A/N: I, of course, love sweet reviews but I am very proud that these last few chapters have provoked such insightful comments and led to such deep thoughts even if they are not always easy for me to read as the author. Please keep them coming, all kinds are welcome.

On thing I will say is that I truly encourage all guests to sign in. You have no idea how often I want to reply to your reviews and can't.

And without further unnecessary ado... Chapter twenty two! (See what I did there with the rhyming thing)... ok I'll be quiet. ;)

Chapter 22: November 1815

The carriage stood waiting. Richard's leg was still not well enough for riding such a long distance and Fitzwilliam had offered him one of the Darcy carriages for his journey.

The master of the house was the only other person awake besides the servants and he had come to see Richard off.

"Elizabeth will be very sorry you left so suddenly," Fitzwilliam said earnestly.

"Tell her I hate goodbyes and please thank her for everything," Richard fiddled with the carriage door as he spoke.

Darcy thought Richard still looked unwell, but he did not wish to meddle in an unseemly way in his cousin's affairs. He did want the Colonel's happiness, but if Richard choose not to confide in him, he accepted it as Richard had for him in the past.

He could only offer his friendship and he did so with a hearty handshake.

"Godspeed."

Richard gave him a grateful look and climbed into the carriage.

He had thought of leaving a message for Kitty, but he could not think how without embarrassing her and betraying that something had passed between them. If Kitty wanted anyone to know, let them know. He would not tell.

The carriage started and Pemberley faded away behind him. The house was gone, but not his memories of those who dwelt there.

Kitty woke with a headache and heartache and decided not to go down to breakfast. Lizzy came up to see her and Kitty gratefully let her sister's cooling hands rest on her throbbing head.

"Do you want to tell me what the matter is?" coxed Lizzy gently.

Kitty shook her head, thankful that Richard had told nobody of the events of the night before.

"Georgiana and Fitzwilliam both send their hopes that you will feel better soon," said Lizzy. "I am sure the Colonel would as well, but he left early this morning."

Kitty nodded wordlessly as tears filled her eyes.

"Kitty? Do you love him?" her sister asked gently.

Kitty began to cry quietly as Lizzy held her hands in silent sympathy.

"I thought I did but I refused him."

Lizzy's eyebrows rose in astonishment. "I had no idea things had progressed so far although I did think something was afoot."

"I cannot tell you why I refused him Lizzy so do not ask me," Kitty said vigorously.

"I won't," she promised soothingly. "And understand Kitty, that I will always support you in whatever you feel will best constitute your happiness. You have proved that you know your own mind and are a mature woman, not to be swept off her feet by every man who comes along."

"I would say it was only a passing fancy of his part, but the fact that he would ask me to marry him, knowing I was also poor, suggests otherwise and makes me feel more sorrow for causing him pain."

Elizabeth privately thought that he rather deserved it. A rejection would make him take women more seriously and hopefully he would learn that hearts could be wounded as easily as flesh and were not to be played with. She would not pain her sister with further remarks on the subject, so she simply held her tenderly until her tears flowed less violently.

"Please don't tell the others," Kitty begged.

"I will not say a word."

"Thank you," Kitty said, wiping away her tears and sitting up straighter.

Lizzy left her after another hug, knowing that Darcy would be curious if she was upstairs too much longer.

"Aunt Catherine."

"Fitzwilliam."

Her dress was as black as the night that had settled in his heart. She was still in mourning for her son-in-law he supposed.

"I am here to offer my condolences to Anne on the death of her husband," he said huskily.

A flicker of emotion passed over her rigid face. "To Anne," she repeated with her eyes glazed over strangely.

"Yes," Richard replied, frightened at he knew not what.

"You haven't heard then." And with the words, a chill passed through the room.

"Heard what? Aunt, what is so very wrong?"

Before she could answer, a footman appeared and announced that Mr. Collins was without.

"Show him in," said Lady Catherine in the same toneless voice.

Richard turned impatiently. "Surely he can wait Aunt. You haven't told me what the matter is."

There was a cough and Richard spun around to face the little man, who stood uncertainly in the doorway.

"Mr. Collins," said Lady Catherine dully. "Tell my nephew what is wrong."

"Lady Catherine… I in nowise presume…"

"Tell him," she interrupted with a touch of her old authoritativeness.

Mr. Collins looked distressed and Richard crossed over to him and dragged him unceremoniously into a corner.

"Has my aunt gone mad?" he whispered.

"No Colonel Fitzwilliam. It's your cousin, Miss de Bour—, I beg your pardon, Lady Farley."

"She has gone mad?" asked Richard incredulously.

"No sir. She is… dying."

Richard's heart stalled, and he dropped Mr. Collins' arm and leaned against the wall. "How?" He fumbled for words.

Mr. Collins seemed more eager to talk now that the dreadful news was out. "The doctor has given her only a few days to live. The child is fine, however."

The room began to spin. "Child?"

"Yes. A girl. Mrs. Collins has been looking after her. It was the least we could do to show…" He prattled on.

Richard looked at the erect, black figure on the couch. He shook his head as if to clear it of a nightmare. "Why were Darcy and I not informed?"

"The child was born only two days ago."

Richard turned from the unbearable man and pushed himself out of the room and down the hall towards the family's chambers. Mr. Collins was calling after him, but he knew what he had to do.

"Sir, you cannot go in there!"

Richard paid the maid no mind.

He knocked on the door and, hearing a faint "Come in," he pushed open the door a little.

"It's Richard."

"Richard?"

His cousin lay in her bed, dressed in a stiff nightgown, face so pale that it blended with the white sheets and garment.

Richard bent over her and took her hand.

"I am sorry, Anne," he whispered. She could not know all that he was sorry for, but what else could he say.

"I am not," she said in a surprisingly firm voice. "I love my little girl. I am only sorry I shan't be here to see her grow." Her voice died away at the end.

Richard glanced away to hide the tears in his eyes and saw the dark gloominess of the room. He remembered Elizabeth's first action when she came to him the morning after his arrival at Pemberley. He crossed to the window. Opening it was out of the question; the day was too cold, but he threw the heavy curtains wide, letting in a flood of winter sunshine. He crossed back to his cousin.

Anne smiled. "The sun is so cheerful. But the doctor says too much light is bad for the sick."

"I have been laid up myself and I know for a fact that he is wrong."

She lifted a hand and beckoned him to lean down. "I don't want her to stay here," she whispered.

He took a deep breath. "Anne, you will be conferring on me the greatest honor I have ever received if you will give her to me to cherish as my own."

Her eyes filled with tears and they began to run down her thin cheeks. She could say nothing, and Richard did not want her to.

"Shall I bring her to you?" he asked gently.

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, yes." In a feeble whisper she continued, "My mother said she must go to Mrs. Collins, but I want her so."

He stood up, and with a slight bow, turned and walked out, nearly blinded by tears.

Richard found himself on the path that he had taken with Elizabeth that spring day, so long ago now. Thoughts of Elizabeth led to thoughts of Kitty. He had been so wrong in his behavior to them both. The track led him to the parsonage and he walked in the open door unannounced.

Very much startled, Charlotte Collins leaped to her feet. Then she recognized the Colonel and her face softened as she saw the look in his eyes. She pointed wordlessly to the room beyond and he passed by her and through the door.

The little girl lay in her cradle. Her small face was drawn into a crumpled frown and her tiny hand clutched piteously at the air. Richard stretched out a hand to her and she grasped his finger and held it tightly. As he bent over her, he knew that he loved her. With all the instincts that have led men to care for the weak and helpless since the world began, he loved this little girl.

"I am your new father," he whispered to her as he bent over her. "And I love you. I shall take your father's place as he took mine, and I shall never regret it. Will you love me too, someday? I am in as sore need of it as you are. But there is someone else who loves you… your mother… and I am going to take you to her now."

A cough from the door caused him to turn around. He stood up abruptly. "Mrs. Collins, will you walk with me to Rosings and carry the child? Anne wants to see her."

"But Lady Catherine thinks the strain is too much for Anne."

"She wants her daughter and Lady Catherine will throw that child out over my dead body."

Charlotte nodded and gathered up the child.

In silence, they walked up to the great house.

At the door, Richard took the infant himself, with a few instructions from Mrs. Collins, and carried her in to her mother.

Without a word he laid the little girl beside Anne and then withdrew a little, to stand by the wall, until he should be wanted. The mother's face was radiant as she looked at her child. After a few minutes, she lifted a feeble hand and beckoned him. He came. She was very weak and suddenly Richard felt the all too familiar cold chill of death itself creeping through the room.

"You will love her?"

"Yes. I promise."

She closed her eyes and a happy smile touched the thin lips. A little sigh, and she was gone.

Richard had walked many battlefields and death could not make him weep. Instead, he raised the white hand to his lips and kissed it reverently.

The baby whimpered, and he lifted her carefully, and left the room.

It was four days before Richard could bear to talk with his aunt. He could not blame her directly for her daughter's death, but he still felt strongly that she might have prevented it, by helping Anne to get quite strong before it was too late.

In the parlor, Richard sat beside the rigid figure and looked into her eyes. He knew how proud she was and that he must be careful how he phrased his ideas. He should have called on a witness to Anne's request in case Lady Catherine refused him. Darcy would have thought of it, but he had no mind for legal matters.

"Aunt," he began gently. "Will you do me the honor of giving the guardianship of the child to me?"

She sat motionless. Then, with something like a start, she looked him in the eye for the first time since his arrival. "You would see that she was well taken care of, educated properly, presented at court, and received all that is due a granddaughter of Sir Lewis?"

He smiled despite the tragedy of the situation at her attention to detail. "Yes."

"Why?"

He was caught unawares, but not for long. "I wish to do right by her as her father did by me before he died."

"You do not want Rosings?"

"No, I only mean to ask that an allowance be given her, large enough that she may be raised well and in comfort. She may claim her inheritance when she is of age."

"Nevertheless," said her ladyship firmly, "you shall have it. Not permanently mind you. As her guardian I give you full rights to all her funds, including this house, until she is of age."

He looked at her, unable to form a word. In a moment, his future had become stable, prosperous; yet with the tragedy which accompanied the alteration, he knew not what to say. "I never hoped Aunt… I thank you. I will raise her well and love her as my own. But what of you?"

"I do not feel equal to anything lately. I don't expect to live much longer. However, in the meantime I shall go to Town of course. I have a fine house as you well know."

"Wouldn't you rather stay here and help me. She will have no mother after all," he said, with a sharp stab of pain at the thought of Kitty.

"Nonsense. There must be a young lady out there whom you would gladly wed now that you have the money."

"It is unlikely…" he began, then stopped. "Thank you," he said again. A moment later, with a catch in his voice, "Unless you object, her name shall be Catherine Anne Farley."

She smiled wanly, but she did not know which Catherine he was thinking of.