Hello PnP fandom!

Happy Valentine's Day! Thanks for all the 'likes' and 'follows' I love them!

Thank you Guest Colleen S, Dizzy Lizzy.60, ChrisM0519, liysyl, Elin Eriksen, Deanna27, dksais54, and Another Lizzie for your reviews! I loved them! Thanks to all the anonymous readers too! Come on... try to leave a few lines as well. It would be great to 'hear' your opinions!

Spoilers ahead! I may or may not change vital elements in Darcy's life. You've been warned! There may be a surprise or two next. Muah-ha-ha!! Either way, there'll be an author's note at the end of this installment.

"You are blood of my blood,

And bone of my bone,

I give you my body that we two may be one,

I give you my spirit till my life shall be done."

—Diana Gabaldon—

TWO

THE CHANGES FATE BESTOWS

That morning –during the first sennight of the month of February, in the year 1795— a rider was seen approaching Pemberley at a frighteningly fast speed. So much so that when Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, who happened to be walking by a window while discharging her duties saw it all, she instinctively crossed herself, betraying both her Catholic and Irish upbringing.

'Oh Goodness! Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph! And all the Saints preserve us! Lord... Please let that man keep his head above his shoulders!' The thought had barely taken shape in her mind, by then however, the rider had already crossed the bridge.

In a way, she felt as if her words had the ability to lessen the man's recklessness. They had also the intention of sending the heavens a short prayer for his safety. Her hand had gone from her forehead to her chest, and then each of her shoulders in quick and natural succession. The gesture was so ingrained in her that it came naturally and quite unbidden. So used she was to it.

"Please, do not fret Mrs. Reynolds, that's the way with express riders..." The maid beside her tried to give what comfort she was able to give. "It has to be one I suppose..." She added, more talking to herself this time. Then went on her way continuing with her duties.

Though the woman was afraid on behalf of the rider, she thought him a reckless man indeed if anyone asked her. And by looking at one of the maids beside her flinch and hold her breath, she knew she was not the only one to think thus, apparently. A good rider he may be, but with the present weather, what she saw told her that the man may not be at all sensible. Perhaps the news was not good for him to ride this hard? Good news rarely warranted an express in her opinion.

The man had been running at a gallop in the Manor's direction. He thankfully slowed in some measure after crossing the bridge over the frozen waters of the Derwent. The frost had made the roads difficult and dangerous to travel. Not to mention the strain and possible injury to the horse.

After, he kept going at a still steady fast pace. He followed the road and ran a small distance North, then suddenly turned a hard right South, and was approaching the house from that direction. This lead him to the entrance at the North end. The rider slowed down progressively, until he stopped close to a round fountain on the West facing garden. There, he was surrounded by a small French style garden,

He did not know where to go after that. This did not seem to be anywhere near the stables. He found out later that indeed it was not, for the stables were at the Northeast end. Quite a way from where he had stopped initially.

He waited to be received. apparently he had been seen, and there was someone walking in his direction. His progress had been detected by the Housekeeper a few moments before.

Mrs. Reynolds walked down the service stairs to arrange for some hot soup or stew –probably both— and some tea, possibly something stronger. Thinking the rider was surely in need of a hearty meal after a strenuous ride, further, maybe a bath might be welcome too. Also, it occurred to her as she approached her destination, that she needed to have a footman receive the man and show him to the stables, then to a place where he could rest and keep warm.

"Bessie, will you be a dear and ask Cook to have some of that stew we had earlier warmed up? And tell her to have some ale ready... Tea as well, please." The maid was about to leave her side.

"Oh, And could you have someone tell Mr. Reynolds to send a footman to the west gardens to lead the rider to the stables and then the kitchens. Mr. Reynolds must be in his office now."

It had been an incredibly cold winter so far, with rain, frost, and frozen rivers. The woman knew this last sennight, as the cold was lessening a little, and with the thawing of the rivers and snow that had accumulated, all of it was bound to be the cause of floods, they were inevitable. For some reason she feared the news this rider brought. She had "a bit o'the sight," or so the people who knew her well thought. Sometimes she used it to her advantage, and sometimes she just plain feared it.

Like today.

~oOo~

George Darcy was at that moment, in his private study, the small one he preferred to use when not occupied in estate matters. It was located adjacent to his apartments, and those of Anne. A cozy place to spend his leisure time. And as was his habit, when a copy of 'The Sun,' his favorite news paper arrived with the mail, he ensconced himself there, to enjoy the news, the worthy ones, and yes, sometimes even a few of the gossip articles. Oh, the Ton, the Ton... He chuckled.

He distractedly lifted his head to look at the painting of his wife. A habit of his he did nothing to improve. Why would he? He had had this portrait painted right after his wedding with his Anne. The mischievous glimmer of light in her eyes, as she looked at him sideways, made his heart skip a beat every time he saw her in that painting.

'She was glorious then, she is even more so now.'

After looking down again, he continued reading the paper with the latest news from London. At least the latest that could be brought up to Derbyshire in such weather, and as some of those news were of the foreign sort, it was even more doubtful they were really the latest in all actuality.

"William V, Prince of Orange, fled the Dutch Republic and has gone into exile" he read the header, but he could not continue further, as at that moment there was a knock on the door.

"Enter." The man said as he set the paper aside.

"Excuse me Master."

"Come, come." He said, looking up to see the young man walking to him.

"A rider just arrived bringing this express from Newark-on-Trent" the footman advised. The Master bid him continue. 'Whatever could it be? In this weather no less...'

"The messenger told Mrs. Reynolds he has to continue North to deliver two more letters, sir," clarified the tall young man after being told by Pemberley's Master to please have the rider wait for him to write a reply and take it back to whoever might have been the sender.

After giving his answer, the young man presented the small salver where the missive rested.

"Thank you Peters" answered Mr. Darcy. Wondering why anyone would write from Newark –nobody he could remember knowing lived there— he asked:

"Did he say for whom?" Peters looked confused. "The other missives, I mean, for whom were they?"

"I do not know, Master. Mrs. Reynolds did not say."

After the exchange, and with a nod to each other, Darcy quickly broke the seal as Peters left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Once alone, he began reading the contents. Suddenly, he stood up without even noticing, his countenance then became paler and paler as he kept reading. His hands shook, but his fingers were tense at the same time, and could not but wrinkle the missive he held.

Being alone as he was, he did not much care for the manner in which he fell onto his chair again. He felt as leaves probably do, when blown away in a strong wind. His eyes filled with tears, though they would not fall. The immense grief left him paralyzed. He was not even attempting to hold the tears back, they simply did not fall. In spite of that, wracking sobs shook his body.

"...We sadly regret the need to inform you of the deaths of your brother, Lord John Darcy, 5th Earl of Holderness, and of your nephew, the now late Earl's son, Lord Elijah Darcy, Baron Darcy and Conyers.

The carriage on which they traveled bore the Earldom's coat of arms, that is how their possible identities were suspected. They were found after being caught in a flood caused by the Trent, a few miles downriver, close to North Muskham, both of them were still inside the equipage. Their signet rings gave us confirmation of their identity. The Magistrate in Muskham has them in his keeping, along with other personal effects.

Two more letters aside from yours are being sent. One of them to his widow, the now Dowager Countess Holderness, Lady Margaret Darcy. And the other to his eldest daughter's husband, The Right Honorable Viscount Alcott, Lord Theodore Lawrence, to inform them of the sad news..."

He stood up and began pacing. Going from his desk to the door and back, several times. His eyes did not credit what he had just read. His heart was not able, nor willing to accept what the words in that letter claimed. He was in a state of shock. As such, he tried to deal with what little did make sense to him.

'So the other letters are for Margaret and the girls...' he thought.

After a while —where he could not think, move, or even breathe— the tragic news sunk in. Tears began to fall in earnest. One after the other, every second growing in number, until they could not be counted. His posture sagged, he kept forcefully wiping the tears from his eyes, they did not stop. The effort was to no avail though, because they kept falling.

He kept his eyes on the letter after he calmed somewhat, then he started reading it again, then did so another time, to convince himself this was not just an awful nightmare, conjured up by a night of overindulgence. But it was a real waking one. He stopped trying to staunch the salty flow of tears. The hurt inside was not diminished by this, he wished those tears could help him wash the pain away. It could not be done.

This recent loss compounded with old ones. He felt numb for a while, surprised by the loss of a beloved brother and a dear nephew. John was but 50. His elder brother could still have done so much, were it not for this! And Elijah, the young man had not even reached his majority yet. Everything taken away... It should not be so!

'Oh, brother, how I shall miss you... How we all shall miss you! Margaret... Oh, Margaret, how will she bear it? And to lose young Elijah as well! What a tragedy...'

This news reopened an old wound. The sadness threatened to drag him down. He was suddenly assaulted by memories of his younger sister Amelia. A sister who had made mistakes, heavy ones, but he had loved her nonetheless. She had been gone these past one and ten years. She had been only nine and twenty. Divorced by her husband, a stranger to her children... Married again to an unworthy Captain...

This letter told him his elder brother was also gone now.

The letter fell from his limp fingers onto the floor.

Losing a parent was somewhat less painful. The former is expected at some point, though not any less difficult nor sad, but it was the way nature usually worked. Siblings, children, they were something different altogether. He well knew this. It hurt immensely.

'The possibility of more years ahead of him is gone now, the chance to watch his children's children be born and grow. Not anymore... Elijah will not have it either...' The man's mind immediately jumped to his own son. He could not even imagine something ever happening to his little boy.

'Oh...' The sudden realization gave him pause. What a burden on his little Fitzwilliam! He did not want that for him, but it could not be helped. 'He will become...'

All of this was too hard to accept and he could not help it, his grief had to go somewhere. His sobs were loud enough that their sound reached farther than he intended them to go. It was too late. He lifted his eyes and saw his Anne at the door.

~oOo~

She was distracted, thinking of ways to tell her husband about some important, incredible news! Her hand wandered without any conscious thought. As if protecting her secret.

Then she heard her husband's anguished cries.

This could not be good.

Hearing such a mournful sound taking shape in the voice of the man she loved, Lady Anne jumped and ran from her private sitting room, looking for him. Worried, and scared of whatever the reason was for such sound. It distressed her, it was so full of anger and pain.

'What ever can it be?'

She opened the door without knocking.

Only to find her George sitting dejectedly at the edge of his desk, holding his head in his hands, as if trying to hide behind them. He looked up at her then, his eyes begged her to go to him. His hands were awkwardly resting on his knees, barely steady, it was a picture that broke her heart.

Seeing her dear husband thus, she ran to his side and embraced him.

When she reached him, he felt safe, cared for, understood. Without an utterance on his part, his Anne simply held him, caressed his cheeks, kissed his salt ladden eyes, while he shook in her arms shedding tears of sadness and loss. But in a corner of his heart, although loathe to admit to it, he also cried because he felt helpless, and fearful of what all this meant.

Two times he tried to speak, but the words caught up in his throat. Anne simply held him tighter, and waited. However fearful he may be though, his trust in his Anne was limitless.

"Oh Anne! My Annie!"

"What is it my dear? What has made you weep so?"

George could only answer by looking down to the floor, the forgotten letter lay there. He must have dropped it at some point. Anne went to pick it up but he took hold of it first. She moved to take it from him.

As she was doing just that, both of them looked up after hearing the light steps of their boy approaching. Seeing her Fitzwilliam approach, Anne held out her arms, and the boy ran into them, scared of witnessing his parents in such a state.

"Shh, don't fret my heart, all is well."

"Mamma, why are you sad? Why is papa sad?" Fitzwilliam began to cry when he saw his parents in such somber mood.

"I'm not sad my love. And your papa is not sad either. He has had some dust enter his eyes, and he rubbed them, that is all my sweet." What else could she say, she wanted to protect her boy from any sadness. Anne knew there were things about life he needed to learn, but not this way.

George stretched out his arms, silently asking his boy to come to him, and Fitzwilliam acquiesced, turning his smaller arms to his father's, and hugging him as hard as his strength let him.

"Your mamma is right my boy, it is only that your papa can be so silly at times... Everything will be alright." He looked up to his wife and motioned for his son to go to her again.

"Now my love, go with your friend and your governess. I will be with you directly, just let your papa and I talk a little while more, will you do that for me, my heart?" she said softly, giving Fitzwilliam a kiss on the cheek. Her tone was soft but firm.

Then she looked again to the two people standing quietly by the study's door. Nodded in acknowledgement of their presence, and nudged her boy in their direction.

There, little George Wickham stood, looking curiously at the pair while they talked to their son. His look was mostly filled with curiosity, however, aside from that innocent feeling, there was a small speck of something else he could not quite understand.

Standing behind him, and trying to give her Master and Mistress as much privacy as she possibly could, was Miss Alba Trueba, the pretty, though strange colour haired Spanish governess. After exchanging a look with Lady Anne, took both boys by their hands and led them back to the schoolroom.

~oOo~

"Miss Alba?" said Fitzwilliam, in a low voice.

"Yes, little Master?" probed the young woman.

"You were telling us why your hair is green?"

"It is a gift, little Master, a gift from my family. It is the same color as my grandmamma's sister's, my Great–aunt Rosa."

"My papa's granfather was married to a lady with Prussian names –I think?—though I cannot be sure. And she had a Portuguese title! My uncle is a Lord, did you know? And he inherited that title too! Did you know that my uncle is a Count? My Mamma said Earl and Count are the same... Do you know why Portugal and your country do not both speak Spanish? May I be taught those languages? Do you speak Portuguese?"

All the while little George Wickham remained silent, but kept thinking Miss Alba was so pretty. He simply liked to watch her, not paying attention to anything else. Sometimes in detriment of his lessons.

Meanwhile, Fitzwilliam and Miss Alba kept talking in the background.

"Only a little, Master Fitzwilliam. But if you want to learn, I can teach you Spanish."

"Oh yes! I would like that!"

"Very well, then. We will start as soon as I tell the Mistress about it."

Her charge smiled at her brightly.

Miss Alba could only smile at the rapidity of her charge's speech. 'How is it that children are able to jump from one topic to another, prodigiously finding connections between them in their minds. Unfathomable...'

Another one to smile at the boy was Lady Anne, but she could no longer listen to what Miss Trueba had told him, as she and her charges walked farther down the hall.

~oOo~

"Now, dearest, tell me, what had you weeping so?" Anne asked as she held her hand out to take the letter from her husband's outstretched one.

"Read it," said her husband, lifting his arm and passing the piece of paper that was momentarily forgotten. Anne took the sheet of paper from her husband, then proceeded to read, George could not countenance telling her, it would make it all even more real in his addled mind.

Anne began to read. Soon enough, tears fell from her eyes as well when she discovered what had happened. For her George's sake though, she took a deep breath to calm herself. Drying her tears delicately with the back of her fingers, she took another steadying breath, and after fiercely hugging her husband, took him by the hand and led him to sit down beside her.

"So, they have written the news for everyone at Hornby and Parnassus?"

A small nod from him confirmed what she suspected.

He took a breath and started to say something,

"Do not worry dearest, If anything needs to be done I will see to it." Anne said. "Mrs. Reynolds will take good care of the rider before he departs. I am sure," she answered, anticipating what her husband might say. Then she added, "If you write to Margaret and Josephine. And to Theodore and young Amelia, I will see that those letters reach them as well."

"I cannot. What would I say, Anne? Her husband is gone... I— I will leave it to you my love. Please? You will know what to say."

Anne nodded.

"I shall write to Margaret first and then Amy and Theodore." They will surely need a friend. I should be with them.

"Thank you my love."

A long silent moment followed, but after that respite, George gathered his bearings, squared his shoulders, and with a strength born out of resignation, and with a long intake of breath and a slow exhale, he continued.

"While you write to them, I will have to arrange for a carriage, outriders, and temporary stops at Inns along the road."

He thought that with the thawing, the roads were bound to be muddy indeed. It was going to slow their journey. "I should make sure the horses are well shod, the wheels and everything relating to the carriage is in good repair. If all is well, then I shall depart in the morning. "

"You do that, I will be packing your trunks. Is that agreeable to you?"

He nodded and kissed her.

Before seeing to all the issues about travel, staff, horses, and the like at the stables, he needed to gather information about this trip's logistics. What he needed to this end, was stored in his office. He kept pertinent information on roads and post coach times there. He needed to have an estimate of how long it would take to reach Newark-on-Trent.

Standing up, he left the room to go and arrange matters. But not before kissing her lips again and hugging his Anne tightly.

When George came back to the Manor House, he strode automatically in the direction of his wife's apartments. As he reached the Mistress' rooms he saw a flurry of activity. He raised an eyebrow in question.

"I said I would have your trunks packed, dear, did you forget?"

"I fear I did."

"Is there anything in particular you may want to take with you?" Anne seemed to hesitate for a short moment, "After, will you be going North to Hornby as well?"

"To answer your first question, I will ask one of my own: Are you telling me I can include your person among what is being stored in my trunks?" He tried to smile. The thought of her with him cheered him up a little. Then remembering the reason the trunks were needed at all, he sobered up. But the small smiles on both their faces seemed enough for the moment.

Reality came crashing back. He had to answer her second question.

"Yes, they should be laid to rest there." In that short phrase, the sad task ahead of him was implied.

"After I take care of all matters out East, I will journey North to Yorkshire. All of it may take possibly a fortnight, I am not sure, I will write to you here, to let you know... But..." he held her hands tightly, then continued, "Will you go to Margaret, and meet me there?" He looked worried, he did not want to have her traveling by herself, even as he wished to have her beside him, always.

"Nothing will keep me away. My place is with you."

He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, and finally her lips as answer, then added, "And mine with you."

"Do not worry my love, I know what is going on inside that head of yours. I will bring Bisset with me, and I am sure Kate's sister, Irene, can accompany me as well." Anne told him, referring to her Lady's Maid, and to Mrs. Reynolds' younger sister, who was in training to become a Housekeeper, just as her sister. The woman would accompany her, if only to have someone to talk to.

"And before you run away with your worries about me, it goes without saying that I will bring an army of coachmen, grooms, footmen, and outriders. We will go slowly. I will be safe." All of that she said while smiling, rolling her eyes –how improper of her— and covering her husband's mouth with kisses after every word. It served its intended purpose when he smiled back at her, and kissed her lips again.

~oOo~

Neither Anne nor George mentioned what they were both thinking. One thing at the time. They would face what was to come when it did finally come. They would need time to think about the ultimate meaning of these changes in the wake of Robert's passing. But not then.

All that it meant for them as a family, for the future of their son, for their change in status. For what would be expected of them by Society. Most of all, what would be expected of them by King and Country. All that this meant for them, they would ponder later. But not then.

~oOo~

Throughout the nigh, the pair said their fairwells as any couple deeply in love is wont to do, minutes, hours were not enough, they could not take enough nor give enough. Their passion was, as always, their source of strength and the fuel to their spirits. They were one. Whether it was to be a separation of hours, days, or weeks it did not matter. They would always be one. Two halves of the same soul.

Morning came, she bid him fairwell. Bestowed him with a single kiss on the lips.

"Be safe for me, my heart."

"I love you, Anne."

The new Lady Holderness watched in silence as the carriage and four that held the new Earl Holderness disappeared into the distance.

He sat in silence after his Lady had sent him on his task.

She stood just inside the main doors of Pemberley. A part of her heart had gone with her husband. It always felt so when they were parted, and it always would.

The remaining pieces of it stayed there with her. The first one was holding one of her hands in his smaller one, and standing quietly beside her. The last piece of her heart –which she held under her delicate hand— was safe and warm, growing stronger every day. Her long fingers were splayed wide, in a fiercely protective gesture.

Her mind told her it was nonsensical, nevertheless, she instinctively and unconsciously found her hand resting over her lower belly. Her precious little one's heart was then beating under her own.

Alrighty, too much? I hope not. Please, forgive me for the sad bits in this chapter. On Valentine's Day... Sorry. I said there would be a surprise or two, didn't I? Well... *Smiles*

This story began taking shape one day while I was 'woolgathering' on the internet. I discovered there were a few R.L. Darcy Peers! Titled and all that jazz! Then thought, what if OUR Darcy were a descendant from a REAL Darcy? Two stood out. A Baron who literally lost his head in the times of Henry VIII, soon after Anne Boleyn lost hers. He was against The Dissolution of the Monasteries, and was involved in The Pilgrimage of Grace.

There was also Baron Darcy of Meinhill, of Knayth, and Conyers, who was later created Earl of Holderness. The title survived for 5 generations, the 3rd inherited the Earldom from his grandfather. The line ended with the 4th. But that's where this A.U. comes in! In my mind, the 4th Earl is Darcy's grandfather. Thankfully the chronology and ages fit perfectly!

The 4th Earl had 2 boys who died in infancy. The older was named George! Here, he lives to be Darcy's father. He had a daughter, she has a small role in this chapter. She passed away at 29, and was divorced. Later her daughter was part of a 'Cercei/Jaimie' sort of rumor! There was a second son, his name was Thomas, I have special plans for him. The eldest brother though, is an invention of mine. I needed him for plot purposes.

Finally, there are a few cameos, some are characters from... Can anyone guess? Another is a character from one of my favorite authors, she writes in my first language. Tell me in your reviews if you find them! And... for any Twi-fans, there is a small 'shout out' too!

Have a wonderful week everyone!

PS1. Weather described was a RL thing in February, 1795. As was the flooding of the river Trent.

PS2. Visuals for main characters in my Pinterest. Look for FireRose77 same as here. Album title is also the same as this story.