said, “Bingley? Does he not have a sister with ambitions beyond her circle?”

Georgiana giggled and said, “Miss Bingley made a lasting impression on Aunt Marie.”

Darcy frowned at his sister, and she fell silent but did not ask forgiveness for her statement. The countess pursed her lips and added to her niece’s statement, “Beware Fitzwilliam. That young woman stares at you with undisguised hunger at times.”

As was his general practice, Fitzwilliam Darcy did not voice his opinion about Miss Caroline Bingley. He believed it beneath him to gossip, hoping Georgiana would emulate his behaviour.

“How are you to help Mr Bingley?” asked the countess as she watched her nephew and niece.

“He has leased a substantial estate only a few hours outside London for three years. If he takes to the role of landholder and makes a go of it, he will feel confident in purchasing an estate.”

“Wise of him to discover if the life of a gentleman farmer appeals to him. Your uncle ignores the stewards as long as the rents pay for his horses.”

Darcy again did not speak regarding his uncle’s extensive estate–Matlock was not as large as the Darcy estate and certainly not as well run.

“And the sister seeks a husband with a seemingly unlimited pocketbook. Your fortune draws the attention of every single lady in Britain,” the countess reminded her nephew.

She paused as if thinking of her own life; she had been Lady Marie Watson-Wentworth, a bright debutante, daughter of Charles Watson-Wentworth, 2nd Marquess of Rockingham, prime minister of Great Britain, when she married Phillip Fitzwilliam, Earl of Matlock.

The Earl and Countess of Matlock had three living children–Samuel Viscount Hadden, Richard, and Violet.

Viscount Hadden was a wastrel, Richard served as a colonel in His Majesty’s Army fighting the never-ending wars with Bonaparte, and her only daughter, Violet, was married to Francis North, a son of Lord North.

The latter had once been Prime Minister of Great Britain.

“In many ways, the life of a lady with a husband of great wealth is a trial. Georgiana might be happier if she married a scholar at Oxford rather than another politician,” the countess said sadly. “Otherwise, she and Miss Bingley might live without meaning or avocation.”

~~~