**hello! Just a quick note to mention I have noticed some small errors in my story, I hope they do not impact on enjoyment of the story - I will correct it all when I have completed the story. I don't think it's going to be really long, but I didn't plot it out, I'm just going with the flow, so who knows. It is my first fic, so it's bound to have some problems- feel free to send constructive criticism**
"I have it on authority that Miss Mary was quite as lively and pretty as her sisters when she was younger. Indeed, all who knew the family expected her to be the first to marry…" she paused for effect, before adding "I understand her story was quite romantic. Alas, it ended too soon, and so tragically." Lady Catherine shook her head dramatically. Her nephew, Colonel Edward Fitzwilliam had been barely attending his aunt's gossiping, found himself curious to hear more of the tragedy of his new relation.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh was the formidable mistress of Rosings Park. She was proud of her reputation for knowing in minute detail, all the concerns of the people on her estate. After her favourite nephew Darcy had sullied his family name by marrying Miss Elizabeth Bennet, a country nobody, she had sought a full account of the Bennet family from Mrs Collins, the parson's wife who was both friend and cousin to the Bennet girls.
His aunt, unused to holding her nephew's attention, continued the story with more enthusiasm than she really felt. "They were born on the same day, exactly six years apart, and I am told their mothers, being more like sisters than friends, became convinced their children were destined for each other." She sighed melodramatically, "If you ask me, it was an ill-thought out affair. Bringing the children together so much in their early years, they naturally formed a strong attachment, it set Miss Mary up for a great heartbreak when he was thrown from his horse. So unexpected. He died immediately you know."
Colonel Fitzwilliam had been introduced to the Bennet family when his cousin Darcy married her sister. A slight guilt came over him as he realized he could recall the faces of all the pretty Bennet sisters, save Miss Mary. His brow creased as he struggled to remember their introduction. She wore spectacles, she sang and played the pianoforte very ill – he remembered cringing as she banged away at the keys. She must be very short. He was tall himself, but he'd had to stoop more than was usually required to address her. He frowned, frustrated with himself. He must have quite ignored Miss Mary. His guardianship of his cousin Georgiana had afforded him some insights into the young female mind, thus he was usually quite sensitive to the feelings of young ladies.
He was aware of his aunt speaking again "….and Mrs Collins told me that when she mourned longer than society deemed appropriate, she transformed herself into the unremarkable creature she is today so that people should pay her no attention. Do you see! She conceals her feelings behind the mask of solemnity and piety. It is a good story is it not, Fitzwilliam? The whole thing is suggestive of one of those novels your dear cousin Anne loves to read." The Colonel was not unmoved by the story, indeed he bristled slightly at his aunt's lightness of tone at the young lady's tragedy. "A very sad story indeed Aunt!' he managed to offer.