A/N: Welcome back to my loyal readers and a hearty welcome to new ones!

I freely admit that the first about half of this book borrows bits and pieces from dozens of excellent compromise/FMS (Forced Marriage Scenarios) stories you can find on this site, but I would like to think I'm adding some dramatically new twists. Maybe halfway through, we get into something entirely different that I hope you'll like. My fans know I hate spoilers, so I will not say that much about it except for my traditional warnings.

Fair warning: I cranked up the a**hole knob on Darcy up to about 15 or 20, the stubbornness knob on Lizzy about the same. It is loaded with angst, anger people acting very-very badly, and some unconventional story elements later. It is not for everyone.

It's also my longest works to date (and probably ever). At 75 chapters and a quarter-million words, it's pretty hefty. The reviews during writing were pretty intense, and in the end, it's the most reviewed story in this fandom. It probably has the most angst of any of my stories, but also quite a lot of very sweet, romantic bits.

So, strap yourself in for some angst and some people acting badly. Trust me – it'll work out in the end(s).

Wade

[Suffix: Feb 2021 – I just finished editing this story all the way through, mostly fixing grammar and punctuation. There are no substantial changes from the original.]


Thursday, Nov 28, 1811 - Matlock House, London

"Darcy! Come in, my boy; come in! I was just about to send for you."

"Good evening, Uncle. How are you?"

Fitzwilliam Darcy looked at his uncle Hough Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Matlock and did not much like what he saw. The Earl looked tired and worn. There were dark circles under the gentleman's eyes, and a listless appearance very much unlike his usual form. The man who all his life had strode through every room as if he owned it, now shuffled through his own library as if it would kill him.

The Earl answered tiredly. "Darcy, it is a late hour on a bad day, at the tail end of a bad week, embedded in an awful month, near the end of a terrible year. How about you?"

Darcy frowned. "The same, Uncle. It is like the moment you realize you just rode your prize stallion off a cliff, and your four favorite hounds are going to jump off after you. I seem to have fallen foul of a compromise two nights ago. I am undecided about what to do, so I came to seek your council."

The Earl frowned in turn, poured a glass of brandy, and handed it to his nephew.

"Misery loves company, son. As it turns out, I am greatly in need of your services so sit down. Mayhap together we can manage to make both our situations slightly less pitiable. If not, we can at least enjoy our shared misery and misfortunes."

"That seems optimistic given our starting place but let us try. You first, Uncle."

"Ah, order of precedence?"

"Age before beauty."

Both chuckled, primarily because their best excuse for wit wouldn't pass muster with a five-year-old.

They took chairs in front of the fire that was barely adequate to the task of removing the late November chill from the air. The Earl poured two more glasses and then plopped the brandy decanter on a table between the chairs.

With a sigh, he began, "I am afraid, son, I must ask a Herculean task of you. Things are happening so fast it makes my head spin, and we have very little time to do some extremely disagreeable things."

Darcy was not at all certain whether he hated or loved the idea. Obviously, anything an Earl considered difficult was likely to be unpleasant at best and impossible at worst. On the other hand, doing something?anything-anything-at-all that did not involve his precarious position vis-à-vis his marital situation might have some appeal.

"Is there any background I need while you work up the nerve for the big ask, Uncle?"

The Earl chuckled grimly. "Let us start with the obvious. Jeanette's babe was stillborn last night, and the doctor says there can be no more attempts. She will not be able to present the next Earl – now or ever."

"Are you certain?"

"Absolutely! Or as certain as the doctors can be about that sort of thing. Apparently the, damage is extensive. She will live, at least for the moment; but she will never carry another child."

Darcy frowned. He had found his cousin the viscountess to be a fairly typical lady of the ton, so he had never formed a strong opinion about her. She never seemed to him to be interested in much more than fashion, entertainment and taking advantage of the privileges of her position. She had never actually seemed to care at all for her husband, which Darcy could understand, since he could never stand his supercilious cousin himself. She had seemed entirely indifferent to the idea of children as well, and it had taken more than six years to become with child after her marriage. It had gotten to the point where people wondered if she was barren, or the viscount was, or they just could not stand each other long enough to get the business over with. Darcy favored the latter theory.

Despite not really caring for his cousin by marriage, he did feel for her, and asked, "How is her health?"

"As well as you might expect under the circumstances. Other than any lingering disappointment about doing her duty, I understand she is well enough."

Darcy sighed. "That makes the succession problematic, and you do not have all that many years to resolve it. I suppose you will have to try for an annulment or divorce, but either will take years, and completely ruin both of their reputations. It will not do much for yours either, but I supposed it must be done if you want to keep the Earldom intact."

The Earl gave a grim chuckle. "It is nothing as simple as that. It turns out that Malcolm visited one brothel too many, or perhaps a hundred too many for all I know. He has the French Disease. Quite aside from the fact that no woman of any sense would touch him, let alone try to bear him a son, we will also soon have to bear with the inconvenience of him being dead. The physicians judge this will be his last Christmas. In fact, he is unlikely to see another Autumn."

Darcy gasped. "How is it possible that I know nothing about this?"

The Earl hung his head. "He hid it from all of us, and even if I had known, I doubt I would have burdened you with it. You have enough responsibilities of your own. I have no idea whether he has passed the pox on to Jeanette or not. It is entirely possible she will follow him to the grave. He kept it thoroughly hidden from me. I have only learned it in the last fortnight."

Darcy groaned. "That leaves you in a precarious position, Uncle."

"Oh, it gets worse!"

Darcy stared, but could not muster the courage to ask, so his uncle continued, "He has entered the madness stage."

"How do you know? He was about half mad to start with."

The words were not entirely accurate, but it had to be admitted that the viscount had always been a bit off. He had gambled too much, drank too much, cavorted too much, and the state of the Earldom had never been in very good hands. Everyone in the family had gnashed their teeth and wrung their hands over it, but otherwise just hoped for the best. Young men usually grew out of such behavior eventually."

The Earl grimaced again. "I have him restrained now, but the last six months he went on the gambling binge from Hell. I have debts –substantial debts– that I cannot pay immediately. They will take years to pay off, and that is assuming we can keep the creditors off our backs for that long – which is not entirely certain."

Darcy leaned back, and for the first time in his life, wished he was a woman so he could cry with impunity. That thought only lasted a few minutes though. "Perhaps it sounds harsh, but his death will probably be for the best. Is that all?"

The Earl shook his head sadly. "No, not by half. It transpires that Cathy somehow convinced some bankers of the less savory type to give her a large mortgage against Rosings."

Unable to sit still, Darcy jumped up from his chair, stalked back and forth in circles a few times, and finally settled for walking up to the wall and bashing his head against it a few times, hoping against hope that it would wake him from his nightmare.

Finally, with his ire cooled a bit, and his Uncle looking on with a bit of grim amusement and appreciation for some gallows humor, waiting patiently for his nephew to sit back down, he returned to the conversation.

Darcy said, "It seems we shall have to wait it out. The family's reputation remains good enough. Malcolm was not much better or worse than the average heir to an Earldom. An heir will eventually appear one way or another. You have Richard next in line. One of us can go to Rosings and rein Aunt Catherine in. It will be difficult and unpleasant, but I suppose we have endured worse."

The Earl leaned forward. "It gets worse, Darcy."

Unable to say much more, Darcy just nodded.

The Earl continued, "We do not have as much time as we might think. I have Cancer, so this is likely to be my last Christmas as well. You know I hate to leave such an unholy mess, but that seems to be how it will be."

Darcy poured another brandy to give himself something to do. "Something tells me you are not finished."

"Reginald got himself killed in a hunting accident."

Darcy slammed the entire glass of brandy down in one gulp and cursed with language that would make a sailor blush, at length, and in detail. His other cousin, Reginald, the much lamented second spare in case of deep trouble had always been a week candidate, but since the Earl had his own healthy heir and spare, and a babe on the way, nobody had worried much about it. The Earl had always been an optimistic man (overly so in Darcy's opinion) and had never taken any further steps to secure his legacy. Darcy never worried about it because he had enough problems of his own without borrowing trouble.

"I do not see the problem, Uncle. You just need to recall Richard, get him married, and start grooming him for the role. He will hate it, but it must be done."

The Earl sighed. "Now we get back to it. You see …"

Darcy was surprised to see the Early pause and take a deep breath like a boy plucking up his courage before jumping into a river, before continuing, "… Richard has been captured, and –let us just say– the French understand the value of what they have. They are understandably reluctant to send him home."

Glass shattered as Darcy hurled the brandy glass into the fire, and then his Uncle jumped when he slammed his fist down on the table to complete the point. It seemed obvious what the 'big ask' was, but Darcy thought he may as well get it out in the open.

"So, are you really, about to ask me to negotiate his release?"

The Earl growled a bit. "They will only negotiate in person, and you are the only one I can trust with the job. I would go myself but cannot for obvious reasons. At the moment, they think they are holding the spare. Imagine if they knew they had the heir."

Darcy picked up another glass and filled it with brandy to give himself a minute to think. "So, what happens if I do not go; or more likely, go and fail?"

The Earl rubbed his face with both hands. "I fear our family is doomed. My nephew who is next in line would destroy whatever is left of the Earldom. I can try to entail it, but that wouldn't persuade our creditors. Sooner or later, one of them will call in the loan on either Matlock or Rosings. It would not make much difference which, and it would all fall. Catherine and I would die in debtor's prison, and you would be left to support the rest of the family or abandon them to their own dooms. We are in a position where our reputation must be kept pristine enough to keep the ship afloat long enough for Richard to retrench and dig it out. Pemberley is perfectly solvent, but Matlock and Rosings are not. It will take Richard a couple of years to make it right."

Darcy got up once again and paced back and forth in the room like a tiger growling in a cage, with his mind going around in circles.

After ten minutes of this, the Earl demanded, "Sit down, Darcy! You are making my head hurt. Let us hear about this compromise of yours. I have more bad news for you but let us give you your fair chance at the lash."

The gentleman sat down again. "There is not that much to tell, Uncle. I danced with a lady at a ball that I was slightly acquainted with."

The Earl raised an eyebrow in surprise, since he well knew his nephew had essentially given up on women entirely. "So how did this dance turn into a problem for you?"

"We quarreled on the dance floor, if you can believe such a thing. It transpires that George Wickham is in the area, spreading the usual lies. She seemed like an intelligent woman, but she swallowed his tripe without question."

The Earl slammed his fist on the table and yelled, "Wickham!"

Darcy nodded, and sighed.

The Earl, calming down only slightly asked, "So why not either disabuse her of his lies, or ignore her."

"She got my blood up! I know it is supposed to be impossible, but she really made me angrier than I have been in some time."

"So, what did you do?"

"I was really tired of her questioning my honor, but there are things about Wickham that cannot be said in the middle of a dance floor. In fact, they should not be spoken anywhere in the company of a lady – at least a nominal lady. I fear I lost my temper and dragged her over to a quiet corner to set her straight – not 'dragged' precisely – I led her over there politely and she went along willingly enough."

"Please, tell me you did not get her alone."

Darcy looked shamed. "I was not quite as stupid as all that. I lead her to a quiet corner, but we were still perfectly visible to a half?dozen guests. I was speaking to her for a couple of minutes, when suddenly, all the people in the area left like rats from a sinking ship, which is what it became."

"Go on."

"Her mother came along right on schedule, dragging a half?dozen prolific gossips, and started screaming that I was kissing the young lady."

"Were you?"

Darcy scoffed. "Of course not! She is nowhere near handsome enough to tempt me, but the hue and cry went up. Her father appeared within a minute, demanding I act as a gentleman."

The Earl groaned. "Ah, the classic setup. The perfect trifecta. I imagine the so-called lady was denying the whole thing by then."

"Of course. They always do."

The gentlemen took a bit more brandy. They thought they should be getting a bit tap-hackled by then, but both men had their blood up far too high for the liquor to have much effect.

"So, what did you do?"

Darcy sighed, frowning ferociously. "I dragged the gentleman off to the library and argued with him for a half?hour. He would not even acknowledge that his wife made the whole thing up out of whole cloth."

"Of course not! His wife and daughter trapped him as neatly as they trapped you. I imagine they keep his stones on a jar on the fireplace in case of need. Then again, who am I to cast aspersions on a man who cannot control his offspring."

Darcy grunted assent. "Who indeed, Uncle. In the end, I stormed out of the room, and returned to London. I think my reputation can stand the hit, so I am inclined to walk away and let them reap what they have sown."

"How bad will that be?"

Darcy shook his head. "Very bad! They threw the dice all on one very risky bet. It is a family of five daughters and no sons. The estate is entailed on a ridiculous cousin and – oh, and you will not believe this …"

"Pray, enlighten me."

"… The heir is Aunt Catherine's rector, and quite possibly the stupidest man I ever met – and this is from a man who grew up with your eldest son."

The Earl chuckled, not the least bit offended at the slight on his son.

"So, if you leave them to their fate, all five will end up in service, living with relatives, or starving. It is tough to descend from the gentry because they usually never learn anything of value, so they have no marketable skills. I suppose they could go work in the mills, or something – maybe work as governesses or companions."

Darcy sighed. "Yes, I suppose so. The two youngest seem particularly stupid. They will likely end up as maids or married to farmers. The middle one is so invisible I cannot say a thing about her."

"Which did you dance with?"

"The second to the eldest. The two eldest must have spent time with other relatives, since I cannot fault either of their manners – aside from ruining my life, which was not very polite."

The Earl gave another grim chuckle. "Any chance the lady you danced with was not a part of the scheme?"

"I suppose it is possible, but the whole thing was awfully neat: Mother – gossips – father – all right on schedule as precise as any play."

Both men nodded a bit more, and the Earl finally said, "it is a difficult thing leaving five ladies to starve, particularly since you really do not know if four of them are guilty or innocent."

Darcy growled, but nodded. "Six if you count the mother, although starvation may well be what she deserves."

Both men sat in silence for a minute, but then the Earl stirred himself enough to say, "I hate to pile one more thing on, Darcy, but I have heard whispers that the selfsame George Wickham was in town a couple of nights ago, and he started spreading rumors."

Darcy sat up with a start. "What kind of rumors?"

"An elopement, foiled by her brother."

"And you did not start with this?"

The Earl sat forward in his chair, glared at his nephew a bit. "We have three estates and an earldom at risk. Forgive me if I started at the top. We all know he just made the whole thing up, so it should be easy enough to disprove it definitively and squash him like a bug."

The Earl watched his nephew carefully and was distressed to see his shoulders sag.

"He did not make it up. It happened …" then he paused, drew a deep breath, and continued,"… last summer in Ramsgate."

The Earl sighed. "Were there witnesses? Did he get her virtue?"

"He did not get her virtue, though there may have been some touching I am unaware of. He had a confederate – Georgiana's companion, if you can believe it. Probably my worst hiring failure of my life. I have kept Mrs. Younge quiet with threats, but she could be induced to talk, and if the rumors are out there anyway, she can confirm without actually saying anything. There were also the servants, thought I think they only have suppositions. I buttoned it up as tight as I could, and spread around some funds, but it could come out, and it would devastate her."

The Earl sat back and thought long and hard, then finally said, "I hate to tell you this Darcy, but I think you are going to have to marry the little adventuress – for Georgiana's sake, if nothing else. About time for you to start thinking about an heir anyway."

"Yes, I agree. I don't see how our family name can take very many more hits, and Georgiana would definitely be harmed by even a hint of impropriety, not to mention your fraught relationship with the bankers. Right at this moment, I don't have enough money to pay out Georgiana's dowry after what I loaned you last year. I suppose that money is long gone?"

"I can get it back, but it would start the bleeding. I do not think it would stop if I pulled that much out of the estate right now."

Both men sat and stared at the fire for a minute, and Darcy finally got up to restock it just to give himself something to do.

After a while, the Earl asked, "Do you think you can make a life with this woman? Is she pretty? Is she tolerable? Is she reasonably intelligent? Is she at least good stock?"

Darcy sat down, sighed in resignation. "Maybe I could – eventually. I must admit I was feeling a bit of an infatuation for her before all this started. Believe it or not, I actually thought I could be in some danger. That is why I was dancing with her. It seemed harmless enough since I would never see her again and it was only one last dance."

The Earl chuckled. "Famous last words, son. Famous last words."

They both nodded and thought a few minutes, then finally continued.

"Her mother is a shrill, ruthless mercenary – a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. She bet big, almost certainly without understanding the stakes. I suppose if she wins, she can be considered either smart or lucky. Of course, if she loses, she would be the opposite, but I doubt very much she would ever take responsibility."

"Big bet for an uncertain outcome. I would suppose she did not understand how easy it would be for you to walk away."

"If our family was not in such a precarious position, I would."

The Earl nodded, knowing that Darcy's reputation would be fine, and his sister's reputation would recover in time – or at least it would have without the attempted elopement."

"Do you think you can stand her long enough to produce an heir and a spare."

"Yes, I suppose I can forgive her the part she played in the debacle – eventually."

"Are you sure she was in on it?"

"Yes!"

The Earl nodded, assuming his nephew was in the thick of it and would at least understand all the players. He finally added, "You are going to have to go after Richard. That will take at least three to six months. These things always do. Maybe your ire will have cooled by then."

"Where would I have to go?"

"Paris. You would have to give your steward excellent instructions. I will help where I can, and Napoleon will guarantee your safety, as much as safety can be guaranteed in these perilous times. You do not want your personal business going through the French postal service. Post to England is blocked, so you must use privateers. They either leak like a sieve, lose your letters or try to sell them."

Darcy nodded.

The Earl thought a minute.

"Do this! See if you can manage some sort of irregularities in the marriage settlement – something you could use later to annul the whole thing with claims of fraud if you must. When you come back, you can try that route, or just put her in a country house, keep her busy with babies, and otherwise ignore her. Think she can produce children that are at least instructable?"

"I suppose so. Her mother, silly as she is, still has her looks with five children over fifteen, so long as you do not have to listen to her. She should be able to at least do that."

"Considering what an idiot my eldest son is, maybe that is not such a bad thing. If you cannot stand her, you need only visit her as often as necessary. Prime the pump occasionally so to speak."

Darcy sighed. "I always wanted to marry for Love – silly as that notion sounds for people in our position. I somehow thought it possible that I could find someone that was more impressed with me than with my purse and my estate."

"My boy, I suppose such things are possible, but they are far more the exception than the rule in our circles."

Both men nodded in grim understanding, then tucked their chins into their hands to think for a while.

Finally, the Earl broke the silence with a suggestion. "Here is the least bad course of action I can think of. Leave this Wickham to me. A man like that always has debts with people that do not like debts. I will have a few of my compatriots go out and find some such men, then find Wickham and ensure that they meet. That should get rid of him, and Georgiana will not suffer overly much, so long as you can keep his confederate quiet."

"I suppose he will likely end up dead?"

"He will reap what he has been sowing since he was a boy. Never saw what you father saw in the little weasel. Your conscience will be clear, as will mine. He dug his own hole, and it is not our fault if it serves as a grave."

Darcy nodded in resignation. "Uncle, if it is a choice between him and Georgiana, he will lose. Richard wanted to call him out in Ramsgate. I should have let him."

"Leave it to me. That just leaves this other matter. An annulment will be very messy and expensive, but we can introduce some type of fraud as justification. Keep her settlement stingy, and insure she stays out of trouble. You will not be able to guide her, so just –I do not know– I suppose you need to park her in Pemberley until you can come back and clean up the mess. Write the marriage articles carefully to make sure she does not overstretch your resources. She should not be allowed to go on a redecorating binge or degrade your reputation in the neighborhood. You know how women love to redecorate their homes and their bodies. Keep a lid on it. Lean on the 'obey' part of the vows."

Both men took another brandy, and continued to think about their options, until a servant found both sound asleep and thoroughly tap-hackled when he came in to lay the fire just before dawn.


A/N: So here we go. The chapter title is from the old saying, 'If it wasn't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.' The story title is obviously from the Book of Common Prayer.

I must thank J. W. Garret who suggested the perfect musical accompaniment. It's from He-Haw, an American Country Comedy show from the 70s. The basic lines are:

Gloom, despair, and agony on me
Deep, dark depression, excessive misery
If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all
Gloom, despair, and agony on me

Just google for "Gloom, Despair" and watch the first video.