Disclaimer: I own neither glee nor Jane Austen.

My dearest Rachel –

I am writing to inquire of your stay in Bath. You have been gone but a fortnight, and already it feels as though you have been gone far much longer. I wish that I were there with you, but I am respecting your wishes for solitude – not no matter how difficult it is for me to do.

Events here have been the same. Your father and I are working together, beautifully. My intent is for him to implement all my genius ideas – although he always has this peculiar look on his face whenever I input my brilliant nuggets of wisdom. Tell me, is he one to suffer from constipation, regularly? Perhaps, that is the reason behind his odd expressions.

But I digress. I am also writing to inform you that your colleague, formerly known as Miss Lucille Quinn Fabray, was wed several evenings ago. Mr. Ben Israel – as you know him to be our town gossip, of course – informed me that the gentleman you and I encountered – was it Hoffman? Hurston? – at the tailor's was the one who funded the whole affair. The bride was beautiful – a picture of grace and poise – and I daresay she and her bridegroom seemed quite happy.

Now then! Since talk of someone else's nuptials is finished, I am wondering when you and I shall discuss our own? You must realize, darling – a wedding is inevitable. Still – I will allow you to think more on the matter and refrain from mentioning it, again.

I hope this letter finds you well and in good health. Until I see you again –

Yours,

Jesse St. James

Rachel dropped the letter in shock. Her hand flew to her breast, and she could not breathe. Tears steadily made their way down her pale cheeks. She collapsed on her bed and mourned for Finn. That was it, then. He married her. They are having a baby, and she does not fit in his life. Her fingers flew to her lips, achingly recalling the last time she and Finn succumbed to their passion and his lips had caressed hers. She wept bitterly for her lot in life – a young woman, motherless, large-nosed, small-bosomed, - courting an agreeable enough gentleman whose only flaw might be that he believes himself to have none – while she is - in fact - in madly in love with a married man who – she knows – possesses feelings for her, too.

Emma knocked on Rachel's guest bedchamber door. "Cousin – will you join me for tea?"

Rachel groggily wiped her tear-stained eyes and fluffed her hair, trying – in vain – to tidy up her appearance – to look as if she had not been profusely crying.

"Will you give me a moment?" Rachel pleaded.

Emma's smile bore concern. "Of course. Meet me in the drawing room when you are ready."

Rachel hastily nodded and as soon as Emma left, she hurried to the bath to splash herface with cold water. She changed her frock, and an uneasy feeling of déjà vu settled in her insides as she thought back to the last time a letter put her through this kind of grief.

I must put a stop to this foolishness. Remember that song? She stared at her forlorn expression in the mirror. "Love may go hang!" – She snapped herself out of her thoughts and headed to the drawing room to sit with Emma.

Emma was already pouring the tea when Rachel arrived. "I feel as though you and I have not really chatted. Mr. Schuester went to go fetch an old family friend from Lyme, so you and I are – at last – alone to share our secrets. Tell me, Cousin – what has you trapped in misery?"

Rachel gaped at Emma, "i-in misery? But I am fine. I am in good health and I have a father who loves me, dearly. What is there to be upset about?"

"Darling – you may be able to fool Mr. Schuester with your happy front, but I know better. You forget I spent much time with my aunt – and your mother – and you look just as she when she was earnestly trying to make others think that that she was content when she was dying inside."

"And what did my mother have to be unhappy about? She loved my father, and he her – very much. And then she had me. Sounds like a lovely life to me – before her premature death, of course." Rachel hastily added.

Emma nodded, "Yes – indeed. Her life does sound quite lovely – as you put it. And it would've been lovely if what you said were true."

"Wh-what? That is a rather tasteless joke, Emma. Please do not jest of my mother in that way. I'm surprised at your unkindness."

Emma closed her eyes and took a wavering breath, "Every family has secrets, Rachel. Yours is no different." Rachel simply gaped at her. "I must have your word that you will not utter anything of this to your father. If he found out that you knew what I'm about to disclose to you, he would be heartbroken. For his sake, Rachel – promise me."

Rachel was taken aback by Emma's tone, "Al-alright. I promise."

Emma took another shaky breath before beginning her tale –

"As you know – your mother was only five years my elder, and although she was my aunt, we carried on more like sisters. Shelby had dreams – just like you – dreams of performing Shakespeare and singing Schübert in London. She passed on that ambition to you – in that way. Your mother was very young when she and your father met for the first time. Her parents were thrilled with the prospect of the match and wasted no time in meeting with the Berry family to propose a union. Your father was extremely agreeable – but" – Emma looked down, sadly. "They did not love each other." Rachel gasped - as Emma knew she would – before letting Emma continue that tale –

"They married – your mother, fifteen– and your father, seven-and-twenty, - and it was a marriage full not of passion but sensibility. They had a companionship – at best – and loved each other as you would a sibling. You were conceived on their wedding night – for they knew it was their duty to consummate the union – and they never knew each other in that way again.

"When your mother learned that she would be in the family way, she was excited about a baby, and surely you must know she loved you very much. She was also hopeful for a possible connection between your father and herself, concerning you – maybe their love for you might spill into creating actual love for each other.

"Your father had grown up with a servant named Leroy, and they were very close – like you and Mercedes. It made much practical sense for him to move in with the newly wed couple, and both of your parents treated him very well. Your mother was three months along with you when she found your father and Leroy locked in an inappropriate embrace. Suffice it to say, your mother's pride was hurt, deeply. And though it is taboo to talk of such things, I will say your mother finally found out that Leroy made your father happier than she ever could. And so, she suffered in silence, confiding only in me her great misfortune in love. It would have been far worse if your mother had actually loved him, but nonetheless, her humiliation was almost as tragic.

"Two fortnights before you were born, she confided in her parents what she had seen, and before she could say another word, Leroy was quietly sent away – shipped off – as it were. Your father was outraged and stopped speaking to your mother at that point. She tried to apologize, but he would hear none of it. So she went through the pregnancy alone.

"Here's the part you know – your mother did – indeed – die from childbirth, and your father was so remorseful of his actions to her, he withdrew from you – his precious baby girl. He was heart-stricken, but only for Leroy. He mourned your mother but – in a way that was full of guilt, not love."

Rachel was stunned silent for several minutes. Finally, she spoke in a quiet, unsure voice, "Wh-why are you telling me all this?"

Emma pursed her lips, "I have seen the way you look when you talk of Mr. St. James – your suitor. I know society tells that as women – we are nothing if unattached – but Rachel – I implore you – do not enter in a loveless marriage. This is the nineteenth century – let us marry for affection – not sensibility."

Rachel took in every word. "The way you speak – sounds so revolutionary. And you need not worry, he wishes us into matrimony, but I have not yet consented. Truthfully" – Rachel took a deep, wavering breath before continuing. "Truthfully, I love – I love another, but – he and I cannot be together – and" – feelings for Finn flooded back to the surface and she broke down – "and I have no idea what I am doing." She confessed as a lone tear trailed down her cheek. Emma reached out and wrapped Rachel in her arms like you would a small child.

"Fancy yourself up, Cousin! We are going to a ball."

Rachel put down her novel and clapped her hands, "A ball sounds positively divine. Oh, how I adore dancing!"

Once Emma provided an absolutely gorgeous gown for Rachel curled her hair in a modern up-do – tendrils of curls falling in her face – and graced her neck with a gold chain, she took Rachel's arm and led her to the carriage.

If there were to ever be a cure for Rachel's distress, it would be dancing. Several gentlemen were filled in on her dance card, and it was still early in the evening. She met a rather handsome and agreeable young man – Mr. Evans – and she very much enjoyed his company. And while she loved the gay sport and was very pleased to have met someone as gentile as Mr. Evans, she still felt an emptiness in her heart and could not rid herself of it. Nevertheless, she was determined to have a fine time.

"Miss Berry – tell me – have you a suitor? Someone as beautiful and talented as yourself must have one," Mr. Evans's eyes shown with merriment.

Rachel's eyes were downcast and the heaviness – that had always been present – pressed down on her heart, once more, "I do have a suitor, Mr. Evans. His name is Jesse St. James, and I am quite fond of him."

"I only ask – Miss Berry – because there has been a gentleman who arrived not too long ago who has been admiring you from afar. I found it my brotherly duty to ask for his sake – because he appears to be quite taken with you." Rachel spun around, searching for such a man but saw no one. Mr. Evans winked at her, "I have a feeling you two will encounter each other soon enough. And now, I believe our dance is over. Who is the next lucky fellow on your dance card?"

Rachel glanced down to her wrist but realized the card had flown off her where she was dancing. "If you will excuse me, Mr. Evans, I must go find my card for I haven't the slightest idea who I am to dance with next."

Mr. Evans chuckled and accompanied her in her search for her card. Several minutes passed, and she saw nothing until –

"Miss Berry! I found it." Mr. Evans thrust the card into her hands. "A gentleman – the same one I was telling you about – gave it to me."

"Oh – thank you, Mr. Evans! And now - wait a minute!"

"What is it?" Rachel shook her hand and lifted up a hand, silencing him. For on her dance card, every name was marked out – except for one at the very bottom – a name that sent her heart beating rapidly against her chest. She looked up to find the owner of the name – and there he was – gazing at her with such tenderness and – dare she say – love. You might have already solved the puzzle, but I will nonetheless. The bearer of the name on her card was none other than Mr. Finley Hudson.

A/N: Hoho! Family secrets revealed. Reviews are love!