Thank you for reading my first chapter! This is the first submission and is the raw chapter with minimal corrections. Please shoot me some feedback. I'd love to hear it! :)

XXX- I will be removing this story from FanFiction on December 15th to prepare it for publication. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy it! :)

XXX- This story has now been removed in preparation for publication. It will be released on Kindle early January. Check out the blog Just Jane 1813 for the cover reveal on New Year's Day. :)

Chapter 1

Pemberley, Derbyshire, 1794

Fitzwilliam Darcy looked out the window across the estate as the late afternoon summer sun began to descend behind the woods of Pemberley. This cannot be happening. Attempting to maintain his even breathing, he gripped the windowsill to steady himself before slowly turning to take in his surroundings. The golden light danced across the elegant room with the lavender hues of the walls complementing the darker plum of the canopy and drapes. The rich wood furniture brought in elements of nature, as did the painting of Pemberley's gardens hanging above the settee.

Yet, no matter the beauty of the room itself, he could not escape the obvious. The scent of illness and death, which he had long ignored, was now permeating the room of the only woman he had ever loved. He abandoned his post and walked tentatively over to where she lay. Her small frame seemed engulfed in the mahogany four-poster bed while the pillows and feather quilts swallowed her up. He gently sat down on the edge as she opened her eyes and slowly smiled at him.

"Fitzwilliam."

"Yes, Mummy," he said trying to ignore the catch in his throat.

"Come closer, son." She tried to move the counterpane,but in her weakness was only able to rest her hand on the covers. "I would speak with you." Her breathing was slow and determined; she seemed not to want this moment to pass without telling him what he needed to know.

"Yes, Mummy? What about?"

Lady Anne Darcy took a deep breath and began the conversation she never wanted to have. "Wills, as much as neither you nor your father wish to acknowledge it, my days are limited."

"Mum!"

"Please, let me finish." Her words were interrupted by a fit of coughing causing young Darcy to rush to the end table and pour her a glass of water. He gently put it to her lips.

"Drink, Mummy." His brown eyes took in her frame. He realized her own blue eyes, once filled with laughter, were now dull and tired. Her golden blonde tresses, which before had shone like the sun, hung limply in a plait down her back. Her skin was pale, almost translucent as she took the final sip of the water through her parched lips.

He pulled it away and she gently smiled at him. "Thank you, Fitzwilliam. You have always been my joy." She attempted to reposition herself as he moved her pillows and straightened the cover before she continued. "Other mothers of the ton never understood why I showed you such affection. 'A child should be seen and not heard,' or 'Nannies rear children, not mothers.'" She raised her hand with great will and touched his face. "They could not understand the love I felt for you, my sweet William. Since the moment you were put in my arms, you have made me the happiest and proudest of mothers." She paused as a tear escaped and streamed down her cheek. "Your goodness and honesty are such examples to others that I cannot wait for our little Georgie to grow and be taught by you." At this she looked down at the infant asleep at her side just three days old. "You will grow up in strength, as your father, to be the rightful Master of Pemberley. Always remember who you are and the people who came before you and loved you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mummy." At this point he couldn't stop his own tears and began to cry while laying down next to her.

"There, there, my sweet Wills. There is no shame in crying." She ran her hands through his dark brown curls, and wiped away his tears. "You know the love I have for you will not end in death; know that I want you to be happy; know whatever choices you make, in life will be right for you. You have both a duty to Pemberley and your family. But, you also have a duty to yourself." He lay there as she began to softly sing his favorite song— the same she would always sing when he would sneak away from the nursery into her room at night after a nightmare:

"The pale moon was rising above the green mountain,

The sun was declining beneath the blue sea;

When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain,

That stands in the beautiful Vale of Tralee.

She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,

Yet 'twas not her beauty alone that won me;

Oh no, 'twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning,

That made me love [her], the Rose of Tralee…"

"I love you, Fitzwilliam."

"I love you too, Mummy!"

He snuggled closely to her until he could hear her heartbeat and the raspy sound of her breathing. He couldn't have asked for a more perfect moment: to be alone with his mother before she left the earth, drinking in her love and attention; having her only to himself.

They lay like that for a few more minutes, both trying to absorb every detail of what could possibly be one of their last times together, until their sacred reverie was shattered. A sudden chill ran down his spine as deafening shouts were heard from the hallway, and he felt his mother's arms stiffen.

"Where is my sister? Where is she? Move aside at once," the voice bellowed.

A low groan escaped from Anne Darcy's lips as she held tighter to her son and gently kissed his brow.

"Your Ladyship, if you please. Lady Anne asked not to be disturbed until the Master arrives back from Lambton. She is with the young Master and Miss Georgiana."

"Impudent fool! I am her closest living relative. Open the door for me at once before I have your job!"

Within an instant the door was forced open, knocking over a small table and carrying with it the storm which was Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Tendrils of white curls spilled forth in a fashionable manner from her black widow's cap while her black lace mourning gown flowed behind her. Her normally pallid hue was colored with anger. But it was her very aura which demanded attention, not her person.

"Anne, sit up at once. I wish to speak to you." The barked orders shocked her company.

Fitzwilliam's mouth dropped open at his aunt's demands, but he remembered his place and immediately closed it trying to remain calm. He knew her to be rude and unfeeling, but on her sister's deathbed? Georgiana began to wail as their peace was infiltrated by this foreigner, and his mother tried to shush her. Seeing young Darcy lying with his mother, Lady Catherine spoke immediately.

"Fitzwilliam Darcy, get out of that bed this instant! Are you trying to kill your mother faster than God intended?"

He jumped to his feet pulling some of the blankets with him as he struggled to stand, attempting not to invoke more of his Aunt's anger.

"Wills, you could never harm me, but only give me strength." Lady Anne softly whispered. The air around his mother seemed to bespeak of heaven as he looked at her. Raising her voice, she continued, "Fitzwilliam, will you call the nurse for Georgie so I may talk to your Aunt?"

He shook his head and walked back to the fussing infant. "No, mother, I will take her myself." Both women in the room looked on in surprise as he awkwardly scooped up the baby and attempted to silence her by bouncing and rocking back and forth as he had seen the nurse do many times in the previous days. Georgiana's cries eventually ceased, and Lady Anne smiled at her son with pride.

"Well done, Fitzwilliam," Lady Catherine barked at him. "Now, leave your mother and me alone so we may finalize some important information. And, Fitzwilliam," she continued. "Give that baby to the nurse. A future master should not be coddling an infant!"

Lady Catherine walked over to the settee and sat down immediately, glaring at the young boy the whole time. He looked at his mother for confirmation, who nodded to him and said, "Darling, go see if your father has returned from the village. I'm tired and need to see him."

"Yes, Mummy," he answered, as he closed the door behind him, first turning to catch one last glimpse of her.

Lady Catherine took a deep breath and began, "Anne, you need to stop this nonsense immediately. You need to arise at once, and go outside. Some fresh air will invigorate you and then this trifling illness will cease."

"Catherine, I…"

"Never mind," she cut her off. "I want to speak to you about an urgent matter. If you continue to persist with this charade, we need to establish the future for Fitzwilliam and Anne."

"My niece?"

"Yes, your niece. I want your assurance that Fitzwilliam will marry Anne when they come of age."

Lady Anne sighed with both the exhaustion of her illness and the weight of her sister's demands. She glanced around the room trying to memorize everything that mattered to her in the world: the picture of Fitzwilliam hanging above the fireplace; the miniature of her dear husband on her side table; the silver rattle from her little Georgiana on the dresser; the view of the grounds of Pemberley through her window. All this she absorbed as she turned back into her sister's prattling.

"I want you to promise me you will speak to him about his responsibility to the family, to Pemberley and to Anne."

"Catherine, Fitzwilliam is not even twelve years old. He does not need to have it thrust on him by his dying mother that he should marry Anne. She is a fine girl, but I want him to marry for love, not duty."

"And what if he does love Anne? What then?" Lady Catherine responded indignantly.

"Catherine, I was not insulting Anne. She is a dear girl, and I'm sure she will make a wonderful wife. If that is what Fitzwilliam wants, then that is what I want for him."

"But…?"

"But, I do not want the last moments with my son to be those of guilt. Please drop this subject and allow me that." She began to cough forcefully and called for the maid to bring her water as her sister sat there unmoved.

When the fit was over, Catherine said, "I can see I can't change your mind, so I will move on to a different subject. I have a few papers my solicitor drew up to ensure your inheritance from father's estate will pass to a trust for Georgiana. Fitzwilliam will be provided for by the Darcy estate. You owe it to your daughter."

"I believed my husband had already taken care of this?" she replied weakly, reaching for the papers.

"No, he did not," Catherine answered, putting a quill in Anne's fingers instead of the papers. "Sign there at the bottom."

She pointed to the lower portion of the paper as Anne withdrew her hand. "I would rather George looked at these before I sign anything."

Lady Catherine bristled at the unspoken accusation. "Anne, do you not trust me? I am your sister. Everything I do is for your benefit. Allow me this final kindness for you."

A wave of uncertainty washed over her as Lady Anne Darcy, the mistress of the great estate of Pemberley, was once again reduced to a child by the mere tone of her sister's words. "Very well, Catherine," she sighed. "Please hold the paper steady so I may sign it." She weakly reached up and scrawled her name across the paper, 'Lady Anne Darcy.' "Sister, I am weak. Please leave me to rest. I'll call for you later."

Lady Catherine rose quickly, content to have received what she came for. "Very well. Goodnight, Anne."

"Catherine, would you please ask Mrs. Smith to come in?"

"Of course."

Anne Darcy waited with shallow breath as her trusted maid entered the room only a few minutes later.

"You need me, my lady?"

"Yes, Hazel. Would you please take a letter for me? I feel it is of grave importance."

"Of course, your ladyship."

"Once you have completed it, and it is signed, place it on my writing desk."

"Yes, my lady. How would you like me to begin?"

Lady Anne Darcy looked out the window for one of the last times of her life. Tears began welling in her eyes as she replied, "My Dearest Fitzwilliam…."

"Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, come at once. Lady Anne calls for you!"

"Sims? What is it?" George Darcy awoke suddenly and rolled over in the darkness struggling with the covers wrapped around his ankles. He heard the barking of his sister-in-law through the door leading to his wife's chambers, and rose at once running towards the noise. Lady Catherine was already there, berating Anne to find the strength to pull through. What George had originally thought were cries, were shrieks of anger.

"Anne, stop this at once, you head-strong girl!"

Anne's eyes opened and closed slowly. "George, Fitzwilliam, Georgiana…"

"I am here, my love," George said tenderly pushing past his wife's sister and placing a kiss on her wrist. "I am here."

Fitzwilliam rushed into the room, knelt beside his father, and laid his head on the bed next to his mother's small frame. "Mummy? Mummy, please stay. Please don't die!" His sobs were muffled in the counterpane as the door was pushed aside and Georgiana was brought in in the arms of her nurse, who gently placed the sleeping baby on the bed next to Mrs. Darcy.

"Oh, George," Anne continued with a far-off whisper. "Tell Georgiana I loved her. Let her know of me— the mother who cared enough to give her life, then was taken to heaven to be her guardian angel."

"Anne, my bride. Do not leave us. Doctor Griggs is arriving tomorrow from London. Wait for one more day and all will be well. Please my love."

Lady Catherine was taken aback by the inappropriateness of his words spoken in the presence of the servants, but held her tongue in the company of her brother and his impending grief. She turned her head to avoid the intimate exchange when she noticed a letter on Lady Anne's writing table addressed solely to 'Fitzwilliam' and saw the wax pressed with Anne's seal. Her curiosity was piqued and she only wrestled with her thoughts long enough to hear Fitzwilliam say, "Mummy, I will protect Georgie. I promise."

As Lady Anne Darcy breathed her final breath of life, Lady Catherine de Bourgh thrust her sister's dying thoughts for her son into the sleeve of her own dressing gown. No one will know, she thought, pulling back her shoulders, raising her chin and striding over to view her sister for the last time.