YAY! The first chapter is finally here. It took a long time, what with school and everything, but it's here!

This is a love story with pride and lots of prejudice. Though it's a love story between the children, I do plan to put in lots of stuff about the Darcys, Fitzwilliams, Hamiltons, Bingleys, the remaining Bennets and the Collinses as well as the other minor characters.

Being second cousins, one would assume that Violet Darcy and Henry Hamilton would have known each other and quite possibly been good friends from birth. At the very least one would have thought that they should know of the other's existence. One would have been very wrong.

At the ages of six and seven, both Henry and Violet were kept ignorant of such a connection. Anne Hamilton nee de Bourgh hated both of the Darcys for foiling her and her mother's plan. The Darcys could not forgive Anne for forcing them into four years of utter misery and misunderstandings, or Lady Catherine for her harsh words spoken to Elizabeth before their marriage. Thus, neither family mentioned their relations and their children were left in the dark. It was not until the funeral of Mr. Percival Hamilton that the two children even saw each other, and even then, they were still unaware that they were related.

Violet did not even know why her parents had made the journey out the Kent in the first place. She remembered hearing that her mother wished to visit a friend, Mrs. Collins, but the visit hardly lasted long at all. Mrs. Collins was busy with her three children and the friends lost all opportunity to converse when Mr. Collins returned.

Why they had come to Rosings to the funeral of a man Violet didn't even know still baffled her. With nothing better to do, she scanned the crowd searching for a face, any face that was familiar. Eventually her gaze stopped on a boy about her age, the only child present with the exception of herself and her baby brother Fredrick.

The unknown boy's face was contorted with pain as the funeral progressed. She could see tears building in his eyes even from as far away as she was standing. He swallowed them back several times, but with each word of the eulogy, they rose up again, each time more powerful than the last.

The eulogy in itself was somewhat of a singularity. It contained very little fawning that was usually wont throughout Collins' sermons. It was derived from the genuine respect and amity that had arisen between the both the Collinses and Mr. Hamilton. Charlotte also had a large role to play in the speech, convincing her husband that it would be in poor taste to have Lady Catherine or her daughter read his eulogy after such a tragedy had befallen them. Having no one else to edit it, Mr. Collins asked his wife to read through it, and found himself rather pleased with the alterations made. Due to their efforts, the eulogy was both heartfelt and touching, bringing many to tears.

All those that knew Hamilton best surrendered to the tears which they could not suppress. Those who had no more than a passing acquaintance with were too gripped with sadness. Out of the many hundreds of people who attended, only two felt nothing whatsoever. And, regrettably, they were the man's own wife and mother-in-law.

Percival Hamilton's easy temper and likeable manner was something that easily won him friends, but, this did not affect Lady Catherine or her daughter. Other than the servants, the only person at Rosings who truly loved him was his son, Henry.

It was the same Henry that Violet saw near tears as he watched his father's casket lowered. As the eulogy neared the end, tears blurred his eyes, and Henry knew he couldn't take any more. With a repressed sob, he ran off, not giving any mind to the inquisitive glances of some of the crowd or the irritated eyes of his mother which followed his retreat.

Violet had been watching Henry for the majority of the funeral, moved by his grief. When she saw him run off, something stirred within her and she sneaked around her parents. Her mother was trying to keep her brother quiet and her father was holding her mother's hand and comforting her. They did not even think that their, always well-behaved, daughter was moving farther and farther away from them.

When she was carefully out of sight, Violet broke into a run, following the same trail as the boy. As she ran, her eyes scanned back and forth searching for him. She did not see him. Finally, as she neared a large oak, she found him.

It was very likely that Violet should have passed this tree without stopping, but for the fact that her seven year old legs would not carry her any farther. She sat at the base of the tree to catch her breath and contemplate whether continuing on was a good idea. Her parents would start looking for her soon, and she did not want to upset them, but something about the boy called to her; gave her the urge to impulsively follow him, needing to relieve his pain. A minute later her decision was made for her. A quiet sob reached her from the other side of the trunk. Picking herself up and brushing of the loose debris that clung to her dress, she carefully walked around the tree.

Henry knew that he had been wrong to run away like he did and he would be punished for it, but he had been pushed over the edge by his mother. Henry had fought the battle with tears, knowing his mother to disapprove of crying. It had been too much though, when she had muttered to Grandmother Catherine, "How long is that insufferable clergyman going to keep droning on about my husband? I put up with that man for the past eight years and now I have to sit through this?"

The distain that colored her tone and the total indifference she held towards his father's death chilled Henry. The only memories he had of his father were good ones. He could not think of one instance in which he had been mean or even the slightest bit rude to anyone. There was no praise to great for his father.

"Excuse me," a feminine voice said very softly. She knelt down and rubbed her hand on his back like her mother used to do for her. Henry turned his tear stained face towards her, instinctively raising a hand to brush away his tears. He attempted to stand, as was proper when a lady came near, but she gently put a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Please, don't go. I only want to help." Her eyes shown with true concern for his wellbeing. With a sigh he turned away from her, and stood, making her hand fall limply back to her side.

"My father just died! There is nothing you can do." He whirled around and spat the words at her, though regretting them mere seconds after they were said. Still she crouched on the ground, looking up at him with a strange look in her eyes.

Though many people would have stormed away after such an outburst, Violet could not. She could hear the pain in his voice. Instead she looked up at him in pity, waiting for him to give her a sign. Seeing the conflicting emotions on his face led her to believe that he did not know what he wanted. She would wait.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, "I just don't feel myself today. Did anyone else follow me?" Violet shook her head, wondering how no one would have gone to look for the two young children who had gone missing.

"Just me."

"And why did you come?" She opened her mouth to answer, but closed it just as quickly. Why did she follow him?

"You looked like you needed someone." Henry involuntarily allowed a small smile to appear. He sat back down beside her and they talked. He shared memories of his father and she told him stories of her family to make him laugh. Two hours passed before they knew it.

"Violet? Where are you?" The booming voice of Violet's father was what awakened the two of them back to reality. With a regretful sigh, she said her goodbye.

"Wait," Henry called to her as she took a few paces away, "I don't even know your name."

"Violet Darcy." She curtsied to him with a giggle. With a serious face Henry gave her a somber bow.

"I am Henry Hamilton. Pleased to make you acquaintance." Snatching her hand, he deposited a kiss on it, like he had seen his father do many times before. Violet giggled again and was about to reply, when her father's voice sounded again, much louder this time. She began to pull away, when Henry tightened his grip on her hand.

"You will write to me, won't you? Promise?" Violet looked him in the eye steadily.

"I swear that I will write to you faithfully, for as long as you write to me." With that, she extracted her hand and dashed off, hoping her father would not be too angry.

Henry watched her go his feelings caught in a confusing mix of extreme happiness and regret. For his entire life his father had been his only friend. Now that he was gone, Henry had thought he was to be alone. Now his fear was unfounded. Though he was loathe to see his new friend go, it lifted his soul to know that he would always have a friend willing to listen to anything he had to say. The day had begun in blackness, but it was worth it to know that his future was that much brighter.

I have no clue how a six year old in the early 1800s would talk. I just guessed. Hopefully it's not too bad.

What do you think?