In the library, Mr. Darcy scowled at a portrait of his father over the mantle. He wondered how his father would handle his current predicament and took another sip of his cognac as his male relatives continued to argue behind him.

By keeping his back to the deliberations, Darcy hoped he would not be called for further comment and prayed his wife was making better progress with the women. His cousin Robert held his stubborn position, but even Fitzwilliam knew the man wouldn’t be able to hold out forever. The choice was to smooth things now and have a prayer of a happy marriage or continue to fight and result in an inevitable, but fractious, union between two cousins.

“I have already refused your marriage schemes in London. What makes you believe this time should be any different?” Robert Fitzwilliam repeated his same counter-argument to his father’s plan for his son to marry Anne.

“Refused? Now see here, that allowance you enjoy so well-“

“Ha!” Robert scoffed, “you can not tempt with imagined riches.”

“They would not be imaginary if you married. Darcy, tell him!” the Earl of Matlock implored.

Unfortunately, two men of the last name were present in the library, and they both spoke at once.

“I could not-” the younger Darcy and master of the house began.

“Perhaps-” the elder Alistair Darcy started.

Both men of the Darcy name glared at each other. But the elder nodded to show deference to his wealthier nephew. Sadly, this did not entirely please Fitzwilliam Darcy because he would have preferred to save his breath for his porridge.

“No, please continue Uncle Darcy,” Fitzwilliam managed through clenched teeth.

“I couldn’t possibly, after all, I am the eldest bachelor present. A life calling, perhaps, so what do I know of marriage?” he mused.

Darcy twisted his lips in annoyance at his uncle, while his other pounced upon the opportunity.

“Hear that, boy? You don’t wish to end up like old Alistair here,” the Earl of Matlock clapped his hand on the man’s shoulder as his victim winced at the insult. The younger Darcy grimaced as well at his cousin being called ‘boy’ when he had already enjoyed the celebration of his third decade of life.

“’Tis not my fault the money is gone, Father. I am not the earl!”

The Darcy men both coughed as the subject strayed from the matter at hand. But they had all witnessed this exact account again and again. Mr. Darcy had hoped that in finally separating the conversation along gender lines, progress would finally be at hand. But old prejudices and burdens would not lessen.

“Bad business! A misfortune! Happens to the best and brightest, tell him, Darcy.” This time the earl looked directly at his nephew.

“Occasionally we all have a bad investment.” Mr. Darcy said flatly, disinterested in defending his uncle. The Matlock fortune had not been managed well in generations, that much was true. Fitzwilliam had warned his uncle to diversify as a measure of insurance against a bad crop year jeopardizing the family seat. But a decade of poor choices, indulgent extravagances, and neither of his cousins marrying had depleted the Matlock reserves.

“And your lifestyle was no help!” the earl scolded his eldest son.

“Yes, yes, it was my drunken carousing that drained the coffers,” Robert slunk away from his father and poured himself a drink as all of the servants had long been dismissed. Wagging servant tongues had brought Lady Catherine to the doorstep, but Fitzwilliam didn’t want worse to arrive next!

“ENOUGH!” Fitzwilliam Darcy raised his voice to such an uncharacteristic volume, the other men all gasped. Perhaps it had been the tediousness of the repeated conversations or perhaps it had been watching his cousin indulge himself yet again without an ounce of respect. Regardless, Fitzwilliam now unquestionably held the floor, and he stumbled for a moment to make his sentiments clear.

“There are-” he began, then stopped. He tried again. “Certainly-” Finally, he finished the remaining liquid in his glass and swiped the decanter away from his cousin, holding it as a talisman of his generosity.

“I shall speak plainly and to the point.” Fitzwilliam finally resolved. “There are no further arguments to be had. You will cease this foolhardy stubbornness and marry our cousin, Anne. So help me, you will even find it in you to be the dashing suitor and grant her the regard she deserves. I’ve seen you act, Cousin. You shall perform more than adequately.” Fitzwilliam heard his cousin begin a protest, but he cut him off.

“Tell me, do you love another?” Fitzwilliam did not entirely agree with his wife’s opinion about there being a love match between Kitty and his cousin, but he deferred to his wife’s expertise where it concerned her sisters. However, if his cousin could not declare at the moment a loyalty to another, he would be sparing Kitty greater heartache.

“What do you ask? Another? No, that is-“

“Good, we have that clear,” and Fitzwilliam spun on his heel to address his uncle, the Earl of Matlock.

“And you, sir, shall submit to a plan of fiscal responsibility.”

The Earl of Matlock turned scarlet as his anger piqued. “Now, see here Darcy, you cannot make such demands of your superior!”

Fitzwilliam Darcy grew further irritated as he noticed his other uncle silently slipping away from the conversation and closer to the library doors. Whether he aimed to meet with Mother Bennet or merely avoid his nephew’s censure on financial matters, Darcy could not know. But he disliked Uncle Darcy’s actions all the same.

“You shall submit or there shall be no wedding. Do you believe your sister and I would allow you to plunder the coffers of Rosings as you so thoroughly did Matlock? For shame, that you would seek to take advantage of your own family to compensate for your missteps.”

“All we have is this family, and I am the head of it!”

At this, Darcy would not argue, his uncle did hold the most senior title. And where he may not have a mind for money, his heart had always been large enough to take care of any need his children or nieces and nephews needed.

“I intend to see that you remain so, sir if you would accept a small amount of assistance. Even the King has his advisers. Excel in your sphere and allow me to excel in mine. I am my father’s son and follow his examples.”

This became the final blow. In possession of his late father’s journals, Darcy knew how much his father’s fortune had propped up the Matlock title when he married the daughter of an earl, back when his uncle was the wily Viscount Ashbourne. Invoking his father and how often he was compared to his memory made Darcy believe that perhaps the most significant source of discontent between the father and son before him was their own similarity in spirits.

“And this is what is to become of the great Fitzwilliams,” Robert added in a most unhelpful manner.

Darcy shrugged as the library door trembled closed from Alistair’s exit. “The world is changing, and we with it. Or we are doomed to the pages of history and forgotten.”

Grimly, the two remaining relations to Darcy nodded, and a silence of acceptance stifled any further conversation. As he still held the decanter in his hands, Mr. Darcy performed the gentlemanly task of offering his male relatives a drink.

And in a remarkable peace offering, the Earl of Matlock acted out of character and asked his son for his wishes on his coming nuptials. The conversation turned lighter as they talked of a happier future for all and on balance, even Robert admitted that marrying Anne was not so bad a fate, the woman did at least read.

Despite their notions of schedule and location, all three men knew their opinions would hold little weight. Those matters would be decided by the ladies. Their responsibilities would begin and end with appearing at the appointed times and signing the papers.