Well, I've begun writing my latest fanfic. :-D I realize that the summary doesn't actually tell anything about the plot; but I wouldn't want to give that away now, would I? If you read Amour Propre you won't be surprised that this prologue is a flashback. Prepare yourself for a lot of apparently disjointed scenes for the next few chapters—but trust me in that there is a method to my madness. Feedback, of course, is always appreciated.

Prologue

Pretty, pretty robin!
Under leaves so green
A happy blossom
Hears you sobbing, sobbing,
Pretty, pretty robin,
Near my bosom.

—W. Blake "Songs of Innocence"

"Rosy! The carriage has been ordered, and we are leaving in five minutes! Are you ready?"

The fifteen-year-old Margaret's voice echoed through the empty hall, her stern and hollow tenor much more reminiscent of an elderly school mistress' than a blossoming young girl's. Margaret had her glossy raven locks hidden beneath the brim of her straw bonnet, and the billowy black cloak fastened round her neck rather made her look like a bat. She lifted her chin to the ceiling in the way saucy, self-important young ladies do when domineering over their inferior and younger siblings, her square jaw line and milky white complexion illuminated by the waxy candle she held in her hand. She tapped her foot impatiently on the cracked and gray stone floor as her sharp black eyes scanned over the hall, which was still empty save her own presence.

Rosaline lifted her skirts as she hastily descended the staircase, breathless from rushing about. Why oh why had she slept in an hour later than she had intended? Her rosy pink frock was wrinkled and its hem muddied from a long stroll across the park the week previous; but nine-year-olds hardly ever have an eye for such deficiencies of appearance. She heard remnants of her elder sister's voice as she called for her, and so she began to go at a slight jog, her flaxen curls brushing and bobbing about her flushed cheeks. She was rather frightened of Margaret, the memory of her once pulling the ribbons out of her hair quite violently when she had been late for her harp lesson fresh in her memory. She rounded the next corner, but nearly tripped over her own feet when she was suddenly arrested by the appearance of her younger brother.

"Richard!" she cried, not with the tone of disapproval which Margaret would have undoubtedly used, but with surprise and gentleness. "What are you doing here? Margaret will be very angry if you don't come quickly—why, you don't even have your boots on!"

"Oh, I'm not afraid of Margaret," replied the boy indignantly; "And Peter isn't either. I shall put my boots on when I like. I don't see why we're going all this way so early in the morning, and on such an ugly day, too."

As he completed his speech, a gesture towards the window proved his statement true. Though it was an early hour, the sky was dark with thick, black clouds, with heavy raindrops beating against the landscape. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Rosaline paused for a moment to pay respect to the tempest, but did not reply to what her brother had said; and instead took his little hand in hers and they began to go down the hall together. Soon the two siblings, breathless, had met with their elder sister, who immediately ceased her foot-tapping and began her scolding.

"Rosy, you are going to fret Mamma so! Look at how dirty you are—did you even bother to wash up this morning? Well, I suppose it can't be helped now. Get your bonnet on, and mind you wear the one that I just trimmed for you, and not that horrid one you are so fond of. Richard, why are you not waiting outside yet? I would have thought better of you than that—oh, get your boots and your coat on, quickly! Mamma, Papa and Peter are already waiting outside. They are going to be so angry with you if you do not make haste."

Rosaline silently acquiesced, tying on her bonnet once she had received a look of something like approval from her sister, though this look was mixed with displeasure and repugnance. Richard, however, was not as conditioned in his younger age, and was more obstinate by nature. He stamped his foot on the cold stone floor and cried, flailing his arms in the air:

"Why should we go out in all this stormy weather? There is no good reason why, and I refuse to go. Mamma may fret all she likes; but I shall not budge an inch. I will not put my boots or my coat on, because I do not choose to."

Margaret frowned her harsh, scowling frown, which contorted her entire face and thus accentuated her bat-like appearance. She forcefully grabbed her brother's thin arm and then, kneeling down slightly, angrily explained:

"We are going out because Aunt Anne is ill, and she may very well die. If you do not want to go, that is fine, but you shall be in this big house all by yourself, and then if Aunt Anne does die, you shall go to Hell for having not been there."

Richard grudgingly began to get his traveling things on, though he did not look intimidated in the least. Rosaline, on the other hand, was feeling all of the fear that she thought her brother ought to have felt; and with her head hung low, she wished that she had the courage to speak in Richard's defense: but she did not. Like a gossamer web, her will wavered in the slightest breeze, and her delicate spirit shied away from conflict and strength; from anything which threatened to break what little resolve she had. The only indication of her distress was a light sigh which escaped her, and which could safely go unnoticed by Margaret.

Within thirty seconds the three children were waiting in the blustery wind alongside their parents and eldest sibling, each one's nature vastly different, but each one drawn together by their common blood. When the carriage pulled up the drive and came to a stop, and the door was flung open and the steps drawn out, Rosaline climbed into the cozy little car, the violent sounds of the storm being muffled as the door swung closed behind her. She leaned her little head against the wall adjacent to her seat, pillowing her soft cheek with her hand, and was shortly fast asleep.

----

"Rosy! Wake up!"

Rosaline opened her eyes and saw Margaret's face closely hovering above her own. She slithered up into a sitting position, though still under the scrutinizing eye of her sister. Once she was able to again sense to her full capabilities, she was surprised when she heard none of the violent rain which had lulled her to sleep and saw none of the darkness that had heretofore suffocated her sight. Margaret slowly drew away from her sister, and then gracefully alighted from the carriage. Rosaline quickly followed suit, though she more of stumbled than "gracefully alighted". When she had regained her footing, she would have thought herself in an entirely different world. Birds whistled and fluttered their wings; the sweet perfume of a June day could be tasted and smelt; wild, sloping hills and a stream flowed through the landscape. She would have thought herself in the Garden of Eden, had it not been for the grand house before her or her sister's incessant commentary.

The house, though neither natural nor wild, was, however, something remarkable. It was a regal, stone building, which was enhanced by its surroundings rather than providing a contrast with them. Rosaline, never having seen it before, was delighted by it, and liked it much better than she did the gloomy, somber appearance of her own home, even if it might have been just as large. She followed Margaret up a small set of stairs leading to a great veranda where there was assembled the rest of her family, who were conversing with an older man.

"That is our Uncle Darcy; you will remember him from the Christmas gathering last year," whispered Margaret as an aside to her younger sister, gesturing to the older man with whom their father seemed to be in earnest conversation. Rosaline did recognize the green-eyed man, though he seemed significantly less robust than she had remembered him. His hair was graying, and wrinkles tugged at his face, but she could discern that he was once very handsome.

Margaret proudly strode up to her uncle; but Rosaline felt too much intimidated by a man who had a property so wonderful and so vast. Instead her eyes wandered to a boy who was standing close by, though he was speaking to no one. Margaret had noticed him too; but she could take no pleasure in the society of a boy whom she was older and taller than, and whom she did not have the sisterly right of ordering about. Rosaline, however, was of a sympathetic nature, and only saw his melancholy expression: and, unlike her sister, she was drawn to weakness and not to strength; so she immediately went up to him. She thought that he had kind eyes, the same shade of sea-green as her uncle's, though set at a different angle. He had dark, wispy hair and ivory-colored skin, smooth and soft as a tree sparrow's bosom.

"Hello," she said quietly, smiling. Rosaline had a very sweet smile, though she had not much occasion to bestow it upon others. Her rare smiles were subsequently felt by its recipients, as they became her whole face, and the feeling flowed into her soft blue eyes. They were not the superficial smiles that Richard gave his batty old nurse when he was up to mischief, or the smirking smiles that Margaret gave people whom she wanted to please, using this as a method to cover up her displeasure. It was a smile which began in Rosaline's heart and not in the muscles of her cheek, and which earned her the compliments of being "the prettiest little girl anyone has ever seen".

"Hello," replied the boy, betraying much less emotion than his companion had in her greeting. He then bashfully averted his eyes to the ground, apparently unwilling to speak any further. Rosaline was of a timid nature, and would typically have turned away at this point; would typically have never said anything at all. But there was something about this boy that seemed to give her more animation and spirit than she was accustomed to. She was not frightened to be forward with him; probably because she perceived that she would receive little resistance.

"I think you are my cousin. Do you want to walk somewhere? This place is very pretty." As she said this, she looked around at the woody hills which she admired. She was fond of dispensing of her childish energy via long walks, and Margaret could not berate her for it if she went with her cousin.

"Okay," was all the reply she received, but it was enough. They walked down the steps from the veranda together, looking out at the bright and cheery day.

Rosaline did not plan to say anything, as she thought that it was a very pleasant thing to follow the trail which they were on, meanwhile looking at all of the colorful flowers and listening to the birds as they hummed their melodies. Whenever she was sad, all that needed to be done to remedy it was a walk; and with so many walks carved through this beautiful park, she could hardly comprehend why her cousin seemed so glum: and hoped to show him how very cleansing this whole process was. The boy, however, noticed very little, though Rosaline noticed so much. All that occupied his thoughts was his mother, who was miserable and feverish on her bed, and who could do little but moan and be unhappy. He wasn't quite sure what to make of Rosaline's artlessness. As it takes time for one to adjust to seeing a sunny field after having been in a dark cave, it took time for him to become adjusted to his cousin's brightness after having been in the company of so much misery.

"I don't think my mamma is going to live much longer," were the words he finally managed to form. Rosaline stopped and turned around on her heel, sincerely upset that this seemed to be the case.

"Would you like it if I gave you a kiss?"

Rosaline remembered a time when Richard had fallen and scraped his knee, and she had come upon him sitting in the mud, wailing and having a fit. She had been a little afraid of him, especially when her quiet but comforting words had no effect. The only thing which had gotten him to seem a little relieved of his trauma was when she bent over and kissed his head; and then he seemed soothed. And though her cousin's predicament was not quite the same as Richard's, how could giving him a kiss be detrimental? Her juvenile logic reasoned that it would soothe him as it had soothed her brother.

The boy was not really prepared for this proposition, and so he only said in the same tone as he had spoken in when she had before asked him a question, "okay". Rosaline put a delicate hand on his shoulder and gave him a light kiss on his cheek. He was surprised how gentle the sensation of her lips brushing against his cheek was, and decided that he rather enjoyed it. He smiled—and though it was a small smile, barely discernable, it was there, and Rosaline noticed it. She felt sufficiently satisfied that she had made him feel a little better, and they continued on down the trail, which now cut through a small copse.

"I don't know your name," murmured the boy, though Rosaline was quite capable of hearing his words.

"My name is Rosaline. And I don't know your name either."

"Fitzwilliam."

And from that day forward, Fitzwilliam and Rosaline had touched upon each other's hearts, however slightly and however unequally.