Part of this was a plot bunny that would not go away but would also not fit into a larger story, no matter what I tried.

One of my favorite supporting characters has always been Mrs. Reynolds - she likely knows Darcy better than most people do and is the only non-family member introduced in the novel who's known him longer than a handful of years. I feel like she has childhood stories of Darcy locked up in the vault that Lizzy would eventually wriggle out of her. I wriggled one out of her for you - hope you enjoy!

Rennie Reynolds went to work for an incredibly young man in 1976.

His name was George Darcy, and she was his secretary. He'd just graduated from college and was headed to grad school, but George's father Edward felt that he needed to work during the summer, so work he did.

For Rennie, it was supposed to be an easy, temporary job. George was scheduled to go back to school in September of 1976, and she was scheduled to be married in October of the same year. She'd reasoned that once George was in school her usefulness at Darcy Holdings Corporation would dwindle. But it wouldn't matter to Rennie, since she assumed that she and her husband would soon be expecting the first of what she'd always dreamed would be several children.

But the babies never came, and even though George did go to grad school, it was close to home and he still put in many hours at the office. When she wasn't needed for George, she filled in for Edward's aging secretary, Melba. Before she knew it, Melba was retiring and she was secretary to both Edward and George full-time. She'd always enjoyed working for the Darcys; they were fair and kind and understanding employers.

And then her husband died unexpectedly and there was not just a basket of flowers for his funeral, but Edward, George, and George's wife Anne attended. They paid her for the time she was away making arrangements without her asking. Anne, who by then was round and flushed with her first pregnancy, brought her something every week without fail – a pot of stew, a loaf of sweet bread, a bunch of flowers. Funeral expenses she'd intended to put on her credit card were paid, and she knew who'd done it. The Darcys were good, caring people, and she knew she couldn't ever work for anyone else.

When Edward Darcy died in 1983 she wept more sincerely for him than she had for her own father. She watched George Darcy struggle with his grief until one day that fall, Anne brought in William, their quiet boy of four who looked strikingly like his father. Rennie had seen William as a baby soon after he was born, but in all honesty was too jealous of Anne's good fortune to be able to hold him. But she'd watched him grow through pictures, proudly displayed in George's office.

On that day, William had drawn a picture for his father and insisted upon being able to bring it to him at work. He'd also insisted upon dressing properly for his visit to the office – his father had, after all, indicated how important it was to dress well when one went to work. So, his ever serious nature accentuated by the tiny suit he wore, he led Anne into the building and to Rennie's desk.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Reynolds."

For being four years old, the boy was beyond articulate. She'd looked up and smiled at his round, bright face. "Hello, Mr. Darcy," she said with a smile, and then snuck a wink at Anne, who stood by proudly.

"Does my father have a moment for me?"

"Let me check his calendar." She turned to the planner to her right and ran her finger down the page. "He is with someone at the moment, but when his meeting is over I'm sure we can squeeze you in."

William nodded once. "Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds."

"You're welcome, Mr. Darcy." She watched William for a moment; he seemed rooted to the spot, not knowing what he should do. He simply clutched a piece of paper in his chubby hands and looked around the office, wide-eyed. Rennie suppressed a chuckle. "Would you like to have a seat?"

"Oh! Yes, I'll sit," he replied. And then he sat. Cross-legged, on the floor, in front of Rennie's desk.

Anne and Rennie both chuckled. "The couch is available too, if you like."

William turned slightly pink as he got up from the floor, and scurried over to sit next to Anne on the couch. He made not one peep as his mother read a magazine, and Rennie returned to her work. He even sat still when his father emerged from his office, shaking the hands of the two gentlemen with whom he'd been meeting.

When the gentlemen had gone, George put his hands in his pockets and simply smiled at his son for a good long minute. Rennie saw the pride in his eyes, and when George drew in a long breath, she also saw the tears there. William, at four, still had baby-like features, but George had remarked several times on the similarities he bore to his grandfather, Edward.

"Hello, William," said George quietly at length.

"Hello," said William, smiling. "Do you have a minute for me?"

George nodded, and gestured toward his office. William scooched off the couch, the drawing still clutched in his chubby hands, and walked in. George winked at Anne, and shut the door.

Twenty minutes later both Darcys emerged smiling. It was clear that the elder Darcy had shed at least a few tears. "William," he said, "show Mrs. Reynolds what you drew."

Little William skipped over to Rennie's desk and laid the drawing, now crumpled and a little tear-stained, on her desk. "It's all Darcys," he said. "Mother says sometimes pictures help when you are learning and Daddy is learning to be without Grandpa. So I drawed him with all the Darcys that I know."

Rennie looked down at the paper to find six stick figures, each with a clumsily-written name above his head: Fitzwilliam, Charles, Henry, Edward, George, William. Over Fitzwilliam's head there was a white rectangle with what looked like a fat red cross, turned sideways. "My goodness. Did you write these names yourself?"

"Yes," said William, folding his hands behind his back. "But Mother spelled them for me."

"And what can you tell me about this rectangle, here?" asked Rennie, pointing.

"That's the England flag. But you shouldn't feel silly for not knowing, because Daddy didn't either." William's eyes were round as he explained this to Rennie; it was quite clear he was of the opinion that the adults in his life needed to brush up on their knowledge of flags of the world. "I drawed that because Fitzwilliam Darcy camed from England in 1875."

"I see," said Rennie. "So these gentlemen here are all of your ancestors, is that correct?"

"Yes, all of the Darcy ones. And also Grandpa, Daddy, and me."

"And are you named for this gentleman, Fitzwilliam?" Rennie tapped the paper where the boy had drawn the most rudimentary of stick figures, with a large smile on its face.

"Yes, but he was not the first Fitzwilliam in our family. But I was also named for Daddy. But he's not the first George in our family, either." William looked up at Rennie and explained further. "See, because my name is William George, and his name is George Edward, and Grandpa's name was Edward Henry, and on and on. It's like a chain. So I drawed this for Daddy so he can remember the chain of our family. It's very important."

Rennie smiled and placed her hand on William's back affectionately. "That was sweet, William. And I must say, your penmanship is very nice."

"Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds."

"I'd like you to have that framed, Mrs. Reynolds," said Mr. Darcy, and Rennie looked up to find him standing just behind William, with one arm around his wife. "I've got just the right spot in my office for it."

Rennie smiled up at him. "Of course, Mr. Darcy; I'll take care of it," she replied. And then William tugged on his tie and asked his mother if he could invite George over to swim that afternoon.

A few weeks later, when the framed picture was handed to George Darcy, he took it from Rennie reverently. "That boy kills me sometimes," he confessed, stroking the glass that protected the crayon drawing. "He's so damn serious – if he wasn't friends with Mrs. Wickham's boy he wouldn't have any at all. But sweet Jesus is he smart." Then he gave Rennie a smile, the most genuine one she'd seen on his face since Edward passed away.

Rennie knew precisely who George Wickham was. She'd known his mother, who was a lovely woman, and she knew that George and the younger Mr. Darcy had had a falling out. She didn't know details; Darcy had only told her that George hadn't behaved like a friend. About two years ago, she'd been instructed that for no reason would he accept a meeting, formally or otherwise, with Wickham.

William Darcy had always been private, almost reclusive, but his sister wasn't quite so shy. Though Rennie also did not receive details from GiGi, enough was said to reveal that the younger Darcy was involved in the termination of a friendship that Rennie knew Darcy sorely needed. It made her sad for both young men – though honestly, more so for Darcy – that what had seemed like a natural lifelong friendship had gone so wrong.

One hot July day Rennie was sitting at the front desk at Pemberley Digital, covering the receptionist's lunch break. She was making small talk with Lydia Bennet, sweet and bubbly sister to Lizzie Bennet, a common visitor to Pemberley Digital since she was dating Darcy. Lydia was meeting both Lizzie and Darcy for lunch that day. Darcy was there because that's where he usually was, if not attached to Lizzie's side; Lizzie was there because Pemberley Digital had just acquired new video editing software and one of the lead editors was giving Lizzie a demo.

The phone rang; Rennie smiled and held up a finger to put Lydia on pause while she answered it. Once she'd transferred the caller to the department they'd asked for, she looked up, and to her horror, George Wickham was sauntering through the front door, as though Darcy had never had a bad word to say about him. She rose and opened her mouth to send him promptly away, but before she could speak, three things happened in quick succession.

First, she saw Mr. Darcy walking with long strides across the atrium. She saw rage light his face, saw him change course to move toward Wickham.

Then she saw a streak of wild red hair, which belonged to Lydia Bennet. But the streak didn't move toward Wickham, it moved toward Darcy.

"He's not worth it, Darcy," she was saying, her slight form making what would have been a vain attempt to stop him from approaching George. If Darcy had been intercepted by anyone else, Rennie knew he would simply have shoved them aside. But this was Lydia Bennet, and while Rennie sensed her boss was only just starting to adjust to her spunky ways, she'd known for a long time that Lydia's sister was much more than special to Darcy.

Lydia's sister was also the third thing that happened in that split second between Rennie standing up and reaching for her phone to call security.

She came around the front desk from the opposite direction as her beau. She was dressed impeccably in a gray business suit, her dark red hair flowing in perfect waves behind her, her sensible Oxford shoes snapping on the tile in a quick, even cadence. An utterly furious look was settled on her face, but she was calm and collected and knew that the only two people would could have stopped her at that moment were trying to wrestle each other.

Lizzie was silent. She approached George Wickham, who smiled and drawled, "Hey, peach."

She barely made eye contact before she reached up and grasped George's ear. Amid his very loud protests, and his insistence that "I just needed to pee!", she drug him past the security guard, out the door, and tossed him onto the busy sidewalk, where he collided with a very large man, who was walking two very large dogs. Without saying a word, she left George to his own devices, turned on her heel, and walked back into the building, the fury gone.

Lydia and Darcy had stopped struggling. Rennie put the phone down.

"Mr. Darcy, I'm so sorry – do you want me to instruct security-"

Darcy turned to her hand raised a hand. "It's all right, Mrs. Reynolds. I don't think he'll be back – not even to use the facilities. If he does return, perhaps Miss Bennet could be enticed with a position on our security staff."

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. "No, she could not," she replied. "What she could be enticed with is lunch."

"How did you do that?" asked Lydia.

"Do what?"

"That . . . ear thing."

"Are you kidding me?" asked the elder Bennet incredulously. "Did Mom really never do that to you?"

Lydia guffawed. "No. I was way more adorable than you as a kid, of course she didn't."

Lizzie immediately reached up and took hold of her baby sister's ear. Lydia protested loudly; Lizzie let go.

"I get it already," mumbled Lydia, rubbing her ear. Then she sighed and turned to Darcy. "You have unresolved George issues."

Darcy hoisted an eyebrow. "While I don't think you are incorrect, Dr. Bennet, I would rather not discuss this in the very public atrium."

"Then let's get some lunch. I am starving," complained Lizzie.

Darcy shifted his eyes from Lydia to Lizzie and smiled. "Would the two of you meet me in the car? It's right out front. I just need to grab my phone, it's upstairs."

"Sure," said Lizzie. Then she held her arm out for her sister, who took it. "Shall we?"

"We shall."

Both Bennets bid adieu to Rennie, and left the building.

"Mrs. Reynolds."

Rennie turned her face up to Darcy's, which was fixed on Lizzie as Goodwin, the driver, helped her into the car. The look there could only be described as adoring. "Yes, Mr. Darcy?"

He turned and met her eyes. "I'm going to marry that girl."

Rennie smiled. "Excellent choice, Mr. Darcy."

Thanks for reading!